Chapter Seven
Ismay opened her eyes several hours later to sunlight streaming through the window in the north wall, straight into her face.
Squinting, she sat up and smiled. She’d slept soundly without dark dreams plaguing her.
She ignored the rumble in her belly as she had learned well to do during the days she went without food.
Her thoughts were too fixed on the leader of the Cameron/MacDonald clan outside her door.
Was he still there? Had he truly been standing boldly in her bed chamber last night?
She could have dreamed it, after all, she had dreamed of him until she opened her eyes a moment ago.
He looked quite fine in his bedrobe open at the waist. His chest was not bare but softly concealed in thin beaten wool with breeches to match. His underclothes.
She blushed a little remembering sitting with him in his bedclothes in the Great Hall.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed just as the door opened and an older woman entered. She was Bethia the head chambermaid of Tor. According to Hugh, she mainly served the Lochiel. Her plaited hair fell between her shoulders in gray streaks against black.
The head chambermaid carried an armful of skirts, and a cream-colored corset expertly embroidered with tiny ladybugs and shoes in fabric to match. “The Lochiel had these fashioned fer ye according to yer preferences.”
Ismay eyed the clothes then remarked gently. “I do love ladybugs but as I told one of the chambermaids who asked last eve, my preference was breeches and a tunic.”
“The Lochiel would not have ye run away and feels ye are more prone to do so in manly attire.”
Ismay lifted a brow. “He told ye that?”
“Not in those words, but he made himself clear enough.”
Ismay went to her and took the bundle from her hands, “He obviously doesna know me verra well. I will run in skirts as quickly as in breeches.”
She felt the head chambermaid’s eyes on her as she went to stand by a chair and set the gown on it. “Will ye help me dress?” she asked, looking up from the voluminous fabric.
“Ye will wear it then?”
“Of course. I used to wear fine gowns before I left home.”
“So, ’tis true, then. Ye are a runaway.” Bethia went to her and began to help her undress.
“It must have been quite terrible fer a pretty lass like yerself to leave the safety of yer home.”
Ismay told her about her mother and her betrothal to the power-hungry chief of a powerful clan, but the chambermaid seemed only half interested in her tale.
“Most husbands seek prestige or power through marriage,” the older woman told her. “I can tell by the way ye speak that ye are a lady, no mere vassal. This chief was gaining from a union with ye. There is nothing wrong with that. It doesna mean he would have mistreated ye.”
Ismay swallowed and reached up to her hair.
Misreading her slight touch, Bethia examined her tresses with a kind smile. “’Tis short, but I can pin it.”
“He cut it all off.”
The head chambermaid stopped helping her into her corset and dipped her gaze to Ismay’s. “Did I hear ye right, child? Yer betrothed cut off all yer hair?”
Ismay nodded. She felt a wave of sadness overwhelm her.
Before she could stop them, tears welled up in her eyes.
“He took out his knife and for a moment I thought he was going to cut out my tongue. He said my hair was like fire…it made him…” The shame of his words in front of her mother returned and heated her face.
“He said my feminine wiles would not be tolerated and stepped behind me to slice it off.”
Bethia took her hand and covered it with hers. She was silent for a moment or two, then seeming to gather her mettle, she smiled. “No matter, child. ’Twill grow back and in the meantime, I will arrange it so that no one will even notice that yer locks are missing.”
Ismay swiped at a lone tear and smiled in return. She was surprised by how much better she felt just being able to tell someone what Chief MacRae had done to her.
“Is he out there?” she asked while Bethia helped her into a fresh chemise.
“Who, lady?”
“The Lochiel.”
Bethia looked toward the window, then toward the door. “Is he oot where?”
Ismay leaned in closer to the older woman’s ear. “Outside my door?”
“Ootside yer…?” Bethia pulled away to stare at her. “Why would he be ootside yer door, child? Is he so troubled about ye leaving that he—” She laughed and waved her own concerns away. “My, such a fanciful notion.”
“What is so fanciful about it?” Ismay put to her, brooding just a little.
“Only that he doesna usually trouble himself with such things as lasses.”
“Doesna usually,” Ismay repeated. “Did he not have skirts fashioned fer me thinking I wouldna run away in them?”
Bethia caught her meaning and frowned at the door.
“There is no need to look disappointed,” Ismay told her. “I dinna intend to stay here.”
The head chambermaid’s frown turned on her. “Where do ye intend to go, child?”
“Now that ye mention it,” Ismay said, turning to look at Bethia behind her as the older woman moved to continue dressing her. “Where is the nearest convent?”
She took an involuntary step backwards when Bethia pulled on the laces to tighten Ismay’s coral-colored corset. She pulled tight but the corset remained loose.
“Stay at least until I fatten ye up some.”
Ismay agreed, happy that Bethia was the second person concerned about her well-being. Even if it was just what she put in her belly. It felt nice, and somewhat familiar to be cared for.
“As fer the Lochiel,” Bethia said in a low voice, turning her around to face her. “He suffers, child. Mayhap too much fer ye to bear. Strengthen yerself, even more than before, against losing yer heart to such a man.”
Ismay felt her heart thumping like a battle drum in her throat.
“Such a man?” she asked on an offended breath.
“Do ye know that he sat outside my door at the inn fer not one night, but two to keep me safe? He brought me here though had I another day to consider it, I would not have come. I asked him to stay while I remained and he agreed despite his plans to go to Ben Nevis. There might be more but at the moment I find my heart consumed with my words, so I will remain quiet. But if ye mean to insult him calling him anything other than what he has shown me, stop now.”
The head chambermaid gave her a pitying sigh.
“Very well then, he isna oot there. He left early this morn to bathe in the loch. He should be returning to the castle any moment now.” She looked to the door and tilted her head.
“Now, that I think of it, he did tell Lachlan to stay by yer door and have one of the gels check on ye every quarter of an hour.”
Ismay smiled hearing the older woman’s claim. She wondered if she hurried down the stairs and out of the castle could she reach the loch where he bathed?
Run to a man? Her?
She clenched her fists. She did not want to think about whether or not she was a fool and a traitor to her heart.
She was not anyone special that the Lochiel would consider her anything but a poor sot.
He pitied her. That’s what it was, she told herself as the chambermaid finished tying all her laces and began pulling up her hair.
She tried a number of different styles before deciding on one and gathering pins between her lips.
Ismay would not let thoughts spawned by the Lochiel hypnotize and tempt her with things she did not want, like a man in her life.
Temptation. Self-betrayal. Thoughtfulness.
Pleasure. He was every temptation wrapped in sun-kissed skin and a heart laid out on the sleeve of his armor.
Of course, she would do everything in her power to resist him, but she wasn’t ready to leave Tor Castle yet.
She had not wanted to come, but now that she was here, sleeping in a soft bed, eating more than one meal a day, not looking over her shoulder to see if Chief MacRae or Marjorie MacPherson were behind her, feeling safe, being safe in the company of Constantine Cameon, she resisted giving it all up.
There came a knock at the door. “Aye?’ Bethia called out through clenched lips.
“Tis I,” the Lochiel’s deep voice seemed to seep through the wood. “May I enter?”
“Aye,” Bethia allowed without checking with Ismay first.
Before Ismay had a chance to prepare, he opened the door and strode inside.
He stopped when his soft, umber gaze settled on her.
His dark hair was wet though no longer dripping down his shoulders.
He looked especially pleasing to her eyes dressed in light-brown breeches and a rich, dark-brown tunic, belted low on his waist.
His feet were bare.
Bethia tugged on Ismay’s unruly curls and pinned them to Ismay’s head with a pearl pin. Ismay didn’t care if it were a diamond, it still hurt. But more painful was the way the Lochiel was staring at her. Was he…breathless? Ismay shook her head at her mad thoughts.
He blinked and looked away, ashamed at being caught admiring her. He was admiring her, was he not? He was difficult to read, always stoic and unruffled—unless he wanted her to see, like a bashful prince bringing his hidden heart into view.
Traitorously, Ismay was tempted to smile, but she sucked in a deep breath when the chambermaid pinned another group of curls…and Ismay’s flesh.
“Bethia, leave us.” His deep voice cut a rift through the air.
Bethia had no choice but to abandon the rest of her pins and obey. When she passed him, she cast him a disapproving glance. “I will leave the door open.”
The Lochiel didn’t reply to her but scowled so slightly, Ismay almost missed it.
Alone in her bedchamber, his gaze found hers again. “Ye look bonnie.”
She blushed and reached up to touch her hair. She hated the MacRae chief more than ever for making her feel so ashamed in front of “such a man.”
She didn’t know in which way the chambermaid meant her words, “such a man,” but Ismay thought of them in a good light.