The Laird's Captive Wife(27)
For the first time Ashlynn thought ruefully of her masculine attire. She could not recall the last time she had washed or combed her hair or looked in a mirror. Self-consciously she raised a hand to the bruise on her cheek. It was tender to the touch and no doubt an ugly colour into the bargain. Hardly a face or form to charm a man. Almost at once she smiled in self-mockery. If Iain had wanted her before it was merely because she was there, the only possible choice, and darkness hid all defects anyway. Men had different needs, she had been told, and would satisfy them where they could. The thought was sobering. More than ever now she was glad that she had not yielded in a moment of madness. To be considered by any man as an easy victory would have been anathema, but for this man to think so would have been even worse somehow.
* * *
Much to Ashlynn’s relief the remainder of the journey passed uneventfully and they reached Jedburgh without further incident. At a fortified manor house about a mile from the town they made the rendezvous with Iain’s men. As they rode through the gateway and into the courtyard Dougal hastened forward to greet the returning chief, his weather-beaten face creasing in a smile. Iain returned it, stepping down from the horse and handing the reins to a groom. Ashlynn followed suit, watching as the two men shook hands.
‘It’s good to see you back, my lord. We’ve been looking out for your return these last two days.’
His gaze flicked to Ashlynn and in that brief glance she saw contained anger and disapproval. The same expression was evident on the faces of the men nearby. She swallowed hard, knowing their anger was merited. Her actions might have caused her death and Iain’s too, and while she could not suppose that hers would trouble them overmuch, their chief was a different matter.
If Iain was aware of the strained atmosphere he gave no sign of it.
‘It’s good to be back, Dougal.’
‘Did you encounter any Normans on the road, my lord?’
‘No, none.’
Ashlynn shot him a swift sideways glance. The answer was true as far as it went. Would he tell them of the encounter with the robber band? She dreaded to think how his men might react if they knew how close they had come to being leaderless. The knowledge of her folly returned with force. However, he made no reference to the incident and merely inquired of Dougal if all was well with the men. On receiving a reply in the affirmative he nodded.
‘Well, then, shall we go in?’
He steered her towards the house, his hand warm and strong under her elbow. Not so long ago she would have considered that touch intrusive. Now it felt strangely reassuring. Once inside she was escorted to a chamber not unlike the one at Hexham. Her grateful glance around took in a cheerful fire and, blessedly, a bed. Tonight at least she would not have to sleep in a draughty stable. Iain paused on the threshold and for a short space they surveyed each other in silence.
‘Is there anything you need, lass?’
Ashlynn glanced down at her clothes. Then, somewhat tentatively, she said, ‘I’d like to wash. Perhaps borrow a comb.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
When he had gone she unfastened her cloak and laid it over a chair. The thought of being clean was suddenly very appealing. In the enclosed space she was keenly aware of the smell of horse and leather emanating from her clothing. Every part of her felt grubby. How much she would have given for an hour in the bath house at Heslingfield. Unbidden tears pricked her eyelids and she forced them back, swallowing hard. No use to think of it. Heslingfield was gone, part of a past life.
The arrival of the maid was a welcome distraction and in a short time Ashlynn was provided with a large basin, a jug of hot water, soap, comb and linen towels. She regarded them with real pleasure and in moments had stripped off. Washing had to be done in parts but she scrubbed herself as well as she was able, starting with her hair and working downwards. It took a while but eventually every inch of her was clean and glowing. Then, wrapping a dry towel round her, she sat down before the fire and combed out her hair, easing out the numerous small tangles until it slid freely through the comb. Then she let the heat of the fire dry it. That done, she combed it again. Restored now to its normal lustre it fell in soft waves down her back. Rather anxiously she lifted the polished metal mirror from the table and examined her appearance. The cut lip was healing but a dark bruise marred the left cheekbone. Then she reflected that it would fade, in time. The bruise would be gone at least, if not the memory.
* * *
While Ashlynn had been busy thus, Iain had been checking on the disposition of men and horses. Later he rejoined Dougal and received a more detailed report of what had passed in his absence. He listened without interruption, and then nodded.