Charming the Chieftain by Deanie Roman Page B

comforts.
    “Good. Now, I shall pour us both a cup of warmed wine and we shall have a constructive chat.”
    • • •
    Elisande removed her plaid, laying it over the smooth spindle of the quilt stand. She had consumed two cups of mulled wine and was feeling the effects. She cast an eye over the room. A tightly roped, double-sized mattress set on a sturdy frame swallowed up a good portion of the bedchamber. The room itself had an earthy ambience. A hard-packed dirt floor covered with thick, colorful rag rugs, and a dense, wooly lambskin laid out in front of the hearth beckoned. Wild flowers in an earthenware jug perched on the roughhewn mantle, and the scent of sweetbriar filled the air.
    Next she removed the saffron blouse, letting it fall to her feet and kicked it aside. She slid out of her fine lawn chemisette, flung it on the bed and stepped into a warm bath. To her surprise, Aeden had borrowed a wooden bathing tub from a local bathhouse and while she had her chat with Mrs. Kirkwall, he had been heating bucket after bucket of water. A dab of rose oil created a rainbow effect on the water’s surface and she heaved a lusty sigh of pleasure.
    She made thorough use of her time and when she caught herself nodding off, she reluctantly climbed from the tub, found body linens warming on a low table not far from the fire, and she swathed her hair with one and wrapped up in another. She poked her head out into the hall and called to her new friend. Then, she stood behind the door while Mrs. Kirkwall oversaw the removal of the bath by Fergal and Kiernan.
    “Take a seat in front of the fire,” her friend instructed.
    With a deft hand, she unwrapped Elisande’s hair and ran a deer-antler comb through the wet locks. Once the tangles were out, Mrs. Kirkwall produced a small jar of rose-scented hair balm.
    Elisande closed her eyes and basked in the gentle massage. The older woman took up a boar hairbrush and brushed Elisande’s hair until it shined.
    “There.” Mrs. Kirkwall set the brush aside and stood up.
    “Mrs. Kirkwall, I — ”
    She cut Elisande off with a wave of her hand. “I have enjoyed our time together, and if ever you find yourself in need of a friend, I am closer than you think.”
    Elisande hugged the other woman tight. “Thank you.”
    After she left, Elisande threw off the linen towel and wrapped herself in a clean plaid left to warm by the fire. Suddenly drained, she sank down on the sheepskin rug and curled into the soft fur.
    Perhaps she should have chosen to settle in the bed. She scrutinized the thickness of the mattress, faded colors of the goose-feather quilt, and tried to imagine him there with her. Instantly a rush of heat spread across her chest and face. She could not envision doing the things Mrs. Kirkwall described — with Aeden or anyone when it came to it.
    Truly, she hadn’t any idea if he planned to join her or not. The hasty offer she made earlier brought a renewed heat to her face. No wonder he left her in Mrs. Kirkwall’s hands. Then, she stopped and thought the idea through. It must have taken some maneuvering to provide a scented bath with buckets of hot water, and at a moment’s notice. As well, to arrange for a compassionate, motherly figure to ease her anxieties demonstrated an uncommon ability to determine the immediate need of a person. She marveled at the man’s intuitive nature and thought how fortunate the people under his rule were.
    Now, whether Aeden came to her bed tonight, the day after, or, the day after that — one point crystallized in her mind. For the first time in a long while, she fell asleep untroubled.
    • • •
    Aeden gathered a handful of wild roses. The thorns stabbing his flesh did little to quell the persistent ache in his loins. He thought of little else than the innocent provocation of Elisande’s request. The click of a door latch interrupted his fantasy. He caught sight of Mrs. Kirkwall in the garden; she nodded to indicate the talk went well.