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She opened the parcel. “Soap!”
She brought the yellow cake with petals encased in its depths to her nose and inhaled.
“Rose soap. Thank ye, brother. That must have cost a fortune.”
He chuckled. “Dinna fash. I dinna get to spoil ye often.”
She shook her head and gave it back to him. “Nae, please. Give it to yer betrothed. ’Tis sin to indulge in bodily pleasures. And soap that smells so lovely surely would be that.”
“Nae, I do think that God likes it when people are clean, aye?”
“I suppose…”
“Besides, ye’ll have yer whole life to take care of yer immortal soul. Mayhap, ye can enjoy the rosy scent of soap before ye become a nun.”
She beamed. “Thank ye! I do like a good bath.”
Warmth spread in Angus’s chest. In moments like this, he wished their whole family were together. “Do ye ken that Raghnall is in the village?”
“Is he? Nae, I didna ken.” She glanced around. “Does Laomann ken?”
“Nae. But I think I want him at the wedding—”
A distant, urgent yell made him stop and look towards the castle. A woman was running towards the jetty, waving her hand.
“Lord Angus!” she cried. “Lord Angus!”
Fear washed over him in an icy wave.
“Here!” He ran towards the woman.
As he reached her, he recognized Sorcha, the woman Lady Rogene had tried to save from her husband, Gill-Eathain. She was panting, her cheeks red and strands of hair sticking out from under her cap.
“Lady Rogene…” she said as she gasped for air. “Yer bride told my husband to whip her…”
Angus shoved the silk to Catrìona and ran. His feet heavy and cold, he heard his ragged breath in his ears and had just one thought. Protect her.
Through the sea gate he ran, then the empty outer bailey with workshops and barracks and stables, through the second gate and into the inner bailey.
What he saw there made his heart drop into his heels.
Attached to the whipping pole, with her dress torn and her back bare, was Lady Rogene. Euphemia stood next to Gill-Eathain, who had a horse whip in his hand, ready to let it fly. By Euphemia’s side was pale Laomann, who watched everything with wide eyes. Around them was a small crowd of people who were talking with one another excitedly. Gill-Eathain brought the hand with the whip up.
“Stop!” Angus cried.
Gill-Eathain froze and everyone looked at Angus.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Angus boomed as he made his way through the crowd.
Fury and fear for Lady Rogene whirled in him, setting his blood on fire.
As he drew closer, Gill-Eathain lowered the whip. Euphemia stared at Angus with a victorious half smile. Rogene turned to him over her shoulder. She was pale, her bare back graceful as she breathed in and out heavily, her shoulder blades moving up and down quickly.
“Ah, my betrothed,” Euphemia said. “Thankfully, I saw this woman rummaging in yer bedchamber. She was reading this.”
Euphemia retrieved something from a pocket in her dress and showed it to him.
A roll of a parchment.
