Chapter Fourteen
Lisle’s eyes opened instantly, and she stretched in the big bed that was her own.
There wasn’t any man, resembling Langston or not, in it with her.
It wasn’t a horn that had awakened her, although something had.
She lay, looking up at the long beams above her canopy, and wondered why it was taking so long to decipher what it was.
Then, she knew. It was the aftermath of what had to have been the horn, moving like an echo of silence immediately at the end of such a note, through her consciousness, and then her bed chamber.
She sharpened her ears and concentrated.
There wasn’t a hint of marching feet, or horse hooves, or a cadence of drums, or anything other than a large bedchamber with one person in it.
There also wasn’t any rain. Morning sunlight was tipping the top of her room light yellow, and from there it reached toward the floor. It was at odds with everything else.
Lisle felt like she’d been kicked by a horse the size of Blizzom, or worse.
Even the motion of moving her arms seemed to take forever, and there was no stopping the torture of memory.
He had a wife. Her name was Shera. She’d left him.
Lisle was going to find out why, and where she was. Freedom was behind that quest.
Monteith was a traitor. He was Captain Barton’s confidant. They were close enough to banter words about women. That was horrid to consider. Lisle scrunched her nose. It was almost as horrid as remembering what he’d done when she’d reached the second button.
He’d grabbed her to him, pulling her so swiftly from Blizzom that her hands had been smashed against her breast. He’d kicked his stallion into a gallop, something she’d have gasped at experiencing if he wasn’t filling her ear with harsh words, said through thin lips, atop a set chin.
Lisle almost groaned at the remembrance of them.
He’d told her she still didn’t listen, and he was not fond of repeating everything.
If she had to be a Highland lass, the least she could do was pay attention the first time.
He wanted her in his bed…and only in his bed.
He didn’t want her anywhere else or any other way.
He didn’t want her if he had to force her.
He wanted her in his bed, willing and warm, and if she was complying, she’d best wait until they were at the castle.
Perhaps she could prepare herself for that.
The horse Torment showed every bit of the strength, stamina, and speed Langston had already informed her an Arabian was noted for, and nothing could stop it, nothing could prevent it, and nothing could save it.
The morning silence was unnerving. Lisle lay in the empty bed, watching beams of sunlight crisscross among the beams of wood, and wondered why, if Langston had raced to get back to his home, he’d done nothing more than carry her up the staircase, put her on her bed, and tell her to seek some sleep, she’d need it, and then…
he’d stopped at the door and told her only one thing mattered in this whole thing.
He’d called it neart aithnich. The Gallic words for power of knowing. Not guessing. Knowing.
Lisle turned her head and looked toward the entry door, envisioning the entire thing again, despite every attempt not to.
Someone had left a torch burning in one of the sconces, and it had flickered on one half of his face, leaving the other in complete shadow.
Lisle shivered in her bed, an entire night away from it.
He’d looked sinister and enigmatic, and something else…
something he’d told her to use all her senses to observe and pay attention to.
Beachdaich, he’d said, using the Celt word for that, too…
beachdaich; and not just with her ears, her eyes, and what she thought was knowledge.
He’d shut the door then, locked her in, and had not done one other thing no matter how long she waited, or how many times she went on her knees, or how many circuits she made of the room.
She was exhausted. She was insulted. She was hurt.
She was shocked. Just about every surprise he’d given made her feel that way, and then Mary MacGreggor was knocking and entering, leading a servant with a breakfast tray, followed by three men, carrying what was either half of a very large barrel for ale, or a large tub.
Lisle sat, pulling the covers to her chin.
Not that anyone would be able to see anything through the thick cotton of her newest nightdress, but she wasn’t used to having Langston’s large male servants in her bed chamber.
“His Lordship has ordered you a bath,” Mary called out cheerfully. “I’ve had the water heated. It will just take a moment, and we’ll have you up and about and sitting in such luxury, you’ll cry.”
She was going to cry all right, but it wasn’t at the luxury. Lisle pulled her knees to her chin, ruffling the almost perfect white span of coverlet into a slope, and watched them. She was totally insulted now. It was obvious to her. He’d called her filthy. He was changing that.
Steam rose from each bucket they brought in, adding to the heat they’d started with a new fire in the fireplace, and making the air heavy and moist when she breathed it in.
Then Mary was sprinkling something into the water that made the chamber fill with the scent of rain and flowers and the same sort of feeling you got when smelling the crumb cakes when they were in the ovens. Lisle sniffed the air.
“His Lordship has these salts kept under lock for special use. He gets them from that godforsaken land his ships keep visiting. It’s ever so nice-smelling. Isn’t it?”
“Under lock?” Lisle asked.
“And I had to access the cabinet by requesting such a thing through that Mabel Beamans. She had to check with His Lordship before she’d grant me access, too. You’d think she had all the power of the household, that woman. I’m telling you. One of these days, there’s going to be—”
“Why?” Lisle asked, interrupting her.
“Why what, my lady? Here. Just put your knees down there, allow me to put this jacket atop your shoulders, and we’ll be seeing to your breakfast.”
Lisle’s face went expressionless as she did the requested move, and waited while another blue wool jacket was draped across her.
“Why are my bed jackets in blue?” she asked absently.
“His Lordship wants everything done in blue for you. Everything that doesn’t have clan tradition, that is.”
“But why?”
“You’ll have to be asking him that yourself. He’s na’ one for telling me the whys of his actions, you ken? You could check with Mabel Beamans. That woman thinks she knows everything. Why, just ask her.”
Langston wanted to clothe her in blue. Lisle thought that over and then set it aside. She had other worries, like this bath.
“It takes a special dye to make them in every shade, too. That was His Lordship’s orders, and they were most specific.
Blue. Every shade, every hue. It’s very costly to produce, and takes a flower called a hyacinth.
Available only from parts of the world he’s been to.
That Persia place…or a place called Africa.
Beautiful blue these hyacinth be. We had to hire two more men, skilled in the dye process, in order to follow his orders. ”
Lisle made her expression go completely blank.
“They’re powerfully proud to be of service, my lady. Why, to be able to please His Lordship, and be able to put food on their tables and clothing on their bairn’s backs is everything they hoped for.”
“What if I doona’ like the color blue?” Lisle asked, amazed she’d kept the snide tone out of her voice.
“You…doona’ like it?”
The thought of saying it to put a large knot in the middle of Langston Monteith’s little plot was almost too delicious to keep silent about.
Lisle glanced toward where her personal maid, Mary, stood, and although she’d paused midquestion and her voice sank, she was doing her best to hide it.
Lisle put a smile on her blank face, but it felt and had to look as false as everything around her felt and looked.
“I happen to like blue just fine, Mary. I’m just surprised Monteith guessed it.”
“Oh! He dinna’ guess it, my lady. That’s what marriage is, you understand? Doing something special, just to show how much you care. Why, I recollect the time my man and I—”
“I’m actually quite hungry,” Lisle interrupted her before she had to listen to anything more and started screaming something vile that was bound to have both women staring at her.
“Martha! Step smart. Get Her Ladyship’s breakfast set up.”
Lisle watched as the servant girl set a tray across her lap, and then put a newly cut sprig of heather in a crystal vase at the corner of it.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Griddle cakes. We thought you’d fancy a change, and since I dinna’ hear from you at all yesterday, you being out with His Lordship and all, I thought you’d like to try them.”
“What is this for?” Lisle pointed at the heather.
“Fresh cut. From the meadow. We thought you might like it.”
“We?”
“You mustn’t sit and dawdle so, my lady. You’ve the seamstresses to see still. There’s patterns to approve, and dresses to decide, and then you’ve got instructions to give.”
“To whom, please?”
“Your staff. I’d start with that Mabel Beamans. I’d make her give me the key to everything. That woman has too big a head. It’s dripping over to her mouth, and her words. I only wish someone had something bad to say about her housekeeping. She thinks she’s perfect.”
Lisle looked levelly across at where Mary was smiling and bobbing her head, and kept the words inside. All she had to do was speak of dust on the beams and Mary would have her ammunition. She didn’t.
“Now go, Martha. Check on the towels. Knock when returning.”
“Towels?” Lisle asked.