Chapter Six
“My lady?”
“Go ’way,” Jenna mumbled, turning over and burying her head in the pillow.
“My lady, it’s time to get up.”
Jenna ignored the voice. Perhaps it would go away. But then she heard the sound of the drapes being pulled back and light flooded the room, spearing into Jenna’s brain like jagged shards of glass.
“Aargh! Are you trying to kill me?”
She pried her eyes open and found herself staring up at the underside of her bed canopy. Damn it. So yesterday hadn’t been a dream then? She really was here in fifteenth century Scotland?
With an effort, she struggled into a sitting position.
Her head pounded like someone was whacking it with a rolled-up newspaper, and her mouth tasted like something had crawled into it and died.
Jeez. How much mead had she drunk last night?
Too much, if her pounding head, grainy eyes, and roiling stomach were anything to go by.
A red-haired young woman who she guessed must be a maid hovered by the bed, wringing her hands and looking nervous.
“What time is it?” Jenna groaned.
“Past dawn, my lady.”
The way she said the words suggested she considered this to be late, but “past dawn” was still the middle of the night as far as Jenna was concerned. Outside, the sky still held the pink blush of sunrise. Oh, hell. Did people always get up at this hour here?
Jenna flopped back down onto the pillows. “Wake me in a few hours.”
The maid shifted her feet nervously. “My apologies, my lady, but the laird has requested yer presence. He says ye are to go riding today?”
Jenna let out a long sigh. It seemed this place was determined to torture her.
She pushed herself up, swung her legs around, and balanced on the edge of the bed.
She was, she realized, fully clothed. She had hazy memories of Rosaline helping her back to her room last night, but beyond that, everything was blank.
She gripped the bedstead as her stomach roiled and her head spun. “Do you have any water?”
“Water? Nay, my lady,” the maid replied. “It isnae safe to drink the water. We have ale, though.” She crossed to the table by the cold fireplace on which sat a covered tray and a large jug. She poured something into a small pottery cup, then held it out for Jenna. “Here, my lady.”
Jenna took it gingerly and sniffed the liquid inside.
It was indeed ale. She looked at the maid and gave a sheepish grin.
“Well, you know what they say about hair of the dog? Bottoms up!” She downed the cup in several long gulps and was pleased to discover that “ale” was only a loose term and the liquid was so weak that it likely contained hardly any alcoholic content at all.
It was more like drinking beer flavored soda.
“Thanks,” she said, holding out the cup. “I needed that.”
The maid took it and then crossed to the table. “If ye are ready, I’ve brought some breakfast for ye.”
“What’s your name?” Jenna asked.
The woman bobbed a curtsey. “Ingrid, if it please ye, my lady.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Ingrid. And it’s Jenna, not ‘my lady’. Sorry if I’m a bit grouchy. I’m feeling a little… delicate.”
Ingrid smiled. “Aye, ye were singing when ye came back last night.”
“Singing? Really?”
“Aye. Some song about a reindeer with a red nose? And ye wouldnae let me undress ye. Ye were asleep the second ye lay down.”
Jenna groaned. “Oh. Sorry about that too. I’ve not exactly made a good first impression, have I?”
“Lady Rosaline says ye are a breath of fresh air, and I agree with her.”
Jenna looked at Ingrid, surprised. “She does? You do?”
Ingrid cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed. “Um, if ye would like to bathe, I’ve brought hot water up for ye.”
Yes, she would very much like to bathe. Tottering to her feet, she followed Ingrid into the bathing room to find that, sure enough, the metal tub was full to the brim with steaming water.
Some large cloths for use as towels hung on a rack by the fire and there was even a bar of lavender-scented soap in a little tray.
Jenna breathed in the scented steam, allowing it to clear her head a little.
“Would ye like me to help ye bathe?” Ingrid asked.
Help her bathe? Why on earth would she need help with that? “Er, no,” Jenna replied quickly. “I’ll be fine.”
“Then I’ll be in the next room. Call if ye need aught.”
The maid left, closing the door behind her, and Jenna wasted no time in stripping off and sinking into the tub.
It was a little too hot, but Jenna put up with it, allowing the water to soothe her muscles and ease her aching head.
She lay back, putting her head on the rim of the tub, and considered her predicament.
She’d promised Arran that she could fix the magic her ancestors had placed around this island. Both he and Rosaline, and all the people she’d met so far, seemed to think she was some kind of savior. So, no pressure then.
Aunt Rose would know what to do. Or even Aunt Elise. But Jenna hadn’t used her magic in five years. What if she no longer knew how?
What had she been thinking? She was going to fail. She was going to let these people down, go home empty-handed, lose her house, and—
Stop it!
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and reached inside herself for her magic.
She felt it immediately, like a ball of glowing energy deep within her.
Tentatively, carefully, she began to channel it.
Only a tiny amount, hardly anything really, but guided it out into the bath water, using it to cool the water a little. To her utter astonishment, it worked.
She let the magic go. She was breathing a little heavily, not from the exertion, but from the shock of contact with her magic after all these years, and the deluge of memories and emotions that touching it sent through her.
Her mother lying pale and motionless on the hospital bed. Tears on the faces of her aunts. A dark, hollow feeling inside as Jenna realized how powerless she was.
Never again, she had vowed that day. Never again would she rely on a magic that had betrayed her. Now here she was, breaking that vow, and she was shocked by how easily it had come to her, like an old friend eager to welcome her back.
Jenna scrubbed herself down with the lavender soap, washed her hair as best she could, then reluctantly climbed out of the bath and toweled herself down.
She eyed her pile of clothes. She did not relish the thought of putting them on again.
They were mud-stained and unpleasant-looking, but she’d not brought a change of clothes with her.
She knew she should have gone home and packed.
But she needn’t have worried. The door opened and Ingrid stuck her head through. Jenna yelped and wrapped the towel around herself.
“I heard ye get out of the bath,” Ingrid said, completely unbothered by Jenna’s embarrassment. “And knew ye would be wanting a change of clothes. The laird has sent some up for ye.”
Oh, he has, has he? Jenna thought, wondering exactly what Arran would know about how twenty-first century women dressed.
Pulling the towel tight around herself, Jenna followed Ingrid back into the bedroom and looked around for a clean pair of jeans, shirt, and underwear.
She didn’t see any. What she did see was a long flowing burgundy dress laid out on the bed, some kind of underskirt, and what Jenna could only describe as a corset.
She looked at Ingrid. “You’ve got to be kidding, right? You can’t expect me to wear that!”
“The laird sent it up for ye especially. He said he would like ye to wear it.”
“Oh did he? Well, I’ll wear just what I please, thank you very much. I reckon if I wiped my jeans down, they’d be just fine—”
“He said it was important that ye blend in when ye go about the island.”
Jenna paused. “Blend in? Why? Everyone knows who I am and where I come from.”
“Everyone in Dun Tabor knows,” Ingrid corrected. “But the people in the outlying villages dinna. And the laird says it might be best if ye dinna stand out to any enemies.”
Enemies? Jenna swallowed thickly. What enemies could she possibly have?
The raiders, she thought, remembering the burned-out ships she’d seen yesterday.
“All right, fine,” she said, running her hand along the arm of the dress. She had to admit it was beautiful. Made from a fine satin but with velvet panels on the bodice, it would no doubt look amazing on Ingrid or Rosaline. But on her, she suspected it would look nothing short of ridiculous.
“Wonderful!” Ingrid said, clapping her hands together. “Then I will help ye dress!”
It turned out that, despite her protestations to the contrary, Jenna most definitely needed Ingrid’s help to get into the dress.
It was a complicated affair with many layers that had to be followed in order, and then a set of hooks up the back of the dress that she couldn’t reach by herself.
By the time she was finished, she was feeling irritable and her headache was worse.
Did women in this time have to put up with this every day? How did they stand it?
When she was finished, Ingrid stepped back and looked Jenna over. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “Ye look like a princess.”
“Really?” Jenna asked, looking down at her arms hidden in the dress’s long, bell-sleeves and the way the dress flowed over her hips and fell to the floor in waves. “I feel like one of those frilly plastic women you put over a toilet roll.”
Ingrid blinked, uncomprehending, and Jenna waved a hand. “Never mind. Well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep the laird waiting.”
“Would ye not care for some breakfast first?”
Jenna eyed the steaming tray. The smell coming from it made her stomach turn. “You know what? I think I’ll skip breakfast.”
*
Arran paced the bailey with barely concealed impatience. Where was she? Was she going to keep him waiting all morning? As lord of this castle, he was used to everyone working to his timescales and wasn’t accustomed to being kept waiting. He didn’t like it one little bit.