“Ooh! A likely story,” Sukie the scullery maid interjected, “I vow she stole it.”
“Or she hurt her head doing something nice for Mister Gawain,” another maid tittered from the back.
“Ask him yerself then,” Emer fumed, picking up her cap and trying to pin up her ringlets, “Oh, aye, I forgot, he’s laying a-bed, fighting for his life, as we stupidly bicker about a flamin’ kerchief!”
And on those words, Emer ran out of the kitchens with her skirts flouncing.
Chapter Fifteen
That night, one of the dairymaids joined Emer in her bedchamber. The girl was agog with curiosity as to why Davinia had decided not to share a room with her sister anymore, but Emer shrugged all the girl’s questions off with a frown. She was still upset and disappointed in her sister’s behavior, but she tried to be reasonable and see it from the other woman’s point of view.
What if I knew who the man was who kissed me on the night of the feast and then found out Davi had a kerchief in her possession, one he had given her..., I suppose I would feel heartsore about that, and Davi has been working here at the keep since she was twenty years of age. Three years is an awfully long time for her to hold a candle for the younger son.
She imagined poor Davinia working her way up from being a scullery maid to being put in charge of making all the pies and pastries. In all the long hours of slaving in the kitchen, through the winter cold and summer heat, she thought of her sister peering out through the serving hatch and seeing Gawain Maclachlan as a fine, well dressed young man, probably back at the keep after attending university in Edinburgh or visiting the King further afield in Whitehall.
And Emer had to admit, Gawain could be incredibly charming when he wanted to be. But as much as she had told her sister about how their blood was as good as the Maclachlan’s, the fact remained that nearly eighty years had passed since a Wylie had held any position or power around Nethy. Faither had told her they were lucky to have any land whatsoever to call their own at all! So heavy and expensive the clan fighting had been over the years. As it was, the only land they had owned was the small farmhouse and three closed fields at the foot of the mountain. While they were fortunate enough to be able to style themselves as farmers and not farmworkers, the reach of their land was negligible when compared to what the Maclachlan’s had.
Emer sensed her sister’s quiet despair at her hopeless-and always to be unrequited-love and wished she could hug her and tell her everything would work out for the best. But she knew if she said it, the words would sound false and hollow to both their ears. She went to bed after saying a polite good night to the dairymaid and tried to sleep.
When she went upstairs to the maids’ parlor the next morning, Mistress Burroughs was waiting for her.
“Ye must have a guardian angel looking down on ye, Emer because his Lairdship’s brither has requested ye attend him, which is a great privilege.”
Emer did not think it was a great privilege at all. She thought the command could not have come at a worse time. Here she was trying to convince her sister that there was nothing going on between her and Gawain, and the blasted man was begging her to come and nurse him. Albeit, it was probably because he needed another one of her potions, but if Davinia got to hear about this, she was at a loss of how to explain it to her.
All she said out loud was, “Oh aye, Mistress Burroughs,” and left for Gawain’s bedchambers after bobbing a curtsey to the housekeeper.
“Enter through the dressing room,” Mistress Burroughs shouted after her, “There’s a guard at the main door.”
The manservant was waiting for her in the dressing room. A sentry had been placed outside Gawain's bedchamber door in case another assassin was lurking in the keep. The atmosphere in the castle corridors was rife with suspicion. Emer could not blame the Maclachlan’s for how they were reacting to this latest treachery.
The valet was laconic and lazy when he told Emer the instructions he had been advised to tell her, an attitude she was more than convinced he took with him in all of his undertakings.
“Alright then, lass. Here’s what ye do. I let ye in an’ then lock this door behind ye. When ye want to leave the room, knock on the bedchamber door leading out to the passage, an’ the guard will open and allow ye to leave. Got that?”
“Why cannae I just leave through this door?” Emer inquired.
“Because, lass, I plan on leaving me post and going to visit one o’ the dairymaids. Dinnae tell his Lairdship or his dear brither in there-an’ if ye do, watch out for findin’ a toad in yer bed tonight,” the valet said casually.
Emer scoffed as she went in the door, “I’m nae afraid of toads,”
“An’ why are nae afraid o’ toads, lass?” a voice she recognized said, as she closed the door behind her.
Caillen was seated on one of the armchairs in his brother’s bedchamber and had his eyebrow cocked at her in his usual cheeky way, showing he was in one of his teasing moods.
“The man outside in the dressing room asked me if I was,” Emer replied smoothly, “and how may I help ye today?”
She turned her head from one brother to the other. Gawain was lying under the covers in his bed, and Caillen was slumped in the armchair next to the fireplace with his legs stretched out in front of him and his feet crossed at the ankles. He looked relaxed and seemed to be enjoying the embers of the fire, heating his legs under his kilt. It had been a misty, chilly morning for hunting.
“Ye can help me brither, Emer,” Caillen said, waving his hand in Gawain’s direction, “he was the one who sent for ye. He must admire yer tender talents as much as I do.”
Emer gave Caillen a sharp look when he said this. She saw an expression on his face she could not read, not teasing or mocking, just a steady gaze with an indefinable emotion held in dark eyes. For a brief moment, their eyes locked across the room, and Emer found something so familiar in the connection she wondered if she had inadvertently imbibed some of the elixir she had made for Gawain’s pain.
Gawain gave a groan from the bed; the noise seemed to snap maid and master out of the thrall, which seemed to bind their eyes together. Caillen heaved himself out of the armchair and walked toward the door leading to the passage. Emer felt herself give a small sigh of relief when he did this, as she could not imagine Caillen taking kindly to Gawain’s manservant locking the dressing room door and leaving to woo the milkmaid.
When the guard had closed the door behind Caillen, Gawain exhaled loudly.
“Oh, thank goodness, and thank ye for comin’ to me so promptly, Emer. Ye truly are a dear,” he said in a weak voice.
