Darlei exchanged a desperate look with Orle. She had indeed been visited by her round and had herself washed the cloths, hoping to keep it secret.
She dared not let MacNabh know.
“Not yet,” she said with what dignity she could muster.
“Ye’re lyin’! The woman what cleans in here says she saw the blood.”
“That was me.” Orle stepped forward bravely. “Mine.”
Mistress MacNabh turned a fierce gaze on Orle. She had the same pale-blue eyes as her son, stark in her impossibly wrinkled face.
“Liar,” she said again. “There was blood in yon bed.”
“We share the bed, my servant and me.” Orle was so much more than a servant. But Darlei had to speak what this old woman would understand.
Mistress MacNabh snorted. “Is that wha’ ye Caledonians do? Women sleep together?”
“When we need comfort.” The words went over the crone’s head.
“I will tell my son. I will tell him I think ye be lyin’. He will come to see for himsel’.”
See for himself? How, by stripping her down? Darlei shuddered.
“Meanwhile, ye are to come out to supper.”
“Me?” Darlei laid a hand upon her breast. “Why?”
“How should I know? Ye be his wife. Ye will do as he commands.”
The crone went out. Orle hurried to shut the door behind her, giving them a glimpse of the guard who stood beyond.
Darlei and Orle stared at one another in horror.
“She did not believe us,” Darlei said.
“Nay.”
“Oh, what am I to do?”
*
Darlei had forgottenhow badly the hall stank. Her chamber did not smell fresh either, having two women shut in with a chamber pot and precious little water for washing.
She had never in her life lived so, and these people calledherssavages. But MacNabh’s hall smelled of spoiled meat, and the rotted straw on the floor, and the urine of dogs—of sheer filth.
It smelled of MacNabh himself, and when the wave of it hit Darlei, it took her immediately back to her first day of marriage. MacNabh pushing her face down on the bed.
She’d been wrapped in a cloud of his stink while he did what he did.
It made her falter as she entered the chamber, caused her hard-held dignity to waver. She did not know what she’d expected when summoned to dinner. That there would be company, mayhap. That Father and his party might have returned to take her away again.
The room, though, contained but a single board. The few attendees were MacNabh himself, his mother, Roisin, and assorted servants.
“Come, sit,” MacNabh called to her.
The day had seemed more like late than early autumn, the air coming through Darlei’s slit window cool. The hall felt cold, and the fire struggled to burn, filling the space once more with smoke. A meager meal already lay spread out.
The three sat ranged on one side. A single bench faced them. Darlei seated herself there.
