The silver coin flashed from beneath the heavy material of Finn’sléine. When Lachlann stilled, Finn “slashed” his curved fingers toward Lachlann’s face before jumping off and landing on his feet.
“Ha! I marked ye, and I’ll do so again,” Finn announced just before jumping on top of Lachlann again.
Wind whooshed out of Lachlann’s lungs, but he caught the boy by his waist. “Ye are a wealthy bear.”
Finn gasped and scrambled away, grabbing at the item hanging from a leather strap around his throat. He backed away, still working to shove it back inside and unseen.
Lachlann stayed on the ground, but leaned on an elbow, watching him, trying to assess the fear reddening his young face. He must have been told the coin should remain hidden. Was it by Malcolm? Or Domelch?
No.
There was only one person who gave any guidance to this child.
“Dinna worry, bear, I will not steal yer wealth from ye.” Finn looked ready to bolt and Lachlann hoped to calm him down. “I want only to take yer hide.”
Jumping to a standing stance, he crouched low and grabbed Finn by the middle to lift him high in the air. The boy laughed in enjoyment, his fear subsiding. Lachlann laughed as well, depositing him on his feet and breathing hard.
“Mayhap yer aunt has finished with her bath?”
Finn shrugged, the incident forgotten. “I have never known her to use the tub. How long should it take?”
Every woman loved a bath. Her treatment was even worse than he imagined. The weight on his shoulders doubled, and the dread in his heart grew even thicker. “I think we have given her enough time, my little friend. Let us return and see.”
Chapter 19
Ethne lounged in the tub, her under gown plastered against her skin, and leaned back her head. The panel perched alongside the fire kept in the heat surrounding the tub and the sleeping babe in her basket tucked against the low cave walls. Her long, damp hair swirled about her while she idly rubbed the cloth along her arms. It felt wonderful to be clean, and the warm water was a luxury she’d not enjoyed since childhood.
If Domelch ever learned of this, Ethne would probably be beaten. The shame of having to bare her bottom to receive such treatment was not something she wished to relive. That was no doubt the point of the humiliating treatment. She’d only been beaten twice. Etched on her brain, she remembered each event in great detail.
Domelch had been ordering Ethne around and gotten fed up with her lack of respect, or so Domelch said. This was early on, and Ethne had yet to realize how useless defending herself would be. And the threat of a beating? That did not make Ethne more submissive; it made her more defensive. Malcolm had spoken up once he realized his wife planned to actually beat her. He tried to help Domelch see reason, but strode off when she refused to back down, leaving Ethne to the woman’s mercy. And she’d had none. The reed burned Ethne’s bottom so bad she was unable to sit for two days. Finn had been a baby then, easily roused to crying, so her constant need to pace had settled him down.
She was much older when Domelch had again taken a reed to her. She never understood what she had done wrong; she only remembered that her menses had started. Her clothes were too tight from her burgeoning curves. The changes disgusted her and when Domelch yelled at her, she started to cry. Aidan had sat her close to him and stroked her hair, speaking to her in a quiet voice. He’d never done that before. But that hadn’t stopped Domelch. She took great pleasure in striking her with slow, deliberate whacks that left no place unbruised. The hard beating left her bedridden for a week. Slipping between sleep and wakefulness, Ethne had heard strange voices discussing her condition. Her brother’s voice had been one of them, raised in anger at Domelch. He’d forbidden her to ever beat Ethne again.
Startled awake, Ethne leaned forward. Had she heard something, or were her drifting thoughts affecting her? The babe hadn’t moved. Mayhap Finn and Lachlann were returning. She had no idea how long they’d been gone, but she climbed out of the tub. Wrapping the cloth about her, she paused, dripping water on the ground, to listen for another footfall.
“Lachlann?” Ethne called.
There was no answer.
She briskly rubbed herself before wrapping herself up again. Herléine, well-worn and still stained with mud from the river and the encounter with Olaf, did not look appealing.
A footfall carried to her. She jerked her head toward the noise. There was definitely someone outside. Her heart started racing. She had to hurry.
“One moment.” Hidden behind the panel, she doffed the clean, soaking shift. Better to let it dry so she could wear the clean undergarment later tonight.
A quiet sound, but much closer. With her filthyléinein her grasp, she stilled. Too close. She forced out her breath and refused to turn around to see if someone truly stood right behind her.
“Finn?” Her voice trembled.
“Well!” A throaty sigh. “I see I have been given a beauty indeed.”
Her body tightened at that voice, but she refused to cower. Pulling theléineagainst her like a shield, she turned with a scowl on her face. “Uradech. Ye should not be—”
“Should not be what?” His eyes bulged in his outrage. “Taking what is mine?”
He’d never spoken so forcefully to her. She swallowed down her sudden fear.
“I will not be taken to wife by ye.” She spoke with more confidence than she felt and spread her fingers along the edge of the material to hug it about her breasts. “I have said as much.”
