Chapter 5 #2
Victoria found that she could not seem to stop making comparisons between the gentlemen of the ton and the burly man in front of her. Yet, he touched her with surprising tenderness as he examined her skin. He gestured for her other hand, and she did not hesitate to give it to him.
What must he be thinking? Was he thinking less of her because she had been in the situation that had caused those wounds?
She knew on more than one occasion that she had felt that way about herself, especially considering she had never imagined that she would allow herself to fall for a snake’s tricks.
She had read enough stories of villains and rogues that she should have been able to see Charles for what he truly was the very moment she met him, yet she had been fooled.
“Apologies,” Arran said as she winced involuntarily.
The skin of her wrist tingled where he had touched it.
He dropped her gloves on the back of the small single chair that faced the fireplace. Just about every piece of furniture in the meager room seemed like it had seen better days, but at least she was unbound, free to walk back and forth if she chose to, able to sleep and bathe unshackled.
He turned to the small bag that he had pulled from his horse and brought with him.
Victoria tried to lift onto her tiptoes to see if she could peek around his broad figure into the contents of his possessions, despite knowing how rude that would be considered.
But she could not manage to see around him.
She was shocked, however, when he produced a small jar with a pinkish-looking cream inside it. He sniffed it as if it might have expired, then nodded to himself. He recapped the jar and placed it in her palm.
“After ye’re done with yer bath, put a thick layer on yer wrists; it will ease some of the achin’,” he said matter-of-factly, and the kindness of the gesture could have brought her to tears.
Her throat felt thick, and she did not trust herself to speak, so she merely nodded.
Did he not need this medicine or whatever it was?
He, too, had plenty of injured parts that might have greatly benefited from it.
Gazing down at the jar, she knew she would just have to be very sparing in her application, despite his instructions to the contrary.
She would not leave him without a goodbye.
Arran gestured to the door. “I’ll spend a while out in the hallway while ye bathe. Ye’ll nae be disturbed.”
She had not acknowledged until that moment that the promised tub that would soon be filled was sitting in front of the fireplace. They could not both be in here at the same time.
He paused on the threshold, his hand lingering on the doorknob. “What do I call ye, eh?”
She could lie.
The stubborn, headstrong part of her wanted to give him her title and nothing less.
She could give him her family name, but the last thing that she needed was her father being drawn into this and making a bigger mess of things.
Even worse, it might somehow lead these men to her sister, and she certainly could not have that.
“Victoria,” she answered, as that was the simplest thing that she could offer, and it felt like an olive branch as Arran bowed his head and left her to the relative peace of the room.
She listened briefly for the sound of a key turning in the lock, so accustomed to that awful noise that it almost felt wrong when she did not hear it.
Satisfied that she was not imprisoned, she walked over to the wooden tub at the front of the room to inspect it.
A smaller wash basin was toward the back of the room, and there was a wooden sort of rail near the heat of the fire where she could drape her garments should she so choose to.
“This is not so bad,” she murmured, sitting down on the single chair as she waited for the water to arrive.
The room was warm and cozy, and it touched her heart to see that a few wildflowers and a bundle of dried lavender had been placed beside the bathtub for her indulgence should she wish it. They did think that it was her wedding night, after all.
Half an hour and many buckets of water later, Victoria had herself a bath to look forward to, prompting her to undress before it cooled too much.
She struggled with the laces and buttons on the back of her gown and knew that a few of them were just going to have to simply break to be removed because she certainly was not going to ask Arran for assistance.
Never mind the fact that she had absolutely no desire to see that gown again.
She placed his shirt carefully over the small drying bars close to the fire and left her dress crumpled on the floor.
She pulled all the pins from her hair slowly, sighing in relief when the pressure was removed from her head before turning to the tub.
The water was tepid at best, but it was exactly what she needed after such a harrowing day.
She sighed as she let the water submerge her, easing more tension than she had even been aware that she had been carrying.
Too much so, perhaps, as it allowed her mind to wander.
She dropped the lavender in the bath and used the small bar of soap to scrub her hair and skin as best she could.
It had almost no scent. She knew that she had been very privileged growing up in the way that she had—indeed, they probably could have done with fewer luxuries—but she had never been forced to confront it before.
She did not think of herself as very snooty, certainly not as much as some of her peers, but it was humbling nonetheless.
If Arran had not come and abducted her, she did not doubt that she would still be in a bathtub right about now, but she would not be the least bit relaxed.
She would have all of those maids around her, scrubbing her until she was bright pink, massaging fragrant oils into her skin, the scents all chosen to Charles’ preferences.
They would have been readying her for the Earl to claim her, to consummate the marriage that she had been forced into.
She would have been defiled and ruined, and all hope of finding another husband or even just the freedom to seek a future on her own would have been robbed from her.
Victoria covered her mouth with both of her hands to stop the sound of her dry sob from echoing any further into the room.
If she had not been stolen away by Arran, she would have been locked in a marriage to that monster for the rest of her life.
Everything that had happened over the course of the day seemed to slam into her all at once, and no amount of muffling herself could stop the guttural sobs that wracked her chest. A deep, cathartic crying session that unwound the knots in her chest and all the fear that she had been pretending did not exist.
Victoria did not even hear the door open, nor any of the knocks preceding it.