nightmare where she was tormented by the thought of him lying with another bride. Tears wet her cheeks as she fought against the bedding, trying to fight her way free of the chains holding her. She turned her face up to see him riding away with another bride clinging to him.
In her dreams, her heart broke.
Her mouth felt as if she had eaten wool when she awoke. Sunlight was streaming in through the thin window on one side of her chamber. It was little more than an arrow slot, and the shutter had been opened. The sun was bright, confirming that morning had come and gone without waking her. Her entire body ached, as though she had spent the night struggling instead of resting. Her hair was a tangled mess, lending more evidence to the fact that her slumber had not been natural.
“I’m glad to see you rising. My husband is home and eager to have you brought below.”
Alice wasn’t consumed with good cheer today. A calculated look on Alice’s face and something in her eyes instantly revived the suspicions had begun when Bridget fell into sleep last evening. She stumbled when she tried to stand, and her cousin frowned.
“You’ll have to shake it off now, Bridget. Laird Barras is below and we don’t want to be keeping him waiting.”
“Who?”
Alice snapped her fingers, and a maid gripped Bridget’s wrist and pulled her over to a chair. There were suddenly hands on her everywhere, brushing her hair and wiping her face with a wet cloth. The cool water against her cheeks helped sharpen her attention, her mind beginning to function once more. A dryness in her mouth confirmed that her suspicions were well founded. It coupled well with the look of anticipation on her cousin’s face.
“What goes on here, Alice?”
Her cousin frowned and looked down at her clasped hands for a long moment. Not a single maid allowed their eyes to meet hers, and her anger stirred as she felt more of her head clearing.
“You poisoned me yesterday.”
Alice’s head lifted immediately. “‘Twas not poison. Just a bit of sleeping draught is all. You’ll be right as can be in another hour.”
Bridget pushed the maids away when they tried to resume tending her. One had even brought forward a powder box and was holding a small face brush.
“You are my kin, Alice; we are blood.”
Alice drew in a stiff breath. “And I am married to a Scot. You have no concept what that means, cousin. Life is harder here. My husband has to maintain friendship with the laird or we’ll be overrun by another clan, and he will refuse to protect us.” She shook her head. “I have my children to think of. Their inheritance must be kept secure.”
A sickening dread began to twist in Bridget’s belly. She turned to look at the maids and found every one of them looking as resigned as Alice did. Firm resolve shone from their eyes, but what made her belly fill with nausea was the pity mixed in with that determination.
Alice shook off her remorse, taking a step forward. “Laird Barras is below and waiting on you. It’s best not to test the man’s patience.”
“And I’m to be painted up for his pleasure as well, cousin?” Bridget used the family term on purpose, but she maintained a tone of voice that was sweet as springtime honey. Alice flinched, but Bridget gave her no pity. “By all means. Let me not keep the great man waiting. Far be it for me to expect my own gender not to offer me up like a roasted lamb. Or a painted harlot.”
“Bridget, do not be so hard upon me. Life is different in Scotland. The king does not have as tight a control on his clans. Raids happen here, and they change lives forever.”
“Alice, do not be so traitorous as to slip potions into my cup if you do not want me to tell you plainly that it is shameful behavior. The circumstances do not remove that stain from your actions, and I am no coward to look at the floor and refuse to say such straight to you.”
Her cousin paled. Bridget grabbed a hairbrush from the frozen hand of one maid and pulled it through her hair herself. She didn’t clamp down her temper but allowed it to burn away the sickness pooling in her belly. She needed her courage and her wits now. It took only moments to restore neatness to her hair.
“Keep your paint away from my face. If your Laird Barras doesn’t care for my face as it is, that much the better. I am no wanton doxy.”
Alice snorted. “Your temper will make things worse for you, Bridget. Better to use every weapon you might to lull a man into dealing softly with you. A pretty face has led more than one man to doing what a woman desired of him.”
Just as Justina had done last evening. The memory burned through her anger, allowing her to recall how much Justina was like Marie. Both women play acting the role of temptress to steal the wits of the men holding power over them. It was unjust but at the same time very effective. What truly mattered? Her pride or her future? Men did not take well to being challenged by women, or to being shown that women had intelligence equal to their own. Queens of England had lost their heads on the tower green for forgetting that fact. Bridget sat back down.
“Keep it simple and light.”
Laird Barras was a large man. He wasn’t an old man, either. Alice’s husband was sitting at the high table with the man when her cousin escorted her into the great hall. His eyes moved to her the moment she appeared. Sharp and keen, his stare declared him to be a man who was more than a roughly raised peasant. Over his shoulder rested a length of plaid wool in rust and orange. He wore no doublet at all, and the wide sleeves of his shirt were actually tied up to the shoulders of the garment, baring his forearms. The cool air of early spring didn’t seem to chill his bare skin. A knitted bonnet was hanging at an angle over his dark blond hair and he kept his blue eyes on her in spite of Alice’s husband talking to him.
“He’s a powerful man, Bridget. Take heed of that. He can lock ye away and no one will challenge him on it.”
Alice mumbled beneath her breath while she made a curtsy and pulled on her to follow.
“Clearly you have never met Curan.”
