The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(54)

He spoke to the wall behind her in the most grudging voice she’d ever heard.

Her cheeks burned, but some needs could not be ignored. The idea of using the chamber pot in such a small, decidedly un-private area did not appeal to her. “I don’t suppose you have a garderobe nearby?”

He still avoided her eyes, but she could see her question had discomfited him as much as it had her. “I’m to escort you around back for privacy when you need it.”

She needed it. Her feet were dancing. The morning was cold and misty, but the breath of fresh air was welcome as he led her out and waited a short distance away while she tended her needs.

The rest of the occupants of the camp must have still been sleeping off their celebration, as it was very quiet and peaceful. She looked about, seeing some things that she hadn’t noticed before. A few small outer buildings, what appeared to be a garden near one of them, the cluck of hens, a few sheep on the hillside, farm tools and a cart propped against the longhouse. She wanted to linger, but he led her back inside. Before he could leave, however, she asked, “I would like some water to wash—and a bath if one can be found.”

His mouth tightened as if he wanted to refuse. “I will see what can be arranged.”

A short while later, Rosalin was in heaven. A large wooden tub lined with linen had been brought in by two young warriors whose job it must be to tend the more menial labor. It was filled with cold water, but she didn’t care. As soon as the men left, she tore off her clothes, reached for the soap and comb, and luxuriated in the sensation of being clean again.

For modesty’s sake she’d left on her chemise, and after scrubbing like she’d seen the maids do, she emerged from the water feeling refreshed. But cold. Shivering and dripping wet, she realized too late that she’d neglected to ask for a drying cloth. Reaching for Boyd’s trunk, which was the closest, she opened it to find a stack of neatly folded linens. She took one that was obviously meant for the purpose and wrapped it around her shivering body.

But with the soaking-wet chemise and nothing to change into, the cloth provided little in the way of relief. She had two choices. She could remove her chemise and don her smoky, travel-stained gowns again or she could borrow one of the freshly washed tunics she’d noticed in his chest. It wasn’t a difficult decision.

A short while later, she’d hung her gowns and wet chemise from a few pegs in the poles that looked to be for that purpose and was sitting on Sir Alex’s trunk, combing out her wet hair, clean and comfortably bundled in not only one of Boyd’s tunics, but also a plaid she’d found tucked underneath. At first she’d thought it black, but it was actually shades of dark blues and grays. She wrapped it around her in a Roman fashion, knotting it on one shoulder and keeping it in place with one of the silver girdles she wore around her waist.

When Sir Alex entered the tent a few minutes later, however, he looked so shocked to see her in it, she wondered if she’d done something wrong.

Once his shock passed, he smiled. “I see you found some fresh clothing.”

She blushed. “When I asked for the bath, I forgot that I didn’t have anything clean to change into.” She’d also removed her own clothes for the first time in years without a serving-maid, but she didn’t want to mention that. “Do you think he’ll mind?”

Sir Alex gave her a long, steady look. “If he does, tell him I said you could use mine.”

For some reason, the prospect of her doing so seemed to amuse him.

“I’m sorry to disturb you—I just came in to get a few things.” He grinned. “But you are sitting on them.”

She gasped, jumping off his trunk. “It is I who should apologize to you for displacing you from your…um…room.”

He pretended not to notice her embarrassment over sleeping in his bed. “It’s a place to sleep, nothing more. As long as Douglas doesn’t snore too loudly when he returns, I won’t know the difference.” His expression changed to one of concern. “You are all right?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“He did not…” His voice let off, as if he were searching for the right words. “Hurt you?”

Heat crawled up her cheeks, guessing what he suspected. Was that what they all suspected? Did everyone think she’d given herself to him to let her nephew escape? No, they couldn’t. But Sir Alex must have sensed something and guessed.

“I am fine,” she said firmly. “Your friend is angry that my nephew was able to get away, but he has not hurt me. In any way,” she added meaningfully. “I am exactly as I was when I arrived.” Although perhaps a bit wiser.

He nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. Your inventiveness took us all by surprise. I’m not sure I would have gone out that window.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen Boyd so angry.” He smiled. “Even with me. And other than your brother, I doubt there’s anyone who angers him more.”

“But you are friends. Why would he be angry with you?”

“I’ve committed the unpardonable sin, the one thing that can never be forgiven.”

“What’s that?”

“I was born in England,” he said dryly.

“But aren’t your lands in Scotland?”

“Most of them are now, although my brother held some lands in Cumberland and Northumberland. I’ve been raised in Scotland and fought on the Scottish side for every battle of the war, but it doesn’t matter. In Boyd’s eyes, I will always be English. I don’t think even Wallace hated your countrymen as much as he does. Not without cause, perhaps, but it blinds him. He will never completely trust an Englishman.”