“No.” She frowned. “It’s a natural talent.”
Alethia flopped back on the bed and covered her eyes with her hands. The laird would have questions, all right, and she needed time to come up with answers. Telling them she’d been sent back through time from the twenty-first century? Not a good idea. It sounded like an invitation to be the guest of honor at a bonfire complete with a stake and accusations of witchcraft.
If she wanted to keep the private room and the special treatment, she had to present herself as nobility. Fortunately, it wouldn’t require outright lying, just a little bit of truth-twisting and era-blending. That she could manage. She got up and worked herself out of her damp gown.
Beth bounded through the door. “I’ve brought ye a clean gown, milady. We must make haste. The laird awaits.” She draped the rose-colored wool over the bed and led Alethia to the chair to work the tangles out of her hair. Reaching for the comb on the mantel, Beth chattered on. “I’m to show ye the bathin’ room, though to my way o’ thinkin’ ’tis unhealthy to submerse a body in warm water.”
“Oh? I’ve always believed the opposite. Is the laird’s family often ill?”
“Nay. The family never takes sick.”
“They all bathe regularly.” If she did nothing else while here, she’d get her unwashed friend into a tub. “Where I come from, we believe that a hot bath and cleanliness keep illness away.”
“Aye? I’ve never heard such a thing.” She resumed her ministrations. “Ye have the shiniest hair, milady.”
“Like I said before, I’d be happy to share my secrets. The scented soap I use is called Caress.” She glanced at Beth to gauge her reaction. “I wash my hair with a secret blend of herbs that make it shine. It’s called Herbal Essence. Do you have a special man in your life?”
“Nay. Though I wish more than anything for a certain lad in the garrison to take notice.” Beth sighed as she fetched the fresh gown and helped her into it, tugging the sumptuous wool over her damp chemise.
“Have you ever noticed how the flowers with the sweetest scent draw the most bees?” For the first time since meeting her, Beth went silent as she laced up the gown. Alethia hoped she was considering her words. “The offer stands. You’re welcome to borrow my soap.”
“Come, milady. I’m to take ye to the laird’s study.”
Lifting the overlong hem, she followed her down the maze of corridors. Beth ushered her through a heavy oak door, where she found Malcolm and his father waiting. She curtsied.
“Please, sit. My son tells me you’ve had a trying morn.” The laird smiled kindly.
“Very trying, yes.” She took the seat at the table opposite him. Parchment, ledgers, inkwells and quills covered the surface.
“Hugh will trouble you no more. Rest easy.” The earl leaned back in his chair and studied her. “How is it that you found yourself on our land and alone?”
“I don’t know.” Folding her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking, she forged on. “I was attending a fair in my own country. I went into a fortune-teller’s tent because I heard crying, and once I was inside, I couldn’t get away from her.”
She glanced up at Malcolm, who stood next to his father. “She calls herself Madame Giselle, but I don’t think that’s her real name.” She noticed a brief look of shock cross his face. “Being with her is the last thing I remember before your son found me.”
“Did she offer you anything to eat or drink while you were with her?” Malcolm asked.
“Why do you ask?”
Malcolm shrugged a shoulder. “Mayhap she slipped you some kind of sleeping potion.”
Good one. Why hadn’t she thought of that while concocting her story? “Come to think of it, yes,” she lied. “She offered me a goblet of spiced wine, and I did drink all of it.”
A knowing look passed between father and son.
“I don’t know how you wish to be addressed,” she said, turning to Malcolm’s father. Though slightly shorter than his son, he appeared to be every bit as powerful. Their resemblance was striking. His hair, now streaked with silver, had once been the same tawny gold as Malcolm’s. The older man’s eyes were the same brilliant blue.
“My given name is William. It is the custom here to address me as Laird. You say you were in your own country when this happened. What country might that be, lass?”
“I’m from a land far away across the Atlantic Ocean.”
“The Continent.” Malcolm nodded.
“Well, a continent, but not the one you’re thinking. My land is not commonly known, though there have been Europeans who’ve traveled to our shores. Not long before William the Conqueror came to England, Norwegians came to my land. Erik the Red, and then later his son, Lief. Have you heard the tales?”