He scoffed, holding his tongue from making a comment that would be inappropriate in polite company. As he turned his head away, he said, “I just want ye to ken that I’m nae goin’ to make her wear things that are ill-fittin’. I’ll get her as many gowns as she needs and come as often as necessary.”
Amelia’s shoulders stiffened at that, the kindness seeming to come down on her like a blow. Even Abigail seemed to notice, though she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she said, “Well, I’d expect nothin’ else from ye. And while I’m certainly nae complainin’ about the work, I’m only sayin’ that for a bit ye’d need fairly regular trips in. I cannae imagine anyone would want to take that much time out of their day. Ye’re a busy man, and Miss Amelia seems as though she’s got the makin’s of a busy woman.”
“I will trust yer judgment, then,” Darragh relented, leaning his shoulders against the wall.
That earned him an approving smile from Abigail before she went back to her work. She was efficient, muttering to herself as she measured each part of Amelia’s body twice before jotting down the numbers in a little ledger she pulled from her apron pocket. He was sure he heard the woman talking about colors and types of fabric, though it didn’t seem as if she was speaking to anyone but herself.
The sun slowly made its way across the sky, the afternoon light streaming into the shop through the windows at the front. Abigail’s head popped up, tracking the shadows. She deliberated quietly with herself for a moment before nodding and stepping back from Amelia.
“I need ye to stand over here,” she said, walking toward a golden beam. “I’m goin’ to study yer frame, so I ken what kind of gown will flatter ye the best.”
He saw the way that Amelia seemed to have an answer, but kept it to herself. Dutifully, she walked over to where the seamstress had indicated, the sunlight to her back. The outline of her form fell along the floor, shadowed and exaggerated.
“This way, lass,” Abigail said, putting a hand on Amelia’s waist and shifting her slightly, turning her body so the rays caught her in exactly the way she intended.
Darragh couldn’t help but stare at the woman. He’d seen her beauty; he’d have to be blind not to. But he’d been more concerned with keeping her safe. This was the first time he was able to simplyobserve.
Now, he was struck by her. The sun caught her hair, making it shinier than normal, transforming it into a halo around her head that made her look angelic. The pale skin of her body glowed under the golden warmth. She was ethereal, and he didn’t think he could stop noticing it now that he’d seen it.
“Perfect,” Abigail said as she fetched her ledger and the wax pen. “Stay there for just a few moments.”
As the woman worked, making her notes, the rest of the room seemed to fall away. The only thing Darragh was capable of focusing on was Amelia. He committed each curve to memory, cataloging the way her body moved just so when she was standing idly. The gentle rise and fall of her chest were rhythmic, and there was a slight sway to her hips as she shifted foot to foot.
Ach, lass… so bonnie.
The bruises, still visible, weren’t as prominent as the day that he’d rescued her, fading from a deep purple to a softer blue. Her wrists, while still showing evidence of the shackles that kept her captive, were scabbed over and healing steadily. As the healer had said, her body was recovering steadily.
When his gaze trailed up to her face, she was already watching him. Quickly, he masked the admiration he was feeling, but he could tell that she had caught it. A shy smile affixed itself to her pink lips, and she looked away, suddenly entranced with the seamstress fussing at her waist.
“I ken exactly the gowns I’m goin’ to make for ye,” she said, the measuring tape appearing once more as she checked her measurements a third time. “But before I can get to work, I need ye to pick out the fabrics and colors. I’ve already come up with a few ideas, but these are yer gowns. I want ye to feel comfortable and confident in them.”
Amelia nodded, stepping away from the window. It seemed that she was suddenly very aware of the eyes that had been roaming over her. She didn’t hide away, though, keeping her shoulders pulled back and her chin held high.
A shadow passed by the window, coming to a stop next to the horse that the two of them had ridden here. Then, a man’s form appeared, the eyes squinting inside. Darragh recognized him instantly. Ewan. His man-at-arms.
Ewan held up his hand, closing his fist and jerking his head back. The signal, while mostly casual, was exaggerated. He needed to speak with Darragh alone, and the subject was urgent.
Darragh stood calmly, dusting off his trews and catching Abigail’s eye. “If ye’ll excuse me just a moment, there’s a matter I need to attend to.” Then, despite the instincts demanding he keep Amelia in his sights, he stepped outside.
Chapter Eight
“Riders from the north passed the bridge this morning,” Ewan said as soon as Darragh stepped outside, his voice low and urgent. “One of them bore the Mackenzie stag.”
Darragh rested his chin in his hand, considering the information. He trusted Ewan’s judgment, knowing his right-hand man wasn’t one to stir up trouble when there wasn’t any, but he had more to worry about than just the implications of rival clansmen riding through their territory.
“Perhaps we should invite them to the spring hunt,” he said after a long moment, thoughtful rather than alarmed.
“Invite them,” Ewan replied slowly, looking at Darragh as if he’d lost his mind. “Me Laird, they werenae authorized to be ridin’ through our lands.”
“I ken,” Darragh replied. “But I daenae think we should be engagin’ in fights right now. There are still loose ends to be tied up with the hunt where we found the lasses.”
“So ye’re suggestin’ that rather than pursuin’ them and demandin’ to ken why they’re here, we treat them as our guests?” Ewan asked, speaking each word slowly as if he were worried that Darragh wasn’t understanding him.
“Aye,” he confirmed. “Perhaps we invite Lairds from the east and north as well.”
“Ye’ve a reason ye’ve nae told me,” Ewan said after a moment, folding his arms over his chest.
“It’s nae a bad thing to foster diplomatic relationships with the men in charge of the territories around us,” Darragh pointed out before glancing inside the shop where Amelia and Abigail were looking over different patterned bolts of cloth. “And I still daenae ken enough about Amelia. If someone kens the lass, it may help us find her family.”
