Page 6 of The Highlander’s Virgin Nun (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #2)

CHAPTER SIX

“J ust up this way, dear. We’re nae far.”

Rosaline hurried up the stairs behind Alexandra, who skipped from step to step with a youthful spring.

She tried to take in her surroundings, still looking for clues as to what horror lay there. Any face she saw, she searched for a sign of despair, marks of cruelty that may have been inflicted on them by their violent Laird. But every servant greeted Alexandra with a smile and a nod, and it was the same to her—a stranger. She could not get a read on any of them.

“Would ye prefer a view of the village or the loch?” Alexandra asked.

“Of the village, please,” Rosaline replied. “But really, I dinnae need any view at all. I really dinnae need anythin’ lavish.”

“Dinnae be silly.” Alexandra giggled, finally reaching the top of the stairs with a labored breath. “The lass who has saved me braither’s life deserves the best.”

They walked a few paces further to a large wooden door with black slate hinges. It was carved with small, ornate floral designs, and Rosaline could not comprehend that she was to pass through it.

But the door was the least of the decorations.

As Alexandra showed her inside, she spotted a large four-poster bed, adorned with hanging linen and large furs draped across the bedding. A large wardrobe stood on the wall opposite, beside a beautiful writing desk. By the large, latticed windows that began almost at the floor and reached just below the ceiling, there was a large rocking chair, draped in even more fur, with another beautifully carved wooden chair beside it.

The window looked out onto the village, as Alexandra had said, offering a wide view of the daily goings-on. Rosaline thought of how much she would enjoy gazing out the window, watching the village come to life.

“This is beautiful,” she remarked. “Thank ye.”

“Nay problem. I am just glad me braither is back and safe, and that ye helped make happen,” Alexandra replied, her tone cheery. “Make yerself at home.”

Rosaline paced around the room, unsure exactly of how to make herself at home. She had nothing to put away or ask to be brought to her room. As she walked, she felt her ankle drag and tried to hide it once again to no avail.

“Ye are limpin’. Are ye hurt?” Alexandra enquired, as attentive and observant as Rosaline had assumed she might be.

“It is just a scratch. I got it on a rock in the woods,” Rosaline explained, trying to underplay the urgency of the incident.

She was not ready to tell her story yet.

“Might I see?” Alexandra asked.

“It’s really nothin’,” Rosaline insisted.

But she could see that Alexandra would not take no for an answer. She sat on the chair and lifted her tunic. The blood stain ran halfway up her calf and all over her boots. The cut, though not wide, was deep, and a bruise had formed around it, too.

“That must be cleaned and dressed,” Alexandra noted. Rosaline was grateful that she had not gasped or fretted. “Give me just a moment.”

As Alexandra left to fetch water and linen cloths, Rosaline stared out the window, still trying to find the catch in her new circumstances. She could see no peasants in the lanes, no servants limping or hunching, no stairs to dungeons. Everyone looked well-fed and cared for. They were busy, but not exhausted.

Alexandra returned a moment later with a basin of warm water, a bar of soap, and bandages for her wound.

“Thank ye,” Rosaline said as she rose to take the basin from her.

“Nay, nay, ye sit. I’ll be able to get a better look at it.” Alexandra waved her off and knelt in front of her.

Rosaline sat back down warily. She had visions of Alexandra being too rough, pouring acid into the wound, or slipping pins into the bandages. In recent years, any touch other than Victoria’s had been associated with pain, so she flinched at even the thought of a stranger moving towards her.

Alexandra soaked a cloth in the warm, soapy water and wrung it. Rosaline tensed as she leaned closer, but relaxed as Alexandra gently patted the wound, her movements as slow and soft as a mother’s.

“So, how did ye save him?” Alexandra asked.

“He was fightin’ three men already, and a fourth tried to sneak up on him from behind. I just yelled to warn him.”

Alexandra smiled and nodded, still focused on cleaning the wound. “I thank ye very much for doin’ so. Me braither’s had to survive a lot of these attacks recently, so we will take any help we can get.”

“Why?” Rosaline enquired, desperately trying to find out more about her husband-to-be.

“I’ll let him explain,” Alexandra replied.

Cryptic.

But before Rosaline could ask any more, Alexandra spoke again. “Where do ye come from?”

A question Rosaline had been dreading.

She had rehearsed lines in her head and ultimately decided that a vague version of the truth would be the best answer. She didn’t want to be caught in a lie and punished, but she didn’t want them to assume the worst of her either.

“I was at a convent nearby when I found Caelan. They didnae treat me very well, so I left.”

“A convent?” Alexandra looked surprised and curious. “For nuns?”

“Aye.”

“Were ye a nun?”

“Nay.” Rosaline laughed for what felt like the first time in a while. “Even if I tried hard, they would never have let me be.”

“I couldnae do it either. The celibacy, I could maybe manage—there arenae many fine men around here anyway. But it’s the silence I couldnae do. I love the chatter!”

Rosaline found it hard to trust people, and she even found it hard to trust her instincts. But the warmth Alexandra radiated was undeniable. She was a joyful soul, and she seemed keen to make Rosaline feel at home. The only other person she knew with a similar energy was Victoria, whom she missed already.

“Why are ye bein’ so nice to me?” she finally managed to ask.

Enough digging. She tried asking for the truth up front.

“Whatever do ye mean, lass?” Alexandra giggled. “Why would I nae be?”

“Because ye hardly ken me. And yer braither has just brought me back from the middle of nowhere and declared me his bride.”

It had crossed Rosaline’s mind when she first saw Alexandra that she would be the lady of the castle. Surely, she would feel intimidated or put out by the prospect of being replaced. Wouldn’t she be defensive of her role?

“Anyone who saves me braither’s life is a friend of mine. There are far fewer people in this world tryin’ to save him than kill him right now. And I thank ye and commend ye for doin’ so.”

Rosaline appreciated the acknowledgment. She could even glimpse the truth in Alexandra’s eyes. But again, it raised a question.

How could someone who came across so kind be wanted dead by so many? Why were all these people trying to kill Laird Sinclair? Sure, judging from his castle, his clan was clearly prospering. But so were many clans around these parts. What made him such a target?

Alexandra dabbed a dry cloth against the wound, which was looking much better now. A lot of what she had assumed was dark bruising was actually just mud and dried blood. It looked far cleaner and healthier now, albeit still a bit gory in its depth and width.

“That’s much better for now. I shall leave the dressing on until after ye have had a full wash, which I’m sure ye are desperate for after the stress of the day.”

She stood up and moved to leave the bandages on the writing desk for later.

“We will have dinner in the main hall in half an hour. Ye should have plenty time to freshen up and change yer clothes.”

Rosaline gulped. Perhaps it had not been as embarrassingly obvious to others as to her that she had arrived with absolutely nothing but the clothes she wore now, grubby as they were. Perhaps they assumed her tunic had acquired years of wear in just one stressful day. Alas, she had nothing to change into, and certainly nothing suitable for dinner in a castle with a laird .

“I—me apologies, Lady Alexandra, but I dinnae have anything suitable to wear to dinner. This is all I have.” She paused. “Would it be all right if I just eat in me room?”

“Good heavens!” Alexandra exclaimed, shaking her head and placing a hand on her forehead. “How utterly silly of me— of course . Let me fetch ye a few dresses from me wardrobe; they should be just the right size.”

Rosaline gasped. “Nay, Me Lady, that really isnae necessary. Ye dinnae have to loan me yer lovely garments. I can simply eat in me room and wash me tunic overnight.”

“Dinnae be so silly, lass. Just give me a moment.”

Before Rosaline could object any further, Alexandra had swept out of the room with the same spriteful energy she had had all afternoon, seeming to pull from a never-ending well of liveliness.

Rosaline felt very wary. She was in a huge, well-furnished room, awaiting dinner and dresses and having her feet washed by the Laird’s sister. It seemed all too much to take with nothing to give in return. She felt that at any minute, she would be asked to pay the price, and she had absolutely no clue as to how large that price would be.

But Alexandra was already pushing the door open with her back, her arms full of frocks. She squeezed the thick fabrics through the doorway and dumped them on the bed.

“There. That should tide ye over until we get ye dresses of yer own.” She exhaled, clearly winded from carrying the weighty fabrics. “I picked a mix of colors and styles so ye could find somethin’ that suits ye.”

A pile of red, blue, yellow, and beige fabrics lay on the bed. Rosaline could see the detailed embroidery on each of them, some with delicate lace around the neckline, some with floral patterns sewn into the skirts. Some with short sleeves, some with long sleeves, all in pristine condition. She had dresses like this back at home, but in the convent, she only had the tunic she was wearing now and another in even worse condition. It had been years since she had pictured her body in such beautiful garments.

“Thank ye very much,” she offered, although her voice was quiet, unsure.

“I shall have someone bring up a bathtub for ye and fill it so that ye can wash properly before ye pick a frock. And please remember to put the dressing on yer ankle afterward,” Alexandra instructed, before turning to the door.

“I-I willnae need a bathtub, that’s all right. Just a pot with warm water and a cloth will do,” Rosaline said quickly.

“Nay, nay. Ye will need the bathtub brought up anyway—you may as well put it to use. I’ll see ye at dinner.”

And with that, Alexandra was gone.

Rosaline stood in the middle of the room, caught between the bed, the window, and the door. It was the first moment she had been alone since she had escaped from the convent. So much had changed, and so fast. She had barely had the time to process it.

“I just have to keep me wits about me,” she muttered to herself, now that she was free from the vow of silence. “Nae everythin’ is as terrible as the convent. Maybe there is nay catch.”

But saying it out loud felt even more ridiculous than thinking it.

She ran her hands over the dresses, feeling the quality of the fabric. They were all so beautiful, but she knew already that she would pick the most subtle dress—the beige one. She did not want them to think she wanted to be pampered or catered to.

She lifted the frocks and hung them in the wardrobe to keep them wrinkle-free and fresh, hanging the one she had selected on the outside, when a knock sounded at the door.

“Uh…” She hesitated, feeling unentitled to call someone in. “Come in?”

A young woman in a maid’s garb poked her head inside. “I have a bath for the Lady.”

“Ah, yes,” Rosaline said.

Already she could see the size of the tub where it sat outside the door, and she certainly didn’t want to be the reason they had to carry it back down the stairs. She allowed them to bring the bathtub and set it beside the door.

Once two maids had set it up, more entered behind them with large buckets of warm water. One after another, they came in and gradually filled the tub, steam curling up from it as the water rose to the rim.

With each bucket brought into the room, Rosaline’s heart beat faster and faster, growing more and more anxious. It was not just open water that triggered her fear; it was any large quantity.

As the bathtub filled, it seemed to deepen, and the water grew closer to the edge. If she was to sit in it, she would be almost entirely submerged.

“That will do, thank ye.” She stopped one of the maids as another queue of bucket carriers filed into the room.

“Are ye sure, Ma’am? We have boiled plenty by the fire for ye.”

“Nay, really, that’s more than enough,” Rosaline insisted. “Thank ye, again.”

The maids left the room, leaving her alone with the water.

She considered just dipping a cloth in and hand washing her body as she did on most occasions. At the convent, the bathtub she was offered was minuscule, and even when it was filled, the water barely reached her knees. This elaborate tub was half her height. But she was dirty after her run, the ride, and her injury. There was dirt on her arms, legs, and hair. She wanted to look presentable, and she certainly did not want to soil Alexandra’s beautiful frocks.

She stepped closer to the bathtub, and her heart sped up. Goosebumps rose all over her arms, and she tried to control her breathing.

“Ye have overcome worse than a bathtub, Rosaline. Come on.” She tried to talk herself down from her panic, but it was instinctual.

She gripped the lip of the tub and dipped a hand into the water, letting her skin get used to the sensation.

Eventually, after a few excruciatingly long moments, she removed her tattered tunic and dropped it to the floor. She closed her eyes and pulled as much air into her lungs as she could. Then, she dipped a toe in and, clenching her fists, lowered herself into the water.