Keelan tiptoed up to her quarters, where Slaney had a bath waiting in the next chamber. She disrobed, hiding her waif’s garments in an old trunk. A blissful sigh of contentment escaped her lips as she sank into the water. Warm, but not too hot. She sniffed. Fragrant. A bundle of herbs secured in a linen pouch floated in the water, steeping. Lavender, hyssop, and basil. A tincture of the same combination sat in a small bottle by her bed.
“Rub it on yer skin, and it’ll keep ye from becoming a tasty meal for the wee buggers at night,” Slaney had earlier explained.
Keelan reached for a small pat of scented soap and frowned as she pondered the secret observer in her father’s study. She worked up a lather and scrubbed her head and face.
Her hands froze as a thought hit.
Of course. Her father
