Chapter Nine
The long, low, moaning note from the pipe woke her, floating into the chamber again, just like it had yesterday morning.
Lisle stretched in her bed, heard a tear as one of the seams in one of the shoulders of one of her new nightgowns tore at the movement, and twisted her lips at it.
She was going to have to find a needle and thread and resew it, the way it should have been sewn in the first place.
It wasn’t the women’s fault. Mary MacGreggor had made them hasten to get at least three nightgowns finished, and one daydress before they finished for the day and could return to their own hearths, in their own crofts.
They were even given carriage rides to the gate, to save them the walk.
Laird Monteith would have taken them all the way to their doors, but only one of them took up the offer.
Lisle knew why the others didn’t. The same reason she’d stomped out of here less than a week ago.
They didn’t want to be seen associating with a Monteith.
Her lip curled with distaste at their actions, and that was strange enough to have her wrinkling her brow. She wasn’t supposed to care.
The note came again, and then, if she wasn’t mistaken, came the faint sound of drums. That was incredible. There wasn’t an army allowed on Highland soil, unless it was the Highland Regiment, and there was no drumming of drums or playing of pipes or wearing of kilts or…
Lisle was out of bed and tearing open the maroon drape before another imaginative thought came, breathless as to what it might be.
The frustration of staring at diamond-paned glass had her snarling at it.
She wondered if he’d designed it that way on purpose.
To let in light, but not allow anyone to see through it.
She tried another window, and then another, going beyond the rooms that Mary MacGreggor had shown her, and all that she found was another diamond-paned window, and then more of the same.
She turned back around and retraced her steps, stopping near the privy room as another long horn blast came, followed by what her mind told her was a perfect cadence of chanting.
It hadn’t been drums after all. It was the sound of thousands of feet marching with a drumlike rhythm.
It had to be. Her eyes went wide and she looked up, and then her gaze was following the ceiling beams from each of their little windows to where they were positioned, starting at the wall that framed the four-story Great Hall.
If she wasn’t mistaken, she could access one of those windows, and her instinct told her there was clear glass in them that she could see through.
Lisle ran to her headboard. The white canopy made an excellent handhold as she scaled the smoothed wooden sides of her ceiling-high headboard.
Luck was with her, too, since he’d had cornice pieces carved onto the structure, and they made excellent footholds for this sort of thing.
Then, she was straddling a beam, and listening to even more of her nightgown tearing.
The beams were sturdy. They were just right for supporting a man, and Mabel Beamans had a fault, after all.
There was dust up here. Lisle looked across at the other beams, all leading to a window that she could tell had a latched pane of clear glass covering it, and noticed that all the beams were covered with a fine film of dust.
She was going to have to take that up with the head housekeeper—allowing dust in His Lordship’s house!
Lisle giggled before she could help it, and started scooting along the beam before giving it up and going to her knees.
Then she was balancing on her toes, in a crouch, because it felt safer, and then she was upright and looking down on the room that wasn’t just white and maroon.
It was immense-looking and a very long way down.
She dropped back to her heels, holding the beam while she shook with the reaction.
Fright wasn’t going to get her to the window, and there hadn’t been another pipe note played in so long, she was beginning to doubt her sanity.
She stood again, although she stayed bent at the knees, and she didn’t look down this time.
The beam held her weight easily. It could have been designed to hold a man of fighting size…
or an archer…or even a marksman with a musket.
She instantly knew that was the reason for all the beams, and the placement of the windows, and all the positioning of all the rooms. Castle Monteith was beautiful, and it had a secret. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was being built to defend a siege from an army the size of Cumberland’s.
Lisle nearly gave sound to the cry when she reached the window opening and couldn’t do more than flail her arm toward the latch.
Whoever was supposed to be accessing these windows must be bigger than she was, and have longer arms. There was no help for it.
She was going to have to crawl into one of the alcovelike spaces, and it looked like there was even more dust in there.
Mabel Beamans was safe from any censure over her housekeeping abilities at the moment, because no one was going to hear of such a thing from her.
Lisle jumped slightly, putting her upper body into the space, and then she had to pull herself up, using the window latch for an anchor.
The window’s size was deceptive, for once she was seated in it, there was room to sit upright, ith crossed legs, and more.
Lisle’s hands were shaking almost too much to turn the latch. She didn’t know if it was the excitement at what she knew she’d see, or if it was the exertion of what she’d just done, but the window opened without a hint of protest, and she peeked out and swallowed the disappointment.
There wasn’t anything except an enormous span of green grass that didn’t have the slightest dent to show a footprint had just been walking across it, let along marching on it.
There wasn’t anything except a perfectly groomed lawn, acres of forest land beyond that, and she could see, over the tops of the trees, what was going to be a cloud-strewn day dawning.
Lisle sat and watched the sun rise, tinting the clouds rose and yellow.
She looked down at the grime on her new, muslin nightgown, and rubbed her palms on it, making it worse, but getting most of it off her hands.
It was just as well. All she’d managed to prove was that she possessed an overactive imagination, and that was already well documented from school.
When the sun was up, reaching the tops of the trees, and from there the green lawn that hadn’t a blade disturbed on it, she pulled the glass back in and relatched it.
Then she peeked over the side at where her bedroom looked very small and very far away.
It hadn’t seemed stupid when she’d first done it, but it certainly felt that way now.
She had no idea how she was supposed to get down, and to ask for help was going to have everyone referring to her as a lady who was touched in the head.
No lady of the house climbed among the rafters.
She could always say she was inspecting for dust. That would set Mabel Beamans’s smug confidence back a bit.
The door opened, looking like it was also a long way down, and Lisle watched as Mary MacGreggor came in, leading just one servant woman bearing one silver-plated tray, rather than the number of them she’d brought yesterday.
Lisle knew why. She’d already given her order for breakfast, and knew what was beneath the cover before it was placed on her table and lifted.
“My lady?”
Mary MacGreggor’s voice floated eerily up to where she still sat in one of the window ledges. She wasn’t going to be easy to spot. That was comforting, for the moment. Lisle was going to worry about what to do next when she got her privacy back.
“My lady?”
Mary MacGreggor was starting to sound frantic as she opened door after door, and then came back. Lisle watched as she went into the dressing chamber, and even tried the connecting door to the laird’s rooms, rattling the locked doorknob.
“Dear me! We’ve lost Her Ladyship! Alert His Lordship. She’s loose. I doona’ know for how long. Now, go! Go!”
She was pushing the serving girl in front of her, and moving faster than her bulk looked like it could move.
All of which was interesting enough to give it some thought when, and if, she got down from her perch, and had scrubbed off the worst of the grime, had another nightgown on, and was ensconced back in that bed.
She grinned. She could hardly wait to see Mary MacGreggor’s face when that happened.
She got back onto her knees. The door opened again.
“You see?”
“Calm yourself, Mary, and tell me what you saw again.”
It was Langston, and he was dressed as she’d almost always seen him, exactly like a Highland laird would be when he was denied use of his ancestral wardrobe.
He was in tight, form-fitting English slacks, which had the added advantage of showing everyone exactly how strong his legs were.
He also had on a white shirt with button-down front, and the size of his starched cuffs showed they were the kind that had to be put on separately, and required a valet to assist. He didn’t look remotely like he could be the same damp and intense man that she’d seen wearing a green and gold kilt with little else, and kissing her within an inch of her sanity before sending her away into numbness yestermorn.
“Did you lock the chamber last night?”
“I always lock the chamber at night, my lord.”
“Then, where could she have gone?”
“She was here last night, although she was na’ saying much.”
“She was na’?”
“Nae. In fact, I dinna’ hear her say a word all day. Nor even all eve. Na’ even when I wished her a good night.”
“Is that normal?”
“I doona’ know the lass that well, my lord.”
“I mean, is that normal for a lass that’s just been wed?”