They exited the rear door. Outside, the woman strode directly to a stone building with smoke billowing from its chimney. “This is the servants’ bathhouse. Ladies are allowed to bathe before midday, and the lads are allowed in anytime after. I suggest taking your bath first thing when you rise. Besides, it will most likely be your duty to see the water’s changed every morn.”

“Does Sir Kennan take his bath out here?”

“Of course not. All members of the family bathe in their chambers.”

Inside, warm steam enveloped her. Kettles hung suspended from blackened iron hooks over another enormous fire. The Camerons certainly must be wealthy to be able to keep so many fires burning all at once.

Mistress Barton took a cloth from the shelf and used it to remove one of the kettles. She poured it into the bath, then repeated with a second. “There’s soap on the tray, and drying cloths on the table. Remove your clothes and climb in whilst I’ll find you something suitable to wear.”

“Thank you.”

“And do ensure you wash your hair, dear. It looks as if it hasn’t been brushed in months.”

“I didn’t have a brush on Hyskeir—I used me fingers.”

“Well, that explains it.” The woman placed the empty kettle beside others near the door, then spoke over her shoulder. “Were you alone on the isle before Sir Kennan arrived?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

Divana chewed her lip. With her next words, she might end up thrown out while the housekeeper barred the gates. But they’d find out soon enough. May as well have out with it now. “Two years past, me uncle took me and me kin there to die. But I didn’t. I was the only one who beat the sickness. Had to bury the others.”

“Good Lord, you poor child,” said the housekeeper before she stepped out the door.

Divana stared after her. No yelling? No fear? No being forced up the tower by the point of a bayonet and locked there for ages?

Mayhap Achnacarry was as nice as Kennan described. And the bathwater looked too tempting to ignore. Divana removed her clothes, carefully folded them, and set them on the chair. As she stepped into the warm water, she sighed audibly. It had been too long since she had enjoyed a tub of warm water. She drew the cake of soap to her nose and inhaled. The scent of roses brought another sigh.

Och aye, this is heaven.

Sliding down, she immersed her body and savored the bliss, closing her eyes and stirring the water with her fingers. Fancy that. She could bathe there every morning if she pleased.

The warmth felt so heavenly, she reclined and let the water ease way the stiffness from sitting a horse for hour upon hour. Goodness she was bone weary. So much so, she wouldn’t complain if they showed her to the barn, gave her a pallet, and told her to sleep until the morrow.

But Mistress Barton had said she’d return, and Divana didn’t want to appear a laggard—especially not to the woman who oversaw the female servants. She lathered her hair until it was slippery with soap and washed from head to toe, paying special attention to the encrusted dirt on her feet and hands.