“Up with ye, mistress.” Coira ripped aside the heavy tapestry covering the window beside the bed, flooding the cozy room with bright sunlight. “Ye’ve slept a full day and a night and ’tis nearly time for this day’s midday meal. Up with ye now. ’Tis time ye rose from yer bed.”
Kenna burrowed deeper into the feather pillow, squinting against the blinding light. She had slept a full day and a night and halfway into another? No way. Rolling to put her back to the sun, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time did you say it was? What day?”
Coira yanked the bedclothes down to the foot of the bed, took hold of Kenna’s arm, and tugged. “The sun is nearly to its highest point. Come now. I’ve brought ye proper clothing but we have a bit of scrubbing to do first.”
Kenna eyed the large stoneware bowl and pitcher waiting on the table where she’d had her meal before going to bed. Lovely.As she ran her tongue across her teeth, she cringed. “First things first. I really need to visit the . . . ” What the hell did they call the bathroom in this era? She went to the end of the bed, lifted the heavy lid of the great, black chest, and fished out her fanny pack from its depths. Garderobe! That was the word.“I need to visit the garderobe and then I have to brush my teeth. I can’t stand morning funk breath.”
Coira fixed her with a wide-eyed look as she held the pitcher cocked above the basin. “Morningwhat?”
“Morning funk breath. You know—where your teeth feel kind of furry and stale when you first get up in the morning?” Kenna could tell by the dubious look on Coira’s face that the maid thought she had lost her mind. Uneasiness settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach. She was really going to have to watch what she said.“Uhm . . . the garderobe?”
“’Tis quite a ways down the hall to the other side of the tower.” Coira crouched beside the bed and pulled a gleaming white pot that greatly resembled a stoneware bucket fitted with the handle of a teapot. “Use the chamber pot so we can be about getting ye washed up and refreshed.”
Kenna stared down at the pot. Seriously?She had squatted behind the barn back in Kentucky, but she had never squatted over a pot—indoors—with a total stranger in the room.
“Go on now. I have yer water ready. Strip down and rid yerself of yer piss. Then I can wash ye good and proper.” Coira scurried to the other side of the bed, yanking free the bedclothes as she rounded the mattress.
Sucking in a deep breath, Kenna gripped the pot between her bare feet and duckwalked it to the other side of the nightstand up against the wall; she just couldn’t stand the thought of touching it with her hands. Beside the table and with her back to the wall, she stood a better chance of tricking herself into thinking she had a little bit of privacy. With one last glance at Coira bustling about the room, she peeled off her soft white tank top and shed her favorite pair of silky white bikinis, then squatted down over the pot and waited. Nothing happened. She could do this. Or not.Her shy, overfull bladder refused.Running water. Running water. Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle.She imagined indoor plumbing and lovely white toilets—with seats. Finally. Success.
Crossing an arm over her bare breasts and keeping the other hand shielding her crotch, she hurried across the room and backed up to the hearth. “I guess I’ll brush my teeth after I wash so I’ll have a place to spit.” Why the hell was she telling this to Coira? Because she wasn’t used to standing naked and having someone she didn’t know wash her.
Coira bobbed her head in agreement. “Aye, mistress. That’s what yer sister usually does.” She soused a cloth in the water, then wrung it out. With a smile, she nodded and spread the cloth across her hand. “Stretch out yer arms.”
Kenna bit her lip and closed her eyes as Coira vigorously scrubbed her from head to toe with the icy water. When she had nearly decided that Coira was determined to remove at least two layers of skin, the scrubbing finally stopped. She opened her eyes just as Coira came at her with a drying cloth.
“Now then. All clean. Do ye not feel refreshed?” Coira’s voice shook as she patted Kenna down with quick, efficient strokes of the cloth.
“Absolutely.” Kenna finally escaped Coira’s ministrations. “I’m good.” Scampering across the room, she scooped up a linen shift from the back of a chair and slid it on over her head. At least now she could brush her teeth without feeling so . . . on display. Her mood lightened considerably once her mouth was minty fresh. She looked to Coira. “Now what?”
“Now yer overdress, stockings, and shoes. Then I shall braid yer hair.” Coira slipped a deep green dress over Kenna’s head and tugged it down into place. “There now. I knew this color would suit ye fine.” She wrapped a long leather belt, fringed on the ends, below Kenna’s waist and fastened it at the front so it rested across the top of her hips, accentuating the long smooth lines of the gown. Bending down, she deftly tugged first one stocking and then the other up to Kenna’s thighs, tugged the ribbons tight, and tied them. A velvety soft pair of doeskin shoes came last.
Kenna wiggled her toes and tugged the bell-shaped sleeves of the overdress straighter across the linen sleeves of her shift. Smoothing her hands down the nubby weave of the dress, she crossed the room and took a seat beside the hearth. The snug ties of her stockings cut into her thighs and the seams bunched beneath her toes. But she forced herself to sit still as Coira combed back her hair. This was going to take some getting used to. Thirteenth-century apparel and style were a far cry from jeans, T-shirts, and ponytails.
“Ouch!” Kenna flinched and leaned forward. “Give me the comb. I’ll do it.” If Coira kept yanking so hard, she would end up bald.
“Och now, dinna fret so. Ye’ve got a bit of a rat’s nest that needs combing free.” Coira firmly pulled her back into place and set to combing and tugging with hard quick strokes. “Lore a’mighty, I have never seen such a head full of curls.” She swept Kenna’s hair up off her neck, then paused, and leaned around to look her in the eye. “And no lady of this keep has ever combed her own hair, so get that thought right out of yer head.”
“To keep my mind off the fact that you’re scalping me”—Kenna flinched again at a particularly painful yank—“why don’t you tell me what’s expected of me when I go downstairs.” Maybe if she kept Coira talking, the maid would go a bit easier on her hair.
“A banquet’s been set for all the visitors who have come to celebrate the coming of the wee one.” Coira dropped the comb on the table beside them and started braiding Kenna’s hair. “Ye are an honored guest, so ye will be seated at the chieftain’s table.” She yanked and wove, then yanked some more before knotting and twisting the resulting long braid into a bun at the back of Kenna’s neck. “Enjoy yer food and drink.” She patted Kenna on the shoulders, then came around to face her. “All will welcome ye. Ye are the chieftain’s good sister.”
“You make it sound so easy.” Kenna slowly rose, frowning back at her softly blurred reflection in the polished metal disk Coira held in front of her. “But I guess there’s no avoiding it.”
“Ye will be fine, mistress.” Coira fussed with a stubborn curl at Kenna’s temple, then beamed an encouraging smile. “Ye look lovely, and ye will be just fine.”
CHAPTER10
Finally. He had begun to wonder if the lady would ever descend from her rooms. Colum worked his way across the crowded hall, hurrying to the archway leading to the chieftain’s private tower. Lady Kenna stood in the center of the doorway. Her gaze darted nervously around the bustling room as she twisted the fringed ends of her belt between her fingers. Poor lass. She looked ready to bolt back up the stairs.
“Lady Kenna, allow me to lead ye to yer seat at the chieftain’s table.” He held out his arm and prayed the woman would take it this time without hesitation. The memory of the intoxicating sting triggered by her earlier touch awakened an ache for more. He yearned for the feel of her, longed for her closeness, even if it was merely the soft weight of her hand on his arm.
She glanced around the noisy hall one more time, then quickly looped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Much to his delight, she pressed close to his side. “Stay beside me, please? I didn’t realize so many people were going to be here.” She nervously tugged at her belted dress and patted the dark braid neatly coiffed at the back of her head.
While he missed the mouthwatering view provided by the lady’s clothing from the future, a part of him was relieved she had changed to attire better suited to a genteel woman of the clan. The others had no need to see the Lady Kenna as he had. A sense of ownership urged him to protectively cup his hand on her slightly trembling fingers. Aye. Her fine tight trews were his memory alone, since none but Galen had seen them arrive and that man would never slander his chieftain’s kin.
Colum tucked her arm tighter to his side. The warm silk of her touch stirred his blood even hotter this time. God’s beard.He had never felt this drawn to a lass before. Aye. He would do anything to protect her from anything she feared. “My lady, I shall never leave yer side unless ye bid me do so.” As the words left his lips, he felt a satisfied note of finality, as though he had uttered a very precious vow.
Kenna peeped around him like a newborn colt hiding behind its mother. “Are they all here because of the baby or are there always this many people at the keep?” Her gaze rose to the second-floor gallery running the length of one side of the hall. “Even the balcony is full.”
