to her that in normal circumstances she would proffer her hand to any nobleman to whom she was introduced. She had done nothing to warrant treatment as anything less than a woman of good breeding and education. Gripping Rheade’s hand she held out the other to Erskine.
He brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Lady Margaret. Welcome to Stirling.”
Tannoch shifted his weight from foot to foot, gnawing on his bottom lip. “I’ll speak to ye later about Lady Margaret,” he muttered to Erskine, drawing him aside. “I’ve another brother, younger yet, but he’s in the Grampians.”
Erskine arched a brow. “Hunting Graham?”
Tannoch grinned. “Aye. Rheade and I will join him as soon as the Queen gives leave.”
The prospect of Rheade riding off into the mountains and leaving her alone in this bleak place filled her with misgiving.
Erskine disentangled his arm from Tannoch’s grasp. “Yer brother should be present at the audience. No doubt he helped track down the Stewarts. Her Majesty will want to hear every detail.”
Tannoch glowered at Rheade, but seemed to accept that objecting to his brother’s inclusion would seem churlish. “Aye,” he muttered.
“Firstly, however,” Erskine said, “chambers await and a well deserved bath is being prepared.”
“Thank goodness,” Margaret whispered to Rheade. “For the Queen’s sake. The poor woman has suffered enough.”
She breathed easier when Rheade chuckled.
CLEANSING BATHS
Rheade was less than pleased at having to share a chamber with his brother, especially when he discovered there was one bathtub. It wasn’t likely chambermaids would appear to empty the wooden tub and refill it, and he had no intention of putting as much as a toe in any water Tannoch had bathed in. He quickly stripped off his garments, piled them on the bed, and sank into the blessedly hot water. The heat seeped into his bones. Only his knees still felt chilly sticking up out of the water.
Tannoch sprawled on the other side of the bed still wearing his boots and filthy plaid. “Ye’re too fussy about washing,” he scoffed.
Before Fion’s startling revelations, Rheade would have ignored the remark, but a devilish impulse to test Tannoch urged him on. “Aye, ’tis a trait I inherited from my father.”
His brother raised his head and glared. “Too true,” he replied, scratching his scalp vigorously, “Da was a fiend for cleanliness whereas I believe a good coating of muck helps keep a body warm.”
Rheade shrugged. “That’s as may be, but there’s naught like a hot bath to invigorate a man.”
He retrieved the cake of Castile from the bottom of the tub and made a big show of lathering it over his arms and chest, noisily inhaling the pleasant smell of the soap. He congratulated himself on recognizing the distinctive olive oil aroma, but there was something else mixed in that reminded him of Margaret. With her nose for scents, she would know what it was.
The notion of sharing a tub with the tempting lass from Oban proved to be invigorating as well, but the water hid his arousal from his unsuspecting brother. She’d been assigned to the adjacent chamber. If he was quick—
He quickly abandoned the idea. Tannoch would get suspicious if he rushed off.
A worry gnawed at him that his chieftain intended to appear unwashed before the Queen. He chuckled. It was perhaps unlikely Her Majesty would knight a man who offended her nose, especially when he’d been given the opportunity to bathe. However, it wouldn’t speak highly of the clan.
“What’s amusing?” Tannoch asked.
Rheade decided to confront the problem head on. “Ye cannot meet the Queen stinking as ye do,” he told his brother bluntly. “Ye smell like a midden.”
It was something he’d long wanted to say, and it felt good, despite the scowl he received in reply. He threw caution to the winds. “And yer beard. Da would be ashamed. Ye’re meeting a Queen and ye look like a barbarian.”
Tannoch
He brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Lady Margaret. Welcome to Stirling.”
Tannoch shifted his weight from foot to foot, gnawing on his bottom lip. “I’ll speak to ye later about Lady Margaret,” he muttered to Erskine, drawing him aside. “I’ve another brother, younger yet, but he’s in the Grampians.”
Erskine arched a brow. “Hunting Graham?”
Tannoch grinned. “Aye. Rheade and I will join him as soon as the Queen gives leave.”
The prospect of Rheade riding off into the mountains and leaving her alone in this bleak place filled her with misgiving.
Erskine disentangled his arm from Tannoch’s grasp. “Yer brother should be present at the audience. No doubt he helped track down the Stewarts. Her Majesty will want to hear every detail.”
Tannoch glowered at Rheade, but seemed to accept that objecting to his brother’s inclusion would seem churlish. “Aye,” he muttered.
“Firstly, however,” Erskine said, “chambers await and a well deserved bath is being prepared.”
“Thank goodness,” Margaret whispered to Rheade. “For the Queen’s sake. The poor woman has suffered enough.”
She breathed easier when Rheade chuckled.
CLEANSING BATHS
Rheade was less than pleased at having to share a chamber with his brother, especially when he discovered there was one bathtub. It wasn’t likely chambermaids would appear to empty the wooden tub and refill it, and he had no intention of putting as much as a toe in any water Tannoch had bathed in. He quickly stripped off his garments, piled them on the bed, and sank into the blessedly hot water. The heat seeped into his bones. Only his knees still felt chilly sticking up out of the water.
Tannoch sprawled on the other side of the bed still wearing his boots and filthy plaid. “Ye’re too fussy about washing,” he scoffed.
Before Fion’s startling revelations, Rheade would have ignored the remark, but a devilish impulse to test Tannoch urged him on. “Aye, ’tis a trait I inherited from my father.”
His brother raised his head and glared. “Too true,” he replied, scratching his scalp vigorously, “Da was a fiend for cleanliness whereas I believe a good coating of muck helps keep a body warm.”
Rheade shrugged. “That’s as may be, but there’s naught like a hot bath to invigorate a man.”
He retrieved the cake of Castile from the bottom of the tub and made a big show of lathering it over his arms and chest, noisily inhaling the pleasant smell of the soap. He congratulated himself on recognizing the distinctive olive oil aroma, but there was something else mixed in that reminded him of Margaret. With her nose for scents, she would know what it was.
The notion of sharing a tub with the tempting lass from Oban proved to be invigorating as well, but the water hid his arousal from his unsuspecting brother. She’d been assigned to the adjacent chamber. If he was quick—
He quickly abandoned the idea. Tannoch would get suspicious if he rushed off.
A worry gnawed at him that his chieftain intended to appear unwashed before the Queen. He chuckled. It was perhaps unlikely Her Majesty would knight a man who offended her nose, especially when he’d been given the opportunity to bathe. However, it wouldn’t speak highly of the clan.
“What’s amusing?” Tannoch asked.
Rheade decided to confront the problem head on. “Ye cannot meet the Queen stinking as ye do,” he told his brother bluntly. “Ye smell like a midden.”
It was something he’d long wanted to say, and it felt good, despite the scowl he received in reply. He threw caution to the winds. “And yer beard. Da would be ashamed. Ye’re meeting a Queen and ye look like a barbarian.”
Tannoch
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