Chapter 10
The bath was deep and warm, and the water had been laced with lavender, indeed a courtesy of Nina’s meddlesome kindness. Steam curled around Amara’s bare shoulders, as she eased into the silence.
Which did very little to calm the tangle in her chest.
Why had he nae introduced her to me? I was right there.
She slid lower into the water, eyes squeezing shut.
Daenae be a daft fool.
The kiss still lingered in her core, like a flame that wouldn’t go out.
Her thighs started to cramp from clenching them for so long, but the ache only reminded her of the heat that bloomed between them.
There was something about that kiss that made her second guess everything she had known about lust.
Amara winced thinking back to a time when she and her maid had turned their noses up at the painted lassies of the public house in town. They had prayed for the sinners who gave into the carnal vices. And here she was, one of them.
“Sorry, maither,” she whispered, her brown eyes landing on the dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling. “I’ll be good, I swear it.”
She shut her eyes once more, held her breath, and then let the water creep slowly over her face. For a brief moment, it dulled the ache and silenced the questions.
When she rose again, the crisp air kissed her skin with a chill, and she reached for the warmed towel that Nina had draped over the screen.
Leighton might be onto something… it is drafty.
Her stomach started to growl as she twisted the cloth around her hair tucking the loose ends behind her ears before walking naked and dripping across the room.
The gown that Nina had come in and laid out for her earlier was waiting for her like a promise.
It was a midnight blue velvet arrangement with silver threading at the sleeves and neckline.
It shimmered subtly I the lamplight, her fingertips brushing the fabric.
The kind of dress that made Amara feel like a lady again, and not a pawn in someone else’s feud… or worse, a prisoner.
She dressed slowly, pulling the soft fabrics over her curves and smoothing it over her waist. The lining was soft, and she moaned uncontrollably at the feeling.
Next, she brushed out her damp curls until they framed her face and fell in wild spirals down her back. Then she moved across the room to stand in front of the long looking glass, and paused.
Staring back at her with familiar, caramel-colored eyes, was the spitting image of her mother.
Twisting and unruly blonde curls falling far below her back, proud shoulders rolled back almost painfully taut, and recognizable rosy cheeks.
She hadn’t recognized the stark likeness before, not truly anyway. But now it stared her full in the face.
And a sharp pain welled in her lungs.
Was this why faither hated me so? Was I a painful reminder of her? A ghost?
Her throat tightened and eyes pricked as she tore her gaze from the glass.
The hallway outside her chamber was dim, lit only by a few flickering sconces and the low gleam of evening settling through the narrow arrow slits in the stone.
She made her way down the corridor toward the stairwell that she was to take to get down to the dining hall.
Nina’s directions were quite clear, and she followed them carefully through the maze so as to not get lost and even later than she already was.
Her mind raced around thoughts of seeing Rhys again as her slippers whispered softly against the floor.
She thought of what he might look like all clean and wearing a crisp dinner tunic.
She thought about his soft smile around his daughter, and hoped she might caught a glimpse of one of his more devasting smiles, as Nina had indicated earlier.
He kissed me back. He held me up. He wanted it just as much as I did. It wasnae just me. It wasnae all in me head.
Her thoughts teetered on cruelty and bitterness before she pushed them away. She wished to see him again, this time in a far more presentable appearance. Eager to see the look in his eyes when she walked in the room, her pace hastened.
By the time she finally reached the dining hall, the noise was already thick with laughter, metal goblets clanking, and dogs barking playfully underfoot. Voices rose and fell like waves on the shore as benches and chairs scraped on the old stone.
Her heart fluttered in her chest as the paused on the landing under the towering entryway, feeling ever so small.
Steady now. Ye look well enough, even if ye are their enemy. Hold yer head high no matter what.
Drawing a deep breath, she pushed open the great oak door and stepped through.
She scanned the crowd.
Men in O’Donnell colors. A few curious glances met hers. And then more. And then all.
None of them belonged to Rhys.
Her heart sank, quickly and sharply. He wasn’t there. Not even sitting up at the high table. Not a single familiar gaze caught her eyes. No William. No Myles.
She was alone.
Amara tried to school her expression, stepping into the room with her chin lifted as a hush followed her like her shadow. The great hall, so loud only moments before, seemed to tilt on its axis. The laughter quieted as did the scraping of cutlery. And still, she kept walking.
Down the rows of clansmen she went, their faces lined and weathered, their stares bold or averted. Some eyes slid away in shame as she made a point to meet them. Others lingered. Too long. Too bold. And she did the same. A silent dare.
Her velvet gown whispered as she moved, but the weight of it now felt heavier than when she’d put it on. As if the fine cloth marked her out even more.
She sat swiftly at the long table, alone, her spine stiff, her hands folding neatly in her lap. The warmth in her chest bleeding out like a wound.
The food had already been served to the dining tables, but nothing had been prepared yet for the head table. Still, the room wafted with the divine aromas of hearty mutton, roasted vegetables laced with intoxicating herbs, and fresh oatcakes. It should have made her mouth water.
But her stomach twisted and knotted.
Then, a lad, no older than thirteen, approached with a trencher of steaming stew. He walked with a forced purpose. His thin shoulders were set back in mimicry of a soldier’s march. His jaw was tight, and his gaze never quite met hers.
… should just eat in me chambers.
The thought cracked across her mind as fast as a whip, and she felt strength creep back into her bones.
“Ta, young man, but would you please ask Nina to bring this up to me chambers?” she asked gently.
The boy looked at her, his upper lip twitching fiercely, fighting the urge to curl as if she had just insulted his family line by speaking to him. His eyes were bright with disdain far too old for his years.
“Too fine to eat with the likes of us, then, are ye, Lady Amara Murdoch?”
Amara blinked. “Excuse me?”
He sneered, and some of the men nearby slammed their metal cups onto the table encouraging the lad’s bitterness like a drumline of approval.
“Should be ye servin’ us, as a prisoner. Nae the other way ‘round.”
The words hit like a slap and were colder than ice. Amara felt every eye in the room settle on her, waiting for any excuse to let loose their fury. Her throat tightened, but she didn’t flinch. It was a test. They were looking for weakness, expecting to be satiated, and she wasn’t going to indulge.
She stood slowly, placing her napkin back on the table with a deliberate grace and faced the lad with an unwavering calm. “Tell Nina that I’ll take supper upstairs.”
The boy muttered something low and vile under his breath, just loud enough to be heard by the nearest men. They howled with laughter, pounding the tables again with their cups and their fists. The noise rose in sharp contrast to the stillness in Amara’s chest.
But she still refused to satisfy their pettiness with a response.
She simply turned and walked away, her head high, her spine like iron.
The velvet skirts swept behind her, catching on the stone as she retraced her steps across the hall.
Whispers followed, but she didn’t give them a backward glance.
Only when she was surely out of sight did her stride falter.
Her knees nearly buckled halfway up the stairs. Her hand shook as she reached for the wall for balance. By the time she made it to her chamber door, her breathing was ragged and her limbs felt cold.
She managed to slam the door shut behind her and locked it with numb fingers.
And then she broke.
She collapsed onto the bed, sobs tearing out of her like splinters. They clawed their way from a place too deep to realize and too buried to name. Her whole body shook as she pressed her face into the mattress and screamed.
It wasn’t just the unkind boy. No. He had just been the messenger. The venom in his words had the shape of something older, more familiar. More familial.
It’s him.
Her father. It was every day since the feast six years ago. Every time she was told to hold her tongue, sit still, or be quiet. I was every day she hadn’t been chosen. It was being unwanted by the man who was supposed to protect her.
And now, it was Rhys.
He left me alone to dine with those wolves. He dinnae wish to introduce me to his daughter.
Her fists curled into the coverlet. “Stupid, daft, foolish lass,” she screamed into the mattress. Her voice cracked, and the ache in her chest felt like she was drowning.
Amara’s face burned and her shoulders heaved. The gown was a wrinkled mess beneath her weight, and she just wanted to tear it from her skin. Strip the fabric all away.
She didn’t belong here.
She barely heard the knock at first.
Then it came again, followed by the gentle creak of her door.
“’Scuse me, lady?”
The clatter of cutlery was far softer in the smaller hall, but the uproar of the men next door still crept through and echoed off the stone walls from time to time.