“For now ye are, and when ye wear this cloak, everyone else will ken it too.” He leaned towards her, and the air between them felt impossibly alive. “If ye bear me name, even in pretense, ye should wear the clan colors.”
Beatrice rested her hands on top of his on her shoulders. “It’s an honor to wear it.”
The two chattering women returned with news of embroidery and jewels to be sewn around the waistline of the dress. Leo remained where he was, and Beatrice kept her hands on his.
He didn’t want to stop touching her. He wanted to stay exactly where he was, her hands on top of his and the colors of his clan running down the length of her body.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“How was the visit to the seamstress’s?” Shona asked, as soon as Beatrice walked into her chambers.
“I did very little, Shona. All I had to do was stand there.”
Shona waved a dismissive hand. “Aye, I ken all that, but how did it go? What colors did she put ye in?”
Colors…
A memory flashed through Beatrice's mind of Leo throwing the cloak over her shoulders, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was part of this clan and that she should wear the clan colors.
A shiver ran through her, and she reached down to hold onto something to keep herself upright.
“Och, are ye all right, lass?” Shona rested a hand on her back. “Are ye feelin’ faint?”
I’m so tired of answering that question. Nay, I am nae all right as long as Leo keeps touching me. Ah!
Beatrice shook her head and stepped away from Shona. Maybe she was sick. Maybe there was something wrong if she kept feeling dizzy and swoony for no reason.
Shona watched her with concerned eyes, but ultimately dropped the matter. As she bustled around the room, a knock sounded at the door.
“Are ye back from the seamstress’s, Bea?” Eloise’s voice called out from the other side. “And are ye decent?”
“Aye, but never as decent as I should be,” Beatrice joked, opening the door, then sitting down to make sure she didn’t collapse.
I cannae just be feeling odd. Me head keeps swimmin’, and me heart is going to burst out of me chest.
Eloise was a panacea for her rattled state. She hugged her tightly as she came in.
“Ye are pale, Bea,” Eloise remarked.
“And she’s been feelin’ faint,” Shona piped up.
“I’m nae feelin’ faint.” Beatrice sighed and rubbed her eyes with both hands. “I think there’s just a lot to take in at the moment.”
Eloise sat next to her. “I willnae tell ye about yer father, then.”
“Me father?”
“Aye. He’s been a right brute to me since ye left this mornin'. But James did me a favor,” she said, smiling.
She glanced at Shona, as if waiting for her to retreat before continuing, but Shona went about her chores as if she wasn’t listening.
Beatrice knew better. She remembered the eyes blinking in the shadows of Whitmore Manor when her father had first read off the decree. If the servants were there, they were listening.
“He’s nae happy with this arrangement,” she admitted. “He doesnae think Leo will pay him enough money.”
“What right does he have to demand help from anyone?” Eloise spat, but didn’t go further.
We all ken that he’s the reason the Whitmore name is a laughingstock. Nae the rumors about me or anything else he might concoct in his sloppy mind.
