Seducing a Scottish Bride by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Page B

certain the Raven
     wished me taken to his chamber?”
    “His explicit orders, aye.” The girl bobbed her head. “I readied the room myself and Hector carried up an extra basket of
     peats for the fire.”
    But when Anice led her from the stair tower’s top landing a few moments later, taking her to the Raven’s oak-planked door,
     more cold and darkness greeted them.
    The bedchamber, though vast and quite imposing, proved decidedly
un
readied.
    Of extra peat bricks, naught was to be seen. Nor even a stick of wood, or the merest twig, or even a bundle of dried bracken.
     Indeed, the hearthstone appeared swept bare with only a thin scatter of ash indicating a fire had ever burned there at all.
    Gelis peered into the dimness, the insult making her face grow hot. The shutters were thrown wide, letting chill damp air
     pour inside, while the moon’s luminance shone cold on the room’s terrible disarray.
    “Saints o’ mercy!” Anice stood frozen, one hand on the door handle, the other clapped to her throat. “The room was in perfect
     order. I swear it.”
    Shaking her head, she stared at the clothes strewn across the floor, the mussed and tangled bedding. “We’d even brought up
     a bath,” she said, throwing a panicked look at Gelis. “Victuals and wine. Refreshments —”
    “Never you mind,” Gelis halted her babble, sweeping into the room before the girl had a chance to swoon. “Someone” — and she
     was certain she knew who — “clearly forgot to secure the shutters, and the wind has done the damage.”
    “Och, nae, I dinna think so.” The girl looked doubtful. “The wind —”
    “Wind is naught but just that.” Gelis glanced at the sideways rain blowing past the windows. “Cold, gusting, and at the moment,
     quite wet.”
    Anice bit her lip, unconvinced.
    “I’ll own it was an unusually discerning wind,” Gelis allowed. She stepped deeper into the room, a dark suspicion making her
     cheeks flame even hotter.
    Her chest tightened with annoyance, but she held her tongue, not willing to say more until she was certain.
    Though, truth be told, she already was.
    The
wind
had been more than discriminating.
    It’d been revealing.
    Her own coffers and travel bags remained untouched. Her carefully selected bridal accoutrements stared at her from across
     the room, the lot of her treasures stacked in a quiet and inoffensive pile in a corner.
    The chaos was masculine.
    An untidy swath of rumpled tunics and plaids, the messy jumble made all the more damning for the bulging money purse and wine
     skin peeking up from its midst. A handsome black travel cloak flung haphazardly across a bearskin rug on the floor banished
     any lingering doubts, as did the gleaming mail hauberk, sword belt, and brand tossed into a glittery silver heap near the
     door.
    The Lord Raven had been packing for a journey.
    An effort he’d abandoned in great haste.
    Like as not, the very moment he’d heard her and Anice ascending the tower stairs.
    Gelis almost blurted one of her father’s choice epithets, but caught herself. She did put her hands on her hips. “That table
     by the window” — she glanced at Anice — “is that where you placed the repast?”
    Looking miserable, the girl nodded.
    “Just there, my lady.” Her gaze went to the heavy oaken table. “And a right feast it was. A fine joint of roasted mutton,
     spiced salmon pasties, jellied eggs, and even a platter of Cook’s fresh-baked honey cakes. Heaped high, those were, and sprinkled
     with ginger.”
    “A feast, indeed,” Gelis agreed, unable to deny it.
    That the girl spoke the truth stood out all over her.
    Puzzled, Gelis picked her way across the clothes-cluttered room to the empty table. Not so much as a crumb marred the dark
     gleam of its scrubbed, age-blackened surface.
    There
was
a lingering aroma of roasted mutton.
    Faint, but definitely there.
    Gelis sniffed the air, now catching a delicate hint of ginger as well.
    “Could it be,” she began,