“Here now, there is no need for ye to worry about wearing soiled clothing.”
Ula entered the bathhouse and placed a folded cream-colored garment on a nearby stool.
“This one should fit ye, but a dress will prove a bit harder to locate. Maybe on the morrow.”
“I appreciate the chemise, Ula.”
The housekeeper smiled. “Ye earned yer keep today. No one is forced to stink at Barras Castle. Perhaps the laird will bring a few of yer things back with him.”
That would mean that she was staying at Barras Castle.
Jemma felt a prickle of a chill cross her nape. Ula moved to the fireplace and lifted one of the kettles. She tested it with her finger before bringing to to Jemma. There was a hint of something in her eyes that suggested she was preparing Jemma for her laird and that she was quite happy to do so.
“Let us give yer hair a good washing.”
Jemma nibbled on her lower lip while she closed her eyes. The warm water soaked her head, running down over her chest to tease her nipples. The knowledge that the housekeeper was tending to her in order to please Gordon sent even more sensation across her skin until she felt like she was pulsing with anticipation.
Which was absurd, considering she was not interested in any further dealings with the man.
“A clean head of hair always makes me feel better, more at ease.”
Ula took up a dab of the softer soap that was kept in a pottery bowl and began to work it through Jemma’s hair.
“You must have other, more important things to do.” Jemma tried to take over washing her hair, but Ula flicked her hands aside.
“Nonsense, there be naught that is more important than seeing to someone me laird made welcome. Mind yer eyes.”
Jemma closed her eyes, and Ula began rinsing her hair. The housekeeper even returned to the hearth to fetch another kettle of water to make sure there was no hint of soap remaining.
“Now let me have that chemise. Ye can nae get clean wearing that.”
Jemma didn’t bother to protest. Ula was already tugging the wet fabric up and over her head. It had been years since she had bathed with anyone near. Amber Hill had become quiet during her father’s illness. As it did in late fall when even the animals were still and there were no more leaves to rustle in the wind.
A maid entered the room, and Ula lifted her face to look at the girl. “Good. Now find her boots and give them a cleaning.”
“I’ll look after my own things, Ula.”
“Nae, ye will sit yerself in front of the hearth so that we can get yer hair dried.”
Once again Ula insisted on her way. Jemma found herself sitting by the fire in the new chemise while the maid cleaned her boots and even polished them. Another girl entered bearing fresh stockings. Ula set the girl to shaking out Jemma’s dress and making sure there was no dirt clinging to the hem.
A bell began to toll somewhere along the wall, the sound almost startling because of how quiet it had become in the bathhouse.
“The laird is returning.”
Jemma could hear the joy in Ula’s voice, but both maids turned to look at her and her throat went dry. They looked at her with assessing stares. From her feet to her head, they surveyed her, their eyes narrowing all the while.
“Come on with that dress. The laird will be wanting his supper, sure enough, having been out all day long.”
There were suddenly three women all intent on dressing her. Jemma stood in shocked silence because it had been a long time since anyone had helped her. She had been the servant to her father, helping him and wearing only the simplest of dresses so that she might more easily lean over his bed. She didn’t know the latest fashion, because none of it had mattered. There had only been her father and what he required.
Anything her brother might send from Amber Hill would be just as plain as the dress she now wore—a single cartridge-pleated pair of skirts that were sewn to one waistband. A modest hip roll helped to keep the weight of her skirts from pulling on her back, but the two-inch-padded roll that went around her hips also kept the garment away from her toes when she walked. Unless she was running, she wouldn’t need to grab her skirt and lift it else risk stepping on it and falling on her face.
She had on a good set of stays. The corset fit her well, and over that she wore only a simple doublet that buttoned up the front. It had a French cut to it, coming down in a square neckline. She’d worn an over partlet that covered her chest and the swells of her breasts, but it was lost somewhere on the land between Barras Castle and Amber Hill where the rogue knights had attacked her.
Simple clothing. And boots just as practical. They laced up, and if set beside the ones the maids wore, there was no notable difference.
There had been a time when her mother was alive that she had dressed in pretty dresses with slipper shoes, but none of those garments fit her anymore. They were packed carefully away now in some quiet, sheet-draped room at Amber Hill.
Jemma reached for the tie that had held her hair in a thick braid.
“Ye should leave yer hair loose, being as ye are unwed, lass.”
“Only brides wear their hair flowing.” And that was on their wedding day.
