1
Melody’s heart hammered in her chest, threatening to burst right through her ribs and out through the ugly gray material that formed her maid’s dress.
The dress in question, which she’d filched from an overflowing laundry basket near the back of the kitchens, stunk of roasted meat. There was what appeared to be a gravy stain on the bodice, so she’d snatched up an apron to cover it up.
It wasn’ttheft. She was going to put the dressandthe apron back, just as soon as she’d achieved what she came to do. As soon as she had completed herquest.
The stupidest quest in the entire world, no doubt. She had the letter from the Misses Fitzwilliam crinkling in her pocket. The letter was short and direct, written in a sloping, highly curled hand that could have belonged to either of them.
She’d half-expected shock and horror from the ladies, and a half-hearted attempt to convince her not to be so foolish. Instead, the reply had been decidedly positive. She knew it off by heart.
‘Your proposal intrigues us, Lady Melody. We accept your wager and wait to hear with bated breath the outcome of your little quest. We can allow you only a month, however, to prove that the beast is indeed a man.’
A month was plenty of time. At the end of a month, Papa would insist upon her wedding to Lord Sinclair. Sinclair himself did not seem concerned at his bride scuttling off to Scotland. But then, of course, he and Papa both believed that she was visiting Victoria.
A pair of maids wearing identical gowns and aprons rounded the corner, talking and laughing in hushed giggles. They shot Melody an odd look, and she hastily averted her gaze. She passed them by and allowed herself a sigh of relief.
Disaster averted.
“Excuse me, lass. What’s yer name?”
Oh, bother. Not quite averted after all.
Melody froze, her heart hammering even harder. Should she feign a Scottish accent? She had discovered already that a young woman of her age and height was very noticeable when traveling alone. AnEnglishwoman, even more so.
She turned slowly, pasting a faint smile on her face. Both girls were very short, barely five feet tall. At only a few inches short of six feet, she towered uncomfortably over them. Her hair was tucked under her cap, butthatwould have attracted attention, no doubt. Long, glossy black hair did not seem common in this area. Everybody seemed to have brown or red hair.
The woman who’d spoken eyed her, placing her hands on her hips.
“I daenae ken ye,” she stated. “What’s yer name?”
There was nothing for it. She would have to speak.
“Melody,” she answered, trying to make her voice sound deeper and less refined. “I am new here.”
It didn't work. The woman’s eyes flew open, and she let out a huffing breath.
“Ye areEnglish? Joan, did ye hear that? An English lassie, in this Keep, nay less!”
“Aye, I heard,” Joan responded, scowling. “I’ll wager we’ll nae seeherdown on her knees scrubbin’ with the likes of us.”
“Oh, no, no, you will,” Melody gabbled, backing away. “I must go, I… I’m sorry!”
She turned on her heel and sprinted away. One of the women gave a sharp gasp.
“After her, Joan! I daenae ken what she’s doin’ here, but it cannae be good. Bloody English.”
“I bet she’s a spy.”
“Aye, well, the Laird will string her up from the keep walls. Get back here, ye!”
Well, nobody in their right mind would risk coming back afterthat.
Melody lifted her skirts to free her legs and broke into a dead sprint. The slap of feet on stone flags told her that she was being pursued.
The maid’s gown was looser and more comfortable than the tight-laced bodices Melody was used to. She couldmove, and she could breathe as deeply as she wanted. At first, she ran so fast and hard it felt like she was flying. Then a stabbing pain shot through her middle, forcing Melody to slow to a jog. There was no sign of the pursuing maids behind her, but she could still hear their shouts.
I need to hide.
