‘Where is Wallace?’ Lainie asked anxiously.
‘He will be here soon, I trust.’
‘You did not see him, my laird?’
‘I had to get the lady to safety here, and did not wait for Wallace and the others, but I know they will be safe. Have no fear.’
Lainie nodded and began to fill three glasses with something from a pitcher.
‘It will warm you up, my lady,’ she said, handing a glass to Marion. The liquid stung her throat and burned all the way down to her belly, but before long it released a glowing warmth which spread through Marion’s body.
Lainie cocked her head to one side at a familiar sound outside. ‘It must be Wallace,’ she said, running to the door.
‘Wait!’ Brice said, motioning her to stand back while he opened the door and peered into the darkness.
‘It is me my laird – Wallace!’
Brice stood back relieved, and Lainie rushed forward and threw herself into her husband’s arms.
‘Easy, easy, woman!’ Wallace said. He was a large bearded man with a deep voice and he carried one of the cases that Lainie had packed for Marion’s journey.
‘I do not know what this contains, my lady, but I do hope it has a change of clothes,’ Wallace remarked.
‘Oh thank you, thank you!’ Marion said, moved that anyone could be so considerate of her wellbeing.
‘Come my lady, I will show you to your room and help you out of your soaked dress,’ Lainie said, leading Marion to a small but comfortable room. It had a bed and an old carved mirror that looked incongruous in such a setting. ‘The laird brought that in yesterday,’ Lainie said by way of explanation. ‘He thought you might not feel comfortable without one.’
‘Oh,’ Marion said, grateful for Brice’s gesture but aware of a growing feeling of homesickness.
‘You had best change out of your wet clothes, my lady,’ Lainie urged. Marion unstrapped her case and began to fumble for something appropriate to wear.
‘Here, let me help you,’ Lainie said, extracting a pale green kirtle and white over gown from the pile of neatly arranged garments. She helped Marion out of her wet clothes and into her dry ones, and began to dry her hair and comb it out.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Marion said, ‘I can do it…when I am sufficiently recovered.’
‘I would be in shock if I were you. Being married to one brother and kidnapped by the other,’ Lainie observed, as she combed Marion’s hair and left it flowing freely on her shoulders to dry. When she emerged from the room Brice could not take his eyes off her. Her hair was speckled with points of light from the blazing hearth and her wan face reflected the glow of the fire.
Brice had changed too and was wearing a clean, dry kilt of green and blue plaid with an overlay of fine red checks. His shirt did little to conceal his brawny body and Marion had difficulty keeping her feelings in check. She wanted to bury her face deep in his chest and inhale the masculine fragrance of his skin. She pulled her thoughts away from Brice and composed herself by staring into the fire.
‘Here,’ Brice said, handing her a bowl of soup, ‘Lainie had that hot in a pot for us.’
‘Thank you,’ Marion said, warming her hands on the bowl, and taking a sip straight from it. It was more a broth than a soup, and had the flavors of stewed meat and a wood fire, with just the barest hint of herbs. Marion tipped the bowl into her mouth hungrily. She could almost feel it revive her bones as it slipped down her throat.
Brice drew up a chair and sat beside her, watching her as she ate and refilling her bowl at her behest.
‘Is the soup to your liking?’ Brice asked.
‘Very much so,’ Marion answered, in between mouthfuls. She was ravenous, and realized that she had not eaten anything since before the wedding, nibbling only slightly at the lavish wedding feast.
‘I’m glad to see that the broth is appreciated,’ Wallace said, ‘Or Lainie would be mortified. She hates to see wastage of her efforts.’
‘I think our Lady Marion will ensure there is no wastage tonight at any rate,’ Brice laughed, glad to see a rare smile transform Marion’s features. A pink flush slowly crept into her cheeks.