Page 41 of Deception of a Highlander

Innes thrust her hands into the noxious liquid and pulled up wads of sodden wool. To Mariel’s amazement, the downy white shaded to a dingy pale green and darkened further into vivid blue. She continued to stare in wonder, waiting to see if any additional colors showed.

Innes glanced at Mariel and rolled her eyes before throwing the mass into the empty basket at her feet. She lifted a clam-like shell and looked at Mariel as though she were daft and said, “Woad.”

At least that explained the smell.

“Out,” she commanded while performing a scooping motion. Without waiting for acknowledgment that she had been understood, Innes turned her back to Mariel and began stuffing fistful after gnarled fistful of wool into a fresh pot of the foul woad concoction. Her grating voice rose over the wind. “We’ll see if the cosseted English whore can get her hands dirty like the rest of us. Pampered little brat with her rounded fingernails and milky white skin that has no’ ever seen a hard day’s work.”

Mariel shrugged off the bitter grumblings and rolled her sleeves up despite the chill. Holding her breath, she slid her hands into the warm, putrid bath. The wool was spongy against her fingertips, clinging to her flesh like wet hair when she drew it from the pot. She suppressed a gag as a strong wave of the noxious odor washed over her and then tossed the bluing ball of wool into Innes’s basket with a soft splat.

Once the vat was emptied, another lay ready, and after that another until the day passed in a blur of gray, green and brilliant blue. Mariel’s stomach growled fiercely in protest of her skipped meals, and her body was stiff from lack of sufficient movement.

The sun sank low in the sky, cradled in the bosom of the hills beyond. Its crimson light splashed against the drying wool and lent it a purple essence.

As though sensing night settling upon them, Innes rose and stretched her back. She nodded in Mariel’s direction. “Done.”

For all the misery the woman had intended to inflict, Mariel’s chest swelled with the sense of accomplishment. She had completed a day of true, honest work. Her livelihood had been earned with the strength of her body, not the twisting of words and manipulation.

* * *

Later that evening, Mariel sat on the edge of her bed, fed and exhausted as she waited for the sound of Kieran’s return. The cloak of night had long since snuffed out the sun’s golden rays, and yet still, he was nowhere to be found.

She had changed into a simple dress for supper that evening and taken great care with her appearance. The subtle hues of the dress complimented the color of her eyes, and her hair had been twisted back in a simple braid. She sighed and looked down at her blue-tinged fingers. There had been little she could do for her hands. Not that any of her effort mattered. He had not shown.

No one mentioned where he was, nor did they seem concerned by his disappearance, or so she had gathered from the multiple conversations she had overheard. Her heart thudded in her chest in a frenzy of excitement and regret as she accepted the only assumption remaining. Kieran was with Blair and Dougal Hampton, the men she had been sent to find.

Her gaze slid to the scrap of ice-blue silk draped unceremoniously over the wooden chest at the foot of her bed. The tissue-thin night rail had come at sufficient cost. More expenses, more she owed to Aaron. She shuddered and pushed the thought from her mind.

Her hand slid under the sheer fabric, letting the coolness of the silk soothe the ache of her overworked fingers. It was a gown made for the bedroom. A gown meant for seduction.

Breathless anticipation filled her chest, and the throb of desire slowly pulsed to life. She closed her eyes and imagined the brush of his warm lips against hers, and the gentle caress of his hand upon her breast and his fingers as they crept up the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

The heavy tread of footsteps thudded down the hall. Mariel’s eyes flew up. She straightened. Her ears strained for the sounds of movement. If the footsteps retreated, they were those of a guard. But if the door next to hers opened, she knew Kieran had finally returned.

She listened with her breath held lest she miss anything. The creak of a door opening echoed off the walls of her room and she released the air she’d been holding. She curled into the searing burn that twisted in her stomach, the squeezing grip of guilt and weight of remorse that kept her human through the years of deception. She would never shy from its wicked embrace. It was her punishment.

But guilt would not save Jack.

Mariel shrank inside of herself and let the dress whisper down the length of her body, sheathing her in the silky fabric.

The time had come to seduce Kieran MacDonald.

* * *

Kieran released a heavy sigh and sank into the large chair beside the fire. His gaze settled on the smoldering peat, watching smoke curl over the black slabs of earth in billowing plumes. The day had been long, and his dealings with Hamish had been easy in comparison.

Crop fields had needed to be set, and the farmers had argued like old women over the exact day. The kitchen had begged his instruction on meals with questions better left to the lady of the castle. Of course, there was no lady, but why the cook insisted on playing that argument over and over with Kieran was beyond him. So long as the food was warm and unspoiled, he cared little what graced his trencher.

Then there was his trip to see Blair and Dougal. His heart wrenched angrily in his chest. To know how they were treated made his iron stomach churn with disgust.

No, he couldn’t think of that. It made him too damn angry.

Doubtless, Mariel’s day had been difficult as well. He absently noticed the smile spreading over his lips as he imagined her elbow deep in those foul-smelling pots. Perhaps she would wish to leave Skye after he found a replacement lady’s maid for her.

He took a sip of the whisky and leaned his head back against the chair. The amber liquor slowly burned a path down his throat until it pooled like fire in his empty stomach. While Mariel’s departure was necessary, Kieran was not as eager to see her go as he should be.

Pressing the cup to his lips once more, he idly mused if she had worn her hair twisted up or plaited back in a long braid. Perhaps she had left it loose. That was how he liked it best, with the ebony stands flowing like a waterfall down the length of her slender back.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. He lifted his head and glared at the back of his door, willing the intruder to leave him in peace.