His request was unanswerable. What did he mean ‘next time’- it was impossible to put what she felt into words – it was just easier to stand on tiptoes and gently brush her lips against the side of his cheek. When her mouth connected with his beard and felt the soft bristles, the same thrill coursed through her body.
“Thank ye for a lovely day, Caillen. I bid ye good night,”
And with those words, he had to be content. He raised her hand to his lips, gave it a lingering kiss right in the middle of her palm, and then stood back to let her enter the door.
Emer, remembering how she had been asked to use the servants’ side door entrance when she first came to live at the keep, had walked into the great hall entrance and up to her bedchamber with many thoughts whirling in her mind. Thus it was how Davinia found her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Davinia had risen the moment the sky began to lighten the next morning.
“I’m going to knead out the pastry and bread we need for dinner and then make all haste to Gawain’s bedchamber,” she had informed her sleepy sister with an excited giggle, “I want to bring him something nice to break his fast and then tidy his beautiful clothes away.”
“Why does nae his manservant do that for him,” Emer asked sleepily from underneath her bed covers.
“I suppose the valets used to me doin’ it for him. But he spends so much time flirting with the maids and riding to Lachlainn doing errands for Gawain, he must run out of sufficient hours in the day!” Davinia was taking care with her hair in the looking glass. She carefully untied the rags she wrapped into her hair every night to reveal over a dozen perfectly formed golden ringlets.
“What errands does he perform for Gawain in Lachlainn every day?” Emer popped her head out from under the sheet, thoroughly interested in this disclosure, “Nae, even Caillen finds it necessary to make his way there much more than once or twice a se’ennight.”
Davinia spun away from the mirror, a shocked look on her face, “Em! Whatever will ye say next? Dinnae ye forget Gawain used to oversee the keep and do all its transactions on behalf of the auld Laird before Caillen saw fit to stop living his frivolous life and return home to do his duty. And with the auld Laird getting sicker every day, ‘twas nae a moment too soon.”
Emer, now fully awake, sat up in bed, saying, “But ye have nae answered me question. What are these errands the valet is meant to be discharging on Gawain’s behalf in Lachlainn every day?”
Davinia, back in front of the mirror, pinning the ringlets on top of her head, said blithely, “Gawain must have to look after the business when Caillen is too lazy or too busy having fun. Gawain issolong-suffering, and he does it all out of the goodness of his heart, even though he is nae recognized as Laird or given any credit for the good works he does on behalf of the clan..., it’s a cryin’ shame.”
Emer was acutely aware Davinia spoke like a willing disciple, happy to swallow the spoilt, selfish bletherings Gawain was most likely feeding her. She said nothing more and watched her elder sister give a fond wave and leave, shutting the door behind her.
She sat in bed for a few minutes, staring at the door and thinking about what Davinia had just told her.
Gawain obviously has some secret agenda, and he seems most willing to pour into the ears of any Wylie lass who comes his way. Well, today’s the day I tell him me spying days are through!
It made her blood boil to think of Gawain telling lies about Caillen. The indolent brat was happily taking all the credit for the good works being done on clan land and living a life of luxury under the same roof as his brother, yet he was also happy to use any opportunity he could to stir up trouble. Emer had seen Gawain’s clothes; they had not been paid for by Caillen, so Gawain must have been dipping his fingers into the Maclachlan coffers freely to be able to afford them.
Emer lay a-bed, glowering at the door as though it were possible for Gawain to feel her wrath through the wood. Then she remembered the night Caillen had come into her bedchamber to see how she was doing after being laid low by illness. They had stood together at the door, and he had gone to the washstand to inhale the scent of her soap.
He kent! He kent then I were the maiden from the east tower! He recognized me perfume. This is madness...I have nae been able to forget the man who kissed me, and it seems as though Caillen feels the same way about me.
Galvanized by this sudden deduction, Emer jumped out of bed and began dressing. She had to get to Gawain’s room after her sister had tidied it and left to tell him his assumptions were wrong, and she would spy for him no longer. Even though she was in a hurry, she still wanted to be in her best looks when she went to the library later on in the day. She unwrapped her ringlets and piled the luxuriant curls on top of her head, leaving two long, thick spirals to fall down her back.
There was a knock on the door she had been glaring at not fifteen minutes before. Emer thought it might be the dairymaid who had forgotten some of her hairpins and ribands in the small saucer on top of the dresser.
When she opened it, the local seamstress was standing there with her arms full of clothes. She was married to the captain of the guard and employed to do all the alterations and sewing the castle occupants required.
“Good day to ye, Emer,” she said, as Emer bobbed a curtsey to the older lady, “This is for ye-,” and she brandished clothes in Emer’s startled face, “’tis some o’ me best work, ye lucky girl! I made it for a chieftain’s wife who was journeying to Edinburgh, but ye get to have it instead. It’s fit for one o’ those grand ladies at Holyrood to wear.”
She laid the clothes down on the bed and went out the door, saying, “I must rush. I have to make another set for the chieftain’s wife now!”
And on those words, she was gone.
Slightly bemused by her unexpected visitor, Emer went to sift through the pile of cambric and lace on the bed. She found two underskirts, two petticoats, and an undershift, made from the finest cotton muslin. Beneath the heap of beautifully made garments lay a pair of lady’s riding boots. They were crafted out of soft, supple leather, hemmed around just above the ankles with handwoven black stitching, and they had the neatest, most elegant heels. Emer’s current boots were a serviceable pair of shoes, made for walking muddy fields and to fit in the wide stirrups on Bessie’s saddle.
Emer found a hastily scrawled note underneath the pile. With shaking hands, she broke the seal and read:
“Keep these. Wear these. No one will know – unless they peek under your skirts! – C”
It was from Caillen. For one moment, Emer could only crush the note against her chest, trying to restrain the impulse she had to run down the stairs and hug him. How could he have known? Her petticoats were always snagging on fire grates and burning on hot coals when she knelt to sweep out the hearth. She and Davinia would spend many an evening darning their clothes by candlelight.
This reminded Emer. She took one of the underskirts and one of the petticoats and laid them on her sister’s bed. It would be a nice surprise for Davinia when she finished work that evening.
