Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Selene retreated to her bedchamber, eager to bathe and to don something fresh and clean.
Two young maids came in, one with more logs for the fire and the other with a very welcome pot of tea, some milk in a little jug, and a bowl of sugar.
“We’ll bring ye some water tae bathe, milady,” the older looking girl said, bobbing a curtsy.
“Oh please, make it hot. I’ve a great desire to bathe in water that is not almost turning into ice.”
The little maid looked at her curiously. “I’ll dae me best, milady, although it will take some time.”
After they’d departed, Selene stripped off her still slightly damp and muddy clothing and flung on her robe. While she waited for the maids, she poured herself a cup of tea and snuggled in the chair by the fire, her thoughts roaming over the events of the past day and night.
It was rather odd, she mused. She’d not been a jot uncomfortable last night or this morning with her mud-stained clothing and windswept hair, when in Laird Kenneth’s company.
Yet the minute they’d ridden through the portcullis at Duntulm Castle, she’d been overcome with an acute awareness of her disheveled and dirty – yes, dirty – state and now she could hardly wait to tidy herself again.
Whatever was it about Kenneth that made her feel as if she somehow fitted perfectly into his company, as if it was where she belonged?
At last, the maids arrived bearing two buckets of luke-warm water. Although it was not what she would consider hot it was definitely an improvement on the temperature of her previous bath.
By the time she’d finished bathing, she had decided that tepid, rapidly cooling water was only slightly barbaric, although it was still far from what she was used to. However, unlike the first time, she managed not to shriek like a startled cat when she entered the tub.
“Progress,” she muttered to herself as she toweled her hair dry by the fire.
She donned her woolen stockings and boots and layered on several woolen petticoats, aware of the cruel drafts that swept the passageways and corridors of the castle. Over the top she wore a simple striped pink and white wool gown with a kerchief at her neck and a quilted fur-trimmed green jacket.
She was about to drape a large woolen shawl over her shoulders for added warmth, when there came a gentle tap at the door.
“’Tis Maureen. Are ye dressed and decent?” There came a slight chuckle. “Or lazing in a hurkle-durkle under the covers.”
Selene laughed as she opened the door. “Come in. I have not taken to my bed.” All the same, she cast a longing glance at her covers. Last night, for all that it had been pleasant and warm so close to Kenneth, there had been precious little sleep.
Maureen bustled in with a tray bearing another teapot, cups and saucers which she placed on the table next to the jug and bowl of sugar. She proceeded to make much of pouring them each a cup of the steaming brew.
“Was yer bath warm enough for ye?”
Selene tilted her head making a ‘maybe, maybe not’ gesture with her hands.
Maureen laughed. “Ye soft English lass. Ye’ll get used tae it if ye stay in the islands long enough.” She gave a careless shrug. “Or you’ll stop caring. That’s what usually happens.”
“Ha. That’s comforting. And that’s when you Scots give up bathing altogether?” She took a grateful sip of tea the warmth sliding through her like a blessing.
“Now, I wish to hear every detail of yer adventures yesterday. I heard Kenneth and Callum mention that ye sweet-talked a bull.”
“Oh, indeed I did. A great shaggy red-haired creature I mistook for a Highlander. Although, he was not wearing a kilt.”
Maureen burst out laughing and Selene continued on with her story. It ended in gales of laughter when Selene told Maureen of Kenneth’s trick in coaxing Selene to eat the maragh dubh without having the slightest idea what it was made of.
“Oh, but it was delicious,” Selene added, not wishing to hear herself called a ‘soft English’ yet again.
“And, I heard…” Maureen paused for a moment as if giving thought to what she was about to say. “…ye and me braither took refuge fer the night in an old cottage that was somewhat the worse fer its years of neglect?”
“And he looked so boyish with his hair wet and ruffled and his eyelashes dripping rain,” Selene said dreamily.
Maureen tilted her head and raised one dark eyebrow in a question.
Her cheeks suddenly on fire, Selene refused to say another word, even though she could see Maureen was quite desperate to hear more.
She jumped to her feet, taking Maureen’s cup from her hands. “More tea?” She seized the teapot and poured them both another cup.
The distraction had worked well. It seemed Maureen’s thoughts had turned to another subject. This time she was full of questions about Selene’s gown.
“I fear we may be a little behind ye southerners when it comes tae fashion. We must wait fer the birlinns tae bring us the latest pattern books fer our seamstresses. And sometimes they take months tae arrive.” She pouted.
Selene smiled reassuringly. “Don’t fret Maureen, your gowns are quite delightful. I don’t think you need to concern yourself about what is being worn in England.”
Maureen finished her tea and rose to her feet. “I must go, I have duties in the kitchen. Cook and I will be working on the supplies fer the coming week’s supper plans.”
Selene nodded and got to her feet to accompany Maureen to the door. She understood the duties well. She had been occupied in running her father’s manor house in the years after her mother’s death.
“I’ll return soon,” Maureen said, already halfway out the door. “Dinnae get lost in thought without me.”
“I will do my best,” Selene called as Maureen sauntered off.
As she turned back from the door, her fingers went without a thought to her mother’s necklace. To her horror, her hand at her throat brushed nothing but bare skin.
Selene froze for a moment, then checked again. And again. Nothing.
Her heart plummeted to the cold, stone floor.
“No, no, no. Don’t do this to me,” she breathed, scanning the room wildly. “I had it. I had it this morning. I had it when we returned, I remember…”
Panic prickled her scalp, almost paralyzing her. Losing the one precious thing she had from her beloved mother was not an option. It felt like she was losing her all over again.
She started her search on all fours – scanning the floor, peering under the mat, then under the table, on the table.
Then she scrabbled desperately through everything in her trunk, coming up with nothing.
Within a minute she was crawling halfway under the bed with her derrière sticking out at a most unflattering angle, dust smudged across her cheek, muttering unladylike things under her breath.
Which was precisely when someone coughed behind her.
A very male someone.
She clamped her eyes shut. “Oh, please no.”
“Should I come back later?” Kenneth’s voice rumbled behind her, far too amused for someone who had just walked in on a woman with her face under a bed and her skirts hiked up.
She scrambled backward, banged her head on the bed-frame, swore loudly, and barely managed to sit up before he came closer. He was still damp from the ride earlier, his hair tousled, his linen shirt unlaced at the throat.
It’s unfair how much space he takes up just standing there.
“Are ye… stuck?” he asked.
“I’m looking for something.” She brushed hair from her face. “My necklace.” Now she was almost wailing. “It’s g… g… gone.”
She half expected a comment about her dramatics, or some teasing remark. Instead, Kenneth’s entire expression shifted, becoming instantly serious and focused.
“Let us find it, then.”
Before she could reply, he began dragging furniture away from the walls as if each heavy piece weighed no more than a basket of feathers.
Selene stared shamelessly. No man should be allowed to lift heavy things so easily while looking so infuriatingly handsome into the bargain.
Her treacherous brain offered a vivid memory of his hands on hers during the storm, steady and warm, and she almost forgot what she was searching for.
“Here.” Kenneth reached behind the wardrobe, straightened, and opened his palm.
The necklace glinted in the firelight – her most precious possession, delicate, familiar and safe.
Selene did not pause to think. She gave not a fig for propriety, commonsense, or even the rules of what a proper lady could and could not do.
She simply leapt forward, threw her arms around him and planted a warm kiss on his bristly cheek.
Kenneth froze. His hands hovered in the air for a heartbeat – just long enough for her to realize exactly how close she’d pressed herself against him – before he lowered them to clasp her in his embrace, hesitantly at first then firm.
“Selene…” His voice was a low, rough, rumble, yet soft as butter. She could feel the vibration of it through his chest.
Breathless, she clutched the necklace to her heart. Their eyes met. Something like lightning moved in the air between them – a shimmering and sparkling something that dazzled and bewitched.
Her heart fluttered in her chest like a frightened dove. They were close. Too close. Close enough for her to see the gold flecks in his eyes. Close enough so that one of them had only to lean an inch or two and they’d—
Kenneth’s gaze dropped to her lips.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
He leaned closer.
She closed her eyes and shifted a fraction.
The door banged open.
“Selene! You won’t believe what—”
Maureen stopped dead at the sight of them standing all but locked in each other’s arms. Furniture was scattered everywhere. Since she had left, only a short while ago, the room had assumed the appearance of the aftermath of a small war.
Kenneth stepped away from Selene so quickly he almost tripped over her trunk, catching himself just in time.
Face burning, Selene cleared her throat, brushing her tousled hair from her face and dust from her skirt. “We were… um… looking for something.”
Maureen raised an eyebrow. “Aye. I’m sure ye were.”
Kenneth turned on his heel muttering something about needing to meet Callum, and headed for the door like a man fleeing a battlefield.
Her cheeks on fire, Selene clutched the necklace, her heart pounding in a way no thunderstorm could possibly be responsible for.
And, as Maureen surveyed the destroyed room with a knowing smirk, Selene came to the very inconvenient realization that she was dangerously attracted to the Laird Kenneth MacDonald.
“Are ye ready fer supper, Selene? I thought we could make our way to the great hall together. I can introduce ye tae some of those who reside here under our roof and who work to make our lives comfortable.”
Selene pulled her wits together. “Of course. How thoughtful of you Maureen. I look forward to meeting the people of Castle Duntulm.”
Yet, there were so many faces and names of people who spoke with the language of the Gaels and the Scots that her head was whiling by the time they took their seats for supper.
She fought against the pang of disappointment when their supper was finished and there was still no sign of Kenneth.
“Yer brother? Callum?” she ventured trying hard not to look concerned.
“Nay doubt they have important matters tae discuss. Nae only has the storm caused problems fer our people, but there has been conflict with men from Raasay. Kenneth is dealing with it.” She gave a soft laugh. “But, of course, ye ken all about it.”
Selene nodded. She’d almost forgotten about the fact she was meant for Raasay and her time at Duntulm Castle was short.