lend assistance to their clan. Gordon’s foot touched the ground, and his stallion was tugged toward him. He offered the animal a firm pat along its neck before swinging up onto its powerful back.
“Open the gate!”
There was a groan as the chains were wound up and the iron gate began to rise. The Barras retainers didn’t wait for it to finish; they ducked their heads across the necks of their horses the moment the iron gate was high enough for them to ride beneath. The sound of the horses’ hooves combined with the night. They streamed out of the castle, uncaring of the darkness. Nothing was more fearsome than they.
Jemma rubbed her eyes at dawn. Sleep had proven elusive, and she was already out of bed when Ula arrived. The housekeeper was without her customary smile this morning, her lips slightly pinched instead. But she was also not alone, for several women followed her.
“Don’t bother, Ula, there is no stain on the sheet. We hadn’t . . . um . . . the bells interrupted . . . us . . .”
Jemma stumbled over her words, never having imagined that she would have to explain the lack of blood on her wedding sheets. She would have laughed indeed at anyone who told her such a tale, but there was naught amusing about knowing that her bed was as clean as it had been the night before. Being English in a Scottish castle was not the place for any bride to try to explain pristine sheets on her first morning as a wife. At the very least, her marriage was unconsummated. Anne of Cleaves had found herself divorced for the same circumstance.
“I see. ’Tis nothing to fret over, Mistress. The laird will return.”
“I shall pray that he does.”
Jemma shivered, feeling the icy dread that had been her constant companion since her father died. Ula was worried; she read it off the housekeeper’s face. Gordon should have returned before sunrise. Other maids came into the chamber and set to work dressing her. Jemma stood still out of shock and the dread that felt like it might stop her heart with its grasp. He would return, she had to believe that.
Why?
Was she so foolish as to have allowed affection for him into her heart?
Jemma scoffed at herself. There had been nothing allowed. That was the difficulty with tender emotions; they slipped past every defense like poison in a goblet. You never knew that an assassin had gotten close enough to snatch your life away until you felt the evil concoction eating away at your insides.
But evil was a harsh word. Jemma hugged herself and crossed the chamber to look out the windows. The maids had opened some of the glass panes just like shutters, allowing fresh air to sweep through the room. It carried the scent of fall and blew out all the traces of smoke left from the candles that had burned last night. She had never imagined sleeping in such a grand room; it was something from a tale of a palace somewhere far away. Not something she might actually step into. It was easy to see far into the distance.
The view did not ease her mind because there was no sign of the Barras retainers nor their laird.
Her heart longed to see them, and that only made her more unhappy. Dread unleashed its tension on her. Like any storm there was no way to block out the chill completely, because even standing in front of a fire you felt its icy touch on the back of your neck.
She followed the other women to church where the priest sent out prayers for the retainers and laird. But her thoughts were centered on the man she worried so much about.
“Come along, Mistress, best to keep busy; that will pass the time better.”
Ula was correct, but her voice betrayed that the housekeeper was no happier about waiting than Jemma was. They began to work, racing the end of the season to make sure the castle was prepared for the ice and snow. Every work room was piled high with dried fruits, oats, and grains. Men worked on the hen houses where the birds would roost during the winter while providing eggs. The birds were still being allowed to graze on the drying hillsides, and the young girls were sent out to find their eggs with large baskets to carry them back to the cook.
The afternoon turned dark long before sunset, black clouds dominating the sky. They huddled together while the wind ripped at her skirts. Jemma climbed up onto the hillsides to call the last of the girls back. They struggled to bring their heavy baskets with them, and she reached for two that were full of fresh eggs. With abundant food, the hens were laying twice a day.
“Go on now, it’s going to storm.”
The girls needed no further urging. They grabbed the front of their skirts and ran toward the side gate that led into the yard behind the curtain wall. Jemma followed but at a steady walk to ensure that she did not crack any eggs. She stopped outside the gate, hearing Ula’s voice raised on the other side of the stone wall.
“Are ye mad? Allowing the mistress out without an escort? The laird will nae be pleased, mark my words.”
“The way I hear, my laird will be plenty grateful to be rid of her. The sheets were white this morning. She’s a slut. An English slut that we have no need of.”
Jemma gasped. Thinking that it might be said was different from hearing it. Her face heated with a blush, and tears stung her eyes. She drew in a stiff breath and raised her chin, refusing to allow those tears to fall. She blinked them away and stepped boldly through the gate. The man arguing with Ula jerked his head around when he noticed her and his eyes narrowed in distaste. Thunder boomed in the hills above them, loud enough to make conversation impossible.
It was better that way. Kindness seemed to have abandoned her. Ula reached for one of the baskets, and they carried them both into the kitchens. The long rooms that served as kitchens were bustling with women coming in to avoid the rain. The cook snapped at them when they began to chatter, making the room an impossible place to concentrate.
Anyon stood near one of the hearths with other laundresses, all trying to dry their skirts. The girl smirked at her as she carried the basket toward a long table where the cook was laying out her ingredients.
“Better be careful that ye didna break any. The cook likes to hand out slaps.” The laundresses snickered.
Jemma raised her chin and shot a firm glance toward Anyon. “Well, I suppose that would be better than being ambushed for no reason beyond spite.”
