Page 30 of Katie's Highlander (Highland Protector 3)
Chapter 12
“Mistress Macklemurry will set me to diggin’ neeps and carrots with the kitchen lads if she walks in here and finds yerself bathin’ yer lady rather than me tendin’ to the mistress’s needs.”
The fretting young maidservant, Flora Macray, she’d called herself, reminded Ramsay of a younger, much more animated version of his sister, Esme. More helpful too. Or at least trying to be. He tossed the muddy rag he’d been using to clean away the dirt from his poor unconscious Katie into the ceramic basin of water on the table beside the bed.
He didna bother looking at the slip of a maid, still fussing and muttering beside him. He eased an arm under Katie’s shoulders and gently lifted her to a sitting position sagged against his chest. “If ye wish t’be of use, then come around and help me get these clothes off the lady without havin’ t’cut the damn things away wi’ m’blade.”
Katie would want her clothes intact for when they returned to North Carolina. His gut involuntarily tightened as though he’d just been punched. Ramsay swallowed hard and pressed his cheek to the top of her head as he held her close—the thought of never seeing this woman again was becoming more unbearable with each passing moment.
Flora skittered around the bed, gathered her skirts up to her knees, then clambered onto it and across the mounds of bedclothes to kneel at Katie’s other side. “Hold her away from yerself, m’chieftain, and I’ll pull this odd-lookin’ shift up over yer lady’s head. ’Tis a sight too short t’be of any good, isn’t it?”
Ramsay complied without answering, but Flora just sat there, staring at Katie and working her fingers and thumbs as though trying to find the courage to touch the odd bit of clothing.
“Flora Macray! What the devil are ye doin’? Get off that bed this verra instant!”
“Me arse is fair skint now,” Flora said in a hurried whisper. “Save me, m’chieftain, and I swear t’ye, I’ll take better care of yer lady than I would me ownmáthair.”
Ramsay’s heart went out to the girl who he’d decided was probably a bit younger than Esme’s seventeen summers. Still supporting Katie against his chest, Ramsay nodded at Flora, completely ignoring the presence of Agnes Macklemurry, housekeeper of MacTavish Keep, standing beside him. “The shirt, Flora. Grab it by the hem, girl, and skim it up off her. Be quick about it, aye?”
“My chieftain, if ye will be so kind as to move, I will take care of yer lady, m’self.” Agnes Macklemurry was a force t’be reckoned with—formidable, stern, and the woman brooked no argument or lollygaggin’ as he’d overheard her tellin’ the servants scurrying in all directions when he’d arrived at the keep with Katie in his arms.
Even Gordon MacTavish, spiritual leader of the MacTavish clan, the brawny tattooed man who’d obviously endured much during his long hard life, had suddenly disappeared into one of the corner alcoves and hurriedly pulled off his muddy boots then returned to Ramsay’s side, standing barefoot on Mistress Macklemurry’s freshly cleaned floors with boots in hand.
Ramsay gave the housekeeper a shake of his head. “I willna be leavin’ m’lady’s side until she rises from her faint, aye?”
Mistress Macklemurry’s plump rosy cheeks flared an even brighter shade of red and she clamped her thin lips shut in a tight disapproving line. She folded her arms across her generous middle and lifted her chin as though silently declaring that neither hell nor high water could move her from where she stood.
Flora hurried to strip off Katie’s shirt and brushed away all the loose dirt from the linens before Ramsay eased the still unconscious lass back down into the pillows.
Sons a bitches.He hadna realized that Katie didna wear a bra—well, he had noticed, admired, in fact, and lusted after the teasing outlines of those pert nipples in her shirts—but he’d ne’er bothered with reasoning out the technicalities about why those sweet nubbins were so easy to notice.
“And now her…um…trews, aye?” Flora stole a nervous glance at the fuming Mrs. Macklemurry standing just behind Ramsay.
“Aye,” Ramsay forced out, struggling to stop ogling Katie and staring at her in open-mouthed admiration like a lad who’d ne’er seen a lady naked. These people believed Katie t’be his wife—for Katie’s safety in this century, he needed to behave like her husband.
“What sort of oddness is that?” Mrs. Macklemurry couldn’t remain silent any longer nor could she keep herself out of the middle of the action. The stocky old housekeeper, gray curls quivering around the edges of her white cap, pushed her way closer, and pointed a callused finger at the zipper on Katie’s jeans. “I’ve ne’er seen such.”
Ne’er reveal too much about the future—for the future’s own sake.Dwyn’s teachings echoed through Ramsay’s mind. That was all well and good and he’d do his best t’obey that tenet but surely something as simple as a zipper wouldna send a catastrophic ripple up through the centuries.
“A zipper.” Ramsay demonstrated by unzipping Katie’s jeans. That innocent movement stoked the inferno already blazing in his groin.
Katie’s eyes fluttered open and her hands flew to her crotch. “What the hell are you doing?” Her head jerked back and forth as she looked about the room, then her eyes flared open even wider as she looked down at her body and realized she was naked from the waist up. She reached down, snatched up two handfuls of covers and yanked them clear up to her chin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she growled at Ramsay. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Still sitting on the edge of the bed, Ramsay scooted back a bit but didn’t retreat completely. “Calm down,wife,” he gently urged, leaning close and giving Katie an intense look that he prayed to the goddesses she’d read and understand. “Ye fell out in a dead faint in the woods but yer safe now. We’re in MacTavish Keep.”
“Aye, m’lady—breathe deep and ne’er ye fret. We’re but cleanin’ ye up and tendin’ t’ye. I’m Mistress Macklemurry. I’ll be the one keepin’ yer house and kitchens runnin’ smooth as the cream in the larder pans.” Mistress Macklemurry used her ample hip to bump Ramsay the rest of the way off the bed, scooped Katie up with one burly arm, and gave a stern nod to Flora. “That there’s Flora. She’ll be yer handmaid unless ye find her wantin’ and then another will be found t’take care of yer needs.” She gave Flora an impatient look as though she were about to shake the maid by the shoulders. “Plump the lady’s pillows, gal. Ye ken she’ll be a needin’ t’sit up t’drink her tea and have a bit a bread to regain her strength.”
Flora hurried to comply.
“But…I…I…” Katie vainly struggled to evade her, fists knotted in the sheet she held clutched to her chin. She finally gave Ramsay aget me the hell out of herelook. “Ramsay!”
Ramsay hurried around the broad girth of Mrs. Macklemurry as the housekeeper and Flora straightened bedclothes and plumped pillows until they had Katie properly sitting up and a tray of nourishment across her covered lap. When Mrs. Macklemurry and the maid finally stepped aside, he returned to his seat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and cupped Katie’s cheek in his hand. “I’m relieved ye’ve returned t’me, dear one.”
Relieved wasn’t the real word he’d had in mind. Actually, he’d dreaded Katie’s awakening for the very reasons before him.
Before Katie could sound off with the expletives he saw building in her fiery gaze, he leaned forward as though to press a kiss to her temple. “For yer own safety in this time, ye must act as though yer m’wife,” he whispered and nuzzled his mouth closer to her ear. “Think of yer history learnings. Remember the dangers women face here.”
He kissed the silky skin in front of her ear then sat back on the bed beside her. “Drink yer tea, lass. Yer weak.”
