Steam rose off the surface of the water in dissipating tendrils. Soothing heat penetrated tight muscles, easing the stress of a challenging day. I stretched my limbs in an oblong wooden tub, ignoring the absurdity of enjoying my first spa day ever, nearly a millennium in the past. After being yanked into a world without my permission, I soaked in the blissful irony of a mini-vacation.
Brigid and I bathed in the sitting area of a bedroom that had to be Iain’s, since the largest bed ever created practically obscured the far wall. The stately piece of furniture made me uneasy by its very presence. Where Iain slept—and pleasured—both intimidated and aroused me. My unruly imagination spun visions of his body exploring mine, taking what he wanted, giving what I needed . . .
Damn, Isobel. All the talk today of claiming and taking has guttered your mind.
I reined in my wayward thoughts and rioting body, scanning the rest of the room from my medieval bathtub. Iain had generously appointed the room with both small conveniences and generous comforts. A dark-chocolate bearskin rug spanned the oak floor between the bed and a large stone hearth where a fire blazed. Silver goblets sat on a polished oak table with a carved armchair on either side. A tapestry woven into a luminous nightscape covered a tall window. At the foot of the bed, two wooden chests stood guard, their sides sparkling with dark jewels. Treasures themselves, the locked trunks piqued my curiosity. Did they protect secrets? Did they hold answers to the mystery of the box . . . or the wall?
A ticker tape of questions flooded into my mind, followed by excitement for the upcoming dinner. I glanced at my splashing companion. Her wet curls dripped onto the wood floor. She’d been graced with an angelic face, porcelain skin, and curves capable of taming any beast of her choosing. With her humor and quick wit, she’d easily snatch the one she wanted.
I wondered how I’d know for certain if Iain was the one I wanted. “Brigid, why Fingall? What’s so special about him?”
“Ahhh,” she drawled, staring dreamily into the far-upper corner of the room. “Fingall’s a fearsome warrior, but underneath all his power beats a kind and generous heart.”
I smiled at how the mere mention of his name affected her. “And you’re certain he’s interested enough to pursue you?”
A deep pink blush spread across her cheeks. “Aye, I think he likes me enough.”
“Any worry he’d choose another?” I rubbed lavender-scented soap into a wet linen square and stretched a leg above the water, dragging the fragrant suds over my calf.
“I doona know for certain,” she admitted.
I sighed. “Well, we’d better get busy then. Starting tonight, we have two days for our plan to work.”
Before our water cooled beyond lukewarm, two ladies-in-waiting appeared with towels, fresh clothes, and accessories. I stepped from the bath and dried off with a warmed linen towel as my maid arranged a silk chemise and gown on the bed and placed matching slippers on the floor. My fingers feathered across the dark-blue velvet gown, admiring the gold-braided threads that trimmed the square neckline and cuffs.
The efficient hands of my maid turned me, lifted my arms, and floated the silken chemise down my body in thirty seconds flat. The beautiful gown followed, its ribbons pulled tight across the bodice. Then she herded me in front of the fire, into a chair next to Brigid, and our hair was painstakingly arranged for us by the drying heat of the hearth. My spa experience apparently included an appointment in the medieval salon.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked as the maid tugged at my hair.
“Aye,” she replied without further elaboration. “Do you?”
I watched her attendant pin glossy ringlets up one at a time with swift precision. “No. I’m an only child.” The admission brought forth the memory of my seanair and a stark reminder: I had no remaining family. Crestfallen by the realization, my curiosity sails lost their wind.
Brigid pulled me by the hand from my blue mood and out of the chair. She led me in front of a ten-foot-tall mirror perched against the wall. It reflected the artistry our maids had performed. My gown hugged and displayed every gentle curve on my willowy form, the sapphire blue setting off my creamy skin. Blond curls, woven with shiny gold ribbons, fell loose about my shoulders. Inside of an hour, I’d been transformed into a temptress.
Brigid nudged into my side, and it suddenly occurred to me the two of us could have been related. Wild, copper curls had been piled on her head with reckless fallen spirals teasing her cheeks and neck. She wore an emerald-green gown, cut nearly identical to mine.
“Isobel. We’re sisters!” She twirled, bumped into me, and grasped my hips for balance.
I laughed. Jinx! “No stranger would ever think otherwise.” Besides our similar curly hair, fair complexion, and lean build, we even shared dimples in common when we smiled.
Framed by ornate gold gilding, the glass captured the image of two beautiful goddesses. The fire’s orange glow cast shadows in the backdrop, creating a striking scene worthy of the Louvre. Our success tonight hinged on garnering the attention of more than just Iain and Fingall, so I hoped we wouldn’t be the only ones to take notice.
My nervous stomach fluttered like a million netted butterflies. Brigid and I descended the stairs to the great hall where the festivities were underway. The room had been filled to capacity with well over a hundred people standing about talking, flirting, and laughing.
Men wore white dress shirts with the clan plaid draped across their chests and fastened securely around their hips. Their functional, muted attire, however, was completely outshone. Vibrant-hued gowns sparkled like emeralds, rubies, and sapphires as the women moved through the room, bringing a lazy kaleidoscope to brilliant life.
Additional seating had been brought in to accommodate the guests in attendance. Tables were laden with sumptuous delicacies as if Iain was entertaining for royalty. Stuffed swans, surrounded by apples, pears, and onions sat on silver platters at the head of each table. Fully dressed peacocks and pheasants were arranged farther down in line. Fragrant rounds of herbed rosemary and garlic breads were piled high between the beautifully arranged fowl dishes. I even glimpsed an artfully prepared salmon on a board.
Brigid looped her arm in mine, pulling me out of my awestruck fascination and leading me down the stairs. She elbowed me in the ribs.
“Owww . . .” I glared at her, catching her wide grin before she yanked me to a stop. We’d only gone midway down the wide stone staircase. Her attention shifted beyond me, and I turned. Every gaze in the room fixed squarely on us as a hush spread like God had extinguished a raging wildfire with a single breath.
Heat flushed under my skin so quickly, from my breasts into my cheeks, I must have beamed crimson like a neon light. I took a steadying breath, examining their faces, wondering what they thought of me, a stranger who’d been welcomed within their protective enclave by their laird.
Turnabout in uncomfortable situations always settled my nerves, so I scrutinized them in return. Of those considered Iain’s closest companions, who would I deem friend, or adversary? Had any been privy to the same secrets I’d discovered?
More importantly, were the oddities within Iain’s castle even secrets at all? With his map room trustingly unlocked, he showed a clear lack of concern for protecting the unique, responsive wall. Maybe artifacts like the box, with its ritual purpose passed down through their generations, were a part of their lore and, therefore, common knowledge.
On my mental treasure hunt, each question became a clue leading to the next question. Had Iain shared with anyone that I’d been plucked out of another time and deposited here? I frowned, searching for Iain in the crowd. Regardless of my plan for independence, I needed reassurance that he still had my protection as a priority.