Master Stuartson, the apothecary, entered the bedchamber ten days after the accident and found Bruce all alone with Laura, but the young woman was asleep. The soldier was slumped in an armchair by the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed, an insurmountable barrier between the healer and his patient.
Trying not to tremble, the man approached the bed with a gingerish tread, as he could not help but notice the sword lying within arm’s reach of the soldier’s hand. “Er…Mister Duncan…please may I…access Lady Laura.” There was something about the way that Bruce Duncan slumbered that made Master Stuartson think of a wolf pretending to sleep so it might lure its prey to come closer.
The man opened one eye and looked at the apothecary with a lazy glance. “Och aye.” He stretched and yawned. “Make yerself free, Master. I’ll be off to the dressing room for a wee wash.”
Master Stuartson forced himself not to cringe backward when Bruce stood up and stepped off the dais. Really, the man was more monster than human! Master Stuartson had used enough lint to stuff a bolster to strap the man’s torso and ribs when Lady Laura had ordered the soldier to physick his wounds. How could such a nice refined young lady like Laura even want him close to her!
The floorboards shook as Bruce walked out and closed the door. He was so casual about being alone in a lady’s bedchamber, the apothecary had no doubt such a man would have had his share of female companionship, despite his massive size.
Laura stirred awake when he shook her shoulder. “My dear lady?” Master Stuartson was more used to healing villagers with toothaches, but he still knew how to treat his more noble invalids. “I have a refreshing drink here for ye. I judge it is time for ye to wean yerself off the stronger elixirs. Yer hurts are healed. Can ye rise?”
She nodded and struggled to sit up while the kindly master plumped up her pillows and bolster. Laura eased herself back with a sigh and rubbed her eyes. “Losh, Master Stuartson, I’m all crusty. Please call Mary to me whilst I drink of this lovely cordial ye made me.”
The healer beamed. “Thank ye, Lady! It’s honey, peppermint, rosemary, and ginger root, with a touch of dried marigold. I would have fresher ingredients for ye if ye’d the sense to fall off yer horse in summer!”
She laughed, handing the empty mug back to him. “Ginger root! I wonder how many miles that precious tuber has traveled to get here?”
Master Stuartson agreed. “Aye, the best medicinal ingredients are egregiously dear! I hear some wealthy lairds ask for such things to be sprinkled on their food. I could cure many illnesses with what some nobles choose to bedight their meals! Across the sea, royals and nobles order the cooks to lace their roast meats with sugar, if ye can believe that.”
“Vanity and showing off!” Laura said, but a little frown bent her eyebrows. After ascertaining the frown was not because she was in pain, the healer left.
Not long after, Mary came in.
“Help me to the washroom, please, Mary. I have nae scrubbed me face for I dinnae ken how long!”
Mary was so happy to see Laura bright-eyed and lucid. “M’lady, our prayers have been answered! Ye have been acting so strange since the accident, we feared yer brains were scrambled.”
Accepting Mary’s help to get out of bed and wrap her dressing gown around her, Laura frowned when she heard her maid’s words. “It all seems like a bad dream, Mary. But there was a shining light guiding me through it…”
Mary frowned and did not bother asking what that light might signify. She pushed open the washroom door and stepped aside for Laura to enter.
“I’ll need me plaid to cover me if ye don’ mind.”
Standing in the middle of the washroom, with all evidence pointing to him having just stepped out of the copper tub, stood Bruce Duncan with his large hands holding those male private parts of himself. All Laura could think about was that she must look awful having just left her sickroom, but for all that, she did not shriek and run out of the door. She stood transfixed at her first glimpse of a perfect specimen of masculinity. It was up to Mary to give a little scream and run to fetch the man his plaid, which was lying cast aside on the floor.
She handed it to Bruce with her face turned away. “Hoots, lad! Cover yerself why don’ ye. How did ye even fit in the tub?”
He wrapped the plaid around his waist calmly, using the wool as a drying sheet of sorts. “I didnae lie down,” Mary heard the deep voice say. “I always have to stand up because I’m so big. I beg yer pardon, Laura, but ye were out like a pinched rushlight when I left ye, so I made use of the hot water.”
“Ye were with me?” Laura said, completely undaunted at holding a conversation with a shirtless man.
“Aye,” he drawled. “D’ye have further need of me services, or shall I return to the barracks?”
Laura did not even have to think twice. “Services, ye say? Aye, if ye will be so kind as to wait for me in the bedchamber?”
Mary felt it safe to open her eyes and watched as Laura stood to one side as Bruce Duncan squeezed past her in the doorway, holding his plaid around his waist with one hand and his shirt and boots in the other.
“Scandalous!” Mary huffed. “I allow him to use the washroom, and he takes all yer hot water!”
Laura looked down at the copper tub. The water was clean enough, and he had not submerged himself in it.
“The water is still warm, Mary,” she said, removing her dressing gown. “I’m getting in.”
Her maid was shocked. “But m’lady, a man has washed himself in it! It’s dirty!”
“A few soap suds will nae kill me, Mary.” Laura sank under the water, relishing the warm liquid’s caress on her skin. She found it so sublimely sensual that she was sharing the same water as Bruce, she found it hard not to moan with pleasure. It seemed as if Mary had an inkling about how wonderful Laura was feeling because when she poured a pitcher of water over her mistress’s hair after lathering it with soap, the water was decidedly icy.
She took her time dressing and braiding her hair. “I’m tired of nightgowns and caps, Mary.” Laura insisted on tying the ruched ribbon of a high-waisted morning robe under her breasts and fluffing the lace over her shoulders. Then she rubbed scented creams into her skin. “Go and make sure two armchairs are placed by the window overlooking the garden, Mary,” she ordered, “and then ye can go.” Her maid, knowing when she had lost the battle, left to do her bidding.
