Page 24 of The Return of the Heir

A smile brought out the wrinkles around her kind eyes as she shooed Gwendolyn towards the bath. “There is a screen for your privacy. I’ll sit with Arabella while you bathe and then sleep. And I promise to wake you if anything changes.”

With a nod, Gwendolyn moved to the hearth and set up the panelled screen before she removed the gown Garrick had forced her to put on, then her well-worn chemise before she submerged herself into the hip bath. The water still held some warmth as she put the soap Lottie had given her to work. The fresh, clean scent of rosemary and mint filled the air as she scrubbed at her skin until it flushed pink before washing her hair.

Free of the dirt and grime that had caked on her skin for years, Gwendolyn noted the pinkness of her skin. It no longer held any trace of what had transpired over the past five years, except for the bruising at her ankle from where the shackle had been, and at her wrists where Garrick had bound them together. But those injuries too, would heal with time. And then she would be like everyone else—except for the bruises that would never fade from her memory.

After a final rinse, Gwendolyn stood, her skin tingling with cleanliness, and wrapped herself in one of the drying sheets that had been left for their use. Once she was done, she reluctantly put her soiled clothing back on, then sank down wearily into a chair by the fire, allowing the warmth of the flames to dry her hair and warm her body. Yet even as she relaxed, sleep refused to come. Her thoughts turned to Alastair.

He had seemed surprised to see her in the wine cellar, and almost afraid to believe she was real. Her fantasy of seeing him fall to his knees with remorse the moment he saw she was alive collapsed at her feet. Once his surprise had vanished, he’d watched her through narrowed eyes. She’d thought she’d memorised everything about him. But something more had changed in the time they’d been apart. His dark eyes now held a touch of cynicism, and everything about him exuded raw, brute strength. She had searched his face for some sign of the man who had asked her to marry him, but that man had vanished along with her dreams. Regardless of the changes in him, when he had touched her face, her skin had warmed, and when he moved his fingers to her neck, her heart had leapt in her chest in a way it hadn’t ever before.

With a shake of her head, Gwendolyn forced herself to stop thinking of him. There were so many other things to worry about that she hardly knew how to cope. She and her siblings would not be able to leave Dunvegan any time soon, not before Arabella’s health improved. Until then, they had no choice but to remain.

It was obvious, even though he had yet to say so, that Alastair had moved on with his life. The fact that he had looked at her with cold aloofness and had not pulled her into an embrace when he’d discovered she was real, told her everything she needed to know. She swallowed against the thickness in her throat.

She and her siblings were not shackled any longer, but they were still trapped. Therefore, she was going to have to find a way to survive the ordeal—without looking back on her past with Alastair—or looking forward into uncertainty. She simply had to live in the moment. Then when Arabella was healthy, they would leave. But whatever happened in the interim, Gwendolyn vowed to be completely composed and imperturbable, no matter what happened. She was no longer an infatuated young girl. Life had matured her, hardened her. When next they were together, she would prove to him that she no longer cared for him. She would move forward as he had.

With all that settled, she closed her eyes when a soft shuffling came from the doorway. A moment later, Rowena appeared followed by the Grey Lady. At the ghost’s entrance, Lottie gasped and dropped to her knees behind the bed.

“All is well, Lottie,” Gwendolyn said as she stood and headed for Rowena and the Grey Lady.

Lottie peeked over the side of the bed. “But the woman. . .the ghost. . .I’ve heard stories. . .”

“The Grey Lady is a benevolent ghost and was quite helpful to me and my brother and sister over the past many years. There is nothing to fear.”

Lottie remained behind the bed, using it as a shield. “Let us go out into the hallway,” Gwendolyn suggested, “so that we do not wake Arabella or Samuel and give Lottie some peace.”

“Agreed,” Rowena said, exiting the chamber with her mother. “I came to see how you all were faring? Mother was agitated and seemed to think someone needed help. You were the first person who came to my mind.”

Gwendolyn shut the door behind her. “Unless your mother can take the illness from Arabella’s lungs, all is as well as can be here.”

Rowena looked to her mother’s ghostly form. “Can you do such a thing?”

Nay. If not Gwendolyn, then someone else needs our help.

Rowena frowned. “Where is Alastair? I thought he would be here with you?”

“He and the other warriors went to look for Garrick.”

Alastair is in danger.The Grey Lady shifted back and forth in agitation.

Gwendolyn reached for her arm to comfort her, but her hand went right through the woman’s appendage. Admonishing herself for forgetting the woman wasn’t of this world any longer, she pulled her hand back. “Do you know where Alastair is?”

Aye. Come.

Without hesitation, Gwendolyn followed with Rowena at her side as the Grey Lady swept down the stairs and out of the castle, heading back to the old keep. A chill came over her as they entered the place where she had so recently left and had hoped never to enter again. But for Alastair, she could be brave. She owed him this much at least for freeing her from her prison.

*

“What do youthink Garrick seeks to prove by holding the Harris children hostage, and in your own home?” Graeme asked as Alastair led the way through the passageways in the older section of the castle.

“I have a few ideas, and I think you do too.” Alastair held his torch high, illuminating the way. So far they’d found no evidence of Garrick or anything other than the usual vermin that seemed ever-present.

Graeme grunted. “It’s a powerplay that will not end well for the MacDonalds.”

Nay, this would not end well for Garrick MacDonald, especially if the villain had laid a hand on Gwendolyn at any point over the past five years. She was an innocent when they were about to marry. Was she still? At the thought he clutched the torch more tightly in his hand as he made his way through the sheer lacy cobwebs, indicating Garrick hadn’t come this far into the labyrinth of tunnels.

Alastair was tempted to turn around, but something inside kept urging him to move forward for Gwendolyn’s sake. Even after all the years, the pain, and her betrayal, she held a sort of power over him—a power he had to fortify himself against in any future encounters. He had moved on with his life. She deserved a chance to do the same. And that would only happen when Garrick paid for his ill deeds.

They followed the tunnels until they came out behind a panel in the drawing room located on the second floor of the old keep. The room was as empty and neglected as the rest of this part of the castle. Alastair suddenly wondered why his father had simply abandoned this portion of their home. There was nothing wrong with the building that a new roof and several days’ cleaning couldn’t fix. Perhaps, once he got more settled into his role as laird, he would see to its restoration.