Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (7 page)

Fashion had decreed then, however, that the lace edging of the wearer’s shift should peek out between the jagged bits, and thus it had covered more of her.

Sibylla was taller and slimmer than Amalie, and clearly had not realized how much of her soft, mud-dusted but nonetheless tantalizing breasts the dagging revealed. In the chilly bedchamber, her nipples had stood out as if eagerly inviting his touch.

Sakes, but they still stood out, lying back as she was, and he could see that she wore nothing beneath the enticing red silk. Collecting his wits, he reminded himself sternly that she deserved whatever he might do to her but said only,

“If you will stay as you are, I’ll take the stopper out of this bottle.”

She grimaced, then said bitterly, “ ’Tis hard to retain one’s dignity when every facial movement brings pain. But pray, sir, do not remove that stopper.”

“The stuff is useless with the stopper in.”

“I do not want that potion. I cannot bear the smell of camphor or sal ammoniac separately, let alone together. If you want to help me ease this pain, hand me the vials of oil she gave you. I want to smell them to be sure they are pure, but either marjoram oil or rosemary will do me more good than that horrid potion.”

He obeyed, watching her pull out the stoppers and sniff each vial’s contents suspiciously. She chose the second over the first.

“Which is that?” he asked.

“The marjoram. One rubs it on the wound, but I suspect the scent does more than the oil itself to ease what ails one. Rosemary oil is similar, but I find marjoram more soothing. If you are willing to aid me more, pray ask your cook or someone else you can trust to steep the clover Mistress Beaton gave you gently in hot but not boiling water and make a cloth poultice from it, wringing the poultice out well. You can then send it back up with the child. It will give her something to do.”

“Will it?” he said, making his tone stern again. The lady Sibylla was mistaken if she thought she could command at Elishaw. “I’ll have Tetsy bring up the poultice,” he added. “She is one of the maidservants who put you to bed. Kit needs rest as much as you do. My cook’s wife will look after her. She can keep warm by the kitchen fire and nap in the chimney corner if she likes.”

“How is her brother?” Sibylla asked. “I’ve not clapped eyes on him yet, you know. Is he older than she is or younger?”

“He must be eleven or twelve, but he’s a thin lad and worn to the bone. Unless Kit is gey small and fragile for her age, I suspect she is only six or seven.”

“I doubt she can be as fragile as she looks,” Sibylla said. “She is very self-possessed for one so young, and she is
not
the one in bed.”

“She lied to us, though, by omission if not by design.” “About what?” She had put several drops of oil from the vial on two fingers and began now to rub it on her forehead, flinching when she touched the knot.

He felt an impulse to offer to do it for her but suppressed it, saying, “The lad told me those men pitched him into the river first.”

“But how can that be? Kit came downriver well ahead of him.”

“Aye, but he said they flung him well upriver. He was trying to swim across to the other side when Kit leapt in, doubtless with some crazy notion of saving him. But the river swept her away. The men had thrown rocks at him, Dand said, so he’d pulled hard for the opposite bank, seeking shelter. When he heard them shouting and saw what Kit had done, he hurled himself after her.”

“No wonder the poor laddie is spent,” Sibylla said. “But what did the men do then? If they did not throw Kit in, did they try to save her?”

“Dand said they rode after her but when they met another horseman, they all turned back and rode away at speed. I’m thinking they must have been a band of the English raiders who have been plaguing this area and lands to the west of us. I’d like nowt better than to catch and hang them all.”

“I saw no other rider,” she said. “But I had come from

Sweethope Hill and was approaching the river when I heard Kit scream. Do you suppose the other rider Dand saw had seen you and your men crossing the river?”

“If he was acting as a lookout for them, he must have seen us approaching the ford,” Simon said. “Growth is thick on that bank between the river and the track. For him to see us would have been gey easier than for us to see him or his horse.”

She nodded, winced, and he shook his head at her. “Go to sleep,” he said. “ ’Tis plain you are not yourself yet, so for once, do as I bid you.”

“I don’t like doing as I’m bid,” she said grumpily. “Moreover, I’m filthy, uncomfortable, and my head itches from mud as much as it aches with pain. And this bed is now as dirty as my body is.”

He could see that her hair was tangled and dull looking, but he could not think of her body, still mud spattered or not, without stirring thoughts he dared not think.

Believing she would not stay awake long if left to herself, he said brusquely, “Just lie back and rest as well as you can. I’ll send Tetsy up when your poultice is ready, and I’ll have someone bring up hot water and clean bedding then, too.”

“A bath, too,” she pled.

“We’ll see,” he said. “The herb woman said you’d likely be dizzy from that knock you took, and I saw you sway just before you returned to the bed. It would not do for you to fall and hurt yourself again.”

“Sakes, I’m not a bairn,” she protested.

“You’re beginning to sound like one,” he retorted. “You may as well accustom yourself to resting, because I mean to see that you do. I promise you, you won’t leave Elishaw until I am persuaded that you are fit.”

With a sigh, she said, “Very well, sir, but I do not take well to confinement. So if you expect gratitude—”

“I don’t,” he said curtly. “I expect obedience. Bearing that in mind, give that kirtle to Tetsy when she comes in to make the bed, and tell her to bring it to me.”

On those words, he turned and left the room, taking care to shut the door without banging it. He did not want her to guess how much it disturbed him to see such visible expressions of pain on a woman he was sure usually hid such feelings.

Sibylla watched Simon go with mixed emotions. She was glad to be alone and to rest against the pillows without feeling at a disadvantage. But she was
not
happy about her confinement to the bedchamber and did not mean to give up the only clothing she had. She had to think how she could avoid his taking it from her.

Uncomfortably aware that he meant well and she was probably just suffering from her usual fierce resentment of pain or illness, she shut her eyes and inhaled the mintlike scent of the marjoram oil. It was one of her favorite fragrances. She used it in scent bags in her clothes kists and frequently used the oil in making her perfumes.

Sweet marjoram grew wild in the tall grass of the hills near Akermoor Loch, where one rarely had to search for it. Its strong scent announced the presence of its small, clustering purple flowers well before one trod on them.

Relaxing, she let her thoughts drift back to Simon and how much more human he seemed than the day he had stood in the wee kirk, looking as cold as winter and as if he were about to bestow a grand privilege on her by marrying her.

She clung to that thought, breathing in sweet marjoram. The fragrance reminded her of her pillows at Sweethope Hill. She would remember to drip some of the oil on the clover poultice when the maidservant brought it up, and on the fresh pillow slip, too, when she changed the bedding.

Simon walked into the small chamber that opened off the landing below Amalie’s room and found the two children murmuring to each other.

He was tempted to question them further about the men who had thrown at least one of them into the Tweed. But he knew he would learn more by talking to them separately. The lass, when she turned to him, looked less confident than when she was with Sibylla, and much wearier.

Her eyes widened as he stepped nearer.

“What will ye be doing with us, laird?” she asked bluntly.

“I don’t know yet,” he replied. “For the present, I mean to let you both rest and eat. Art hungry yet, Dand?”

“Aye, sir, I’m peckish,” the lad said.

But for their thin faces and a certain wiry fragility they shared, the two did not look alike. The boy’s hair was almost as dark as Amalie’s, and Kit’s was flaxen light. The two provided a stark contrast, but so did he and his dark-haired sisters.

Dand’s look of wary curiosity was a dead match for Kit’s.

“And you, Kit?” Simon said to her. “Are you peckish, too?”

“I am, aye,” she admitted.

“When did you eat last?”

She kept silent, but Dand said, “We had a bit o’ bread afore them villains came on us, sir, and our barley porridge this morning. But I dinna think Kit ate any o’ that. Ye must be starving, lassie.”

“I said I was hungry.”

“Well, you may come with me,” Simon said. “I’m going down to the kitchen to ask them to make a poultice up for the lady Sibylla, and you may watch how they do it so you will know how to make one yourself one day.” Noting that she looked cold, he added, “The kitchen will be warm, too.”

She followed him silently but was clearly glad to warm herself by the kitchen fire. However, she showed no interest in his discussion of food, hot water, and clover poultices with the cook and Tetsy. Still, she did seem content to stay with them, and Simon was hungry. After giving his orders to the cook and Tetsy, he went upstairs to take supper with his mother.

Chapter 4

S
ibylla awoke to the click of the door latch, startled to note that the light in her room had diminished considerably. Seeing a slender, uncertain young maidservant at the threshold in a white cap and a plain blue kirtle, she said, “Are you Tetsy?”

“Aye, m’lady.”

“Come in, then. How long have I slept?”

“No so long, but Cook said he’ll send up your supper if ye want it, and I’ve brung your poultice.” She stepped to the bed with the small cloth packet, saying as she handed it to Sibylla, “It smells good, that.”

Sibylla was starving, but she wanted a bath more than she wanted food.

As she placed the poultice gently on her forehead, she said, “It does smell wonderful, aye, and ’tis still wonderfully hot. Thank you, Tetsy. Did the laird tell you to order hot water for me as well?”

“Aye, m’lady, but he said no to disturb ye if ye were sleeping. I’ll tell them to bring that water straightaway, though.” She hesitated. “Um . . . I’m to tell ye ye’re no to wash your hair, m’lady. The laird did say it wouldna dry and ’twould be better to wait another day, anyhow—till ye’re feeling better, he said.”

“Did he?” Sibylla said. “I’ll warrant you dislike men who decide what is good for you and what is not as much as I do, Tetsy. Do you not?”

The girl’s mouth twitched, and when Sibylla smiled, Tetsy grinned back. “Me brother Jed’s gey like the laird in that, m’lady.”

“Is he?”

“Aye, and now that he’s captain o’ the guard he always kens best, does Jed, though I shouldna say such. And, certes, but I’d no defy him,” she added.

“Well, I have slept much today,” Sibylla said. “Doubtless I shall have trouble sleeping tonight unless I get up and move about. Have them bring up lots of that hot water now so I can wash off the worst of this dirt before I eat my supper. Then mayhap you can come back afterward to tell me when everyone else has left the kitchen. They do leave the kitchen empty at a good hour, do they not?”

“Aye, m’lady, as soon as they tidy it after supper and get the bakehouse fire going. The baker’s lad tends to that, and he sleeps by that fire to be sure o’ having good coals for the baker’s morning breads.”

“What about the kitchen fire?”

“They bank it down afore the scullery maids finish tidying the kitchen.”

“Mayhap we’ll stir that fire up again then,” Sibylla said.

“M’lady, we daren’t!”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m about in a kitchen,

Tetsy, and barring this sore and unsightly lump on my head, I am perfectly fit. I want you to come and fetch me when the kitchen is clear, because whether the laird wills it or no, I mean to wash my hair and have a bath tonight. I expect there must be a screen to set before the kitchen fire if the baker’s lad sleeps round the corner.”

“Och, there is, aye,” Tetsy said, wide-eyed. “But ye mustna do it. The laird be a proper devil when—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Sibylla chuckled. “I served in Princess Isabel’s household with Lady Amalie for nearly three years, Tetsy, so I have heard much about your laird. He
is
a proper devil, but he does not scare me.”

“Mayhap he should, m’lady,” Tetsy said. “I tell ye, it doesna do to vex him. What’s more, he bade me fetch the kists from here and said I’m to take that kirtle to him, too, so ye’ll ha’ nae clothes to wear. Did I no obey him, he’d make a great rant o’er me. Then he’d tell Jed I’d been illdoin’, and Jed would do worse to me!”

Realizing she had frightened her, Sibylla said, “I vow that you will not suffer for my ill-doings, Tetsy. Leave me with this poultice now, and see to that hot water. I want fresh bedding, too. I will
not
sleep in this filthy bed.”

“Nay, m’lady. The mistress did give orders for that after she saw the state ye were in. The laird did, too, so I’ll see to the bed whilst ye sup.”

“That will do then,” Sibylla said with a smile. “Oh, but if you must take this kirtle, prithee find me a robe I can wear if I must get up to use the night jar. The laird cannot want me to freeze.”

Looking relieved, Tetsy nodded, picked up one of the kists, and hurried away.

In the great hall, servants had set up privy screens on the dais at the north end of the chamber, separating the family table from the constant murmur of conversation in the lower hall, where servants and men-at-arms supped at two long trestle tables.

Simon sat in the two-elbow chair that had been his father’s. A gillie had moved it from its normal position at the center of the high table to the end nearest the big hooded fireplace in the center of the long east wall.

Lady Murray and Simon’s youngest sister, Rosalie, sat one on each side of him, his mother facing the lower hall and Rosalie with her back to it.