Page 8 of The Beast of the Highlands
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In the end, the healing woman, Mary, had arrived to take over the rest of Autumn’s recuperation. Flynn, meanwhile, had been sent away with a rather unexpected scolding.
“Och, anyone would think yer sweet ma and I, rest her soul, had raised ye to be a feral!” Mary had shooed the Laird out of the room as though he were no more than a shepherd’s boy.
“If ye’d woken sooner, I wouldnae have had to see to her!” Flynn had protested, getting a slap on his behind for his troubles.
Mary had tutted. “Poor lass must be frightened out of her wits, and ye’re drippin’ cold water all over her. And daenae be chidin’ me for bein’ slow—these auld legs creak like rottin’ branches in this bitter weather. I came as fast as I could.” She had all but slammed the door in the Laird’s face, before her demeanor had softened. “Now, let’s get ye patched up, shall we?”
Once Autumn had been bathed and bound where the cuts and bruises required it, she had also been sent to bed, to sleep away the remainder of her aches and pains. It felt strange to her, to be falling asleep at sunrise, but she had been too tired and overwhelmed by the night’s events to argue.
Now, she stirred to mid-afternoon sunlight streaming in through a sliver between the drapes, coaxing her eyelids open. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and how she had come to be there.
I made it… By the skin of my teeth, I made it. But will the Laird allow me to remain?
“Och, ye’re awake. I sensed ye would be.” A raspy voice made Autumn sit bolt upright in the unfamiliar bed, to find Mary pottering about the bedchamber, unpacking the meager belongings from Autumn’s carpetbag.
Autumn threw back the fur blankets that had kept her impossibly warm through her slumber. “You do not have to do that Mrs… um… I do not believe you gave me your surname.”
“Mary’s me name. That’ll do me just fine. And daenae fret over me puttin’ away yer things, lass—there isnae much to it,” the old woman replied. She had a tangled nest of gray hair twisted onto the top of her head, and a face seasoned with wrinkles, but though her back was slightly hunched and she walked with a shuffle, there was vitality still in her clear green eyes.
Autumn perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Thank you, Mary.”
“Och, daenae thank me. I’m just doin’ me duty.” Mary plucked up a grass green bodice with matching skirts, and a petticoat that did not belong to Autumn. To the collection in her arms, she added a shift with billowing sleeves that also did not belong to Autumn, and her stays. “Now, let’s get ye dressed so ye can meet the young’un. He’s excited to meet ye.”
Autumn frowned. “Pardon?”
“The Laird’s brother—the one ye came here to educate, or did ye forget already?” Mary cackled, bringing the clothes over. She was already stripping the nightdress from Autumn before she could protest.
“Does this mean the Laird is granting me the position as tutor?” Autumn could hardly believe it, after all of Flynn’s talk about her being a spy. She still felt somewhat guilty about insisting she had no ties to the English Army, when her brother was a captain, but a tiny, white lie would not hurt anyone. Besides, she had not lied when she had said she was not fond of the English Army. If it were not for them, Orwell would be safe at home, lacking the scars of wounds that had almost killed him.
Mary nodded. “Aye, but it’ll only be temporary, until His Lairdship sees if ye’re as good as ye say ye are.”
“That is prudent, I suppose,” Autumn replied, feeling suddenly anxious that she might not meet the Laird’s expectations.
I hope he has given me this position on those spoken merits, rather than the sight of me in my undergarments…
For though Laird MacLennan was dauntingly handsome, with the strength and height of a bear, not to mention the fact that he had rescued her, she was not seeking an entanglement. Marrying for prosperity had its benefits, of course, and would surely help her family, but she knew the Scottish tended to marry their own kind.
Besides, he might already be married.
She was confused to feel the faintest sensation of disappointment twinging in her chest, and quickly pushed it aside. She did not even know what sort of man Flynn Duncan was, in her limited experience of him. Still, handsome fellows who strode into a woman’s bedchamber without first declaring themselves were not the kind to be trusted.
A short while later, Autumn was dressed and ready to meet with Flynn’s younger brother. She might have looked forward to the meeting, if her stays were not pressing into the bruises she had gained from the night before, making it increasingly difficult to breathe.
“This way, lass.” Mary weaved a wiry arm through Autumn’s and led her out of the bedchamber.
They shuffled along almost as slowly as each other, heading along a vaulted hallway, where candles flickered in low-hanging chandeliers. Shadows danced a jig along the stone walls, as the sconces added their orangey glow to the hallway, for there were no windows here to allow the sunshine in.
At the far end of the hallway, Mary came to a stop and knocked on a thick wooden door that curved up to a peak. “Yer tutor is here, Master Leighton!” she barked.
Leighton Duncan.
Autumn breathed a sigh of relief, realizing she had not thought to ask for her future ward’s name.
A moment later, she found herself being pushed into the room by Mary’s surprisingly firm hand. The healing woman did not come in. Instead, she closed the door behind Autumn, and though Autumn did not hear the turn of a key in the lock, it felt rather like she was being shut in here with the Laird’s brother.
“I told Flynn I dinnae want a tutor,” a sour voice grumbled from the far side of a charming, airy bedchamber. A delightful view of Ettrick Forest could be seen from the tall, thin windows opposite Autumn; the canopy of trees was bathed in a golden flood of sunlight which would soon be making its descent to the horizon.
