Soap Suds
Boyd put a hand on Darroch’s shoulder as they stood at the foot of Rory’s bed. “I thank ye,” he said hoarsely. “Isabel’s chamber is close by. Go to yer wife and tell her he still lives.”
It was plain the older man was at the end of his stamina, but Darroch was concerned Isabel hadn’t appeared when they’d carried her father back to his bed.
Fanny had stayed in the kitchens, consoling the bereft cook and putting things back to rights. The woman seemed not to know what exhaustion was.
“My men and I will keep vigil,” Boyd assured him. “It might be better if Isabel doesna come for a day or two. When he wakes, he’ll likely want more of whatever Ghalla’s been feeding him.”
Darroch looked at the man swathed in bandages who’d never woken during his ordeal—the enemy chief on whom he’d sworn to heap vengeance scant days ago. “I’ll try to keep her away, but she’s stubborn.”
Boyd chuckled as he slumped in the chair beside the bed. “Aye. Like her mother.”
That remark conjured a vision of a certain riding habit as Darroch ventured in search of his wife’s chamber. He proceeded cautiously, hand on the hilt of his dagger. Boyd had dispatched men to seek out Ghalla and Tremaine with orders to confine them to their chambers, but there’d been no confirmation the instructions had been carried out.
He was relieved when he espied Isabel’s maid coming out of a nearby chamber laden with what looked like frocks for little lasses.
She bobbed a curtsey. “She’s a stubborn one, that bairn,” Coira said.
“Let me guess. She wanted pantaloons and shirts.”
“Aye, but she didna tell me, only yon lazy hound. Poor Isabel slept through the whole argument.”
Darroch was impressed with this loyal servant. “I thank ye for yer patience. At least she’s talking to the dog now. She didna speak to anyone before.”
Coira’s eyes widened. “Not even ye?”
Darroch didn’t want to resurrect the yearning to hear his name on his daughter’s lips. “In time, I suppose. Ye say Isabel is sleeping?”
Coira nodded and pushed open the door.
Kyla sat up in bed and stretched out her arms to him. “We have to be quiet, Boo,” she said to the dog. “Bel’s sleeping.”
Blue raised his head a smidgen, watched Darroch approach the bed, then went back to sleep.
Darroch picked up his daughter, relieved to feel the warmth of her skin against his as she kissed him. Her scent chased away the horror of the gory scene in the kitchen, although a good wash wouldn’t go amiss after the long journey. He was somewhat surprised Isabel hadn’t arranged for water to be brought, but one look at his sleeping wife explained why. “I think we all need a bath,” he told Kyla.
Blue blinked open his eyes and growled.
“Ye’re right, Boo,” Kyla said. “Sleep first, bath later.”
“Seems sensible to me,” Darroch yawned. He put his daughter back down on the bed, shucked off his boots, removed his weapons, and inched onto the mattress so he was back to back with Isabel. Kyla crawled over to curl up against his front.
Across the hallway, a man fought for his life; Ghalla and Tremaine were somewhere in this enemy stronghold that Darroch had never thought to set foot in. Yet he was at peace, lying abed with the two people he loved most in the world.
*
Isabel emerged from a dreamless sleep, aware of a solid back pressed against hers. Feeling content, she turned over and draped her arm over Darroch. Her fingers came to rest in Kyla’s soft curls.
This was her life now. She was married to a strong man who loved her, and he had a beautiful daughter who would grow up with the bairns she would bear to her husband. The feud was over.
Someone had lit candles. Probably Coira. It must be getting late.
Her heart lurched as breath whooshed from her lungs. She’d slept through her father’s ordeal. Had he survived? How long since Darroch’s return? Surely he would have told her if…
Kyla stirred. Isabel had to smile at the dirt-streaked face. “I could do with a bath myself,” she whispered, loath to wake Darroch after what he must have witnessed in the kitchens.
Coira floated out of the shadows. “There’s hot water in the boudoir,” she said. “Fanny sent the scullery maids up not long ago.”
Isabel turned to Blue as he came to all fours and stretched. “Tell Kyla I’m going to take a bath. She’s welcome too, if she wishes.”
*
Darroch woke to the sound of female giggles, screams of laughter, barking, and stern warnings from a voice that belonged to Coira if he wasn’t mistaken.
His back felt cold, but his body heated when it occurred to him Isabel was taking a bath, probably in the little alcove he’d espied earlier. He should respect her privacy, but surely a husband had a right, nay even a duty, to assist his wife with her bath. Maybe he’d join her if the water was still warm. His tarse responded predictably to the prospect.
Without another thought, he shoved his plaid off his shoulder, pulled his shirt over his head, slid off the bed and sauntered to what he assumed was a garderobe of some sort.
He paused in the doorway, disappointed it hadn’t occurred to him that Kyla was also in the bath. But his joy quickly banished any disappointment he felt. A mound of frothy soap suds sat stop red curls. A white mustache graced his daughter’s top lip. She laughed uncontrollably at Blue who tried to snap at the handfuls of foam she lifted to his nose.
Coira scolded dog and bairn, though it was evident her admonishments were halfhearted.
But it was his wife who held his gaze. Her maid had managed to pile all that incredible hair into a towering creation that defied gravity, but emphasized the length of her slender neck. She sat in water up to her waist, obviously completely at ease being naked in the bathtub with his little lass.
From where he stood he could only see her back. Thirsting for another glimpse of the perfect globes he’d suckled too many days ago, he moved closer.
Kyla saw him first. “Look, Boo. Dadaidh.”
Isabel turned. Happiness rendered him mute. He was married to the beautiful woman who raked her hungry gaze over his naked chest, and his daughter had finally spoken his name.