“Ye have missed service, but the laird bid me allow ye to sleep. It is growing late now.”

Jemma opened her eyes and saw the sunlight shining in the open windows to make large bright rectangles that stretched across the floor. She sat up and gasped when the bed covers fell down to her waist, allowing her breasts to be seen.

“I’m so sorry for sleeping so late. I can’t imagine why I did.”

Ula was more composed than Jemma. The housekeeper held up a chemise that she eased over Jemma’s head and arms to cover her before she stepped out of the bed.

“It has been an eventful week for ye, Mistress. I imagine ye are in need of a few hours of rest now that things are more settled.”

Ula raised her voice so that the maids working in the chamber were certain to hear her.

“Ah yes, things are far more settled now, Ula.”

There was a splash of water and then the sounds of flowing water. Jemma turned to see one side of the huge bathing tub hoisted into the air by a pulley that she had not seen hanging from the ceiling last night. There was a thick hook holding one end of the tub, and one of the maids pulled on the rope to lift the tub. On the opposite side of the tub was a lower point in its rim. A gutter was fitted against it while a smaller opening in the wall was revealed at the floor level. One maid pulled on the rope raising the far end of the tub while the other held the gutter in place and all the water rushed out to flow down the side of the tower.

So clever.

“Ye may have bathe every day, Mistress, no matter what weather.”

Ula was making a point of addressing her as Mistress.

“The laird has gone on to help rebuild the home that was burned two nights ago. He’ll return tonight.”

“Of course. It is good to hear that he is seeing to his people.”

So she would see to her duties as well. Jemma took one last look at the bed, smiling when she considered how much she longed for the shorter days of winter because it promised longer nights with Gordon.

She was a wanton. There was no doubt but she was happy. In fact it felt like a bubble of contentment encased her. There was nothing she found distasteful, not even the flapping of the soiled sheet in the wind from outside the chamber window.

She hurried off to the church, and the priest frowned at her for missing service, but he welcomed her into the sanctuary and began a quick service for her. Only the nuns and younger priests were in attendance, but as she was Mistress of the castle, they stopped their duties to stand and observe the service. Jemma took the Mass, sipping from the golden chalice and taking the small piece of bread he offered. She refused to quibble over the fact that such a service was illegal in England. She was married to a Scot, and women often had to be more practical than men when it came to adjusting their thinking. A princess such as Mary or Elizabeth Tudor might be allowed to place their foot firmly on the floor and refuse to bend to the whim of their royal father, but the rest of the country had to live in peace with the favored church.

The great hall was nearly empty, but the maids there lowered themselves when she passed them. The cook began snapping her fingers, and the little popping sounds echoed in the mostly empty hall. Maids brought forth a fine meal of cereal and fruit along with warmed cider that had been mulled with cinnamon. Jemma took a moment to inhale the scent of the costly spice before sipping at the drink. She would have to tell the cook not to use such expensive things on common days. But since the cider was served, she savored every drop and chewed on the small brown piece of cinnamon.

Another snap popped from the long worktables, and Jemma turned to see Anyon gaining the cook’s attention once again. This morning Anyon wore her linen cap correctly. It was tied securely beneath her chin like the other maids’ and her hair was tucked up into its gathered back. Although Anyon’s chemise was tugged up to cover her breasts more properly, the cook was still riding the girl unmercifully. With another snap from the cook’s fingers, Anyon carried a small copper pitcher toward the high table where Jemma was seated.

The girl’s lips were white from being pressed so tightly together, but she lowered herself before carefully refilling the cider mug. Jemma felt her stomach sour, but she clamped down on her own pity. Anyon had spent too many days acting as a better to everyone, and now she would have to face those she had spit in the face of.

But the unease in Jemma’s belly persisted, so she rose from the table and went to find the estate books. It was time to begin the duties of a wife.

Gordon wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled. The afternoon sun was bright with no sign of the rain that had blanketed the countryside yesterday.

“Whoa there, laddie, who’s that dreaming the day away?”

It was Kerry who teased him. His captain tossed up another bundle of thatch before climbing up to help him secure it to the roof supports.

“Ye’re jealous, Kerry, and I’ll tell ye straight, ye have every right to be.”

“Och now, that’s unkind. Just unkind in the worst way.”

Gordon bent over and felt his back give a twinge of discomfort for the number of hours he’d been working on the roof. They were nearing the top of the house now, and soon he’d have the right to ride home to the woman he’d been thinking about since he left. The sound of children drew his attention. He straightened back up to see the family’s four youngest playing in the yard. They wore bright smiles while they watched their new home being built.

“It will be a blessing to have a few of those following ye around.” Kerry shot him a smirk. “Hopefully all girls, because if they’re boys, the poor sods will look like ye, and that would make them ugly creatures for sure.”

“Kerry, I have a fine memory, and ye are going to marry someday.”

“I could never choose between all the lasses that adore me, Laird. ’Tis a fact that I can’t bear to give up any of them in favor of the other.”

Gordon bent back over. “Ye just wait, Kerry, the Church is going to lock ye in the stocks yet and nae release ye ’til ye repent and wed.”

“Not if I keep slipping the priest the wine he likes so well.”

Several men snickered in response because their priest was a plump man in spite of his vows of poverty. His robes were fuller than most of their kilts, but the man was fair, taking what was offered and only taxing those who could afford it. There had been worse clergy on Barras land before.

A sharp whistle drew Gordon’s attention back to the ground.

“Rider coming up fast, Laird!”

Every man stopped to watch the youth riding his horse like the son of Satan himself was chasing him. Dust rose up behind the horse in a dull-colored trail.

“That’s young Travis.”

“Aye.” Gordon climbed down from the roof, his neck muscles tightening. Travis was only twelve and not yet old enough to ride out with the retainers. But the lad could sit a horse and stay in the saddle better than some of his men. If someone had sent the lad out, time was essential.

“Laird, yer bride is ailing!” Travis began yelling before he even stopped his horse. The animal walked in a circle, trying to cool off. The youth pulled hard on the reins to turn the animal so that he was facing his laird again and might be heard.

“The cook suspects poison.”

Jemma opened her eyes and stared at the blurry haze in front of her. Voices surrounded her, but she couldn’t seem to force her brain to make sense of the sounds. It was almost as if she had suddenly been taken off to a land where no one spoke English. Everything moved too slowly, swirling around her in nightmarish motion. She wanted water, but her hand shook when she stretched it out, her strength failing her before her arm reached out far enough to gain any attention. Instead her body felt like it was falling through the air. Down, down, and still farther down. She waited for the pain that would be hers once she hit the bottom of the abyss but it never came, because she never stopped falling.

Gordon threw someone out of the way and didn’t know who it was. He didn’t care, either. His room was full of people once more, only today they lacked the sense of joy that had been present on his wedding night. No one was doing much but watching and waiting. His attention shifted to the priest, and Gordon felt his mouth go dry.

The priest was already there. His vestments on and his lips muttering the final words of last rites. He finished, and the assembled people all raised their hands to cross themselves. Two of the church nuns knelt near the bedside, their fingers moving on their wooden rosary beads while they concentrated on saying prayers for the woman lying there.