Page 7 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

Lily walked as fast as she could as Daisy led her deeper into the castle. Her back ached, and she could still feel the pressure in her fingers from where she had used the whisky and a clean blade to clean out the infection in Timothy’s ankle.

Somehow, worse than the pain she felt in her back and shoulders was the sudden onslaught of memories. She could still see Timothy’s hopeless brown eyes waiting for her to finish working on his wound.

They stopped before a thick wooden door near the end of the passage.

“This is yer chamber, me Lady,” Daisy announced, pushing the door open.

Lily stepped in and immediately felt the warm air envelop her. She could faintly smell lavender and some kind of soap in the air. After spending hours with sick men, this was a welcome change of scenery.

The fire flickered gently and reflected beautifully off the walls. Her eyes searched the entire room, one space after the other. She could get used to a space like this. It was not as terrible as a part of her had thought it would be.

“I had the junior maids draw another bath right after ye went to the hall,” Daisy said. “I didnae want ye sleeping in bloody clothes.”

Lily gave her a weary smile. “Thank ye, Daisy. ‘Tis as perfect as it can be.”

“Of course, me Lady.”

Daisy moved toward the table tucked against the wall and picked up a clean dress from it. The fabric had green and brown undertones, and lace adorned the bodice and the sleeves. It looked magnificent, even from afar.

Lily’s eyebrow rose. “Is that for me?”

“Aye,” Daisy said brightly. “The Laird picked it out. He picked out most of the dresses in the wardrobe, actually.”

“He did?”

Daisy nodded, grinning. “He said ye werenae one for frills. Told the seamstress what shades ye used to favor. Earth tones and soft lines. Said ye liked clothes that let ye move.”

“He said all of that?” Lily asked.

“Aye. I still remember the look on his face when he told us, ‘ Nothing but the best for me wife. ’”

Lily’s stomach grumbled at the mention of that word, but she had a feeling it was mostly because she was hungry.

She stared at the dress. The cut and the stitching were perfect. Even the slight dip in the neckline was modest enough for a lady. It was exactly her style.

The thought upset her.

She resisted the urge to scowl. “Of course he did.”

Daisy, still cheerful, opened the wardrobe and beckoned her over.

Inside, beautiful garments of varying colors and fabrics hung neatly from wooden rods.

Some were light and flowing, and others were rich and regal.

There were dresses for feasts, dresses for long rides, and even simple linen gowns for lounging.

Lily’s eyes widened. “He picked out all of these?”

“Every single one,” Daisy responded. “Except, of course, the ones he returned.”

Lily’s eyes flicked to the maid. “Returned?”

“The ones he didnae like. They are back in the storehouse because he said they werenae for ye. The seamstress is sending them to the market in the morning, I think.”

Lily folded her arms, thinking. “And he bought all these already?”

“Aye, me Lady. Paid in full. The dressmaker said she’d never had a client so… demanding.”

Lily turned away from the wardrobe and slowly walked back to the tub. “Daisy.”

“Aye, me Lady?”

“Would ye be a dear and bring me the ones he didnae choose?”

The maid blinked. “The—what, from the storehouse?”

“Aye.”

“But me Lady… he spent hours picking these for ye. Would ye nae rather wear what he thought was best?”

Lily shook her head, already tugging at the laces of her corset. “I would rather wear what I choose.”

“But the Laird?—”

“Daenae worry, Daisy,” Lily said, pulling her gown off her shoulders and stepping behind the changing screen. “The dresses are already paid for, are they nae? I’d simply rather have the ones he didnae think were good for me, that is all.”

Daisy hesitated but nodded slowly. “Aye. I’ll go fetch them. It might take a bit of time.”

“Take yer time,” Lily called, stepping out from behind the screen in her shift. “Nay rush.”

As Daisy slipped out of the room, Lily finally allowed herself to exhale. Alone.

She walked slowly to the tub, her bare feet warming against the thick rug beneath her. Steam curled up invitingly from the surface. She dipped one toe in. The temperature was just right.

With a sigh, she shed her shift and lowered herself into the water.

It covered her like silk, easing all the ache and tension she felt in her shoulder blades and lower back almost immediately. She could stay here all day, thinking about nothing at all.

But her mind, traitorous as it was, wouldn’t rest. She tried to focus on the reflection of the candlelight dancing on the water and even the scent of lavender oil and soap. Hell, she tried thinking about the faces of the men in the hall, all writhing on their beds in pain. But she kept seeing him .

Alasdair.

His face in the moonlight. That smug smirk she wished she could wipe off. His hands over hers as they worked on Timothy’s foot. The solid and grounding feel of him behind her on the horse.

Him. Her husband.

She cursed under her breath and sank deeper, letting the water cover her ears until the world went quiet.

Why had he picked those dresses? Why did they all feel so right? How dare he still remember things about her?

She clenched her jaw and drew a ragged breath, wiping water from her eyes.

This wasn’t about him. It would never be again. She was here to save lives, not to rekindle foolish feelings or relive the pain of what could have been. She grabbed the bar of soap and began scrubbing her arms in sharp, firm strokes, as if she could wash away his memory.

“I’ll do me work,” she muttered. “But I willnae care for him. Nae again.”

She glanced once more toward the wardrobe. At the dress he had chosen. She hated how perfect it looked. She hated how well he knew her.

She stayed in the water longer than she had intended, the heat slowly losing its edge. Her fingers were wrinkled and her skin scrubbed red, but still, she lingered.

It took a while, but she managed to push all the other thoughts from her mind. There was something about the silence and the solitude that held her there.

In the bath, the world seemed far away. No Alasdair. No wounded men. No tension pulsing through her like a second heartbeat. Just water.

Eventually, she grew cold. She sighed, pushing herself up. Water trickled down her arms and collarbones as she reached for a towel. She dried herself quickly, wrapped her hair in a second towel, and slipped into the plain linen robe that was left near the tub.

Minutes passed. Then, the door creaked open.

“Hope ye daenae mind,” Sorcha said as she stepped in, carrying a large wooden box with handles. “I brought ye the dresses.”

Lily turned from where she’d been brushing her hair in front of the mirror. “Where’s Daisy?”

“Feeding the wounded. Poor lads. Most of them cannae even lift their hands to eat, much less hold a spoon. She’ll be busy for a while.”

Lily nodded, stepping toward the box. “Thank ye for bringing them.”

Sorcha set it on the bed with a faint grunt and then dusted her hands. “Aye, well. I ken what it means to want to spite a man. But I’ll warn ye now—some of these dresses are… unsightly.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “I daenae care.”

Sorcha opened the box. “I figured as much.”

She reached in and pulled out a dress, holding it by the sleeves. It was a heavy maroon piece, too long and too wide at the shoulders. Hideous lace climbed up the sides like an unwanted vine.

Lily grimaced.

Sorcha laughed. “I told ye.”

Lily nodded. “I’ll wear them.”

“Ye will?”

“Aye.”

Sorcha shook her head, half in disbelief. “Ye’re just as the Laird described ye.”

Lily looked up sharply. “And how exactly did he describe me?”

“As sweet and shy… But… But also stubborn. Headstrong. He said ye willnae be told what to do. That ye ken yer own mind, even if the whole world stands against ye.” Sorcha smiled as she folded the maroon monstrosity. “He said it like a complaint, but I could tell he admired ye for it.”

Lily snorted. “He might nae admire me for it now . Nae after the day he had with me.”

Sorcha met her gaze, serious now. “Well, just so ye ken—ye’re exactly the kind of lady we need.”

“I am nae here to be a lady,” Lily said firmly. “I’m here to treat the wounded. That is all.”

Sorcha didn’t argue. She just shrugged. “Well, we shall see if ye still say that after tomorrow.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “What happens tomorrow?”

“The elders.”

“What elders?”

Sorcha’s brow creased. “Ye daenae ken? They’ve been expecting ye.”

Lily folded her arms across her chest. “To do what, exactly?”

“To meet ye. Speak with ye. Assess things, I suppose.”

“Well, they’ll be sorely disappointed,” Lily said. “Because once these soldiers are healed, I am leaving. I’m nae staying a moment longer than needed.”

Sorcha held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

Lily exhaled, tucking her damp hair behind her ear. “I need to head back. There are still people I need to attend to.”

Sorcha stepped toward the wardrobe. “Ye can go, but nae before eating. The food has been laid out for ye in the dining hall, and the cook’s none too pleased that ye skipped breakfast and lunch.”

“I am nae hungry.”

“Aye, well, ye will be. And if ye keel over in the hall, that willnae help anyone.”

Lily rolled her eyes but didn’t protest further. “How is Timothy doing?”

Sorcha looked back at her. “Oh, he left already.”

“Left?”

“Aye. As soon as ye bandaged his foot, he got up and left for the village.”

Lily’s jaw dropped. “He shouldnae be walking on his foot. Nae yet.”

“I ken. But his wife is with child, and their food stores are low. He had to go back.”

Lily frowned, pacing toward the window. “There were things I needed to tell him. About how to treat the wound, how to place weight gently, elevate his leg at night?—”

“He kens.”

Lily turned. “He does?”

Sorcha smiled. “Aye.”

“Did ye tell him?”

“Nay. The Laird did.”

Lily blinked. “What?”

Sorcha crossed her arms and, in a perfect imitation of Alasdair’s voice, spoke. “‘ Daenae put weight on it for the first day. Walkin’ stick only. Elevate it when ye sleep. Change the bandages every morning. And if it turns black or swells, send word .’”

Lily stared at her. That was exactly what she would have told the boy. “He said all of that?”

“Aye,” Sorcha responded, a grin spreading across her face. “Yer husband isnae just a pretty face, ye ken.”

Lily’s face flushed. “He isnae me husband.”

Sorcha raised both eyebrows and nodded solemnly. “Of course. Me mistake.”

Lily sighed. “I’ll come to the dining hall.”

“Good.” Sorcha moved to the door.

“Wait—” Lily called, causing the maid’s hand to freeze on the doorknob. “This war—the one that caused all these injuries… when exactly did it end? I noticed the wounds are fresh.”

“Aye,” Sorcha responded, her voice soft. “They’re fresh because the war ended yesterday.”

Lily froze. “Yesterday?”

Sorcha nodded. “Aye, just yesterday.”

She left, and Lily was left alone once again.

The air in the room seemed to go still.

Lily turned slowly toward the mirror, staring at her own wide eyes, her pale face, and her hair, still damp from the bath.

Yesterday .

Her fingers trembled faintly at her sides.

What exactly had she walked into?