But Marissa could tell her sister some of the truth.
“It’s all happenin’ so fast,” she admitted, tears stinging the back of her throat. “And this dress is so lovely. And I love ye. And I just cannae believe everything’s goin’ to change startin’ tomorrow.”
Freya gave her a knowing, reassuring smile. “It’s all right to be a little scared,” she soothed. “It’s natural. But nay matter what—wherever life takes ye—Michael, Abigail, and I will always be there for ye. Things will change, aye. But that change might be lovely.”
One of her hands dropped to her belly, giving it an affectionate pat, emphasizing what she’d just said.
Her sister was right, Marissa had to admit. She’d seen it in Freya as she’d stepped into her new life as Michael’s wife. As Lady of Clan McEwan.
Freya has thrived since she became a wife. And her life had to change in order to do that. Mayhap I will thrive, too.
She focused on that thought, allowing the words to slowly push the tears back. Eventually, Marissa gave her sister a soft smile and nodded.
“Ye’re right,” was all she said, before walking forward and picking the dress up from the foot of her bed.
“I’ll leave ye to wash up,” Freya said. “Esther had them bring up some hot water for ye to bathe. But send someone for me before ye start doin’ yer hair. I want to help.”
Marissa knew that tone. It was the one her sister used to indicate she was not up to being argued with. For whatever reason, helping her with her hair today was important to Freya. And she wouldn’t take that away from her.
So she simply nodded.
Freya turned around and strode out of Marissa’s room. No doubt she was going to get ready and tell Michael about everything that had just transpired.
Marissa walked to the small, round alcove that sat off the corner of her room. A tub sat in it, filled with steaming water. Rose petals danced on the surface, and she reached out to skim her fingers over the water.
“Time to make meself bonnie for me betrothed.”
Her words echoed through the empty room, the only answer a whistling breeze that rustled the trees outside her open window.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“We’re here!” Freya singsonged, opening her arms wide as she walked into Marissa’s chambers.
Just moments ago, Marissa had found a maid and sent her to fetch her sisters. They’d arrived more quickly than she had anticipated and brought with them an infectious energy that made her giggle.
“Ye have to move around a bit,” her older sister commanded, directing her toward the small vanity that sat in the most well-lit corner of her room.
“What will ye do to fix her up?” Abigail asked, breezing into the room with a book in her hands.
Marissa’s eyes flicked up to the mirror, watching as her younger sister plopped down into the small reading chair in the opposite corner.
“Mayhap I’ll tease it into a braid?” Freya said, running her hands through Marissa’s unruly curls and pulling them away from her face.
In the mirror, Marissa spotted Abigail making a face and shaking her head slightly. Apparently, Freya, whose eyes had flicked up at the same time, caught the gesture.
“Ye dinnae like the idea?”
Abigail shrugged. “Dinnae misunderstand me; she looks bonnie in braids. But she doesnae look like herself. And I think she may want the Laird to spend the night with her lookin’ like… well…herself.”
The entire time she was speaking, her eyes had been locked onto Marissa’s in the mirror. And, after a bit of thinking, Marissa was able to work out the underlying meaning of her sister’s words.
Ye want to look like yerself when ye’ve only just met the man for the first time. Because we both ken that ye are complete strangers to each other, even if everyone else isnae in on the ruse.
Marissa nodded, trying to convey to her younger sister that she understood. And that she agreed.
“I want to look like meself,” she said simply. “So, mayhap just tidy up me curls?”
Freya chewed on the inside of her cheek—a habit that all three sisters had whenever they were deep in thought. Eventually, she nodded.
