She would need every bit of strength to accomplish the task she’d set herself. Deirdre banished the memory of Quinton Cameron from her mind. For the moment, there were far more important matters she needed to be concerned with.
But she frowned, because the man invaded her sleep once her mind was no longer obedient to her will.
Curse and rot her nature.
***
“Rise. It is dawn.”
Deirdre felt a boot tip nudge her, and she opened her eyes to see one of the English soldiers was frowning down at her.
“We’ve a duty to attend to.”
His voice was edged with solid determination. It sent a shiver down her back, because it sounded like a man who had already accepted he would be cut down in the service of his master. She rose and felt her cramped muscles protest.
But the long hours of labor at the abbey had made her strong, and the ache dissipated with a few steps. The horizon was pink, with golden rays beginning to stretch out over the landscape.
“You need to cast off the cloak so the fine clothing Her Majesty gave you can be seen.”
The soldier reached for the thick wool keeping her warm, but Deirdre shifted away from him. “Then we must find something else to keep me warm, for no one shall believe that the queen would be riding while shivering from the morning chill.”
The man let his hand drop while he frowned. “Aye, you have a point there.” He pointed to the horse the queen’s attendants had taken the clothing from during the night. “See what you can find among the things she left. I’m no lady’s maid, and I don’t know one of their fancy garments from another. A pair of robes and shoes is all a woman needs, to my way of thinking.”
“And a cloak when traveling in the Highlands,” Deirdre insisted.
The soldier shrugged. “Aye, but we need you to be seen in that fine velvet so those we pass will talk about you. That cloak is too common looking for our purpose.”
Deirdre reached up and fingered the gold resting on her forehead. “This will gain plenty of attention.”
She was still surprised to feel the smooth surface of the gold resting against her skin. Her father had a gold ring that had been worn by her grandfather as a symbol of the laird of the Chattan clan. Her mother had left a chest containing several gold chains she had brought with her as her dowry, but Deirdre had never worn them, only sneaked into the chamber where the chest was stored and gently touched the precious metal. Her father had promised once that she’d take one of those chains with her when she wed.
She frowned and cast the wool cloak off her shoulders. She wasn’t wed, and the reason was that men were untrustworthy. The soldier reached down and grabbed the cloak, taking it away with him without another word. A soft groan rose from her as she turned to begin looking through the bundles tied to the horse. Men certainly did enjoy having the women around them doing what they wanted. She honestly shouldn’t be so surprised by that, for the world was run by men, yet still it chafed at times.
For the moment, the chill of the early morning was more pressing than her desire to argue against what any man wanted her to do. She began to unlace bundles, marveling at the rich fabrics contained inside. But there was no way to tell what anything was without shaking everything out to see what type of garment it was. Soon she had several more robes made of costly velvet lying over the rock she had leaned against. The sun shone off the rich colors of the threads and illuminated the trim attached to their necklines.
At last, she unrolled a surcoat made of wool so fine, she had to look closely at it to confirm that it was truly wool. The threads were thin, and Deirdre shook her head as she thought of how difficult it must have been to spin such delicate strands. The garment was lined too, and she eagerly shrugged into it.
She hesitated when she reached to close the front of it and discovered gold buttons sewn to one edge. Each
But she frowned, because the man invaded her sleep once her mind was no longer obedient to her will.
Curse and rot her nature.
***
“Rise. It is dawn.”
Deirdre felt a boot tip nudge her, and she opened her eyes to see one of the English soldiers was frowning down at her.
“We’ve a duty to attend to.”
His voice was edged with solid determination. It sent a shiver down her back, because it sounded like a man who had already accepted he would be cut down in the service of his master. She rose and felt her cramped muscles protest.
But the long hours of labor at the abbey had made her strong, and the ache dissipated with a few steps. The horizon was pink, with golden rays beginning to stretch out over the landscape.
“You need to cast off the cloak so the fine clothing Her Majesty gave you can be seen.”
The soldier reached for the thick wool keeping her warm, but Deirdre shifted away from him. “Then we must find something else to keep me warm, for no one shall believe that the queen would be riding while shivering from the morning chill.”
The man let his hand drop while he frowned. “Aye, you have a point there.” He pointed to the horse the queen’s attendants had taken the clothing from during the night. “See what you can find among the things she left. I’m no lady’s maid, and I don’t know one of their fancy garments from another. A pair of robes and shoes is all a woman needs, to my way of thinking.”
“And a cloak when traveling in the Highlands,” Deirdre insisted.
The soldier shrugged. “Aye, but we need you to be seen in that fine velvet so those we pass will talk about you. That cloak is too common looking for our purpose.”
Deirdre reached up and fingered the gold resting on her forehead. “This will gain plenty of attention.”
She was still surprised to feel the smooth surface of the gold resting against her skin. Her father had a gold ring that had been worn by her grandfather as a symbol of the laird of the Chattan clan. Her mother had left a chest containing several gold chains she had brought with her as her dowry, but Deirdre had never worn them, only sneaked into the chamber where the chest was stored and gently touched the precious metal. Her father had promised once that she’d take one of those chains with her when she wed.
She frowned and cast the wool cloak off her shoulders. She wasn’t wed, and the reason was that men were untrustworthy. The soldier reached down and grabbed the cloak, taking it away with him without another word. A soft groan rose from her as she turned to begin looking through the bundles tied to the horse. Men certainly did enjoy having the women around them doing what they wanted. She honestly shouldn’t be so surprised by that, for the world was run by men, yet still it chafed at times.
For the moment, the chill of the early morning was more pressing than her desire to argue against what any man wanted her to do. She began to unlace bundles, marveling at the rich fabrics contained inside. But there was no way to tell what anything was without shaking everything out to see what type of garment it was. Soon she had several more robes made of costly velvet lying over the rock she had leaned against. The sun shone off the rich colors of the threads and illuminated the trim attached to their necklines.
At last, she unrolled a surcoat made of wool so fine, she had to look closely at it to confirm that it was truly wool. The threads were thin, and Deirdre shook her head as she thought of how difficult it must have been to spin such delicate strands. The garment was lined too, and she eagerly shrugged into it.
She hesitated when she reached to close the front of it and discovered gold buttons sewn to one edge. Each
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