Abbey.
When the fire was blazing, Andrew stood and wiped his hands on his tunic before turning to her. “I’ll give you time to refresh yourself. You may choose whatever garments suit you. Then, if you’d like, I’ll return and you can tell me again about your…visit with my father.”
“Thank you.” Subdued, Gwenellen waited until he’d taken his leave before stripping off her clothes and filling a basin with water. After scrubbing herself clean, she carefully washed her hair and then her gown and undergarments, hanging them on pegs to dry.
She chose a simple white nightshirt with low, rounded neckline and long tapered sleeves, and over that a robe of cut velvet the color of claret. From the way they fit her, it was obvious that the old laird’s wife had been reed-slender. A great deal of care had gone into the weaving of the garments, revealing a woman of obvious wealth and taste.
After dressing, Gwenellen twisted her damp hair into one fat braid which spilled over her breast.
After the exhausting day she’d put in, she ought to be tired. But the thought of relaying the truth to Andrew about his father had her twitching with excitement. Perhaps, finally, she would be able to use her gift for some good.
The knock on her door had her hurrying to the sitting parlor.
“Enter, my lord.”
Andrew moved past her. He had removed his tunic and hose and wore only the plaid, which he’d tossed over one bare shoulder.
She remembered the first time she’d seen a Highland laird dressed in such a fashion. It was when her sister Allegra had returned to the Mystical Kingdom with her beloved abductor, Merrick. At first sight he’d seemed a giant and a barbarian. But beneath that stern facade her sister had uncovered a tender, loving heart.
Gwenellen doubted there would be either tenderness or love in this stern warrior. Not that she cared. All she wanted to do was carry out her mission for those in that other world, so that she could return with pride to her own.
Andrew filled two goblets with ale and handed one to her before tilting his head back and taking a long drink. Then he strode to the fireplace and rested his arm along the mantel, trying not to stare.
He’d had quite a jolt when he’d first seen Gwenellen in Sabrina’s regal clothing. This woman, however, was too much of an imp to look like anything that even faintly resembled royalty. Still, something about this simple female stirred him in a way he resented. Even her bare toes, peeking out from beneath the hem of her nightdress, held his gaze longer than he would have preferred.
“Now, my lady, tell me everything my father said to you.”
She sipped the ale and settled herself on the chaise. “There is little enough to tell. Your father first called out to me when you found him in the rubble, though at first I wasn’t certain what I was hearing.”
“Because you’d never before spoken to the dead?”
“I’ve spoken to my father for all my life.” Seeing the arch of his brow she explained. “My father died before I was born. But throughout my lifetime I’ve often seen him and spoken with him. Gram said it was one of my greatest gifts, but I never understood. You see, there were no others in the Mystical Kingdom who had passed to that other side.”
She’d managed to scrub away all the soot and ash and now looked, to his eye, as fresh and colorful as a rainbow. It was difficult to concentrate on her word when he was so affected by her looks, but he was determined. “So you heard my father calling to you.”
She nodded. “And the others.”
“Others?” His lips curved in a smile. He’d give her this much. She was a grand weaver of tales. “What others?”
“There was a woman named Melvina, who told me she was a niece to Mistress MacIntosh. She was sorry about helping herself to a kettle of stew, and then blaming it on one of the serving wenches, who lost her employment. And a man named Roland, who claims his brother Shepard is not
When the fire was blazing, Andrew stood and wiped his hands on his tunic before turning to her. “I’ll give you time to refresh yourself. You may choose whatever garments suit you. Then, if you’d like, I’ll return and you can tell me again about your…visit with my father.”
“Thank you.” Subdued, Gwenellen waited until he’d taken his leave before stripping off her clothes and filling a basin with water. After scrubbing herself clean, she carefully washed her hair and then her gown and undergarments, hanging them on pegs to dry.
She chose a simple white nightshirt with low, rounded neckline and long tapered sleeves, and over that a robe of cut velvet the color of claret. From the way they fit her, it was obvious that the old laird’s wife had been reed-slender. A great deal of care had gone into the weaving of the garments, revealing a woman of obvious wealth and taste.
After dressing, Gwenellen twisted her damp hair into one fat braid which spilled over her breast.
After the exhausting day she’d put in, she ought to be tired. But the thought of relaying the truth to Andrew about his father had her twitching with excitement. Perhaps, finally, she would be able to use her gift for some good.
The knock on her door had her hurrying to the sitting parlor.
“Enter, my lord.”
Andrew moved past her. He had removed his tunic and hose and wore only the plaid, which he’d tossed over one bare shoulder.
She remembered the first time she’d seen a Highland laird dressed in such a fashion. It was when her sister Allegra had returned to the Mystical Kingdom with her beloved abductor, Merrick. At first sight he’d seemed a giant and a barbarian. But beneath that stern facade her sister had uncovered a tender, loving heart.
Gwenellen doubted there would be either tenderness or love in this stern warrior. Not that she cared. All she wanted to do was carry out her mission for those in that other world, so that she could return with pride to her own.
Andrew filled two goblets with ale and handed one to her before tilting his head back and taking a long drink. Then he strode to the fireplace and rested his arm along the mantel, trying not to stare.
He’d had quite a jolt when he’d first seen Gwenellen in Sabrina’s regal clothing. This woman, however, was too much of an imp to look like anything that even faintly resembled royalty. Still, something about this simple female stirred him in a way he resented. Even her bare toes, peeking out from beneath the hem of her nightdress, held his gaze longer than he would have preferred.
“Now, my lady, tell me everything my father said to you.”
She sipped the ale and settled herself on the chaise. “There is little enough to tell. Your father first called out to me when you found him in the rubble, though at first I wasn’t certain what I was hearing.”
“Because you’d never before spoken to the dead?”
“I’ve spoken to my father for all my life.” Seeing the arch of his brow she explained. “My father died before I was born. But throughout my lifetime I’ve often seen him and spoken with him. Gram said it was one of my greatest gifts, but I never understood. You see, there were no others in the Mystical Kingdom who had passed to that other side.”
She’d managed to scrub away all the soot and ash and now looked, to his eye, as fresh and colorful as a rainbow. It was difficult to concentrate on her word when he was so affected by her looks, but he was determined. “So you heard my father calling to you.”
She nodded. “And the others.”
“Others?” His lips curved in a smile. He’d give her this much. She was a grand weaver of tales. “What others?”
“There was a woman named Melvina, who told me she was a niece to Mistress MacIntosh. She was sorry about helping herself to a kettle of stew, and then blaming it on one of the serving wenches, who lost her employment. And a man named Roland, who claims his brother Shepard is not
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