Page 30 of The Beast of the Highlands
With her heart hammering in her chest, she finally reached the door to her bedchamber, and slipped inside. The bed was neatly made, just as she had left it, but there seemed to be no sign of Mary.
“Thank goodness.” Autumn wheezed a sigh of relief, but she could not linger to congratulate herself for a near miss.
Stumbling for the bed, she dispensed with her attire and scrambled under the coverlets and blankets, pulling them to her chin and squeezing her eyes shut.
And not a moment too soon.
Mere minutes after Autumn had tucked herself in, a knock came at the door. Not waiting for a reply, Mary bustled in.
“Good mornin’, lass,” she announced brashly.
Autumn pretended to awaken sleepily. “Is it morning already?”
“Aye.” Mary walked to the drapes and stopped sharply.
Autumn swallowed a startled gasp, realizing she should have closed the drapes before she got into bed. Though a deeper concern snaked into the back of her mind, as she watched the old woman.
I did not return to have her undress me. Does she already know that I did not sleep here?
“I must’ve forgotten to close ‘em, lass. Apologies.” Mary turned, wearing a confused expression. “I came by to aid ye, but ye were nae here. I laid out yer—” Her frown deepened as her gaze observed the unused nightgown that rested, undisturbed, at the foot of the bed.
Autumn floundered. “It was much too warm, thanks to the fire you stoked. I did not require the nightgown.”
“Where were ye?” The question thrummed with suspicion.
“Seashell was uneasy because of last night’s rain. I stayed with her in her stall, to comfort her.” Autumn gulped. “I do not know what time I returned, for I was exhausted. I imagine you had already retired, as the hour was certainly late.”
Mary pursed her lips. “I suppose that’s natural for them fancy, flighty horses.”
“Indeed, she does have a nervous temperament.” Though, at present, Autumn was the one trembling with nerves.
Mary continued to survey the chamber, the old woman’s silence making Autumn’s stomach churn. This woman knew every nook and cranny of this room, and if she saw something out of place, it would surely set alarm bells clanging. Moreover, if she had any suspicions, she only had to speak with the stablemaster to discover that Autumn was lying.
“Aye, I dinnae like sleepin’ in clothes, neither. I prefer to be in the nude.” Mary’s expression transformed into one of good humor, as if there had never been any doubt. “Come on, let’s get ye dressed and ready. The lads are saddlin’ the horses, and they’ll start whinin’ if they’ve to wait too long. Fickle bairns, the lot of ‘em.”
Exhaling slowly to try and dispel the fear inside her, Autumn threw back the covers and allowed Mary to dress her.
As she stood in front of the looking glass, staring at her reflection, she wondered if Mary could see the change upon her skin; the transformation from maiden to wife. There were certainly a few suspect marks on her body, like thin bruises, and a particular pinkish glow about her cheeks. Not to mention the tousled mess of her hair, which resembled a bird’s nest.
No…
Her eyes settled in horror upon the hearth, reflected in the looking glass. Fresh kindling stood in a pyramid, in the center of the grate, unlit by any touchpaper. If Mary looked closely enough, she would not even need to speak to the stablemaster to know that Autumn was keeping secrets.
Secrets that could ruin everything.
19
As morning properly broke across the castle, Autumn sat atop Seashell, scouring the battlements for Flynn. She did not know if he had fallen asleep again after she had departed the library.
Where are you?
She wanted to see his face before she left, to bring her comfort after the panicked hour she had endured with Mary. The old woman had not mentioned anything incriminating, but Autumn knew that was no assurance that Mary had notnoticedanything incriminating.
I must hope her eyes do not see as much as she lets on.
“Are ye ready, Miss Montgomery?” Flynn’s man-at-arms, Desmond, brought her out of her worried thoughts.
He was a surprisingly sweet-faced fellow, with long red hair bound in a braid. Where the other soldiers looked at Autumn with irritation, or ambivalence, or outright distaste, Desmond was always gentle and courteous. And she owed him greatly for his discreet role in keeping her family fed.
