Arianna shook her head slowly, trying to imagine such a thing being enforced. She muttered, “Men and their ridiculous rules.”
Melissa began sorting through layers of fabric as she spoke. “Four generations back, the Laird fell in love with a lady who loved fine things more than sense,” she said. “She made him promise her silks and jewels, and when folk complained, she had the law written.”
Arianna gave a short, humorless laugh.
“So all this is because one woman was vain?” Arianna asked. “Seems a heavy price for the rest of ye to pay.”
Melissa grinned and said, “Aye, but ye’ll nay hear many complainin’ when the chests are full.”
Arianna sighed, knowing protest would do her no good.
Melissa lifted the first shift and held it open. “Come now, arms up,” she instructed gently. Arianna obeyed, the linen cool against her skin as it slipped into place. She let herself be moved and turned as though she were already learning the habits of a Laird’s wife.
Next came the stays, sturdy and unyielding. Melissa drew the laces tight, careful but firm, and Arianna sucked in a breath. “It always feels like I’m bein’ trussed for market.”
Melissa chuckled and said, “Aye, truth in yer words.”
Layer by layer, the gown took shape upon her. A woolen underskirt, then another, each heavier than the last, settledaround her hips. Arianna watched Melissa’s hands work swiftly, practiced from years of dressing other women. She said quietly, “Me mother never laced me so tight.”
“She was yer mother,” Melissa replied. “I’m yer dresser.”
Arianna snorted despite herself, and the sound eased something in her chest. She allowed herself to relax as the sash was wrapped and tied.
Melissa brushed Arianna’s hair until it shone, then parted it with care. She braided it neatly, fingers flying, and wove small dried flowers through the plaits. “For luck,” she said simply.
Arianna touched them and murmured, “They smell like the hills.”
“They should,” Melissa said. “That’s where they came from.” She adjusted the bodice once more and stepped back to inspect her work. Arianna scarcely recognized herself in the mirror.
As Melissa fastened the final clasp, Arianna asked, “What is the village like?” Her voice held a note of timid hope.
Melissa smiled and said, “Busy, loud, and full of folk who’ll stare at ye.”
Arianna grimaced faintly.
“I’m nay sure I care for that,” Arianna admitted.
Melissa shrugged and replied, “They’ll stare cause yer the new Lady.” She placed a shawl about Arianna’s shoulders with a gentler touch. “But they’ll also bow.”
“Do they like him?” she asked quietly.
Melissa paused, then said, “They respect him.” The distinction was not lost on Arianna.
She rose slowly, testing the weight of the garments. The rustle of fabric followed her every movement, a reminder of the role she was meant to play.
Arianna drew a steadying breath and said, “Very well, then.” Melissa opened the door and gestured her forward.
“Let’s nay keep the laird waitin’,” Melissa said.
Arianna stepped into the corridor, her sadness tucked beneath silk and wool. Whatever awaited her in the village, she would meet it as Lady McGuire.
Ian stood at the gate with the reins looped loose in his gloved hand, the two horses shifting and snorting in the afternoon light. He had chosen the steadier mare for Arianna and his own blackgelding beside it, though he barely noticed his careful planning when she appeared at the archway.
The sight of her halted his breath more surely than any blade ever had. He told himself, sharply, that admiration was allowed, but indulgence was not.
She walked toward him with measured steps, her hair braided and threaded with small flowers. The sunlight caught in those braids, and Ian found himself thinking it would be a trial to keep any vow with her so near. He straightened his shoulders. A Laird should not stare at his wife like a besotted lad.
“Ye’re… punctual,” he said, forcing his voice into its usual even tone.
