Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] by Border Moonlight Read Free Book Online

yellow, or russet. However, if it fit her she would not care what color it was.
    No one had done much if anything about her hair, and the bed clothing revealed as much, for it smelled of river mud and bore streaks of the stuff. Whoever had undressed her had taken her clothing but had not tried to wash her. Her skin felt stiff and rough, as if caked in dried mud.
    What she wanted was a hot bath and a chance to wash her hair thoroughly with fragrant soap. But she knew enough about Simon Murray to be sure he would not allow such a luxury until the herb woman had pronounced her fit enough.
    “Hoots, then, are ye getting up?” Kit demanded when Sibylla began gingerly to sit up. Moving nearer, red kirtle in hand, the child said sternly, “Ye ken fine that the laird did say ye should stay in bed.”
    “The laird did say that,” Sibylla said, clutching the covers to her breast and keeping an eye on the closed door. “But I’ll feel better on my own two feet. Mercy,” she exclaimed as she put them to the cold floor. “I’ve no shoes!”
    “Nay, ye lost them in the river. Ye’ve nae shift or hose neither. But I did see summat like a shift in one o’ them kists. If ye want—”
    “I don’t care about a shift,” Sibylla said. “Just hand me that kirtle and go stand by the door. If anyone tries to enter whilst I’m putting it on, keep them out.”
    Kit’s light-blue eyes widened at the command, as if she knew it would be hopeless to try to keep the laird out. But she went obediently to the door. “Shall I peek out, then?” she asked. “Might be, I’d hear them on the stairs.”
    “Nay, but if you do hear voices, warn me.”
    A mental picture of Simon throwing open the door and striding in urged her to don the kirtle swiftly, although she hoped that even he would not barge into a female guest’s bedchamber. Her lack of footwear was more disconcerting.
    They had stripped off her wet stockings, the floor was cold, and she could not go downstairs without something to cover her feet. On a warmer day she might not care, but she felt sure that her formidable hostess would condemn such unmannerly behavior and knew it would be wise to consider her ladyship’s feelings.
    Tying the yellow laces, she said, “Did you see no shoes or slippers, Kit?”
    The child shook her head. “Nae netherstocks neither.” “Mayhap a hairbrush or a comb?”
    “Aye!” Kit darted back to one of the other kists, plunged her hands in, and pulled out two silver combs.
    “Those will do,” Sibylla said. Turning to pour water from the ewer into the washstand basin, she tried not to think what it would feel like to drag a comb through her stiff, filthy tresses.
    “Them combs will pull like Auld Clootie,” Kit said as Sibylla dampened a towel and gingerly dabbed dirt from her face with it. “I could help ye, though.”
    “Aye, so you could,” Sibylla agreed. “If we each take one strand at a time and begin at the end, working our way upward, we can comb out a little at a time. That way, we may not pull out all my hair.”
    Kit giggled, but when Sibylla had washed her face and hands, they both climbed back up on the cupboardlike bed with their combs. Sitting close together, propped up with pillows, they went to work on her hair.
    They were going to make a mess, she knew. But a maid would have to strip off the bedding anyway to wash it and would shake everything out when she did.
    “Whilst we do this, would you like to tell me how you came to be in the river?” she asked Kit a few minutes later.
    “I did tell ye,” Kit said. “Them men said they was a-drowning puppies.”
    “Dreadful, but why would they want to drown you and your brother?”
    Kit concentrated closely on a stubborn snarl in the strand of hair she was combing. Then she said grimly, “They were the deevil’s men, that’s why. I hope they burn for their wickedness and dinna
ever
find us again.”
    “But how did they find you at all? Do you know who they were?”
    Kit