Chapter Thirteen
ON THE EVE OF THE clan gathering, Wilkie escorted me to his antechambers, where my bath was waiting for me.
“When you are ready, Fergus will escort you to the hall, where the women are preparing for the arrival of Laird Morrison.” He seemed slightly miffed at the mention of the guest’s name.
Or maybe it was just me, reading my own emotion into his words.
“You’d prefer Ailie’s and Christie’s company than to remain here throughout the day?
” he asked, knowing full well I wouldn’t want to be cooped up alone in his antechamber for hours on end.
And I wouldn’t be allowed to accompany him today.
The entire clan, Wilkie included, was readying the keep for guests.
“Oh, aye.”
“My sisters will keep you well entertained,” he assured me. This was true, and I was thankful I’d have their company, and could work, and help, and keep busy.
“There is a spare bed being fitted for you in my sisters’ chambers,” Wilkie said, “’Tis a front, while the guests are about.”
“A front,” I repeated, getting his meaning.
He didn’t respond but continued staring at me evenly.
“Ah,” I said. “To keep my reputation intact.” Again I detected a nudging sense of unease in him. I began tentatively. “Will I—”
“You’ll sleep with me,” he said curtly. He was annoyed and surly on the subject, so I didn’t prod him. I suppose I should have been grateful that my reputation was being so thoughtfully considered.
“And now I will give you one small kiss,” he said.
“Since anything more than that would cause me to be remiss in my duties, such is the temptation of you. But I will return to you this evening.” His voice was low when he continued.
“And I will kiss you much more than once, and I will taste of your honeyed pleasure on my tongue.”
He touched me only with his mouth, the kiss erotic in its lightness, then he left me to my bath and to my day.
In the short time I had been at Kinloch, I’d been cleaner than ever before in my life, I reflected.
Still not accustomed to such luxuries, I decided to appreciate my good fortune.
I used the rose-scented soaps that had been laid out by women that were not Effie, nor Wilkie’s sisters.
Having spent years in the gossipy kitchens and servants’ quarters of the Ogilvie manor, I knew that the news of my presence and my mysterious arrival would travel like wildfire.
My accommodations, whether I was in Wilkie’s chambers or not, would be discussed.
My rescue would be recounted. My placement and origins enquired about.
I cared little. My reputation—as Laird Mackenzie had so generously pointed out—was hardly an issue.
And, I couldn’t help wondering, if Ailie’s and Christie’s chambers were to be used as a front, then why was my bath being brought in here?
It almost seemed as though Wilkie wanted to encourage rumors on the subject.
If I was never to marry Wilkie, if I was never to join with him as I wanted, if I was forever spoiled for another man regardless of any of these details, or in spite of them: I refused to allow myself to fret.
That I had much to worry about was obvious enough.
I could not predict what the future would hold, and in fact I didn’t care to.
I wanted to ride the anticipation of seeing Wilkie tonight.
He had promised he would teach me another letter.
And I felt excited about my day, as well, being included in clan activities and the company of Wilkie’s lovely, welcoming sisters.
Beyond that, I preferred not to let my worries tread.
One growing prickling worry that refused to be squelched, though, was the issue of the guests that the Mackenzie clan were readying themselves to host. An elderly, ailing laird and his bevy of daughters and nieces, all heiresses in their own right, competing for a husband who would be gifted his own lairdship.
And not just any husband. Every single one of them had their eyes on one particular conquest. My warrior.
The Morrisons.
* * *
ONCE I HAD BATHED, I checked my face in the small hand mirror and saw that a small reddish bruise remained, but otherwise my face was not damaged from my attack by the Ogilvie raiders.
My ribs were still sore, and a purplish mark remained from where I’d been slung over the Ogilvie warrior’s shoulder, but it didn’t restrict my movement much.
I dressed and braided and bound my hair.
And I was escorted by Fergus, who said nothing but looked at me once or twice with a slightly confounded expression as he led me down the stairs and into the excitable activity of the hall.
More than a dozen women were talking and working.
Ailie and Christie saw me and immediately rushed over to ask on my health, as they hadn’t seen me since the attempted abduction, and I assured them I was well and ready to assist them in any way they required.
Ailie was particularly invigorated today, and I wondered over her excitement. I inquired, carefully, hoping I wasn’t overstepping my boundaries.
“You enjoy the Morrisons’ company?” I asked her.
Christie, as usual, was to provide possibly more information than she should have. “The Morrisons will not be the only guests. The Munros will also be in attendance. Ailie is particularly partial to the company of one Magnus Munro, the laird’s eldest son. Isn’t that so, Ailie?”
Ailie wasn’t one to give quite so much away. “No more than any of the other Munros, my dear sister,” she said. But her eyes sparked with a quiet animation that all but confirmed Christie’s comment.
I was introduced to Beatrice, the head of the kitchen crew, simply by my first name.
Several others came to me, too, curious and eager to learn more of my mysterious arrival.
That I was a Macduff apprentice healer was a story that was quietly distributed; it was all too likely that someone might disprove it if it was advertised too strenuously.
From the looks I was getting and the hushed whispers, it was clear that rumors were already flitting around the manor like glittering moths.
“This is Roses,” repeated Christie. And I was glad for the simplicity of it.
Roses, the wanderer, Kade had called me.
And it was an accurate description. I was as rootless, as adrift, as a cloud in the sky.
Nay, I reminded myself. No longer. In my heart, I was bound to Wilkie inexorably.
I distracted myself by following the lead of Ailie and Christie, helping arrange and set the tables.
Ailie, in particular, directed the kitchen staff, ordered the fires to be lit, led the inspection of cleaning tasks, and managed the many other jobs that needed to be done before the guests’ arrival in the late afternoon.
She carried out her leadership duties with quiet confidence, as though well accustomed to her role.
She was the eldest woman of the laird’s immediately family, therefore giving her the highest status of any woman of the clan.
I knew she wouldn’t hold the title of Lady Mackenzie; that was reserved for the laird’s wife, and I wondered at Laird Mackenzie and his obvious lack of one.
I remembered a vague recollection of Wilkie commenting on it once, when I’d still been hazed by fever.
Two years have passed, Knox, Wilkie had said.
’Tis time for you to remarry. So he had been married once. I wondered at his story and his loss.
I felt unusually subdued and acknowledged my growing unease at the arrival of the Morrison women. Again, I recalled the murky memory of the brothers’ conversation on the subject. Wilkie had spoken of “the Morrison buffet,” and it was Kade who had mentioned a sister called Maisie, in particular.
This detail disturbed me greatly, that Wilkie had spent time with at least one of the Morrison sisters.
Had he pleasured her as he’d pleasured me?
Or even more? Had he given her all of himself, as he refused me?
I wondered at the truth of his insistence that he had no interest in Maisie or Stella, the reputed beauty of the group.
I felt almost ill at the thought and wished for a moment I could retreat to Wilkie’s chambers and be alone.
I knew Wilkie had had his share of women; I could expect no less of a man possessing both outstanding beauty and such an enviable status.
What worried me was that one of them, or more, would be here in this room and in his company, in a matter of hours.
“What has you upset, Roses?” asked Ailie quietly.
But of course she already knew. I’m sure it was obvious to all who suspected it: my absolute love for Wilkie would not necessarily be allowed beyond even the next few days, or even hours.
Here in the cold light of reality, my hopes over the past evenings, when I’d been held in Wilkie’s arms under the light of a harvest moon and patiently read to, seemed bleak and unlikely.
And I could see, written in the sympathy of Ailie’s expression, that the likelihood of Wilkie’s promises to me were most likely empty ones.
He’d been inspired by lust in the warm fire-lit enclosure of his chambers.
He was passionate and overcome. But it was entirely likely that his words would stay contained in our private embraces, to go no further.
Here, in the busy activity of his clan’s people, as they readied themselves for their noble visitors, the reality of my situation settled in.
Wilkie would marry one of his own kind. If I was to remain in his life, it would likely be as a lowly mistress, to be called upon when his wife was tired or ill or bearing his legitimate heirs.
Could I share him in this way and take the occasional offerings left to me after he attended to his family?
Nay. I knew it in my heart: if I couldn’t have him, and all of him, I would leave the idyllic haven of the Mackenzie clan.