Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“Ithink she’s cryin’ in there,” Jinny, the maid who had been assigned to Amelia, said. “I daenae want to bother her.”
“Leave her be,” Darragh agreed, every instinct in his body demanding that he barge in and ensure the girl was all right. “She’s just come from somethin’ terrible.”
“Ye’re right,” Jinny murmured, seeming just as anxious as he was to check on Amelia’s well-being.
“Have a bath prepared. She’ll sleep better for it,” he suggested. Then, after a beat, he added, “She’ll nae be pressed to join us before supper. Ye will bring meals to her in the meantime.”
If I make her think she’s confined to this space, she’ll end up resentin’ me even more. She’s nae me prisoner, even if that’s what she believes.
Jinny nodded before dashing off. She moved quickly, seemingly relieved to have a purpose. He waited until she’d rounded a corner to step closer to Amelia’s room.
For a moment, he just listened. Sobs tore from her throat, sounding just as powerful as he knew her to be. Even now, she wasn’t making herself small.
When there was a lull in the noise, he knocked against the door three times, then he waited as respectfully as he could. After a few tense seconds, she called out, her voice thick from the tears, “Ye may enter.”
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him but staying near it. This was her space now, and he wouldn’t crowd her. She watched wearily, her eyes red-rimmed, her face splotchy.
“I’ve come to inform ye that a bath is bein’ prepared, then ye should attempt to sleep,” he said, his voice formal, using the same tone he would to deliver orders to his men. “I expect to see ye at supper. Yer maid will get ye and show ye where the great hall is.”
She didn’t respond immediately, her sharp gaze cataloging him. He kept his posture as non-threatening as he could muster, not looking away from her as he remained still. It seemed almost as if this distance he was keeping was disarming her far more than the borderline aggression he’d used prior.
“Is that all?” she asked finally, taking a slow step back from the center of the room.
“Aye,” he confirmed. “If ye find ye need anythin’ after yer bath, yer maid, Jinny, will be close by. She will ensure ye’re comfortable durin’ yer stay here.”
Her gaze softened slightly, still venomous, but the edges were dulled.
He paused for a moment, waiting to see if she had anything else to say.
When she didn’t speak, he left the room, passing by Jinny and the servants carrying the copper tub.
He forced himself to keep walking, even when something primal in his chest told him to stand guard.
* * *
Amelia stared at the enormous tub, its steam wafting from the top of the water line to the rafters above. It was fragrant and thick. She thought she detected hints of lavender and other crushed herbs.
He seems to be goin’ out of his way for me.
She would not let that lower her guard. Despite the vitriol with which her father regarded her, he provided her comforts such as this.
The maid, Jinny, was a kind-looking girl with round cheeks. As she dismissed the men who helped her, she spoke animatedly. Her hands refused to be still, punctuating each of her sentences with a flair that felt far too enthusiastic for someone who had been entrusted with hot water.
As soon as the door closed, signaling the exit of the male servants, Jinny turned toward Amelia. “Mrs. Rowan told me that I’m to scrub ye till ye shine!”
Amelia’s eyes flitted from the maid to the tub. She circled it suspiciously, looking for any signs that it may have been tampered with or might be dangerous. Slowly, she asked, “It’s… all for me?”
Jinny went still, tilting her head to the side when Amelia returned her attention to her. She blinked once, then twice before saying, “Aye. Unless ye mean to share it with someone.”
Shaking her head, Amelia reached forward, dipping her fingers into the water. Hot, warmth licked at the digit. She pulled her hand back quickly. After a moment, she tried again, moving almost as if the water might bite.
This time, she held steady. In a rush, memories of the last time she’d been treated to this flooded her mind. She remembered her old room before she’d been sent away and the maid who cared for her as if she were her own daughter. Her throat tightened.
The weeks at the tower had made her believe she’d never experience warm water nor care again. This was nearly enough to make the tears start once more.
“If it’s too hot for ye, I can fetch some cool water,” Jinny chattered easily, arranging soaps that Amelia hadn’t noticed her carry in.
“We heated it twice because we dinnae want it goin’ cold on ye.
And if it does start to get chilly, I can send for more hot water. Ye’ll want to soak proper, I reckon.”
“Proper,” Amelia repeated faintly, her fingers still swirling through the warm, clean water. She cleared her throat, rising from the crouching position she’d found herself in. “The temperature’s fine.”
She shed her clothes quickly and without ceremony. The scars on her body caught the light as she exposed every inch of her skin. Then, without bothering to remove the wraps around her ribs, Amelia stepped into the tub.
Her body froze, eyes wide at the sensation. It was even better than she remembered it, banishing the cold from deep within her bones. She stayed still, her eyes fluttering closed.
“I’ll fetch some fresh linen,” Jinny said, recovering from the momentary silence that had overcome her at Amelia’s behavior.
She was just as bright, though. Maybe even brighter.
She walked over to a chest at the foot of the bed, and as she dug through it, she said, “I brought along new bars of soap as well, nae just scraps.”
Amelia was too absorbed by the sensation of the bath to respond.
She sank down into the water, and a sound that was a mix between a sigh and a wounded animal accepting comfort for the first time escaped her lips.
The noise surprised Jinny into silence again, but then she broke into delighted laughter.
“Saints, I’ve never seen anyone enjoy water like that,” she said, grabbing a flannel and a bar of soap.
Amelia sank deeper, submerging herself completely before reappearing, rivulets dripping from her hair down her face. Nearly all of her was covered except for her mouth, nose, and eyes. She found Jinny’s gaze and said, “If ye’d lived on drips from stone for weeks, ye’d worship this, too.”
“I suppose ye’re right,” Jinny said, kneeling beside her and waiting patiently for Amelia to emerge enough to be washed.
Eventually, Amelia straightened out, letting Jinny begin her work. She didn’t hear a single word that the maid said as she rubbed the soaped cloth over Amelia’s skin. Her mind, for the first time since she was sent away from her father’s house, was blissfully quiet.
Jinny finished washing Amelia’s body, then busied herself just outside of Amelia’s line of vision. Amelia stared at the tall ceiling, counting the stones out of habit. It wasn’t until the water began to cool that Amelia allowed Jinny to help her from the tub.
“These may nae fit ye properly, but they will work,” Jinny said, draping the dressing gown over Amelia’s body.
When she was dressed, Amelia shuffled over to the window seat she’d spotted when she entered the room. She settled into it, looking over the grounds of the keep as the sun began to rise. It was beautiful, but she had seen sunlight falling just as gently over the iron bars.
The men returned to retrieve the tub, taking it and the sound of Jinny’s chattering along with it. Even though she was used to the silence, it came as a surprise when she was plunged into it again. She sighed, leaning forward to watch as the first residents to rise began walking around the grounds.
I should try to get a few hours of sleep. The bed does look incredibly comfortable.
As she turned her head back toward the scenery, there was a knock on her door, startling her. It wasn’t as strong as Darragh’s, but it felt almost ceremonial. Then, a small, serious voice said, “Permission to enter.”
“That depends,” Amelia said, forcing her breath to steady. “Who’s askin’?”
An answer didn’t come. Instead, the door opened, and Isla slipped inside, carrying a wooden tray far too carefully for someone her age.
Hazel followed, attempting to look authoritative, though the exhaustion from being up all night and the embarrassment at her daughter’s intrusion undermined the expression.
“Me daughter insisted,” Hazel said apologetically as Isla stopped next to Amelia, setting the tray on the ground.
She nodded at the pot and the soft linen next to it.
“Laudanum for the wounds on yer ribs. Use it twice a day. It will help with the pain. But ye should ken, yer breath may catch for a bit after the external injuries heal.”
Isla nodded gravely, her gaze locked onto Amelia. “The healer says it helps whether ye like it or nae.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking. “Does the healer often send generals?”
From the doorway, Hazel stifled a laugh, but Isla considered the question. Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing in thought. A moment later, she said, “Only when patients are stubborn.”
The girl reached for the clay jar, unstoppering it and releasing a sharp herbal scent in the room. She glanced around, still so deadly serious that Amelia couldn’t help but smile. When she spotted a stool, she maneuvered it over, settling next to Amelia.
“This will sting,” she warned Amelia solemnly as she grabbed a cloth from the tray and dipped it into the mixture.
“I’ve survived worse,” Amelia replied, pulling up her gown to expose the wounds.
Hazel stepped closer to watch over Isla as she pressed the cloth against the worst of Amelia’s wounds. Despite how gentle the touch was, Amelia still flinched away. It was partially because of the sting but also because of the reverence with which the girl worked.
Isla paused immediately, looking back at Amelia’s expression. “Too sore?”
“Nay,” Amelia said quickly, taking a deep breath as she prepared for the girl to continue. “Just… unexpected.”
“Slower now, Isla,” Hazel instructed, giving Amelia a soft smile, her kindness disarming.
Isla nodded, resuming her task with even more care. As she worked, she murmured, “Mama says wounds get angry when they start healin’.”
“That sounds inconvenient,” Amelia replied through gritted teeth.
“It means ye’re gettin’ better,” Isla insisted before falling quiet.
As she applied the Laudanum to each wound, the room became comfortably silent. Laughter floated in through the window from outside, and boots crossed the stone below. Life carried on in a way that felt fundamentally wrong to Amelia.
Isla shifted her attention to the last laceration, murmuring, “Were ye a knight?”
Amelia huffed out a quiet laugh, finally used to the pain. “Do I look like one to ye?”
Hazel chuckled, then quickly collected herself. Her face flushed red at the breach of professionalism. That only made Amelia smile more. She preferred the informal behavior.
“Did ye fight monsters?” Isla asked, frowning at the women’s laughter.
“I…” Amelia began, hesitating as images of darkness, chains, and voices she refused to remember flashed through her mind. Finally, she said, “Aye. I did. And I won.”