"Thank ye." The words felt inadequate for everything he'd done, but they were all she had.
He paused in the doorway, glancing back. "Get some rest. Ye've had a hell of a few days."
Then he was gone, his bootsteps fading down the corridor.
Mhairi stood alone in the center of the room, suddenly aware of just how exhausted she was. Her legs ached from riding. Her wrists still burned where the ropes had dug in. And beneath it allwas a bone-deep weariness that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
She was just considering whether she had the energy to investigate the wardrobe when a sharp knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Mhairi called, expecting a servant.
The woman who entered was perhaps a few years older than Mhairi, with fair hair braided back from her face and bright, curious eyes. She carried an armload of folded blankets and wore the practical dress of a castle maid—but there was nothing servile about the way she smiled.
"Ye must be Mhairi," the woman said cheerfully, kicking the door shut behind her with one foot. "I'm Freya. The laird sent me tae make sure ye dinnae collapse from exhaustion before ye get yer boots off."
Despite herself, Mhairi felt her mouth twitch. "Did he actually say that?"
"Near enough." Freya dumped the blankets onto the bed and turned to survey Mhairi with frank assessment. "Christ, ye look like ye've been dragged through a hedge backwards. Multiple hedges. Possibly on fire."
"That's..." Mhairi blinked. "Surprisingly accurate."
"Well, let's get ye sorted then." Freya moved toward her with the kind of brisk efficiency that suggested she'd done this a hundred times before. "Turn around."
"What?"
"Yer dress, lass. It's filthy and probably three days past burnin'. Turn around so I can get it off ye."
Mhairi hesitated, then obeyed. Within moments, Freya had unlaced the back of her gown, tutting at the state of the fabric.
"This'll need a proper scrubbin' before it's fit fer anythin' except kindlin'." Freya tossed it aside and reached for a clean shift from the pile on the wardrobe. "Here. This'll dae fer now."
The shift was indeed too large—the sleeves hung past Mhairi's fingertips and the hem pooled around her feet—but it was clean and soft, and that was enough to make her throat tight with gratitude.
"Better?" Freya asked, already moving to the washstand to pour water into the basin.
"Much." Mhairi sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Thank ye."
"Dinnae mention it." Freya brought the basin over, along with a cloth. "Here. Ye'll want tae wash yer face at least. Ye've got dirt in places I didnae ken dirt could reach."
Mhairi took the cloth and began scrubbing at her face and hands. The water turned brown almost immediately, but the cool wetness felt like heaven against her skin.
"So," Freya said, perching on the edge of the desk and watching her with unabashed interest. "Ye're the lass the laird rescued from that bastard Englishman."
Mhairi's hands stilled. "How did ye ken?"
"Word travels fast in a castle this size. Especially when the laird rides in with a strange lass and immediately sends fer his best chamber tae be prepared." Freya's smile was knowing. "Theservants have been speculatin' since ye arrived about who ye are and why ye're here."
Heat crept up Mhairi's neck. "What are they sayin'?"
"Everythin' from 'long-lost cousin' tae 'secret wife' tae 'mysterious princess in disguise." Freya laughed at Mhairi's expression. "Dinnae worry. I set them straight. Told them ye were a lass in trouble who needed help, and that the laird was daein' what any decent laird would dae."
"Is that..." Mhairi hesitated. "Is that what people think? That he's just bein' decent?"
"Some dae." Freya tilted her head, studying Mhairi more closely. "Others are wonderin' if there's more tae it."
"There isnae," Mhairi said quickly. "He just... he helped me. That's all."
"Mmm." Freya didnae sound convinced, but she let it drop. "Well, decent or not, ye're lucky it was Alpin who found ye. He's a good man, our laird. Better than most."
