The maid returned a moment later, knocking lightly and then pushing the door open. Molly started in surprise, not expecting her to return this quickly. She must have run to the kitchens and back.
“Breakfast, my lady!”
The maid swept into the room, placing the tray on the table. “I’ve brought porridge, toasted bannock, butter, boiled eggs and cheese. Oh, and a pot of elderflower tea. I wasnae sure what ye liked. If ye wish, I can fetch ye something else.”
“Er, no,” Molly said quickly. “That all looks wonderful.”
The maid beamed, picked up a ceramic jug, and poured a cup of steaming elderflower tea into a small, delicate pottery cup. “How do ye take yer porridge? I’ve brought salt, but also honey, in case ye prefer that, as I know many ladies from the south do.”
“Salt will be fine,” she replied, a twinge going through her as she suddenly thought of her father. He always put salt in porridge and it was a tradition she’d grown up with.
She seated herself at the table, spread butter on the toasted bannock and dipped it in the honey. Ah, delicious. She waved at the other chair and said with her mouth full, “Why don’t you have some? There’s plenty for two.”
The maid’s eyes went wide. “I...I couldnae...it isnae proper.”
She looked to be in her late teens and had rosy cheeks and a twinkling smile. Her chestnut hair fell in a braid down her back and was held back from her face by a scarf. “What’s your name?” Molly asked.
“Megan,” the maid replied, giving a perfect curtsey. “But most folks call me Meg.”
“Well, Meg,” Molly said. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Come on, this toast is amazing.”
Meg hesitated, biting her lip. Then, with a giggle, she seated herself in the other chair and took some bannock, smearing it liberally with butter. Molly leaned forward, poured Meg a mug of tea and passed it over. Some of her tension eased a little. There was something reassuring about eating breakfast with another person, a ritual that transcended time. It was a simple thing really, but it made Molly feel like maybe not everything in her world had changed.
“Do you live in the castle?” Molly asked Meg as she spooned some of the porridge into her mouth. Like the toasted bannock, it was excellent.
Meg nodded, finished chewing, and swallowed before answering. “Aye. Since I was fifteen. My ma got me a position here. She’s a washerwoman for the keep and so knows the castellan.”
“Does your family live here too then?”
“In the village. Ma takes in washing, Da goes out fishing.”
Molly eyed her thoroughly twenty-first century dungarees and long coat which were slung across the back of a chair. “Um, Meg, do you know where I could get some clean clothes?”
Meg put down her toasted bannock and jumped to her feet. “Of course! Forgive me, my lady. I should have told ye, but I thought ye knew. Lord Conall said ye would need some extra garments, so I arranged it last night.” She crossed to a sturdy cupboard in the corner and pulled open the door. Molly was shocked to see it stocked with dresses, underclothes, stockings, head scarfs and everything else that a medieval woman might want.
She swallowed. Oh heck. She was going to look ridiculous. “Thank you, Meg,” she managed to say.
Meg beamed at her and as Molly finished her breakfast, began pulling out clothing she thought would suit her and laying it out on the bed. She seemed to enjoy the task immensely.
“I think this color will suit yer eyes, my lady,” she said, examining a burgundy dress with a high neckline. She pursed her lips. “Although it might clash a little with yer hair color. Maybe the blue one. In fact, aye, definitely the blue one.” She held the dress against herself so Molly could get a good look. “What do ye think?”
Molly chewed on her toast, looking the dress up and down. “Meg, I will bow to your superior knowledge.”
Meg laughed in delight. “In that case, shall we get ye dressed?”
It turned out that getting dressed in medieval times was no small feat. Instead of having a wash, throwing on her clothes, brushing her hair, and then being done, the whole thing was a ritual in itself. First, Meg had another servant bring hot water and then helped Molly to wash. After this, there was layer after layer of clothing, including stockings, a shift, a bodice, the dress, and finally an elaborate headdress. Molly put up with most of it but when it came to the headdress, she balked.
“Um, no thanks. I don’t think it will suit me.”
“But...but....” Meg replied. “These are the height of fashion among noble ladies.”
“I’m sure they are,” Molly replied, eyeing the square thing with a veil attached. It would make her look like she had her head in a box. “But I’ve never been one for fashion. I’ll do without, thanks.”
Meg shrugged. “As ye wish. Ye should let yer hair hang free anyway, if I may be so bold as to say so. Ye have beautiful hair, my lady.”
“Beautiful? It’s a wild mop that I can do nothing with, but thanks for saying so.” She did a little twirl. “Well? How do I look?”
The blue dress flared out at the bottom as she twirled and the wide, bell-shaped sleeves swished. It was a good fit, if a little more snug around the bosom than she would have liked.
