Squinting, she sat up and smiled. She’d slept soundly without dark dreams plaguing her. She ignored the rumble in her belly as she had learned well to do during the days she went without food. Her thoughts were too fixed on the leader of the Cameron/MacDonald clan outside her door. Was he still there? Had he truly been standing boldly in her bed chamber last night? She could have dreamed it, after all, she had dreamed of him until she opened her eyes a moment ago. He looked quite fine in his bedrobe open at the waist. His chest was not bare but softly concealed in thin beaten wool with breeches to match. His underclothes.
She blushed a little remembering sitting with him in his bedclothes in the Great Hall.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed just as the door opened and an older woman entered. She was Bethia the head chambermaid of Tor. According to Hugh, she mainly served the Lochiel. Her plaited hair fell between her shoulders in gray streaks against black.
The head chambermaid carried an armful of skirts, and a cream-colored corset expertly embroidered with tiny ladybugs and shoes in fabric to match. “The Lochiel had these fashioned fer ye according to yer preferences.”
Ismay eyed the clothes then remarked gently. “I do love ladybugs but as I told one of the chambermaids who asked last eve, my preference was breeches and a tunic.”
“The Lochiel would not have ye run away and feels ye are more prone to do so in manly attire.”
Ismay lifted a brow. “He told ye that?”
“Not in those words, but he made himself clear enough.”
Ismay went to her and took the bundle from her hands, “He obviously doesna know me verra well. I will run in skirts as quickly as in breeches.”
She felt the head chambermaid’s eyes on her as she went to stand by a chair and set the gown on it. “Will ye help me dress?” she asked, looking up from the voluminous fabric.
“Ye will wear it then?”
“Of course. I used to wear fine gowns before I left home.”
“So, ’tis true, then. Ye are a runaway.” Bethia went to her and began to help her undress.
“It must have been quite terrible fer a pretty lass like yerself to leave the safety of yer home.”
Ismay told her about her mother and her betrothal to the power-hungry chief of a powerful clan, but the chambermaid seemed only half interested in her tale.
“Most husbands seek prestige or power through marriage,” the older woman told her. “I can tell by the way ye speak that ye are a lady, no mere vassal. This chief was gaining from a union with ye. There is nothing wrong with that. It doesna mean he would have mistreated ye.”
Ismay swallowed and reached up to her hair.
Misreading her slight touch, Bethia examined her tresses with a kind smile. “’Tis short, but I can pin it.”
“He cut it all off.”
The head chambermaid stopped helping her into hercorset and dipped her gaze to Ismay’s. “Did I hear ye right, child? Yer betrothed cut off all yer hair?”
Ismay nodded. She felt a wave of sadness overwhelm her. Before she could stop them, tears welled up in her eyes. “He took out his knife and for a moment I thought he was going to cut out my tongue. He said my hair was like fire…it made him…” The shame of his words in front of her mother returned and heated her face. “He said my feminine wiles would not be tolerated and stepped behind me to slice it off.”
Bethia took her hand and covered it with hers. She was silent for a moment or two, then seeming to gather her mettle, she smiled. “No matter, child. ’Twill grow back and in the meantime, I will arrange it so that no one will even notice that yer locks are missing.”
Ismay swiped at a lone tear and smiled in return. She was surprised by how much better she felt just being able to tell someone what Chief MacRae had done to her.
“Is he out there?” she asked while Bethia helped her into a fresh chemise.
“Who, lady?”
“The Lochiel.”
Bethia looked toward the window, then toward the door. “Is he oot where?”
Ismay leaned in closer to the older woman’s ear. “Outside my door?”
“Ootside yer…?” Bethia pulled away to stare at her. “Why would he be ootside yer door, child? Is he so troubled about ye leaving that he—” She laughed and waved her own concerns away. “My, such a fanciful notion.”
“What is so fanciful about it?” Ismay put to her, brooding just a little.
