Page 41 of Katie's Highlander (Highland Protector 3)
It was painfully obvious that this conversation wasn’t getting them anywhere. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, she felt like shit and needed to be left the hell alone to recharge and sort this out. Heading for the window across the room, she pulled the chemise away from her body and peeled the damp material off her chest. It was hotter than a brick oven in here and her current frame of mind wasn’t helping the temperature. She freed her elaborately braided hair, fluffed it out, and scrubbed at her scalp that had grown tender and sore from Flora’s handiwork. She knotted the mess of curls on top of her head and held them there, trying to catch some cool air on the back of her neck.
Turning around to lean back against the window ledge and fan herself, she caught Ramsay staring. “Now what?”
Ramsay’s gaze flitted up to the topknot she held in one hand then returned to her face. “Yer hair.”
“What about my hair?”
“ ’Tis wrought with curls.”
“That’s because your all-knowing goddesses didn’t let me bring my damn flat iron or blow-dryer.” She released the wad of curls and fluffed both hands through the mess, creating an even wilder look. “Ta-da. Welcome to fuzzball city.”
Ramsay didn’t react or say a word and his silence threatened to trigger an unreasonable case of tears. The son of a bitch needed to get the hell out of here. Now.
On top of all the other shit of the day, her stomach had started churning. Her head hurt and judging by the dull ache at about uterus level, she was gearing up for menstrual bliss: day one—unleash the cramping kraken.
“And they also should’ve let me pack some fucking tampons!” she added as she yanked her hair back up off her neck again. “I hope like hell you’re happy.”
Pure unadulterated fear flashed in Ramsay’s ever-widening eyes. As he backed away, he motioned toward the door then turned and hurried in that direction. “I’ll fetch Flora for ye…aye?”
Refusing to answer because she just didn’t have the energy to yell at him any longer, Katie turned back to the window, folded her arms on the rough coolness of the window’s stone ledge, and rested her sweaty forehead atop them. Ramsay could do whatever the hell Ramsay wanted. After all, hadn’t he done that so far?
Her lower back knotted with a nauseating cramp and a warm sticky wetness trickled down the inside of one leg.
Wonderful. Perfect ending to the perfect day. Shoot. Me. Now.
Katie remained at the window, praying for a breeze and a solution to this unbelievable detour her life had taken. Sad thing was—she cared about Ramsay. Cared about him so much that she wanted to track him down and snap his stupid neck for putting her through all this shit. Normal relationships weren’t supposed to be like this—one crazy situation after another. Of course—Ramsay gave an entirely different slant onnormal.
She found a chair, dragged it over to the window, and returned to pillowing her head on her arms and plotting how to fix the unbelievable mess her life had become. A cooler breeze coming in off the sea stroked across her as though offering sympathy.
The chamber door groaned out a quiet creak, waking Katie from the dozing trance she’d slipped into from the soothing touch of the sea air. She listened intently without lifting her head. Someone was carefully moving about the room.Good. I hope they try to kill me. I’m in the perfect mood to launch someone’s ass right out this window.
She kept her head pressed against her arms and waited. The comforting coolness of a damp cloth sponged across her shoulders and the back of her neck. A callused hand patted her shoulder and made quiet shushing sounds as the refreshing chill of the cloth eased across her arms. Katie lifted her head and turned.
Agnes Macklemurry stood beside her, sympathy written all over her time-weathered face. “Come, mistress. I ken ye’ll be a wantin’ t’clean up. Flora and Himself says yer fond of bathin’ and I figured with yer courses come and the day ye’ve had that ye’d be a wishin’ for a bath all the more. Come into the anteroom. I’ve a fine bath ready for ye in there.”
Katie was in no mood to stand in a freaking bucket and have lukewarm water poured over her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Macklemurry, but if you’ll just give me a bowl of water and a rag, I’ll clean myself up and go to bed.”
“Ye can call me, Agnes, m’lady. ’Tis so much easier t’say.” The stoic old woman gave Katie a rare smile that made her seem years younger. Gently, she took hold of Katie’s arm and firmly steered her toward the paneled wall on the other side of the room. The side of the room toward Ramsay’s chambers.
Katie planted her feet. “I am not going to the chieftain’s rooms.”
With an understanding shake of her head, Agnes patted Katie’s arm and pulled even harder. “No, m’lady. Yer no’ goin’ to the chieftain’s rooms. I’m leadin’ ye to the anteroom. I’ve yer fine bath readied there.”
Apparently, the stubborn old housekeeper didn’t take no for an answer.
“Fine.” Katie shoved her unruly hair out of her eyes and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She’d get through this then try to sleep. Maybe tomorrow would be better.
“After yer bath, Flora will bring ye some fine birch bark tea. She’s already run t’fetch Old Creada t’steep it up proper. ‘Twill help with the pain of yer courses.”
Courses = periods. Birch bark tea = aspirin.
Weariness and the dull ache chewing its way through her middle was slowing down her ability to automatically translate medieval-speak to twenty-first-century knowledge. Katie just nodded as Agnes thumped the heel of her hand against the wall and activated the sliding panel that separated the anteroom from both her bedroom and the chieftain’s chambers. It didn’t do any good to argue—besides, she could use about a cupful of aspirin right now.
Staring down at her feet, watching each step she took, dismay filled her as she realized that only seven out of her ten toes still had a hint of the hot pink nail polish she’d chosen for her trip in what seemed like forever ago.
“Sit ye down here, m’lady, whilst I add one last kettleful to make sure its pipin’ hot for ye.”
Obediently sitting where Agnes directed, Katie waited, still staring down at her battered toenails as she massaged her throbbing temples.What a waste. And it was such a pretty color.
