Yet Fiona was, in many ways, chained to this loom. She wasn’t a lady free to stroll the grounds or ride at leisure. She was a servant.
And servants worked.
Luckily, the evenings stretched long now. Darkness came late. She’d take a walk around the walls and watch the sunset after her work was done.
“I suppose I’m just tired,” she said. “We’ve been working hard, haven’t we?”
“Ye should sleep after the noon meal,” Arabella replied. “The rest of us do.”
It was true. Fiona often began work alone in the afternoon while her assistant rested. The solitude helped her plan. But Arabella was right. She was pushing herself too hard. This tapestry would take time; she needed to pace herself.
“That’s a good idea,” she said with a smile. “Maybe I’ll do that today.”
Curse it!She’d overslept.
Ducking out of the doorway to her bower, Fiona dashed across the narrow landing and plunged down the spiral stairs.
She’d been more tired than she realized. After a hearty noon meal of boar stew and dumplings, she’d crawled onto her straw mattress, beneath thick woolen blankets.
I’ll just close my eyes for a wee while.Those had been her last thoughts before sleep claimed her.
When she woke and glanced outside, the sun was already sinking west.
She’d slept the afternoon away.
This wouldn’t do. Lady Kylie was kind—but she wouldn’t tolerate idleness.
Fiona’s cheeks burned.
Ye are a lazy, good-for-nothing lass.Her mother’s voice rang in her head. It didn’t matter how hard Fiona worked, or how much coin she sent home. In Nora’s eyes, Fiona would always be lacking. Always wanting.
Her cheeks burned hotter still.
If Ma could see me now, she’d crow.
So lost was she in self-reproach that Fiona paid little attention to the stairs. She flew down them—until she rounded the corner onto the second-floor landing and collided with a wall of leather and muscle.
“Oof! Careful there.” A strong arm caught her by the waist, steadying her before she could pitch sideways. “These stairs are dangerous. Ye should take more care.”
Breathing hard, Fiona lifted her chin and found herself staring into green eyes.
There was no flirtation in Ailean’s gaze now. Only concern.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I overslept after the noon meal … and now I’m late.”
“Being late is one thing,” he replied, releasing her—slowly, she noted, his fingers trailing over her waist and hip. “Breaking yer neck is another.”
She swallowed. He was right. She’d been reckless in her panic.
Some of the sternness faded from his face. “I never met my grandmother, for she fell to her death on these stairs. Da always forbade us from running.” His gaze held hers. “Mind yerself in future. Aye?”
She nodded. Heat flooded her cheeks; part embarrassment, part something far more unsettling.
They stood too close.
She could see the auburn stubble along his jaw. The flecks of moss and fern in his eyes. She inhaled his scent: leather, horse, and something spicy, like freshly sawn wood. It reminded her of her Da’s workshop.
“I will.” Her voice sounded too high.
