Read Knight Everlasting Online
Authors: Jackie Ivie
Knight Everlasting (23 page)
“It does nae good to avoid your fate, Juliana.” Lady Reina had sobered, and spun, and was pointing the small blade in the exact location Juliana had reached.
“My . . . fate?” she whispered.
The blonde smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “Aye. Your fate. As written.”
“You're mad,” Juliana replied without thinking. Aidan had put her in the hands of a crazed woman.
“Gifted, lass. Gifted,” the woman whispered with a volume louder than speech. And then she changed, making Juliana jump as she shouted the rest. “That lad best return quick! I've other errands for him. Green. I've a feel for . . . green!”
The woman spun in place with her arms high, stirring the smattering of rushes on the floor with the hem of her gown. Then, she stopped midspin and focused her one-eyed gaze on Juliana.
“Pale green . . . the lightest hue. In . . . satin. Much thinner than this . . . Nae ! Your bliaut must be of pure linen! From early-pulled flax! Na' . . . yet . . . ripe. With darker strands woven through it for mystery. And beneath that? An underdress of . . . white satin! Aye! That is it! But it must be so white . . . 'tis blue in torchlight. You ken? This is what I see. Where is that Arran?”
Juliana sagged minutely against the wooden partition wall. Clothing. Lady Reina was talking clothing.
“We'll need oils . . . savory . . . lavender . . . And perhaps a bit of heather. Aye! Heather sprigs! Masses of them! And thistle! We need purple thistle. To weave through your hair. Or lavender! You do see it? Where is that Arran?”
The woman's excitement was growing with each description, making her voice loud even in the immensity of Aidan's bedchamber. It was also infectious, Juliana was finding as she came away from the wall without conscious volition.
“But we must have that plaid. Come, Juliana. Hurry!”
The blanket fell to the floor behind her, and then she found herself right beside Lady Reina and looking at her. Juliana didn't know how she got there either.
“He was right to put you in my care. This hair . . .” Lady Reina was unfastening and brushing Juliana's hair and it didn't feel as if she touched it. “There are sonnets devoted to hair such as you possess, Juliana lass. Sonnets! Written by love-struck swains with no outlet for their unrequited love. There you are, Arran! You have a tub? Well . . . have them bring it in! Now! And set it down . . . near the fire!”
There was a large fireplace on one wall. Juliana hadn't noted it because it had been dormant and dark. Now, as soon as Lady Reina mentioned it, Juliana noticed flames filling the hearth area with warmth and light and the smell of wood smoke.
“Verra good. Verra.” Lady Reina clucked her tongue and clapped her hands as a large tub was set on the floor, and then pail after pail of water was brought in, filling it until they could see the water reflecting the flames. If she looked close enough, she could see the steam rising from it as well. Juliana sensed the added moisture all about her, like a veil of invisible threads. She could feel the increased heaviness in the air she breathed. “Now run, Arran. Run. Fetch me three chests from my chambers. They're already set out. Go, lad! And take your brother out with you!”
The last was directed at Alpin, who'd entered the chamber and was staring at Juliana with a thunderstruck look. She hadn't realized until then that he hadn't seen her uncloaked and with her hair unbound, in a riot of curls that happened whenever her hair was wet . . . especially around steam. Not many of them had. She blushed as she turned away.
“There's only one man for you, Juliana lass.” Lady Reina's voice lowered to a hypnotic level as she walked around Juliana, circling her over and over and making her dizzy with watching until she gave up and looked instead at the tub and fire. “One man. And 'tis na' Alpin MacKetryck. Poor lad.”
“Who is it then?” Juliana asked.
The lady responded with a fit of laughter and then she sobered again. “Ah, lass . . . you question that which you already ken, and ken naught what you must question.”
“What?” She might as well have drunk too much ale, Juliana decided, wrinkling her forehead with confusion.
“Your fate. 'Tis already foretold . . . as I've been saying.”
“Are you a . . . seer?” Juliana asked.
Lady Reina found that totally amusing, too, with laughter stronger than before. It was so merry, Juliana found herself smiling.
“Nae, lass. Dame Lileth Fallaine-Dumphat is the clan seer. A wiser, more fey woman you'll na' meet. She was my teacher. My mentor. Me? I . . . am but a novice.”
As superstitious as he was, why would Aidan put her in the hands of an understudy?
“Because he trusts me, lass,” the woman replied, as if Juliana had spoken aloud. “Aside of which, I ply the fastest needle. You'd never be finished in time if anyone else attended you. Or if you were . . . faeries would have to assist. Now . . . cease this worry. 'Twill line your face afore you've aged. And hand over your shift.”
“What . . . of Arran?” she asked, already reaching for the hem to pull it off.
“He'll na' see you, lass. I'd na' give him the chance. Nae man sees what belongs to my laird, Aidan.”
Juliana's hands froze on the shift hem. She felt stewed, dizzy . . . light-headed. She nearly stumbled.
No.
Somewhere in Lady Reina's words there was a hint of sin and pain and blackness. Something about fouled pleasure. Juliana shook her head to clear it and to dispel her foolishness. She couldn't decipher the thought enough to ponder and worry over it.
No.
Somewhere in Lady Reina's words there was a hint of sin and pain and blackness. Something about fouled pleasure. Juliana shook her head to clear it and to dispel her foolishness. She couldn't decipher the thought enough to ponder and worry over it.
A knock heralded Arran's reentry. He had three clansmen with him, each burdened with a trunk nearly the size of the porter. They scattered rushes with the passage of their boots and added grunting and heat to the room with their efforts. Juliana watched as they set each trunk down in perfect line with what looked to be immense caution. All of it happening under the watchful eye of Lady Reina. Juliana stood mutely observing, with her hands still clutching her shift, raised to her knee level.
“Now, unfasten them. And open . . .”
The most amazing aroma of lavender and heather and field flowers filled the air, emanating from the trunks and adding to the room scents.
“Now go. And doona' bother us again. You, too, Arran. I'll be calling for you when I've a need. Come, Juliana.”
Lady Reina didn't look to see if her orders had been followed. She probably didn't need to. Juliana heard the door closing behind her as she approached the open trunks.
“Fresh heather. Sprigs of lavender. Oil of rose . . . oil of rose?” The woman wrinkled her nose and shoved the wax plug back into it. “Nae. Rose is for old loves . . . na' for the enjoyment of fresh ones. Lavender . . . now that is what we need . . . and look here. You see? Green linen. Just as I foresaw.”
She was holding up a rolled span of linen that looked the shade of old lace in Juliana's eyes, but as the woman unfolded and rolled it in the light, darker shinier threads caught the torchlight from all about them, rendering a hue that resembled night-lit fog. Juliana looked at it with awe, and then moved her eyes to Lady Reina's unveiled one, and then looked farther about, at torches lit in their sconces, and all about the room.
She hadn't seen them getting lit.
Juliana blinked several times, counting to more than twenty as she looked about the room. She was worse than stewed and drunker than when she'd partaken of Killoran ale. She had to be. She was seeing and experiencing and feeling things that couldn't be.
She was tired. Overcome.
Juliana blinked again and then shrugged. She'd missed the lighting of the torches and the men who'd done it because she'd been caught up in the pleasure of sensation wrapping all about her; the scent of lavender and savory; the heavy vapor of her warm bath; the crack and smell of burning wood; the feel of the linen Lady Reina was placing right in her hands where the material draped as if poured atop them.
“Oh . . . my,” Juliana breathed.
Lady Reina laughed again, and clapped her hands. And then she was up and dancing and twirling and making everything rotate and getting Juliana dizzy. Juliana sat down, realized it was on his bed, and immediately stood back up. Then she grabbed for one of the end posts, connected at the top to a wooden canopy and two other sides, making an enclosure that looked erotic, sensuous . . . and wicked.
Lady Reina was back at her chests, pulling sprigs of what looked like freshly plucked heather from them . . . but that couldn't be. Juliana swayed in place, holding to the post for stability, and watched as white satin was pulled from another trunk. From her vantage she could see the blue-cast shimmer of the material, and that was just improbable, too. The woman had already planned what she'd say and what she'd design well before she'd walked through the door. There wasn't another explanation.
“You need to undress, lass, and you need to do it afore too long. We've lavender oil to soak you in, hair to oil and comb and arrange, and I can't see to everything. I've got a dress to craft.”
The woman was planning on sewing a dress while Juliana bathed? The idea was absurd. Impossible. Unfathomable.
“Go on, lass. Undress. Sink below the water. It's heavenly. I've added oils and potions to the water to guarantee it.”
When had she done that?
Juliana stumbled slightly when she released the bedpost and that was just a harbinger of the rest of her walk as she neared the tub, crossing one way and then the other as if the room were moving and she had to compensate. She'd never felt as odd. Otherworldly. Rapt.
She had the shift pulled over her head and tossed aside before she reached the tub, and then she dangled her hand in liquid warmth that promised heaven. She lifted a palm filled with the substance, and saw little flower petals stirring about with the motion. There was something wrong about that. Juliana lifted her hand to her nose and sniffed of windswept freshness, dew-filled morns, and oiled heat . . . and decided she didn't care. She peeled off her underdress, which felt crusted and stiff with wear.
There was a sigh of sound behind her. She didn't look to see what it was.
“Slip beneath the water now, Juliana. Step in. I'll be there in a bit for your hair. Go on, lass. Doona' fret. 'Tis na' harmful.”
Not harmful? No. It was totally pleasant, and intoxicating, and luxurious, akin to being wrapped in the softest of fur and snuggled into the warmest of soft beds. And then it began exceeding that.
Juliana lay back, resting her head on the tub rim, and ran her hands over limbs that felt silken to the touch and warmed clear through. She couldn't remember when she'd ever felt such comfort. She had nothing to compare it to. Aidan's embrace perhaps . . .
Right then.
That was what this feeling was closest to.
She heard a noise behind her that sounded like choked laughter. She ignored it. The Lady Reina was too vast and strange to ponder. It would take more time than the span of a bath to try it.
Juliana lifted an arm, studied it before running her hand along it, touching the light spots of bruising that were Aidan's grip when he'd moved her to carry while kidnapping her. He probably hadn't even known it.
Behind her she heard Lady Reina chuckling, and then the woman was humming. That might make sewing go quicker. Juliana didn't know much of sewing and needlework. She hadn't the patience for it and hadn't attempted it. Her father hadn't objected. He had a vast estate to run and no son and that disappointment was so vast, he hadn't spared much emotion or care on what his only heir did with her time.
Juliana sighed and lifted the other arm and did the exact same maneuver down this one, running her fingernail along the flesh and loving the silken feel, the heated flesh, the sinful stir . . .
Hands appeared beside her, guiding her head into the water, and then fingers worked at her hair, soothing away the dirt of days, the neglect of sennights, and the worry of months. Until the only thing she felt was an underlying vibration that turned into her heartbeat if she thought long and hard enough about it.
Before she knew it, she was sitting on a cloud of MacKetryck plaid coverlet before the fire, wrapped in more of the material and watching the flames as Lady Reina worked her fingers through coiled locks that needed plaiting to make them behave. Juliana tipped her head to look at where the other woman sat.
“Are you a . . . witch?” she asked, lowering her tone to a whisper at the last word.
“Dugald MacKetryck thinks so,” Lady Reina replied.
“I've na' . . . met the man,” Juliana replied.
“'Twas a great day when Aidan MacKetryck won back his legacy. A great day.”
“Won?”
“Dugald was guardian and regent during Aidan's minority. He grew fond of the position. He dinna' wish to pass it on. The Black MacKetryck was a bad choice. Dame Lileth Fallaine-Dumphat tried to warn the auld laird. To nae avail.”
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