Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(23)

Three


Clean.

Katherine sighed and stood in front of the hearth in naught but her skin while she looked at her fingernails. They were chipped and broken—unlike her stepmother’s, which had always been carefully shaped and buffed.

But for the moment, Katherine was absorbed by the fact that there wasn’t a bit of dirt left under her nails or on any other part of her body. She sighed and turned so the fire could dry her hair. She had distant memories of bathing in a shift, but those habits had fallen away in Scotland.

The Scots were far more practical. The purpose of a bath was to get your skin clean, and cloth was expensive, greatly so. No coin was spent on a garment whose only use was to shield modesty while sitting in a bathing tub. She’d gladly discarded the often-tedious ceremonies of England as she’d settled into the Highlands.

Katherine smiled as she felt the warmth from the fire drying her bare skin. In England, the Highlanders were labeled savages and wicked.

Well, that suited her rather well.

Thanks to Marcus.

Her thoughts darkened. He’d been more of a brother to her than any kin she had ever known. He’d made certain she grew strong, and that was a gift she treasured. It pained her to know she would cost him.

Rolfe was correct; she’d been acting like a child who didn’t consider what her actions wrought.

Well, no more.

She moved across the chamber and picked up a shift that had been laid out for her. She couldn’t fault the McTavishes, because they had provided her with good clothing to wear. The shift was made of soft linen that felt good against her skin. There were stockings for her, too. She pulled them up her legs and secured them with garters before putting on her boots.

She really had been thinking like a child to believe the cobbler hadn’t sought payment for the fine footwear, or that the man hadn’t noticed they were men’s boots. They closed all the way up to just below her knees with the aid of antler-horn buttons that she wound a leather lace around. She’d certainly been grateful for them in the Gordon stronghold.

Well, now she had another place to escape from. Marcus had taught her to be strong, and the best way to repay that was to take care of herself.

There were two sets of skirts for her to choose from, both made of sturdy wool. She chose one that looked as if it was hemmed correctly for her height and slipped it up and over her head. The waistband was worked with several eyelets that she threaded a lace through. Next, there were bodices. Her McTavish guards had been unwilling to allow any of the maids to stay and help her dress.

Katherine smiled as she recalled how the men had stood guard over her while the tub was filled. In the past, she’d taken pleasure in revealing her strength and ability. Now, she realized it would have been far better if the McTavishes had believed her to be helpless. So she’d bitten her lip and stood quietly, trying her best to appear meek. Perhaps they thought their clansmen were exaggerating the tales about her abilities.

The bodices had boning in them so that once she laced one up, her breasts were supported. It had become harder over the last year to bind herself. She’d hoped that her breasts simply wouldn’t grow because of the wide strip of cloth she used to flatten them. But nature seemed to be determined to have her way, and the bodice cupped two rather large mounds.

Katherine looked at herself in a mirror, enjoying the sight of herself in a dress. Sometimes, she longed for a life that didn’t make her choose to discard her gender. It was just that a woman’s place was so very difficult to stomach. Such as her current circumstances. She was expected to be submissive and accept that she would just have to wait to be ransomed.

Perhaps that might have been acceptable if the idea of being returned to the Earl of Morton wasn’t a possibility. Or to England, for that matter. It had been a long time since she’d been under her father’s roof, and she would be an unwanted mouth to feed.

So she had to use her wits and her skills to escape.

The chamber was on the second floor. She looked out of the window, but it was too high to descend from, even if she knotted the sheets. The knot might give or her hands fail to hold her.

But she suddenly looked back at the second set of clothing as an idea formed in her mind.

Maybe she needed to fight smart and dupe her captors with the aid of their own fear.

*

Someone screamed.

Rolfe looked up, as did a dozen or so men. There was a commotion coming from the new tower, and it took him about two seconds to decide Katherine was the likely cause. He went running around the gate and into the yard, just in time to see a woman dangling from a crude sort of rope from the third-story window.

“Bloody fool,” he snarled as he pushed people out of his way to try to get to her faster.

She was dangling from the rope, twirling around and around, and he suddenly stopped, realizing there was no weight on the rope, at least not the weight of a person. It was flapping like a child’s toy. There were men in the window of her chamber, tugging on the bedsheet to pull her up. They stumbled out of sight as they tugged too hard, anticipating a person’s weight.

Rolfe scanned the area. Everyone was hurrying into the courtyard to get a glimpse at what was causing the commotion.

Katherine would be heading the other way. He turned and ran toward the stables. He caught sight of a skirt as she went around a bend in the stalls toward the back door that was open to let in fresh air.