Page 14 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T ucked in her warm bed under the quilts, with Feather curled on the pillow beside her, Davina allowed herself a moment to experience something that might just be happiness. A warm feeling of safety, without fear or cold or pain, but with comfort and a strange sense that she was someone who mattered in the world.

But would the world allow her happiness? She’d heard often enough from Dame Maria that she was undeserving, that she should never have been born and it was only through God’s grace that she was still living and breathing under the protection of the convent.

Never had she imagined she could ever experience a day such as she’d had today. Her world had taken such a turn that it was difficult to believe. Even so, a deep trickling of pain ran through her heart, telling her it couldn’t last, that the men would find her and take her… to somewhere the Lord alone knew. That good things could never come to one as wicked as she surely was for escaping.

She brushed a hand across the soft fur on Feather’s back and was rewarded with a tiny purr.

Yet, for all she deserved nothing but misery, today it was as if her whole life had been bathed in sunshine. All that had gone before, all the terror, the sadness, the loneliness, and the anger, had vanished. It was like a magical wand had been waved over her.

That such a man as Laird Everard could exist on this earth and show her such kindness was something she could never have contemplated in those dark convent-days.

She almost felt she was living in a glorious dream and would wake up soon enough and be back in her cold cell at the convent.

Yet, the gentle purring beside her ear told her the dream was real enough.

She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

Disappointingly, there had been such heavy rain in the night that her herb garden, where she’d turned the soil in readiness for planting, had turned into a pond of mud.

Clad in her old, drab kirtle, she took her parcels into the infirmary, where Broderick examined them approvingly. He turned the large jar of salve in his hand. “This is a special salve,” he said gleefully. “Made with herbs I dinnae grow here, like helenium, cropleek and hollowleek.”

“Well, I shall seek those out when next I attend the market. That is, if the tinker is there with his potions.”

He looked over the remaining herbs and salves with delight. “Ye’ve done well, lass. These will add tae the remedies we have fer folk with aches and pains.”

She stacked her little hoard of jars and bottles on the shelf and peered out the door. There were no patients waiting. The rain had cleared, and although there was still a suspicious bank of dark clouds hovering, it was fine enough to lend Davina hope she could plant at least some of the herbs she’d brought from the village.

Leaving Feather sitting in the doorway staring with disgust at the wet pavement and the muddy garden, Davina tied the old kirtle above her knees in an effort to keep it clean and dry. She discarded her boots and sallied forth to try to plant a row of herbs.

Ugh! She dug her hands into the mud, wincing as the drops of mud spattered her apron. Flicking a glance at the small furry figure perched in the door of the infirmary she chuckled. “Very wise, Feather.”

Wiping a splash from her cheek, she recalled Everard’s amusement at the splodge of mud he’d noticed on her nose. At the thought of his eyes on her, a singular thread of heat wound its way through her, swirled in her belly for a moment and then continued down, resulting in a slight shakiness in her knees.

Best not to waste her thoughts on the laird.

She had almost finished planting the seedlings along the row and was feeling quite pleased with her efforts when she heard a sharp yell from Broderick.

“Get out of here, ye pest.”

Startled, she looked up, her eyes falling on a small black and white goat that was busy eating the first of the herbs that had shot up in the spring sunshine.

Leaping to her feet, she waved her hands and flapped her apron. “Shoo. Those arenae fer ye tae eat!”

The goat looked at her sideways out of one yellow eye and continued its chomping without taking a moment’s pause.

Still flapping her hands, she stepped along the row, splashing her feet in the mud. “Begone ye foul beast,” she yelled. The goat took no notice as she drew near.

Now she was alongside the animal, which had dug its hooves into the mud and was refusing to budge. She pushed at its bony hindquarters. “Shoo. Move along. Go find something else tae eat.”

She pushed harder and at last the goat made a sudden leap forward, leaving her flailing in its wake. She tottered, striving to stay upright but the momentum was too great. She dropped like a boulder, falling face forward into the mud, letting fly an almighty wail as she descended.

She pulled herself up to a sitting position, her hands and arms coated with dark brown ooze. The same dark brown ooze was dripping from her hair and running down her face.

The goat looked heartily pleased with itself and at once sniffed at her muddy kirtle, as if deciding whether or not this was something else it could devour. Wrenching her skirt out of harm’s way, she went to stand up, but only succeeded in slipping further in. There was nothing for it but to turn onto her hands and knees and crawl out of the mud.

She was just managing to get to her feet when Broderick came racing over with a large piece of rough-woven cloth which he flung around her shoulders. At the same moment a lad dashed over, seized the miscreant goat’s tether and tugged it away from the garden.

Her eyes met Broderick’s and she saw the look of horror in his eyes.

Oh my, she must look a sight. She raised a muddy hand and wiped her mud-soaked hair back from her forehead.

It was too much. Altogether too ridiculous. She was almost tempted to burst into tears but instead, she couldn’t help throwing back her head and laughing like mad.

Broderick hesitated, and then his laugh joined with hers.

“Oh lord,” she said between fits of mirth. “How will I ever get meself clean?”

“The well…” Broderick managed. “Ye must fill a bucket and tip it over yerself...”

That was as far as he got. She looked down at her muddy kirtle. It would never be clean again. She thought of the spring that fed into the well, mayhap if she dipped her toes into the spring, she could splash the water and clean herself.

All her amusement at her predicament suddenly left her.

Never, under any circumstances would she empty a bucket of water over herself. The very thought made her shiver and a dark seam open up inside her. There was a terrible memory of drowning that accompanied her vision of the water pouring over her head. And it was not the near-drowning that the laird had saved her from, but something worse. Something that lingered as a stain on her heart. The memory of hands pushing her under, water filling her nostrils and mouth, being unable to breathe, and hands that held her down despite her struggles.

She snapped up her head, dismissing the nightmarish recollection.

Broderick was looking at her curiously. “D’ye wish me tae help ye, Mistress Davina?”

She shook her head. “Nay. I thank ye, but I can manage.” Shuffling the blanket tight around her shoulders she hastened along the path fronting the row of cottages and around the corner. The well and the spring that fed it were situated in a small, secluded, grassy, space at the edge of the bay.

Shivering – whether from cold or fear, it was impossible to tell – she stripped off her kirtle and wiped her face with the soggy fabric, followed by her hands and arms.

She looked with dismay at her arms, still smeared with mud and scarcely any cleaner than they were before she’d wiped them with the kirtle.

Now clad in nothing more than her knee-length shift, she lowered the wooden-planked bucket into the well and drew it up half-full. She splashed her hands, feet and legs, and rubbed them with the clear water. Then she moved down to the place where the spring ran free.

Holding her breath and gritting her teeth, she managed to splash handful after handful of water over her face and allowed the water to trickle slowly through her hair.

The water was icy cold. Her shift was soaking wet and goosebumps had popped up all over. She was in the process of drying herself on the old blanket, when she froze, unable to make another move at the sound of a voice.

“Whatever is going on, lass?”

She heaved a sigh. Of all the people she would never wish to see her in such disarray it was precisely Laird Everard MacNeil.

And there he was standing, a look on his face as he beheld her that was something between concern and amusement.

She attempted a curtsy but when she did, the blanket fell away, revealing her sodden undergarment and her bare shoulders. She fumbled with the somewhat damp and muddy blanket, heaving it over her shoulders.

Her teeth were chattering mightily as she responded.

“I am certain, me laird, that should ye ask the question of Master Broderick he will relate tae ye the whole sorry tale. What ye see now, is the result of me descending into a mud pool.”

He spoke kindly. “Lass, I see ye’re in serious disarray, and icy cold with it. I’d like tae help ye.”

She shook her head. Here she was in another misstep, with the laird, yet again, coming to her rescue. “’Tis naething, me laird, please. I can see tae meself.”

“Really?” He looked askance at her. His eyes sweeping over her still dripping hair, and the poor, muddied, kirtle lying in a heap at her feet.

She straightened her spine in a desperate search for some remaining sliver of dignity, hatefully aware of the wretched sight she must make.

“Methinks ye need tae come wi’ me intae the keep. I shall arrange a fire tae warm ye and hot water fer a bath, where ye can wash at yer leisure wi’ rose-petal soap, and dry yerself on clean, soft, linen.”

He smiled most beguilingly as he extended his invitation. Davina sighed. Mayhap standing her half-naked, shivering, soaked to the skin, with muddy clothing at her feet, was not the most opportune moment to stand on her dignity.

It was impossible to resist the vision of a steaming, rose-scented, bath-tub, her hair shiny-clean and a pile of soft, warm, linens wrapping her.

“Ah. Mayhap I shall accept yer offer after all, me laird.” She looked up to catch him smiling, a hint of triumph sparking in his blue eyes. “But, please allow me tae tend ye me apologies fer causing such inconvenience tae ye.”

Now he was openly grinning at her, displaying no attempt to hide his amusement.

She glared at him. “’I am pleased tae provide ye wi’ such a humorous moment, me laird.”

He cleared his throat, looking at her with an attempt at seriousness. “Ye misjudge me, lass,” he said softly. “I merely wish tae be of assistance. And I havenae forgotten yer aversion tae water and the anguish it can cause ye.”

He spoke gently and it would be foolish to discount his kindness. Shivering uncomfortably and with teeth chattering loudly, she managed a tiny smile.

“Once again, I find meself thanking ye, me laird.”

With that, he bent and hoisted her into his arms, shivering, wet and still mud-stained as she was, and took the stairs to the keep.

Davina wound her arms around his neck as he carried her, admitting to herself that there was great enjoyment in being held in the laird’s arms, warmed by his own body-heat, his breath in her wet hair and his strong arms holding her as easily as if she weighed no more than Feather.

As the entered the keep, Mildred appeared beside them, an anxious frown on her face. She was clearly aware of the goings-on in the garden. “Is Mistress Davina all right, me laird?”

Everard nodded as he strode past her toward the stairs. “Some hot water, if ye please Mildred, tae fill the copper tub in me bedchamber.”

He entered the large room and gently lowered Davina onto the center of his large, four-poster, oaken bed.

She levered herself up onto the pile of feather pillows at the head of the bed. It was all so soft, and inviting and, she was quite certain – seductive. She’d heard about seduction from one of the noblemen’s daughters at the convent. The same lass who had talked about flirting. It had sounded to her as if being seduced was something thrilling which only beautiful, noble, ladies would experience.

Alas, while she had been held in a man’s arms, and he had lowered her onto his bed, this was neither seduction, nor flirting. Merely the rescue of a bedraggled, silly lass, who should have known better than to fall flat on her face into a mud pool. She sighed. Thank goodness she was wrapped in a blanket, for otherwise she would have gotten everything wet and muddy.

Only moments after she had landed on Everard’s bed, a troop of maids entered the room carrying buckets of steaming, rose-scented, hot water. One of them laid out a stack folded white-linen towels and a deep burgundy velvet gown.

“If ye need aught else, please ring the bell.” The maid curtsied politely and followed the others out of the bedchamber.

Davina inhaled the delicious fragrance of roses filling the air. It was as if she had died and gone to heaven.

Once the tub was full and everything arrayed for Davina’s delectation, Everard turned to take his leave. “I trust this will be more tae yer liking than the cold water from the spring and the well.” He smirked as he said this and Davina would have liked to throw one of the plump feather pillows at his head.

Instead, she rose to her feet and managed a brief curtsy, keeping a firm hold on the old blanket wrapping her.

“Me grateful thanks, me laird.”

He turned to go, but before he reached the door it opened and another maid sallied in, bearing a small rush basket from which a piteous meow issued forth.

“Healer Broderick said this wee one was fretting and thought both of ye might enjoy each other’s company.” She placed the basket on the mat before the fire.

Everard roared with laughter, stepped over and opened the lid. Immediately, Feather jumped into his waiting hands. He handed over the little, purring, creature to Davina, who cradled her, gave her a kiss, and placed her on the softest pillow. Feather curled into a tiny ball and promptly closed her eyes.

He stood watching, a smile on his lips.

“Me laird?” Davina tilted her head in the direction of the doorway, one eyebrow raised.

“Ah, yes.” Everard hastened over. “Enjoy.”

Once she was certain he was gone, she tossed off the blanket, stripped off the damp chemise, and dipped her toes into the blissfully warm water. She gently lowered herself until she was almost submerged up to her shoulders in the heady, perfumed water.

She waited, expecting a ripple of anguish to seep into her bones.

No anguish. Only warm, silky sensations as the water played over her skin, slipping over her shoulders, over her legs and arms, washing over her breasts and teasing their pink tipped nubs.

For the first time in her life, Davina became aware of the pleasure of her naked body.