“Only that he doesna usually trouble himself with such things as lasses.”
“Doesna usually,” Ismay repeated. “Did he not have skirts fashioned fer me thinking I wouldna run away in them?”
Bethia caught her meaning and frowned at the door.
“There is no need to look disappointed,” Ismay told her. “I dinna intend to stay here.”
The head chambermaid’s frown turned on her. “Where do ye intend to go, child?”
“Now that ye mention it,” Ismay said, turning to look at Bethia behind her as the older woman moved to continue dressing her. “Where is the nearest convent?”
She took an involuntary step backwards when Bethia pulled on the laces to tighten Ismay’s coral-colored corset. She pulled tight but the corset remained loose.
“Stay at least until I fatten ye up some.”
Ismay agreed, happy that Bethia was the second person concerned about her well-being. Even if it was just what she put in her belly. It felt nice, and somewhat familiar to be cared for.
“As fer the Lochiel,” Bethia said in a low voice, turning her around to face her. “He suffers, child. Mayhap too much fer ye to bear. Strengthen yerself, even more than before, against losing yer heart to such a man.”
Ismay felt her heart thumping like a battle drum in her throat. “Such a man?” she asked on an offended breath. “Do ye know that he sat outside my door at the inn fer not one night, but two to keep me safe? He brought me here though had I another day to consider it, I would not have come. I asked him to stay while I remained and he agreed despite his plans to go to Ben Nevis. There might be more but at the moment I find my heart consumed with my words, so I will remain quiet. But if ye mean to insult him calling him anything other than what he has shown me, stop now.”
The head chambermaid gave her a pitying sigh. “Very well then, he isna oot there. He left early this morn to bathein the loch. He should be returning to the castle any moment now.” She looked to the door and tilted her head. “Now, that I think of it, he did tell Lachlan to stay by yer door and have one of the gels check on ye every quarter of an hour.”
Ismay smiled hearing the older woman’s claim. She wondered if she hurried down the stairs and out of the castle could she reach the loch where he bathed?
Run to a man? Her?
She clenched her fists. She did not want to think about whether or not she was a fool and a traitor to her heart. She was not anyone special that the Lochiel would consider her anything but a poor sot. He pitied her. That’s what it was, she told herself as the chambermaid finished tying all her laces and began pulling up her hair. She tried a number of different styles before deciding on one and gathering pins between her lips.
Ismay would not let thoughts spawned by the Lochiel hypnotize and tempt her with things she did not want, like a man in her life.
Temptation. Self-betrayal. Thoughtfulness. Pleasure. He was every temptation wrapped in sun-kissed skin and a heart laid out on the sleeve of his armor. Of course, she would do everything in her power to resist him, but she wasn’t ready to leave Tor Castle yet. She had not wanted to come, but now that she was here, sleeping in a soft bed, eating more than one meal a day, not looking over her shoulder to see if Chief MacRae or Marjorie MacPherson were behind her, feeling safe,beingsafe in the company of Constantine Cameon, she resisted giving it all up.
There came a knock at the door. “Aye?’ Bethia called out through clenched lips.
“Tis I,” the Lochiel’s deep voice seemed to seep through the wood. “May I enter?”
“Aye,” Bethia allowed without checking with Ismay first.
Before Ismay had a chance to prepare, he opened the door andstrode inside. He stopped when his soft, umber gaze settled on her. His dark hair was wet though no longer dripping down his shoulders. He looked especially pleasing to her eyes dressed in light-brown breeches and a rich, dark-brown tunic, belted low on his waist.
His feet were bare.
Bethia tugged on Ismay’s unruly curls and pinned them to Ismay’s head with a pearl pin. Ismay didn’t care if it were a diamond, it still hurt. But more painful was the way the Lochiel was staring at her. Was he…breathless? Ismay shook her head at her mad thoughts.
He blinked and looked away, ashamed at being caught admiring her. He was admiring her, was he not? He was difficult to read, always stoic and unruffled—unless he wanted her to see, like a bashful prince bringing his hidden heart into view.
Traitorously, Ismay was tempted to smile, but she sucked in a deep breath when the chambermaid pinned another group of curls…and Ismay’s flesh.
“Bethia, leave us.” His deep voice cut a rift through the air.
Bethia had no choice but to abandon the rest of her pins and obey. When she passed him, she cast him a disapproving glance. “I will leave the door open.”
The Lochiel didn’t reply to her but scowled so slightly, Ismay almost missed it.
Alone in her bedchamber, his gaze found hers again. “Ye look bonnie.”
She blushed and reached up to touch her hair. She hated the MacRae chief more than ever for making her feel so ashamed in front of “such a man.”
