Her guards stepped up and one of them took her tethered hands and unfastened the straps from around her wrists. She rubbed the reddened impressions left on her flesh and flexed her hands, trying to ignore the pain that came with the movement.
After her two guards had departed from the chamber, she was left in the middle of the room still concealed in the plaid Kenneth had wrapped her in. She was acutely aware that she was clad only in a still-damp shift.
One of the maids bustled over. “Let’s get ye bathed and warmed, milady.” She gestured toward the small tub against the wall where one of the other maids was pouring water from a bucket. Beside the tub stood a stool piled high with linen towels.
But the water was scarcely lukewarm, and by the time Selene discarded the plaid and her shift and stepped into the tub, she gasped aloud at the chill.
“This cannot be normal,” she said through chattering teeth.
“Oh aye,” a maid replied brightly. “Only a quick cold wash is usual fer this time of year. Keeps a body awake.”
Selene wasn’t certain she wanted to be quitesoawake, but she endured a cold splash with what scrap of dignity she could muster. When she was finally dried, wrapped in a coarse wool blanket, and seated by the hearth, a strange unease crept over her.
Everything there was so foreign. Nothing about that place bore the slightest resemblance to the comfortable, tasteful, home she had left behind in Hertfordshire. Not the stark stone walls, not the roar of the sea echoing through the corridors, not the sense she had of being observed by a hundred unseen eyes.
Hot, angry tears burned behind her eyes. Her convoy was dead. The letter from Halvard had been lost. And she was now in the hands of a laird known across the Isles asthe Brute of Sleat.
My God, what a mess…
A feeling of cold despair clawed up her spine.
The chambermaids trooped out, leaving her by the fire.
At least by then the room had warmed a little.
Only minutes later two scullery maids knocked and entered, bearing trays of covered dishes which they placed on the table, without a word. As they hurried out, one dropped a small carved token, which skittered across the cold flagstones.
“Oh, wait!” Selene called, bending to pick it up. “You dropped?—”
But the maid had already slipped out. Clutching the little carving, Selene reached the door, lifted the latch and tugged on the heavy oak door.
It did not move.
Her heart thudded, and she tried again. Still the door did not budge.
She was locked in.
CHAPTER FOUR
Damn him!
A blaze of furious heat coursed through her. She slammed her palm against the wood, then pounded her fists against the aged timber, her outrage outpacing her exhaustion. All she achieved was a painful splinter of wood stabbing into her hand. The door remained resolutely closed.
Huffing with indignation, she retreated to her seat by the fire, and slowly extracted the splinter, ignoring the sting and the droplet of blood that appeared in its wake.
The door finally opened, scraping heavily against the flagstones and none other than the mighty laird stood there, filling the threshold. A dark silhouette carved from granite.
Selene got to her feet, shrugging the blanket tight around her as he strode into the room without so much as knocking or asking her permission.
These ill-mannered Scots are scarcely the same species as the polite Englishmen I am used to.
Scrambling to her feet, she rounded on him. “Why…” she demanded, fury crackling in her voice, “am I locked in this room like a criminal? I have done nothing wrong!”
Kenneth’s expression remained calm. Far too calm.
“That remains tae be seen,” he said evenly. He took one of the chairs from beside the table and placed it beside hers. He spread his legs astride the chair and leaned his elbows on the back of it, fixing his penetrating gaze intently on her.
“Now tell me why ye’re here. And give me every detail of yer journey until the moment I came on board theunmarked birlinnye travelled in.”
