She knocked on the laird’s bedchamber and waited. Was there anyone here? It took a brave man to leave a place open for anyone to walk inside. What if she were a thief?
She held her breath. There was no answer. She tried again and the moment she knocked, the box fell from her hand. She bent down to pick it up and gasped. How had that happened? The silver key had somehow bounced up and now it was in the keyhole.
She went to pull it out but her hand somehow twisted and before she knew what was happening, there was a click and the door swung inward.
Jock spun around from his place by the window, looking furious.
“Any news?” he asked, stopping dead as he saw who it was. “Jings,” he said, running over and grabbing her, pulling her into his room. “It’s you.”
“Let go of me,” she replied, shoving him back. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve had half the clan out scouring the countryside to find you,” he said, prodding her in the shoulder. “I cannae believe you just appear like this. Where did you go?”
“What do you mean? I went home.”
“You went home? You upped and vanished from the infirmary and you say you just went home?”
“I…sorry, what did you say?”
“You were laid in bed in the infirmary and then you were just nowhere. Alan thought you were a witch and I wonder if he’s right.”
“Wait, you think I was in the infirmary? Here? At your castle?”
“Aye, lass. Do you not remember?”
She shook her head, refusing to think about it any longer. “I’ve got a box for you.”
“I dinnae care about that,” he said, snatching it from her and tossing it aside. “You must get into some decent clothes. We have a feast to attend.”
“That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“It’s tonight. I will send for someone to dress you.”
“I can dress myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“You are my guest tonight and you must wear something more appropriate than that.”
“What’s wrong with this?”
“You can see your legs, your arms, heavens, even your chest, lass.”
“So?”
He shook his head. “I will not argue with you. I say you change so you change. Sit there.” His voice was suddenly booming and she became weak at the knees.
She sat down on the nearest chair as he left the room, looking back at her in time to say, “Do not move,” before disappearing.
He was not gone long. He came back with a woman in her mid-forties. She had armfuls of clothes held in front of her and if she was surprised by Daisy, she did not show it.
“My laird,” she said as he withdrew, leaving the two women alone.
“Take that off,” the woman said, her highland accent a touch milder than Jock’s.
“What?”
“Take that off and I will help you put these on. You must look your best to attend a feast with the laird.”
“What if I don’t want to attend?”
