He looked down at his mud-encrusted clothing, turned his palms up to see the stained lines, scars, and scratches. Dirty hands. The hands of a peasant. He turned hesitantly to look around the room, seeing evidence of Glenna’s presence: the gown she’d worn earlier, her comb; the smell of freshly applied violet water. He’d invaded her home with the arrogant notion that he would simply assume his role as laird here, run things according to his will. And now here he stood, covered in filth, having ruined his life, Mam’s, Glenna’s…Audrey’s.
He would be put to death for Audrey’s disappearance. Hanged, like the common thief he was.
A crisp knock sounded at the door before it swung inward and a pair of maids entered, carrying a round copper bathing tub between them. Two more servants followed, bearing buckets in each hand like human scales. The sound of water being poured into the tub was like thunder. They left without comment, and before the door shut completely, Tavish saw the profile of the king’s guard in the corridor.
He was already a prisoner.
There was likely hope that he’d drown himself.
He numbly peeled off his clothes, leaving them in a sodden heap on the hearth, and then stepped into the steaming water. He sat, his knees bent up near his chest, and looked at the swirling brown infecting the clear water, the rivulets of dirt running from his skin. In his mind’s eye, he saw the blood-soaked mattress of Audrey’s chamber.
It couldn’t be her blood.
Tavish didn’t know for how long he sat in the tub, but when the door opened again and Glenna entered the room, her eyes went wide.
“Tavish,” she whispered, closing the door then walking quickly to the side of the tub. “What are you doing?” She knelt and dipped her fingers into the water. “It’s ice cold. Here.”
She took up the cloth and cake of soap and lathered it, quickly scrubbing his back and arms, chest, and neck. He shook himself from his stupor and took the cloth from her, finishing his body and then bent his neck so that Glenna could pour dippers full of the cold water over his head while he cleaned his hair. She fetched his robe and held it up before her as he stood and then stepped out of the tub.
“I’ll get a towel for your hair,” she said, turning away.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and she stepped between his knees, draping the toweling over his hair and starting to rub it dry. Tavish reached up and seized one of her wrists with his hands. Glenna stilled and let the towel fall away, sliding her palms around the back of his neck and drawing his face against her abdomen. How he had misjudged this woman upon his arrival.
“How is your father?” His voice creaked.
He heard her intake of breath through her nostrils, felt it against his skin. “He is awake. Your mother is with him now, entertaining him with stories of the guests. I think it is good for both of them.”
Tavish rubbed his face against the softness of her gown, closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.
“There was a gown missing from Miss Keane’s wardrobe,” Glenna said. “The wedding gown sent from Edinburgh.”
Tavish pulled away and looked up at her as the meaning of that slowly sank in.
“I know you didn’t hurt her,” Glenna said.
“If they hang me,” Tavish began.
She gripped the sides of his face. “You mustn’t say such a thing.”
He reached up and took hold of her wrists. “If they hang me,” he repeated slowly, “there is a chest in the cave. It contains a significant amount of gold and silver. I want you to have it. To care for yourself and Mam.”
“Tavish—”
“Bring several bags with you to the cave,” he interrupted firmly. “You shan’t be able to carry the chest. It should be enough to sustain you both for a long time.”
“We don’t know—”
“Promise me,” he demanded, looking into her eyes, deeply shadowed by the firelight behind her. “Promise me, Glenna, that you will do this. You must take care of each other.”
The silence draped around them like a mourning cloak. “I promise,” she whispered.
“I would have married you,” he said, releasing one of her wrists to touch her cheek. “I was going to ask the king for permission after he approved my inheritance.”
She stiffened slightly. “After you had secured the Tower for yourself?”
“No,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “After I claimed a title making me worthy to offer for your hand. After I could give you what you deserve: your home, your father’s home. In a way that no one could ever try to take it from you again. When I was finally good enough for you.” He stood from the bed, bringing his hands to her face now. “I love you, Glenna. I’ve loved you almost since the moment I arrived at Roscraig.”
She met his kiss equally, smoothing her hands inside his wet, heavy robe to slide over his ribs to his back. She pulled away from his mouth slowly, with little licks of her tongue.
