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"Aye," Annabel agreed as Seonag began to rinse the soap from her hair. But she couldn't help thinking this was the first time anyone had thought her over-generous curves were a good thing. Her mother had made several disappointed comments as they'd prepared her for the wedding, obviously wishing she'd been tall and slender like her sister, Kate, had apparently grown to be. Certainly the abbess had done nothing but criticize her for the gluttony she felt Annabel's size revealed.
"There ye go. All done," Seonag said lightly, urging her to sit up in the tub again. "Ye finish up and I'll go start sorting through the gowns."
Annabel accepted the cloth she was offered and began to run the soapy swath of linen over her arms and chest, but her gaze was on Seonag as she bustled over to the chest and opened it to reveal a collection of colorful material. She watched her lift out the first gown, a deep red creation that she examined briefly before laying it across the foot of the bed. It was followed by a dark forest green gown before a burnished orange one with a large stain on it was dropped to the floor.
Several more gowns were laid across the bed before Annabel finished her bath, but the moment she began to wring out the cloth she'd been using to wash with and started to stand up, Seonag dropped what she was doing and rushed to grab a large dry linen to wrap around her.
"Thank you," Annabel said with a crooked smile. She simply wasn't used to being tended to like this and was uncomfortable with it. But she didn't admit as much. The woman would probably wonder what was wrong with her. Annabel supposed this was how ladies were treated . . . when they weren't oblates in a nunnery.
"Here now, come sit by the hearth and I'll brush yer hair," Seonag said, taking her arm as Annabel stepped out of the tub.
Annabel allowed her to lead her to one of the chairs by the fireplace. There was no fire, but it was summer, and one wasn't really necessary. She was silent at first as Seonag pulled a brush through her hair, but then began to ask questions. Annabel knew nothing about her new husband, her new home, or the people in it, and it did seem that arming herself with information was a good idea, so she asked, "Was my husband close to his mother?"
"Oh, aye. He worshipped his mother," Seonag assured her. "Lady Magaidh was a very special lady. Everyone loved her. She knew everyone's name from the cook down to the lowliest servant. And she ran this keep like a dream." Seonag sighed wistfully. " 'Twas a sad day indeed when she died."
Annabel frowned. She had no doubt that she would not gain such lauding from anyone on her running of the keep. She didn't even know what was involved. What was she expected to do, exactly? Sighing, she let that go for now, and asked, "How did she die?"
"A chest complaint. At first she just seemed breathless on occasion, but then she seemed to gasp for air and cough a lot. Then she couldn't even get enough breath to walk about. She had to run the keep from a chair in the great hall and then from bed, and then she just . . ." Seonag shrugged helplessly and finished, "withered away."
Annabel murmured in sympathy and let a moment pass in silence before asking, "And my husband's father?"
"Oh, aye, the old laird." Seonag sighed sadly, the brush slowing in Annabel's hair. "He died from a sliver."
Annabel blinked and turned to stare at her. "A sliver?"
"Hmm." Seonag nodded and urged her back around so she could continue brushing her hair. "It got infected. I fussed at him over it, but he waved me away and wouldn't listen. The truth is I think his heart was so broken from losing Lady Magaidh that he just did no' care to live," she added with another sigh. "When a black line started up his arm I knew he was as good as done fer."
"Oh dear," Annabel murmured. Death by sliver. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. It was not all that rare, really. At least, not from what she'd been told. Sister Clara, who had worked with her in the stables, had once said that it was often the small wounds that were ignored and left to fester while larger ones claimed all the attention. Sister Clara had not been an oblate. She'd lived a normal life, growing up with her family before marrying and having children. It was only after her children had been married off and her husband had died that she had found her way to the abbey and taken vows. She'd said that life hadn't been the same without her husband, and she was content to serve God for the rest of her days.
Sister Clara had taught Annabel a lot. She had been one of a very few bright spots in her life at the abbey. She would miss her . . . and hadn't even got to say good-bye. The thought made her frown. She hadn't been allowed to collect anything, and hadn't been given the chance to say good-bye to anyone . . . Could they not have spared just a couple of moments to do both?
"Ahhh, that looks lovely."
Annabel blinked as Seonag suddenly thrust a hand mirror with a cloudy, slightly warped surface before her. Then she simply stared. Mirrors had not been allowed at the abbey. The abbess said vanity was a sin, and mirrors were a toy of the devil. Whether there was a mirror at Waverly, Annabel couldn't say. Certainly her mother hadn't offered her one once she was prepared for her wedding and she hadn't thought to ask. The only time she'd seen herself ere this was in the surface of the stream she had swum in at the abbey, which reflected a wavy image at best.
"Do you like it?" Seonag asked, smiling.
Annabel reached up and touched her hair. Seonag had brushed it dry. It was a shiny, black mass in the reflection and flowed around a pale oval face with rosy cheeks. The maid had pulled back and braided a few small strands on either side of Annabel's face, clasping them behind her head somehow. It made her eyes look huge. That or she had huge eyes, Annabel supposed.
"I look beautiful," she said with wonder and for some reason the words made laughter burst from Seonag.
"Lovey, ye are beautiful," Seonag said with amusement, and then more gently, "Surely yer parents told ye that?"
Her mother had done nothing but mutter with distress over how large she was, and moan over how shameful it was that the abbess had allowed her to get to this size. Annabel suspected that Lady Waverly would not agree that she was beautiful. She was saved from having to say so, however, by the opening of the bedchamber door. Both she and Seonag glanced to it with surprise, but Annabel had to lean to the side to peer past Seonag to see that it was her husband.
"Ah, good. Yer ready," Ross said with approval when he spotted her.
"Well, that depends on what ye want her ready fer," Seonag said with amusement, stepping aside to reveal that Annabel was still garbed in only the linen wrapped around her.
"Oh." Ross stared briefly, his eyes slipping over her so that Annabel didn't feel covered at all. After his gaze had devoured every inch of her, he growled one word. "Seonag."
The woman released an amused chuckle and bustled toward the door, detouring briefly to collect the gowns from the bed along the way. "I'll just take these below and see what I can do to repair and prepare them while ye have a word with yer bride."
Ross grunted a sound of approval and tugged the door open for her. The moment the servant was through it, he closed the door and stalked across the room toward Annabel.
"Oh," she said faintly as he approached. His eyes were fixed on h
er like those of a wolf on a wee, defenseless rabbit and she rather felt like a rabbit in that moment. There was something in his eyes that was making her extremely nervous. He looked hungry, and not for food. For some reason it made her think perhaps he wanted to consummate their marriage again. Although she supposed you couldn't consummate it more than once, though she was certainly no expert in the matter. In fact, she didn't even recall the first consummation, so she was as ignorant as could be on the subject, but she was pretty sure he was having some rather carnal thoughts.
When his gaze settled in the area of her breasts through the damp cloth and he licked his lips, Annabel stood abruptly, her hand tightening on the linen she was holding around her shoulders. She managed a smile, but her feet were carrying her backward away from him as she said, "I am sorry for sleeping so late, my lord."
"It was a long journey and ye did no' sleep well during it. I told the servants to let ye sleep in," Ross said, following her backward progress.
"Oh. Well, that was . . . er . . . that was sweet," Annabel stammered as she felt the top of the mantelpiece bump against the back of her neck. Unable to move back anymore, she started shifting sideways instead and said, "Thank you."
"Yer welcome," he responded. As he stalked her, his eyes dropped to slide over the linen covering her as if he could see right through it. That fact made her glance down to see that he could indeed see through it. At least he could in the places where the linen was damp . . . which seemed to be over all the more important bits, she noted with alarm and recalled Father Gerder's lectures on the evils of women and the temptation they offered. Dear God, it seemed she was doing just that without even meaning to, tempting her husband with the pleasures of the flesh . . . and on a Wednesday, one of the days the church had outlawed carnal pleasures.
Annabel bumped unexpectedly into the second chair by the fire and came to an abrupt halt. Her husband, however, did not, at least not until he was a bare inch away. Crowding her against the chair, Ross reached for her waist and drew her forward until their bodies pressed against each other.
