“Lady MacLeod ordered me to help ye,” the maid sneered. Abigail raised her chin and cast as imperious a glare as she’d ever managed toward the maid. She sniffed and turned up her nose. She wouldn’t cower before servants, knowing the woman would report to Cecily, if not Cormag. If they thought her already cowed, they would ignore her. She needed as much information as she could gather. The young brunette stood beside the bath once the door closed, waiting for Abigail to approach. Abigail stood her ground, refusing to follow the woman’s silent command. The standoff lasted several minutes before the woman huffed and muttered something about having better things to do than wait on a bitch. Abigail nearly asked if that was to wait on another bitch, namely Lady MacLeod.
Once the maid stepped behind Abigail and wrestled the matted and knotted laces, she helped Abigail peel the damp, salt-encrusted gown from her arms. Free from her kirtle and chemise, Abigail stepped into the tub. She knew the maid was assessing her, but the temptation of the steamy water grew too strong. She eased her body beneath the surface, but she didn’t dunk her head. Instead, she leaned her head back, never taking her eyes off the maid. The maid reached for the soap and a linen square, but Abigail was faster.
“I’d rather you find me some clothes. Please.” Abigail’s tone made it a command, but she conceded to a basic curtesy. She worked quickly to scrub her hair while the maid stared at her. She poured the clean ewer of water over her head herself, still watching the other woman. When the maid didn’t budge, Abigail released a mirthless laugh. “Very well. But I doubt Lady MacLeod will appreciate me turning up before her husband bare as a tavern whore because we both ken the laird will demand to see me. Your head, not mine.”
Abigail lazily ran the soapy cloth over her arms as she grinned at the maid. The woman paused, pursing her lips before nodding. She went to the door and rapped on it once. Abigail slipped further beneath the water, draping the cloth over her breasts and bringing her knees up to hide her mons. She knew guards remained in the passageway, and she wouldn’t offer any of them a peek. Gruff voices confirmed what she knew, but the door closed and the lock clicked. She hurried to finish her bath, wrapping a drying linen around her waist and another around her chest. She draped the third one over her shoulders, covering as much as she could. She moved to stand behind where the door would open, once more refusing to allow the men to see her. When the door swung open, it nearly hit her, but she recognized that Cecily intended to make a grand entrance. She watched the woman enter the chamber and look around. Abigail pushed the door hard enough for it to slam, making Cecily jump before she turned to look at Abigail.
“Holy hell.”
“Thank you for welcoming me to your home,” Abigail returned. She would not curtsy to the woman. Now that she was Lady MacKinnon, they were of equal social status. Abigail didn’t know if the rude greeting was because of her appearance or due to recognition. She had her answer soon enough.
“You’re Madeline’s sister. Bluidy hell.”
“I believe I shall agree that I’m in hell, but I see you recognize me. I’m Lady Abigail MacKinnon. I take it you know my sister.”
“We were ladies-in-waiting together briefly. I married a month after she arrived. You could practically be twins. And you have the look of your brother, too.”
“So I’ve been told. Perhaps you could convey that to your husband.”
Cecily nodded before she looked at the gown draped over her arm. She held it up, surveying whether it would fit Abigail. With a nod, she laid it, along with a chemise and a pair of stockings, on the bed. Abigail eased across the chamber until she stood beside the bed where she’d hidden her boots. She reached for the chemise and tugged it on before letting the linens fall to the floor. She grabbed the stockings but pretended to drop them. She snagged her blade from her boots as she bent to pick up the clothing. With a haughty glance at Cecily, she turned her back to don the stockings. Fortunately, they were tight at the top even without a ribbon to cinch them.
Neither the maid nor Cecily noticed that one of Abigail’s ribbon garters was exceptionally wide and held a sheath. She slipped her dirk into place before turning back around. She bent again and picked up her boots. She placed them before the fire, hoping that by the time she left the chamber, they would be dry. Cecily watched in silence as Abigail returned to the foot of the bed and pulled the kirtle on. It laced at the sides, so Abigail didn’t need help.
“Are you going to tell Cormag who I am?” Abigail’s lack of deference by using the laird’s given name was purposeful, and she knew she hit the mark when Cecily’s eyes widened a fraction. Their disdain matched one another.
“Aye. I suppose I must.”
“And just what do you think he’ll say when he discovers he had Kieran’s sister in his dungeon?”
Cecily flinched before she nodded. She glanced at Abigail’s boots and huffed. “A moment.” Cecily went to the door, knocking just as the maid had. The door opened, and Cecily gave a whispered command to someone Abigail couldn’t see. Abigail strained to look past Cecily and into the passageway, but broad shoulders that nearly met blocked her view. However, it allowed her to learn that two men guarded her door. When Cecily turned back toward Abigail, she had a pair of satin slippers in her hand. Abigail gratefully took them, a hint of a genuine smile tugging at her lips. It relieved her that she wouldn’t have to traverse the freezing stone floors in just her stockings. She knew many servants did just that, and she could have, but she’d dreaded it. The slippers were a little loose, but she was confident she wouldn’t step out of them.
“Come with me. The evening meal will be served soon,” Cecily announced. Abigail hadn’t realized so much time elapsed between the attack that came shortly after midday and when she left the chamber. It surprised her that Cormag would allow her to leave the room. She followed the guard who walked in front of Cecily, painfully aware of the two guards who walked behind her. They made their way to the Great Hall, where Abigail took in everything she could see. She spotted the doors leading to the bailey and to the kitchens, a dark passageway she assumed led to storage rooms, and a door she guessed was Cormag’s solar. She swept her gaze over the two enormous fireplaces, the swords and shields hanging above them, and the tapestries that covered the walls. She noticed the fresh rushes over a floor that needed scrubbing. She finally looked to the table on the dais. Cormag and Gordon sat together talking, a chalice in either of their hands. At her appearance, both men stared at her. She moved toward the dais along with Cecily.
“Husband, I would introduce you to Lady Abigail MacKinnon,” Cecily announced.
“I’m Kieran’s sister,” Abigail blurted before anyone could say more. She locked eyes with Cormag, daring him to respond.
“Shite.”
“I’d say that’s exactly what you’re up to your eyeballs in,” Abigail replied to Cormag. She turned her gaze to Gordon. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so quick to gag me.”
Gordon rose from his seat, his hands on the table as he leaned forward. With a menacing glare, he snarled, “And perhaps you shouldn’t have been so quick to kill my brother.”
Abigail shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t lead an attack if you’re not prepared to die.”
“You’ve got the same bollocks as Kieran,” Cormag broke in.
“The three of us inherited them from our mother.” Lady Adeline MacLeod had a reputation for being a vain spendthrift, but people also knew her for her iron will and sharp tongue. She was certain her sister Madeline’s reputation was also well known, both from her time at court and her steadfast insistence that the Grants rescue her husband after they lost Fingal during battle. Kieran’s loyalty and protectiveness of Maude was known throughout the Highlands. “Release my husband and our men, and mayhap this will slip my mind in my next missive to my brother.”
“Or mayhap your husband’s clan and your brother’s will spend a pretty penny to keep your head on your shoulders,” Cormag countered.
“You really are as big a fool as they say at court,” Abigail muttered, but she made certain those on the dais and around her heard.
“Care to say that with some courage?” Gordon tested. Abigail grinned, making Gordon grimace.
“You really are as big a fool as they say at court,” Abigail repeated loudly enough for most of the Great Hall to hear. Gasps, coughs, and a few quiet chuckles met Abigail’s ears. She shrugged again. “You asked.”
“You don’t seem to value your life,” Cormag mused.
