“Iain. Iain.” The bun at the back of her neck bounced haphazardly as she ran, bunching her skirt up high in front of her.
She wore the MacLaren tartan colors on her shawl. Something attached to her lower leg glinted in the sun that poked through dark clouds. Abby squinted. It was a knife. Did even the women arm themselves? Iain had said she was safe here, but if she had to wear weapons attached to her body, that didn’t bode well.
“That,” Iain said, admiration filling his voice. “Is my sister.”
He leapt from behind the saddle. Maeve rushed into his arms. “Yer home! I have missed ye.”
“And I ye, Sister.” He swooped her up and spun her small frame around. Her legs flew out behind her.
His sister looked the size of a child in Iain’s arms. And she laughed like one too.
Maeve was still giggling when Iain brought her to a standing stop. She leaned back and eyed Abby. Iain let his sister go and lifted Abby off the horse.
“This is my sister, Maeve.”
Abby smiled at the slight woman but remembering her manners and the time she was in, she gave a slight curtsy.
With his mouth twitching and his eyes full of humor, Iaingave Abby’s hand a squeeze.
“I am proud to introduce Abigail. She is my angel sent to me from God when I was all but done on the battlefield.”
“You saved my brother?”
Abby glanced down and smoothed her skirt. A chunk of dry mud fell off.
“Aye, she did, and she has seen me healthy enough to return to ye.”
Maeve eyed Abby. “I thank ye, then.”
Abby smiled but couldn’t help but think Maeve wasn’t too pleased that Iain brought a woman to the castle.
Maeve linked her arm into Iain’s elbow and started up the stairs. “We are already preparing for noontime, but now we shall have a feast tonight. Oh, and”—she gazed up at Iain but threw a quick glance at Abby—“the MacKinnons will be here this evening.” She sniffed and glanced back at Abby. “But first, both of ye will bathe, eat, and rest.”
By the time Maeve showed Abby to her room, a tub was already set before the fire.
“Ye don’t talk much, do ye?” Maeve said, regarding Abby with a wary glance.
Abby had hoped the girl would just leave her be. She knew Maeve would question her speech, and there was no way she would try to sound Scottish. She was never any good at accents. Max was the one for that. She had a perfect ear for accents. “No, well, um, maybe you should talk to your brother about that.”
“Yer speech is strange.”
“It might seem so to you, but where I come from, it’s pretty average.”
“Where are ye from?”
“America, ah, the Americas.”
Recognition piqued in Maeve’s sky-blue eyes. “Och, aye. Many Scots are sailing there now.”
“I’ve met some.” Abby wasn’t lying; she had met lots of Scots in her travels. She glanced longingly at the tub of steaming water.
“Och, I am sorry. I’ll leave ye to yer bath and go and annoy my brother. Jannet will be along shortly.”
“Jannet?”
“Ay, the maid.”
The moment Maeve closed the door, Abby ripped off the filthy clothes she wore and sank into the heavenly water. She began scrubbing herself with the fragrant soap and hurriedly washed her hair. She wanted to be finished before the maid arrived. She knew in this time, they had servants, and while she liked the idea of someone other than her cooking and cleaning, she didn’t need anyone to help her bathe. She smiled at the memory of her last day at a spa. A massage would be a win, though.
