day, she feared tonight would be much the same.
The talks today had been amiable enough. Both Lairds largely agreed about the nature of the proposed alliance. No land or resources were to change hands in the event of a marriage between their clans. Neither clan wanted for coin, grain, or more territory. The purpose of the alliance was simply to bring peace, and unite their peoples.
Laird Gunn had nit-picked over her father’s promise to help the Gunns should a feud erupt with their neighbors to the east, the Keiths. Though no such feud currently existed, it seemed a squabble was always a single trespass away in the Highlands.
He wished for her father’s pledge of support to be put in writing, with exact numbers of men assured, but her father didn’t like the idea of being nailed down in such a precise way. They’d debated most of the afternoon, but had set the topic aside when it had come time to dine on the evening meal.
And all the while, Birdie, along with Cormack, had been expected to sit at the table with them while they debated their futures, listening on as if they were wee bairns with no say in their own lives.
She couldn’t be sure how Cormack felt about all this. He was polite as ever when he had spoken with her, but otherwise had remained mostly silent, his handsome features unreadable. They’d been expected to play their parts this eve, like last, and he’d done admirably, filling her trencher, cutting her meat, ever the attentive suitor.
For his part, Gregor had been absent all day. Earlier in the afternoon, her father had mentioned to Laird Gunn that Gregor was patrolling the border, despite the fact that there would obviously be no more Gunn attacks.
It was both a torture and a relief not to see him, for Birdie knew she couldn’t be trusted to keep their secret if she’d laid eyes on him. Her face would have given her away, her weakness destroying the peace that was almost in their grasp now.
The moment the meal had concluded and the table cleared, however, Birdie had begged off, claiming a headache. And now here she was, fighting back futile tears, ready to spend her last night of freedom before she was engaged to a man she did not love alone.
At the rap on the other side of the door, Birdie jumped. Oh God, if it were her father to drag her back to the great hall to observe more rituals of courtship, she’d pickle in her unshed tears.
“Beg pardon, my lady, but Lady Tessa said ye’d be wanting a bath.”
Birdie exhaled. Just a servant. And the prospect of a bath, thanks to her kind-hearted sister.
“Aye, thank ye.”
She opened the door and admitted two servants who carried a wooden tub, and another string of lads hauling buckets of water. While they worked, Birdie gathered soap from the dressing table and linen towels from the armoire.
In just a few minutes, she had the chamber to herself once more. After undressing, she sank into the lusciously warm water.
She wasn’t sure how long she remained like that, head leaning back against the tub’s rim, but sometime later she realized the water had gone tepid. She hurriedly scrubbed her hair and skin with the lightly scented soap, then stepped from the tub, reluctant to leave its peace and comfort.
Once she’d slipped on a chemise and belted a robe over it, she moved to the brazier to comb out her hair.
Just then, the door burst open and Tessa bounded inside.
When she saw Birdie sitting in silence before the fire, she halted, then tiptoed forward.
“How is yer head?”
Birdie couldn’t help but smile. “A wee bit better, thanks to ye. It was good of ye to send up a bath.”
Tessa gave her a warm grin. “I’m glad.” She moved behind Birdie, taking the comb from her and setting to work on the back of her head.
“Ye burst in here like ye had wings on yer heels. What’s got ye so excited?”
“Och, ye’ll never believe what ye missed tonight!” Tessa replied, brightening. “A servant accidentally knocked over one of the candles on the table, and the runner caught fire!”
“Was anyone hurt?” Birdie said, looking up at Tessa in alarm.
“Nay, because Cormack put it out—with his bare hands,” she breathed. “Faster than any of us could blink, he’d sprung to his feet and yanked on the runner, then folded it over and smothered the flame with it. It was…” A pink blush rose