Page 11 of Sighs of the Highland Wind
“We expect an invitation to the wedding too!” the laird called, with a smile on his plump cheeks.
“Of course, M’Laird!” Kenna replied, then with a little wave, a smile, and a deep sigh of relief, she hurried out.
She knew what Lady McDonald could be like when she managed to haul Kenna into a conversation about her life. She would likely have had to describe what she had been doing since the last time they met in minute detail. She could have been there for hours, even though, up until a couple of days ago, Kenna’s life had been extremely ordinary. She wondered what the lady would say if she knew about the tall, handsome stranger in her bedroom and laughed at the thought. Somehow she thought it would amuse rather than anger her.
Now that she had the food, Kenna had to find a way of providing new clothes for Ewan, but that was easy since she was one of the maids who mended the clothes for everyone in the castle. She ought to be able to find something quite easily, but she decided to leave that job for later and made her way back to her chamber.
It took Maxwell a moment to realize where he was when he woke up. He was lying on a blanket, and there was another drapedover him, but as he looked around, he could see by the cracks of light around the window shutters that it was daylight.
He was in a bedchamber, and suddenly the memories of the previous night came rushing back to him. Where was the woman who had rescued him? He stood up, then realized that his bodily needs had to be satisfied; he panicked for a moment until he found the chamber pot under the bed.
The blankets on the bed were still rumpled as if Kenna had just arisen from bed, and driven by some mad impulse, Maxwell picked up her pillow to inhale her scent. It was a mixture of the natural aroma of earth, a slight undertone of fresh sweat, and rough soap. It was an honest, clean smell, just like the woman herself, and he could have breathed it in all day. He had not lain in a soft bed beside a woman for so long that he had almost forgotten how good it felt.
Maxwell looked for water at the washstand, but there was none, and he sighed and looked down at himself, wishing he had some fresh clothes. He could only guess what Kenna saw when she looked at him: some unkempt, filthy, ragged scarecrow of a man. He could see that he was beginning to lose weight, and he was becoming a shadow of the man he had once been. He wanted to run outside in the fresh air and exercise, but for the moment he was, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner.
Presently, the door opened and Kenna came in with a tray of food for him. He could see by the shape and texture of the puddings and eggs that they had been left over from someone else’s meal, but he did not care. The bread, which had obviously been bitten by someone else’s teeth, was plentiful, and his mouth watered as he looked at it. Somehow she had managed to find some ale and two apples, and he marveled at her resourcefulness.
“I am sorry, but this is all I could find,” she said sadly. “If I had taken anything fresh, it would have given your presence away, but I did manage an extra apple.”
“This is fine,” he assured her, then sat down to eat.
He tried not to shovel the food into his mouth but ended up doing so since his hunger had gotten the better of him. He forgot all about the refined table manners he had been taught as a child since they were utterly useless when you were ravenously hungry.
The meal did not quite fill him, but Kenna had done her best, and Maxwell was filled with gratitude. So many people would have left him where he was or thrown him out to die in the cold. She had a heart of gold.
While he was eating, Kenna was fetching a bucket of water to fill the washstand. Her movements were graceful and sure, and once more he was reminded of a dancer.
He gazed at her in wonder as she filled the basin.
“Are you always so kind to strangers?” he asked, puzzled. “Why are you doing this for me?”
She turned to him, and he saw for the first time that her eyes were a bright apple-green—beautiful eyes.
“Because strangers were kind to me once,” she replied. “It is only fair to return the favor. Perhaps you will do the same for someone else.”
“I most certainly will,” Maxwell assured her, smiling.
He stood facing her for an awkward moment, then she slipped out again before he could ask her where she was going. Hewashed quickly, wishing he could indulge in a hot soapy bath, but that really was an impossible dream. He had not had a hot bath in over a year, and the cleanest he had been was when he managed to bathe in a freezing loch or burn.
Still, he did the best he could with the limited means he had. When he had finished washing as much of himself as he could reach, he felt reasonably clean, relatively well-fed, and better than he had in ages.
His beard had grown uncomfortably long, but there was nothing he could do about that. He had washed it, and the color of the water in the bowl was now a deep grey, making him feel sick at the thought of how dirty it had been.
Not knowing quite what to do next, he stood by the window looking out at the view. This room was in a rather secluded part of the castle, and he could see little of interest apart from trees and meadows, but he knew every inch of Invercree Estate. He had been here so many times as a boy that it was practically his second home. He had had some wonderful and not-so-wonderful times here.
He thought of the time he had tumbled out of a spruce tree when he was twelve years old and broken his arm and the look of panic on his friend Lachlan’s face.
He remembered the stab of utter terror as his hand slipped on the branch and the feeling of complete helplessness as he felt himself falling through the air. More branches slapped and scratched him as he fell, inflicting bloody scratches and cuts.Then he came to a sudden, sickening halt, hearing and feeling the jarring thud as he hit the ground.
Maxwell felt as if his whole body, from the back of his head, which hit the ground first, to his heels, had been hit over and over again by a giant hammer. For a few seconds he could neither breathe nor hear nor see. He could feel no pain at first, but when it came, it was as though a flame had been held to his arm.
The scream that came out of him made Lachlan cry out in terror. He shook Maxwell, trying to stop him.
“Stay there!” he cried. “I am going to summon help!”
He disappeared, and a moment later a merciful blackness crept over Maxwell as he succumbed to the shock of the pain.
The next few days had been almost completely wiped from his memory. All he could recall were brief periods of daylight and a few echoes of very distant voices. He was told later that Lachlan had been by his side almost constantly during his recovery.
