Page 36 of Warrior’s Lady

"I would be grateful," Rhiannon said.

Camden turned to Mistress Faulkner, sparing Rhiannon any more censure. "Magdeline, please find Mistress Rhiannon something suitable to wear down to supper. The whole castle will be wanting to gaze upon the woman who saved their lord."

When he was gone, Rhiannon stood. Cool evening air caressed her skin, dispelling what remained of the heat between herself and Camden. She turned to face the chatelaine. "Mistress Faulkner, if you'd rather not assist me, I understand. I've grown used to caring for myself over the years."

"Nonsense," she said, wrapping the towel around Rhiannon's body. "I am capable of performing my duty regardless of my feelings for you. What the master does is his own business. He is the one who has to live with his choices at the end of the day."

The chatelaine turned away, toward the tall wardrobe on the wall opposite the door and swung the doors open wide. "I cannot pass judgment on what goes on around here. If the master wants to dally with the woman who's responsible for killin' his kin, what do I have to say about it?"

It seemed as though the woman had a lot to say on the subject. Rhiannon moved toward the fire, and stared into the flames as they licked the logs, devouring them as surely as her family's reputation devoured her. No matter what she did, nothing would ever change the fact that she was a Ruthven.

The usual emptiness that she carried inside her returned. For a short while today at the cottage, she and Camden had talked, like friends. He had not judged her then.

But they had done more than talk. Heat crept into her cheeks at the memory of his lips upon hers. She touched her lips with the back of her hand. This evening he had continued to treat her in a friendly manner. The heat in his eyes did not reflect hatred, only desire.

And in those moments she had felt different, satisfied, almost as if she mattered to someone else on this earth.

Almost.

Rhiannon shifted her gaze back to the chatelaine. With her back turned, Mistress Faulkner hummed a lilting tune that Rhiannon recognized as a Celtic prayer. "Lady Lockhart must have left something behind here that would fit you."

While Mistress Faulkner sorted through garments, Rhiannon toweled her body dry, then set to work on her hair.

"This will do just fine." The chatelaine stepped back from the wardrobe, a triumphant gleam on her aged face. She gathered a few other things before coming to stand beside Rhiannon at the hearth. "While you don't deserve to wear her things, this dress will look lovely on you."

Rhiannon's throat burned with unshed tears, but she held her emotions in check. The woman continued her belittling rambling as she slipped a sheer linen chemise over Rhiannon's head, followed by a sapphire blue velvet gown.

Rhiannon remained silent, trying to force her mind on to other things until the woman finally stood back, satisfied with what she saw. "The evening meal is being served. If you want to eat, you will have to join the others." With those last words, she left as quickly as she had come.

Feeling unwanted and suddenly alone, Rhiannon nervously smoothed her fingers over the luxurious fabric of the dress Mistress Faulkner had chosen for her. The color reminded her of Camden's eyes as they'd filled with passion earlier this afternoon.

Heat came to her cheeks again at the memory. Would he have kissed her like that if he still hated her? It was hard to imagine so. Rhiannon forced a smile to her lips. Perhaps she wasn't as alone as she imagined. With Camden and Violet on her side, she could handle the rest of the household.

Gathering her tattered pride, Rhiannon moved to the door only to be greeted by the two hulking warriors Camden had placed at her door the night before. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said as she strode past them down the hall. They followed.

A cacophony of sound greeted her as she stepped into the great hall, followed by the savory scent of roast mutton and onions. She paused for a moment, fortifying herself for the night ahead, when the sound in the room suddenly died and all eyes fastened on her.

More people than she had ever seen together in one room before sat at long tables in rows across the entire hall. Lord Lockhart and Violet sat at the table in the front of the room, and on legs that trembled ever so slightly, Rhiannon made her way into the room.

She had no idea where to sit. No doubt not with Camden at the high table, but where else? Open spaces on the benches seemed to close as she drew near. Weaving her way between the tables, Rhiannon did not miss the scowls directed at her. One woman spit on her as she passed, and several people hissed. The man she knew as Camden's steward, Bertie, stared at her with hatred in his eyes.

She held her head high as she continued forward looking for a quiet, perhaps isolated place to sit. Her legs wobbled beneath her now.

"Mistress Plague," cursed a scullery maid as she passed.

"The devil's daughter," another woman hissed.

Rhiannon kept moving forward. A moment later, her foot snagged something and she catapulted forward, hitting her elbow and her thigh against the wooden bench on her right, before she slammed against the hard stone floor. She hitched in a breath. Tears threatened from the pain as well as the humiliation that burned in her chest. Someone had tripped her intentionally.

"Fill your heart with forgiveness." Mother Agnes' parting words to her played through her mind.

Mustering everything she had inside, Rhiannon let go of her anger, her pain, as she forced her thoughts to that of forgiveness.

"Are you all right, milady?" Hamish asked as he and Travis gently lifted her from the floor.

Travis drew his sword and turned, aiming his weapon at a dark-haired warrior's heart. "You dare to harm a guest in this castle, Garrett?"

The warrior's face reddened. "She should sleep with the dogs, not eat with us."