Chapter 2 #2
She smoothed her hand over her skirts as if it would erase those wayward thoughts.
It did not help. A soft footfall sounded behind her.
Horatia turned sharply, expecting a maid in cap and apron.
Instead, an elderly woman stood a few paces away, as still as a portrait, her gray hair coiled in a severe knot.
Her dress was plain but neat, and her gaze was shrewd in a manner that made Horatia feel immediately examined and, worse, found wanting.
“Ye’ll be Miss…” Her voice trailed off as she Lachlan hadn’t given her Horatia’s name.
Perhaps he hadn’t… The woman’s mouth tightened, as if the title itself offended her. “The lady the laird brought home.”
Horatia lifted her chin. “I am Lady Horatia Whitaker. My carriage had a mishap…” She stopped. Why was she even explaining herself to this woman. She cleared her throat and said in a cool tone. “I trust his lordship explained I am in need of assistance.”
“Lady Horatia,” she corrected, voice steady. “Aye. He did.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, taking in Horatia’s dirty hem and travel-worn skirts, the faint tremor she could not entirely suppress.
“I’m Mrs. MacRae. I keep this house from tumblin’ intae chaos.
” Her gaze moved past Horatia, toward the corridor where Lachlan had disappeared. “He said ye wanted a bath.”
“Yes,” Horatia said, suddenly conscious of how clipped she sounded. “If it is not too much trouble.”
Mrs. MacRae made a sound that might have been a scoff or a sigh; it was difficult to tell which. “Trouble is what he drags in with every good intention.” She motioned, brisk and unyielding. “Come along. Ye’ll catch yer death standin’ about admirin’ the draughts.”
Horatia followed, her boots quiet on the stone.
The passageways were narrower than the foyer and more intimate, lit by sconces that threw soft, flickering light over tapestries and antlers.
The scent of peat smoke lingered in the walls.
Somewhere deeper in the house, she heard voices—men, perhaps—low and indistinct.
“Are there many… guests?” she asked, choosing the safest sort of question.
“No,” Mrs. MacRae replied. “No one but the servants about. Lachlan isn’t the socializing type.”
That did not reassure Horatia in the slightest. They climbed a staircase, turned twice, and came to a chamber that was warmer than the rest of the house.
A fire burned low in the grate. The bed was canopied, the linens pale, the furniture heavy, as if built to outlast generations.
A copper tub stood near the hearth, steam rising from it in delicate ribbons.
Horatia’s eyes stung unexpectedly at the sight.
She had not realized how deeply she craved warmth until it was in front of her.
Mrs. MacRae began to unhook the cloak from Horatia’s shoulders without asking permission, efficient as a surgeon. “I can manage,” Horatia said, though her fingers were stiff and uncooperative.
“Aye, and ye can also scrub yer own back with your elbows,” Mrs. MacRae said, unimpressed. She set the cloak over a chair. “If ye’re determined to be proud, do it in private. I’ll send in one of the girls to help ye wash. They’ll be quick and they’ll keep their tongues in their heads.”
Horatia nodded, humiliated by her own relief.
Mrs. MacRae paused at the door, one hand on the latch, and fixed Horatia with that same sharp scrutiny. “Ye’ll dine with him.”
“Yes.” It would be rude to hide in he room. Lachlan had come to her aid.
“Aye. One of the girls will show ye where tae go.” Her voice turned drier.
Horatia’s pulse quickened. “He promised he would send a letter to the Earl of Rosebery.”
Mrs. MacRae’s eyes flicked over her face, as if measuring the weight of that name. “Promised, did he?” She grinned.
There was something in the woman’s tone that sent her on edge. There was almost something gleeful in it that did not bode well. What did that mean. “Yes. He did.”
“Then it’ll be done,” Mrs. MacRae said, brisk again, but there was something in the way she spoke that still made her wonder at her statement. Why was that idea so intriguing to the woman? “Lachlan does foolish things, but he does them thoroughly.”
With that, she was gone, leaving Horatia alone with the fire, the steam, and the sudden, aching quiet.
Horatia sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
She should undress. She should bathe. She should rest. Instead, she sat perfectly still and listened to her own heartbeat, as though it might tell her what she could not admit even to herself.
Lachlan had promised and if his promise held—if the letter reached the Earl—then everything might change by morning. Surly her cousin would come to retrieve her. Even if he had a wedding to plan for. He would never leave her stranded at a strange castle with a man she was not acquainted with.
Horatia rose at last, moving to the mirror above the washstand.
The girl who stared back at her looked pale, wind-bruised, her eyes too bright.
She did not look like someone who belonged in a Highland laird’s house after surviving a carriage accident.
Horatia lifted her chin at her own reflection, as if daring herself to falter.
“You will not be frightened,” she whispered. “Not here. Not now.”
The latch clicked softly. A young maid slipped in, curtsying quickly, cheeks pink from the heat. “Miss—my lady,” she corrected herself with a flustered glance, “Mrs. MacRae sent me. I’m Elspeth.”
Horatia forced her features into composure. “Thank you, Elspeth.”
Elspeth moved to the tub, testing the water with her hand. “It’s hot, but not too hot. Shall I—?”
“Yes,” Horatia said, and then, because she was not made of stone, she added more softly, “Please.”
As Elspeth began to unfasten the damp buttons at Horatia’s dress, Horatia let her eyes close for a moment.
The heat against her skin felt like mercy.
Dinner would come soon enough and with it, Lachlan’s questions—his wicked smile, his unsettling ease, and the promise that hovered between them like the mist beyond the windows.
Horatia opened her eyes again. She would meet it all with her head held high.
His teasing meant nothing. Could not mean a damned thing.
Horatia did not belong in the highlands and she certainly could not find the Laird of Montclaire appealing.
So she would bury those feelings like she did every thing else, deep down inside of her.