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Tummel House Community
Lush maroon carpet covered the floor of the room to which the lad led Siobhan and Rory. Siobhan placed her bags on the Turkish rug by the queen-sized bed. Fine, transparent material draped the four-poster bed—the room’s main feature. Thicker curtains in a heavy material hung from each corner post. Deeper golds and dusky pinks peeped through the folds in the rich drapery faded by time and sunlight. The bedspread matched, as did the canopy above. Shiny polished antique side-tables displayed an array of ceramic figurines, and a floral two-seater couch was positioned at the end of the bed.
The echo of running water came from the bathroom off to the side. Siobhan walked into the room with fittings she guessed were from the twenty-teens. A modern bathroom in an old, still-inhabited castle. She chuckled. Square taps and hose hung over a bath deep enough for a person to sit in and still be covered by the silky water. Copious bubbles, piled high like Munros, sat on top of the bath’s steaming contents.
A woman in an evening dress sparkling with sequins, swished the water in the bath.
“I’m Moira Donaldson. Welcome to our Community. I hope the bath is to your liking.” Her smile revealed crooked brown teeth.
“Thank you, but I’ve taken you from your daughter’s wedding,” Siobhan said.
“Och, no, she’s ma niece. I’m no’ Mrs Donaldson senior. Ye’ll soon meet her. We’re mostly family here.” The brown-toothed grin appeared again. “I ken ye’d be wantin’ to have a wee soak, but dinnae take too lang, aye? You’ll no want to miss the roast venison and the music!” She held Siobhan’s shoulders and gave a gentle shake. “You and your husband come down soon, like.”
“Thank you.” Siobhan blinked as the cheery woman whisked out of the room, her dress glittering in the lantern light.
“The bath’s big enough for two, aye?” Rory stepped closer, slipped his hands around Siobhan’s waist, pressing his body against hers, and enveloping her in a warm hug. She drew in his scent. Horse, heather—and male body odour.
“I’m not too sure how much bathing would get done, but you really need to, Rory.” She pulled a face to match her comment.
Someone pounded on the door.
“Rory!” It was Micah.
Rory’s shoulders drooped and he let go of her, then traipsed to the door.
“Aye?” He flung it open, revealing Xian and Micah, whose hand was in a knocking position at Rory’s face-height.
“Oh, man, you’ve gotta come down. Should see the food!” Micah said, dropping his hand. “There’s so much. And the music’s startin’ again. My guys are already there. They’ll finish the venison if ye dinnae hurray.”
“You okay, Xian?” Rory asked as Siobhan walked to stand beside him. “Where are the rest of you staying?”
“There’s a dorm further back near the stables,” Xian said. “I can keep an eye on the horses. You won’t be long, will you, Rory? It’s getting late and I get the feeling Donaldson wants to speak with you. Siobhan, actually.” Xian slid his gaze to her.
“Oh?” Rory raised a brow.
“Yeah, he asked me a whole lot of questions about you, Siobhan. I didn’t say much, just that you’re from Edinburgh and we’re on our way home to the Northern Highlands. And I found out that Mr Donaldson isn’t the leader of this Community, his missus is,” Xian finished with a slight flick of his head.
“This used to be a stately home run by the National Trust o’ Scotland, ye ken?” Micah raised his brows.
“Who are these people, then?” Rory asked.
“Come doon and find oot.” Micah’s face loomed in front of them both. Rory shut the door on him, then rested his hand on it while Xian and Micah’s conversation receded.
“I’m having a bath. Then you will. Then we’ll find out all about them.” Siobhan turned and made her way into the bathroom, removed her clothes, and slipped into the water. The perfume was lilac, and the heat seeped its soothing magic into her travel-weary muscles.
“It’s grand we’ll be sleeping in a bed tonight.” Rory stood in the open doorway, his shoulder leaning on the doorjamb and his eyes raking across the parts of her exposed above the soap bubble mountains. He unbuttoned his shirt. It slid across his muscled chest and defined abdominals and down his ropey arms. He unbuttoned his buckskins, never removing his gaze from her.
Siobhan’s pulse raced and warmth spread lower—it wasn’t from the bathwater.
There was a sharp knock on the door once more.
“We’ll be there soon, Micah!” Rory shouted at the door.
“Ahh, Mr Campbell,” an unfamiliar male voice spoke, muffled through the door. “Mistress Donaldson wishes to meet you and your wife. She’s asked that you join her at the table...and soon is implied.”
Rory’s eyes widened, then he grabbed his buckskins to his waist and strode to the door, opening it with an apology that echoed into the bathroom. “I thought you were our companions.” Music from the festivities below floated through the open bathroom door. “Aye, we’ll be down as soon as we can.”
Siobhan sank lower into the bathwater as Rory finished his conversation, closed the door and returned to the bathroom. “We’ve been summoned.”
“Interesting. I’ve never heard of a Mrs Donaldson in a castle. Is the family linked to these lands?” Siobhan washed her raised leg, water dribbling over the sides of the tub. “Despite what you think, we in the Bunker don’t know everything.”
“Aye,” he said softly, “But you can forget the we part of that statement. You’re no’ going tae live there anymore.”
Siobhan stood out of the bath, soap bubbles sliding down her back and legs, leaving a trail of tickling sensations. Rory ran his eyes from her head to her feet while she stood dripping on the bathmat. Without taking his eyes off her, he reached out to the towel rail and dragged a bath-towel from it.
“It’s such a shame we have nae time...” He shook his head, sucking his breath between his teeth.
“Your turn.” She took the towel from his hand.
He leaned forward and placed his warm lips to hers, playing gently, and stirring up emotions and desires within her. She swallowed.
“I’ll get out some clean clothes from our things. We can’t keep them waiting.”
“Aye.” He stepped out of his trousers and hopped into the bathtub. “I don’t really ken them. Ahh.” He sank into the water, eyes closed, and leaned back.
“Scrub.” She threw a ball of netted material at him.
Rory flinched and rubbed the now wet netting across his deep-ginger chest-hair, which darkened with bubbles clinging to each strand.
Siobhan tore her eyes away and headed back into the bedroom, then pulled through the clothes in her bag for a decent dress. An evening gown, which she had thrown in on a whim, lay at the bottom of a duffle bag. She raked through Rory’s bag. Buckskins, shirts, underwear of a sort, and socks were the only items. Well, they hadn’t expected to be attending a wedding. Then a thought came to her. Beside the bed was an internal telephone, the receiver looked like something out of the nineteen fifties room in the archives, a bone coloured—well, bone. She lifted it and an electronic purr repeated.
“Aye?” said a woman’s voice. “Is this oor unexpected guests?”
“This is Siobhan Campbell. Would you help me, please?”
“What’re you doin’?” The splosh of water escaping over the side of the bath and onto the floor, came from the bathroom. Rory stood naked in the doorway; clusters of bubbles slid down his torso powerless to hide his masculinity. Her mouth tugged at the corners.
“Could you send up some clothes for my husband? He doesn’t have a thing to wear to the wedding,” she asked the woman on the internal phone.
“Och, aye, of course, hen. I can do that for ye.”
“Siobhan,” Rory wrapped a towel around his waist. “I have—”
“Buckskins,” Siobhan interrupted, “are not wedding attire.”
“I’ll be right up,” the woman on the line said. “I have just the thing.”
Siobhan hung up.
Rory dried himself and shaved with the razor that sat on the shelf above the sink. There was a tap on the door and Siobhan opened it to an older woman who stooped over a clothing bag.
“There ye are, hen.” The woman’s head held a tremor all the while she handed the bag to Siobhan. “He’ll look dashing it that, will he no’?”
The clear window in the cloth bag exposed a square of tartan, a vivid blue, which was almost purple, and dark-green check.
“Wonderful, thank you,” Siobhan said.
The woman left and Siobhan turned to Rory, who now stood in the bathroom doorway, a fresh shaving nick oozing on his chin. “What have you got?”
Siobhan undid the clothing bag. Inside was a full gentleman’s kilt and a white shirt. She held the shirt up to Rory.
“That will fit.”
“Och, it’s Clan Murray.” Rory stepped over to smooth his hands over the finely woven wool cloth. “At least I will nae have to concern myself with clean jocks.”