under her ancient arm and a large chamberpot in her hands, the woman bobbed from side to side in a most worrying way. Without thought, Lilidh stood to help her. The pain took her breath away with its severity.
‘Poor wee lass,’ Beathas whispered as she put the supplies down and came to her side. Easing Lilidh back to the chair, she cooed and offered warm, comforting nonsensical words, at once becoming the caregiver. ‘Would you no’ be more comfortable in the bed for a wee bit?’
Lilidh closed her eyes, unable to speak and torn between the pain and the gentle care of this stranger. The woman did not push her to move. Instead, taking up a brush, she eased Lilidh’s hair back and began slow, long strokes away from the injured place. When she closed her eyes and blocked out her surroundings, she could have believed herself home, being tended by her mother. She may have even fallen to sleep for a moment, so comforting were the motions of the brush, followed by Beathas’s tender touch as she tamed Lilidh’s tangled hair while avoiding the bandaged, injured area.
‘Do you have a looking glass?’ she asked the woman. Her skin was easily marked by bruises or bumps and Lilidh wondered how badly she must look after the last days of rough handling by the one who brought her here and his cronies.
‘I don’t, my lady,’ Beathas said. ‘I will see if Tyra has one in her chambers that you could use.’
‘Tyra?’ An unfamiliar name, but then she had not kept track of Rob’s clan in years.
‘Symon’s sister,’ Beathas explained. A hesitation in her reply spoke of much information not to be shared.
‘Never you mind, then,’ Lilidh said. ‘I do not wish you to be drawn into this.’
‘Did he hurt you, dearie?’
The question was slipped in quietly, but confused Lilidh for she did not know if Beathas referred to Symon or Rob. Whichever it was, she had no intention or desire to speak of such things, for it would bring up other personal matters.
‘Leave it be, Beathas. I know that I am prisoner and enemy and do not expect to be treated otherwise while here,’ she said with far more confidence than she felt.
It was the truth, though, and an attitude she feared she must accept to get through this ordeal. If things had deteriorated so much that Rob’s clan thought kidnapping her and shaming her father was the correct course of action, then she could not be certain of anything—least of all how she would indeed be treated. As laird and chief, Rob would have to appease his clan elders and those whose backing he needed to remain on the high chair. Forcing her to his bed, beating her or shaming her could all be part of it.
A shiver racked her then. She was a woman alone—no guards, no family, no husband—with no one to watch over her and protect her. Had her father received word yet about her kidnapping? Had Rob or that rogue Symon sent demands? If no one was left alive from her travelling group, who would take the news to her father or to the MacGregors?
The tears surprised her then, coming without warning at the thought of her friends and family lying dead by the road after the attack. Poor Isla! Her faithful maid had been with her for years, first as her nurse, then companion as she grew older and did not need a nurse. Accompanying her on her marriage journey to Iain’s clan gave Lilidh comfort, as her mother had said it would. Any number of cousins could have come with her, but her mother had advised only Isla until Lilidh had settled in.
Now, she was responsible for the woman’s death and the death of others who had simply carried out their orders.
Leaning her head down, she let the tears flow. Her body rocked slightly on its own as sorrow filled her heart and soul at the loss of so many. The healer’s gentle touch on her shoulder surprised her.
‘Here now,’ Beathas whispered. ‘All will be well.’
The woman wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and tucked it tightly. She moved quietly around the chamber, straightening the bed and cleaning as she went. Every so often a soft tsking would be heard, but the woman did not ask her any other questions. Lilidh gathered her emotions under control and let the temporary sadness and tears go. For now.
For now she needed to be strong. To be the daughter of the MacLerie and the widow of the proud MacGregor chieftain. To survive this coming ordeal she must keep her wits and find out what Rob’s plans were—especially with her. And she must find ways to influence Rob’s decisions, if possible, too.
For years she’d observed her uncle negotiating and watched her father be both the Beast and the wise leader. This was the time to use everything she’d learned to save herself, her honour and possibly save the man she’d wanted to marry all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, she loosened the blanket and pushed it down. She must be ready to face him on his return.
‘I would like to wash, if that’s permitted,’ she said quietly without looking at Beathas. Without a word, Beathas went to the door, opened it and whispered to whoever stood guard there.
‘Some hot water will be here for you soon. And something warm to drink as well, lass.’
Lilidh sat in the quiet, waiting for those things and trying to see a pattern in what Symon had said while taunting her and in what Rob had said in the hall, snatches of which came drifting back to her now as she thought about it. For certain, she’d been taken because of her father, though little had been said about her connection to Iain and the MacGregors. Only muffled curses and a few words had been directed at her after they’d tied, gagged and hooded her and brought her here.
She thought that Symon might have initiated this action in trying to force Rob’s hand. If she’d been coherent and uninjured during her taking, she might have learned more. Now, as a loud knock startled her from her thoughts, she would have to wait.
Beathas answered it, opening the door widely to allow entrance to whoever waited. A large wooden tub was rolled in and placed to one side of the chamber. Men followed, carrying buckets of steaming water. A woman entered with a pile of linens and handed them to Beathas. Lilidh watched out the corner of her eye, having no desire to meet what she was sure would be the curious gazes of these Mathesons.
Once the room had emptied and Beathas had arranged things as she wanted them to be, Lilidh pushed herself out of the chair and stood. She could not stop the groan of pain as her body fought her efforts to move. A warm cup was pressed into her hands before she knew it.
‘Betony tea. To soothe the hurts and ease your moving around.’
Deciding she could not sort things out and accomplish anything until she was recovered, Lilidh sipped from the cup and discovered the tea was sweetened and flavourful. She drank a bit and then handed it back to Beathas.
‘I will finish it after I wash,’ she said, limping to the side of the tub. Reaching down, she swirled her fingers in the water and found it to be steaming hot—perfect for a long soak. ‘I can see to this myself.’
The expected argument from the old woman did not happen. Beathas moved a short stool close to the tub and placed the drying linens and a small bowl of soap on it.
‘Summon me if you wish help with your hair,’ Beathas said as she walked to the door. ‘Have a care for the wound.’
If there had been a way to lock or bar the door, Lilidh would have. Seeing none, she steadied herself and dropped the blanket from her shoulders. She gathered up the length of the shift she wore and pulled it over her head, dropping it to the floor where it
