Frigid air…had the thermostat in her room stopped working? Her eyes popped open and she stared at a pale blue canopy overhead. Where had that come from? Why was she in a four-poster bed? The blanket, she saw now, was a tartan of gray and blue squares with red-and-yellow lines. Where was she? Had a drink really been laced last night and she didn’t make it back to the hotel?
“Well, then! I see ye are awake on this lovely morn!”
The voice didn’t belong to anyone she recognized, and she slowly lifted her head to see a young woman in period Scottish dress beaming at her from across the room.
“Are ye hungry? I’ve brought porridge. Master Niall thought it would be just the thing to revive ye.”
Niall. Events came flashing back. The man she had danced with. The man who didn’t seem to remember kissing her.
“MasterNiall?”
“Aye. The son of the laird.”
“Son of a…” Charlotte stopped. She’d almost used a quite different word. An inappropriate word, but she wasn’t thinking straight. “Why are you dressed like that?”
The girl glanced down and then gave her a confused look. ‘’Is something wrong with it?”
“Yes… No.No.I just wasn’t…wasn’t expecting anyone to still be in costume on New Year’s Day.”
The girl frowned. “’Tis me maid’s dress.”
“Maid? You’re a maid?”
“Aye. Me name’s Erin.” She straightened her shoulders and smiled. “Shall I draw a bath for ye?”
“No. Not right now.” A bath sounded heavenly, but Charlotte wasn’t sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Or maybe dreaming and conjuring up images to use in her next novel.
“Could you tell…Master…Niall that I’d like to speak to him?”
Erin’s eyes rounded. “Ye want him to come to your bedchamber?”
“Um, no. Where could I meet with him?”
“This time of the mornin’ he’ll probably be breaking his fast in the Great Hall.”
Charlotte closed her eyes briefly. Something was very much amiss here. Slowly, she pushed the covers aside and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the tall bed. Her long skirt, bodice vest, and arisaidh were draped over the top of an armchair nearby, but she was still wearing the linen leine from last night, so she hadn’t been completely undressed. Justwhohad undressed her? Her cheeks warmed as she wondered if it might have been Niall, and then she dismissed the thought. She still had on clothing, including underwear. And, she’d awakened alone.
“I suppose I need to get dressed, then.”
“Ye’ll probably nae want to be wearing that.” Erin indicated her other clothing. “’Twould be too warm.”
Warm? The room felt like a meat-locker in spite of the fire in the brazier near the small table where the rapidly cooling porridge sat. That heavy shawl would feel good right now, but she didn’t really want to leave the room wearing an eighteenth-century costume. ‘Is there something you could lend me?”
“Och, aye. I think ye are about the same size as Greer.”
“Greer?”
“Master Niall’s sister.”
Had she met his sister? She didn’t even remember getting here. Whereverherewas. Confusion and questions were piling on top of each other, but if she wanted answers, she’d have to get dressed.
“Yes. Please. Tell her I’ll be obliged.”
Erin nodded and left, returning in a few moments carrying what looked like a mound of clothing. She spread it out on the bed. “She said ye can choose.”
Charlotte looked over the array and tried to squelch a growing uneasiness. All of the dresses—gowns, really—were long, with voluptuous full skirts, nipped in waists, low necklines, and fitted sleeves. Costume period pieces. Or…were they? She tamped down the wave of hysteria that had begun to rise. Maybe Brigadoon had descended after all.
Where in the world was she? Charlotte glanced at Erin and decided it was probably not her best idea to ask what would sound like an idiotic question. She picked up a soft bluish-green wool.
