“Who did this?” she asked, looking across the young knight to Eoghann.
“A Welshman named Cadoc,” Sir Marmaduke supplied, ignoring that she’d asked the seneschal, and not him.
She blinked all the same. “Cadoc?”
“Aye, and it cost him dear.” Eoghann spat, a fierce scowl darkening his weather-lined face. “He lost his life for craving English coin and the saints know what else was promised him.”
“Sir Hugh.” Caterine glanced at Sir Marmaduke. “He is behind this,” she said, hoping her straight back hid her fear of an enemy powerful enough to breach Dunlaidir’s walls. “He will be in a rage since your arrival.”
“Raging will serve him little,” he said, pressing another handful of bunched cloth against Lachlan’s side. “No one will gain entry again. Not even in the unsavory manner this blackguard did. I will install an iron grid over the latrine chute opening.”
Caterine shuddered. “My stepson told us how he entered. Not that we wouldn’t have known after smelling –ah– seeing James. Rhona is preparing a bath for him.” She looked at Lachlan. “One for you, too, my lord.”
Lachlan blanched.
Alec glanced heavenward and pinched his nose. “Dinnae think to decline the lady’s offer, laddie,” he jested. “Your need of a good scrubbing is great.”
“His need?” Eoghann pushed to his feet and held his own sweat-drenched tunic out from his chest. “I warrant we could all use a proper soaking.”
“I shall have extra water heated,” Caterine said, all lady-of-the-castle now. “Baths will be readied for each of you.”
She didn’t look at the Sassunach, not trusting herself to do so while speaking of such intimacies, however commonplace.
Instead, she turned back to Lachlan, a half-smile curving her lips. “Once your wound is treated and sewn, you may rest in my late husband’s solar,” she said, holding up a hand when the young knight started to argue. “Sir, you were injured within the walls of my home. Do not deny me the honor of looking after you. It is my pleasure.”
“Come, my lady, I will see you inside.” Eoghann joined her. “I don’t trust those fool idlers in the kitchens to boil water lest I’m there to watch o’er them.”
* * *
The moment they moved away,Alec gave Lachlan a bold wink. “I daresay it will be well worth losing a bit o’ blood if it means having the lady and her friend bathe you, eh?”
Leaning forward, he wiggled his ears. “You’re a lucky knave, laddie. I’d no’ mind two pairs o’ soft hands a-washing my old bones.”
“I am none too keen on a bath, sir.” Lachlan threw a glance to where Lady Caterine and the seneschal were just entering the stair tower. He flushed, his cheeks shining. “Nae, I dinnae want one.”
Marmaduke watched the exchange, his blood heating as well. But not in embarrassment.
He’d not mind two pairs of soft hands washing him, Alec had jested.
One pair would serve Marmaduke quite nicely.
The self-same hands whose light-as-air touch had filled him with such wonderment when she’d traced her fingertips along his scar.
What bliss would he know were she to smooth those hands over the scars on his back? What rapture would be his were she to caress his aching muscles?
Most especially the one rearing to bold life beneath his braies.
“I can wash myself,” Lachlan protested yet again.
“Ladies always tend injured men of the castle garrison,” Marmaduke reminded him. “And esteemed guests.”
Before the others could see just how much the lady stirred him, he leaned down and lifted Lachlan into his arms. “There is nothing shameful in letting them bathe and care for you, lad.”
Lachan didn’t appear convinced. “’Tis the way of things, I know, but…”
“To refuse would be an insult,” Marmaduke said, his tone closing the matter.
And so he carried his friend across the bailey, glad of the morning’s cooling mist on his heated flesh. More grateful still, of the long years he’d spent learning to shield his emotions.
