Effie returned with a light dinner, placing it on a small table beside the bed.
The meal was modest but hearty: fresh bread, a small wedge of smoked cheese, slices of cold venison with a few roasted root vegetables.
A carafe of wine stood beside it, the deep ruby liquid shimmering in the flickering candlelight. Isabelle’s stomach grumbled at the sight, but her mind was elsewhere, spinning with the events of the day.
Her eyes drifted to the corner of the chamber, where Rosaline’s wedding dress rested neatly folded.
She realized, with a flush of relief, that the dress, once mistakenly made too small for Rosaline, fit her perfectly. The error that had caused her so much panic earlier now seemed like a blessing in disguise.
Once the maids had finished their work, they curtseyed and quietly left the chamber, leaving Isabelle alone with her thoughts and the soft glow of the candlelight.
She poured herself a generous glass of wine, the rich, tart liquid warming her throat and calming some of the nerves gnawing at her stomach. Her mind wandered to Laird McCallum, thearrogant man who had so easily commanded her father. She felt a mixture of indignation and fascination at the thought of him, and a flush of heat rose to her cheeks.
She drank again, this time letting her thoughts drift to the life she had endured under her father’s rule. The cruel words, the constant blame, the way he had treated her, blaming her for her mother’s death, all of it pressed on her memory.
Here was a chance to escape it, to leave the Ross keep and the toxic control of Laird Ross behind. Even if she despised the idea of marrying Laird McCallum, the freedom it promised was intoxicating, far more alluring than the fear of the unknown.
Though she did not want to marry, she would seize this opportunity to finally step away from the shadows of her father’s cruelty.
Isabelle lay back on the pillows, her hair spread across the linen, and let herself breathe for the first time in years without fear of scolding or reproach.
Tomorrow, she would be married. Tonight, for the first time in her life, she felt a sense of agency, however small, and that thought was enough to carry her into the sleep that would prepare her for the day to come.
The next morning, Isabelle stirred from her slumber as the soft voices of the maids roused her from sleep.
“’Tis time for preparations, Miss," Effie said.
"Aye, so it is," Isabelle agreed, wiping sleep from her eyes.
She washed face in the wash basin and sat down.
Hannah and Paula bustled about her, gently tugging at her long, brown curls, braiding them into a crown that would frame her face for the wedding.
Isabelle blinked sleepily, trying to gather her thoughts as the maids worked with practiced care.
“Hannah, thou art a miracle worker,” Isabelle murmured, her voice still husky from sleep.
“Oh, Miss, ye’ll be radiant,” Hannah said, smiling as she twisted another section of hair into the intricate braid.
“Luck indeed,” Paula chimed in, lifting the folds of the wedding dress and smoothing them over the bed. “If the dress had been the right size for Rosaline yesterday, who kens how we’d have managed it? Fortune favors ye, Isabelle.”
Isabelle gave a small, appreciative smile, running her fingers along the braid as it took shape.
“I daresay ye make it sound far easier than itis,” she replied, her tone light despite the nervous flutter in her chest.
Effie, who had been quietly arranging the trousseau on a nearby table, glanced up and gave a wry smile.
“Curious, is it nae? Yesterday Hannah and Paula were whisperin’ behind yer back, yet today they fuss over ye like ye were a queen.”
The other two maids gasped and exchanged glances, their cheeks flushing bright red.
“Och, Miss, we meant nay harm. We were foolish, truly,” Hannah exclaimed, fidgeting with a ribbon.
“Aye, and I am sorry as well,” Paula added quickly, tugging at a stray curl. “It was nae proper of us to speak so carelessly.”
Isabelle waved a hand, dismissing their apologies with a soft chuckle. “Do nae worry yourselves, girls. I understand how things run in a busy household.” She paused, giving Effie a grateful glance. “And thank ye, Effie, for always lookin’ out for me.”
Hannah smoothed the final braid over Isabelle’s head, carefully pinning it with silver combs that sparkled in the morning light.
