Arabella was forced to laugh at the woman’s words, for it was obvious that Flora was torn between admiration and disapproval of Arabella’s wedding gown. “Thank you, Flora,” she said. “You are most kind. Will you help me with my hair? I must pin it all up if I am to bathe, and it is difficult to manage by myself.”
Flora was a plain, big-boned woman, perhaps six inches taller than her new mistress. Wisps of graying auburn hair were visible beneath her white linen wimple. Her eyes, however, were as lively and brown as a thrush’s; they looked with frank admiration upon Arabella’s long hair. “I’ve nae seen hair so beautiful, lassie,” she said softly. Then wrapping the hair in two thick hanks about her hand, she carefully pinned it atop Arabella’s head and helped the girl into her tub.
Arabella sat down in the warm water and a beatific smile lit her features. The soreness immediately began to ease in her posterior and her legs. She had not realized until this very minute how very much she ached, but now the warmth began to soothe her muscles. “Ohhh, Flora,” she said with heartfelt gratitude in her voice, “thank you! I can but imagine the trouble you had to go to just to bring me this lovely water up to my little tower.”
“Bosh, lassie, just a few stout lads wi’ buckets at me beck and call,” Flora replied with a chuckle. “I’ve taken many a long ride along this border meself, and I know the toll a prancing horse can take. Now ye just rest in yer tub while I take yer gown downstairs to brush it. There’s a towel warming on the stones by the fire, should ye want to get out afore I’m back. Yer clean chemise is upon the bed. I’ll nae be long.” Then she was gone.
Arabella closed her eyes and began to relax for the first time this day. The tub was pleasant and there was, she thought, just the faintest scent of heather in the air. Opening her eyes, she saw a tiny cake of hard soap on the stone floor next to the tub. Reaching out and picking it up, she sniffed at it. Aye! Heather. Her favorite fragrance. Dipping the soap in the water, she washed herself most thoroughly and rinsed the lather from her skin. Tiredness was beginning to seep into her bones again. Reaching out once more, she drew the towel to her, and standing up, she began to dry herself off, even as behind her she heard the door to the little apartment opening again.
“Flora, you run up and down those stairs like a young girl,” Arabella said as she turned around, and then she shrieked loudly, clutching the scrap of towel to her as her light green eyes focused upon the earl. She was pink with embarrassment, the color made all the more vivid by her pale hair.
Tavis Stewart flushed himself and found himself momentarily at a loss for words. He had but come to see that his reluctant guest was as comfortable as she might be under the circumstances. It had never occurred to him that she might be bathing. His personal knowledge of women was limited to that of a son, a brother, and a lover. He had been practically grown when Ailis had been born, and living at Dunmor while his sister had been brought up in her own house at Glen Ailean. He had never kept a mistress at Dunmor, for this would be his wife’s home one day, and he did not want it tainted by a lesser woman. He was, therefore, not particularly familiar with a woman’s habits, and right now he was not quite certain where to look and where not to look.
The furious girl was simply lovely and appeared far more mature without her clothes than with them. Her legs were much longer than he might have thought for one so petite, for Arabella Grey certainly stood no higher than five feet three inches. Her breasts, however, were small, but they were also magnificent, high cones of pale ivory flesh, each one topped with a bright berry of a nipple. Her narrow waist slid down into well-rounded hips and slender, but firm thighs. He couldn’t stop looking.
“M-Madame, I beg your pardon,” he finally managed to say, trying desperately to tear his eyes away from this glorious sight, for the tiny towel did little to hide her splendor.
“Get out!”Arabella gasped, as surprised by his appearance as he was by hers.
“I but came to inquire if ye were comfortable,” he attempted to explain his sudden arrival.
“Get out!”she shouted, and threw the cake of soap at him.
Ducking her accurate aim, the earl backed from the room, out through the antechamber, and closing the door behind him, retreated down the staircase. At its bottom he met Flora and began to berate her. “Did I nae tell ye the lass was nae to be left alone, and yet ye leave her in an unlocked room free to roam.”
“The wee lassie was in her tub,” Flora retorted spiritedly, “and wi’ out her clothes, my lord. Ye could hardly expect her to flee into the night wi’ out a stitch on her, and especially into unfamiliar territory. Dinna fuss at me now.” She looked at him slyly. “She’s a beautiful lass, or perhaps ye didna notice.”
“I noticed,” he said with a wry grin. “How could I nae notice? I got a cake of soap pitched at me for my troubles. ‘Tis twice this night she’s thrown something at me, and the wench’s aim is unerring. She’s got a temper on her bigger than she is, Flora. Ye had best beware.”
“Ye should hae a wife like Lady Arabella, my lord,” Flora said boldly. “A hot-spirited lass who will breed Dunmor up strong sons and daughters.” Then she turned on her heel and hurried back up the stairs before the earl might scold her for her daring tongue.
Behind her Tavis Stewart laughed at her words. After Eufemia Hamilton, he wasn’t certain he wanted a wife, at least not now. Women seemed to be more trouble than they were worth—his mother excluded, of course. Eventually he would wed for Dunmor, and no other reason. The earl returned to the Great Hall where his brothers and Rob Hamilton were drinking companionably about the fire. His mother, his stepfather, and the others had obviously gone off to bed. Taking up a newly filled goblet, he joined them and related his adventure, to their vast amusement.
“So she’s a real beauty, is she, Tavis? What a pity she’s a maid, or ye might take her for yerself, even as Sir Jasper took Eufemia. Yer pardon, Rob,” Gavin Fleming amended, nodding to the young laird of Culcairn. “Are ye certain she’s a maid?”
“Aye, ‘tis obvious no man’s ever touched her, but having glimpsed what I just did of the lass’s charms,” the earl said, “I will admit to be tempted. She’s lovely enough wi’ her clothes on, but wi’ out them, lads…” He sighed gustily, as one unjustly denied.
“Swallow yer lust, brother,” Colin Fleming said sternly. “The lass is an honored hostage, and ye promised her poor mother that ye would return her daughter unscathed. Besides, she is nae to blame for the behavior of Sir Jasper Keane or Eufemia Hamilton. The poor little lassie hardly knows the bastard. I would remind ye, Tavis, that Arabella Grey is under the church’s protection at yer own request. Ye’ll nae touch her, at the peril of yer immortal soul.”
“Gie over, Colin,” Donald Fleming teased his youngest brother. “Tavis has simply decided he’d rather have the lass under him than under the church’s protection. Who knows? She might be happier for it, eh?” And he made an obscene gesture with his finger, laughing.
“Why not?” Gavin Fleming joined the discussion, half drunk. “Did not the English coward besmirch our brother’s good name and his honor? If Tavis wants the wench for his pleasure, I for one say let him have her, Colly! Who has a better right?”
“Nay,” the young priest said firmly. “He does not! Arabella Grey is innocent of this matter. A pawn of her king and of Sir Jasper, and now of ye, Tavis. Eufemia hid her vices well, but had ye been of a mind to listen, my brother, ye would have heard the whispers, for they were there. Ye sought to avoid yer duty, Tavis, and because of that ye chose the simplest path, as ye always do when ye must do something ye dinna like to do. Ye looked about for the nearest, available, attractive woman of good family, and then wi’ out even getting to know her, ye made her an offer of marriage. Ye are living proof, my lord earl, that God looks after fools! Now ye will treat Lady Grey wi’ respect, and tomorrow ye will send a spy over the border to learn what nefarious plans Sir Jasper Keane may be planning in order to retrieve his intended, if indeed he intends retrieving her.”
“Aye, Colin,” the earl admitted, “yer right, but the little lass has certainly lit a fire in my loins that I will find hard to quench, but I’ll do as ye say.”
“And ye’ll hae the comfort of knowing tonight as ye lay alone in yer bed, elder brother, that the church’s blessing is upon ye,” Gavin said drolly.
“Lust is nae love,” the young priest said quietly.
“If yer cock had ever been as hard for a woman as yer pretty head is for God, little brother,” teased Donald, “perhaps even I would pay some attention to ye, but a man who doesna eat oats can scarcely comment on the taste of the porridge.”
“I was a man before I was a priest, Donald,” came the amused reply. “Do ye nae remember all those lasses I managed to steal away from ye? I did nae gie up what ye hae lightly, and there are times, I freely admit to ye, when I still miss the lasses. Still, I could nae serve God wholly had I nae given up a wife and bairns. For me there is nae other way but the way I walk. Perhaps because I dinna use women as ye do, I see them in a different light. Mayhap ye should try to see them my way instead of simply creatures upon which ye slack yer carnal appetites.”
Donald Fleming groaned dramatically. “I nae liked lessons when I was a wee lad, Colin, and I like them nae better now. I’ll be yer spy, Tavis. I canna stay here watching ye thirst after that pretty piece of English flesh while this priest prays over ye both!”
“‘Tis past time, Donald,” his younger brother admonished him, “that ye stopped thinking wi’ yer cock and used yer head instead.”
