Page 29 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

More silence. Please leave. Blessedly, as if the seamstress had heard her thoughts, the door finally opened, then closed. She exhaled hard and dropped her hands clutched at her throat. The robe sagged open. What to do? She glanced at her borrowed sapphire gown lying smoothed upon her bed, ready to once more be donned. And groaned.

“I’ll need the help of my maids to tie each lace, fasten each opening…”

There was no way to do it on her own—and in her hurt, she’d failed to ask the seamstress to summon her maids back. She scurried to the door, drew it back, careful to hide her undressed form behind it and peering around it.

“Anag, would ye mind helping me…”

No one was there. Anag had helped her undress. She’d known Aileana wouldn’t be able to assemble everything again for supper. Had they left her on purpose?

“No matter.” She lifted her chin, refusing to allow further hurt to spike her.

At Urquhart, she would simply don her brown woolen dress and wrap her tartan around her shoulders. That’s what she’d do now… But James will wonder immediately why I’m wearing my old, ugly dress again. Worse, her maids would know why she was so poorly outfitted. Gossip, a blasted plague in any self-respecting castle, would surely cast her in a poor light.

Nerves, once more, surged through her blood. Couldn’t she just remain hidden in her chambers, like a coward, or escape home sooner than planned and shed their presence? Shake James’s false seductions off like a dirty shoe fit only for the rubbish heap? Aye, that was it. Leave.

“Ye’re nay a coward, Aileana Grant.”

No, she wasn’t. But she also wasn’t daft, and she’d bide her time for the first moment available to depart. She lifted her chin and strode to her trunk to find something else to wear, prying up the heavy oaken lid and resting it against the wall. On top sat the green ensemble, a deep velvet over-gown meant to fall open at her waist for the associated kirtle. She lifted the over-gown. It laced beneath the arms, up each side from her hips. She would never be able to tie them properly, and the sleeves themselves needed several eyelets tightened at the wrists. And her hair, besides, was wrapped in netting adorned with sapphire embellishments, nay green.

After dropping it, she held out the mauve fabric instead, a soft silk gown with a furry sable lining and hooks up the back that she’d never be able to fasten. Then let it drop. It was no use. Folded in the bottom was her brown dress. She’d have to wear it. She scooped it up and shed her robe upon her chair by the hearth, slipping the thin woolen garment over her head to tug tightly at her waist. The laces still hanging loose at her back, she plucked each pin from her hair with growing urgency and dropped them in a pile upon her dressing table, until the coif and net slackened. She flung it beside the hairpins and shook out her hair so that it tumbled down her back, then dragged her meager bag of possessions out of the trunk and took them to the bed, dumping them out to sort so she’d be ready to flee at first opportunity—

Knocking thumped. Had her maids taken pity on her? Already her ears were ringing with what rumors had been started about her tarrying when by now the hall was likely well into their meals.

“Who calls?”

“James. The hall is feasting, and yet my wife has yet to show her face.”

His deep voice greeted her. Anger lashed through her, at the same time that her heartbeat kicked up traitorously at the thought of seeing him again. Blasted heart, defying her sensible mind. Looking down, she frowned at her unlaced bodice in her impoverished dress. Could this moment become more embarrassing?

Nay tempt the fates to take ye up on the challenge, Aileana, for embarrassment seems to be yer lot recently.

On a sigh, she strained to fumble with her laces, ignoring him. The latch lifted, and the door pushed open without invitation. Her eyes flitted to the ajar door, glaring at his presumptuous entry. Handsome and clean-shaven, in a newly cleaned red-and-green great kilt pinned ceremonially at his shoulder and billowing down his legs, his loose locks and braids had been pulled back at his nape so that the cut of his jaw was more pronounced. He looked fit for Yuletide ceremony, and here she was in rags. Her stomach did a flip as his twinkling blue eyes roved over her state of dress, as he then spied her traveling bag upon her bed.

“Aye, he does indeed subdue the Grants abed.”

Her heart clenched angrily at the bitter reminder of his people’s disdain, and she turned away, her brow tight and furrowed in an attempt to bite her tongue.

“Sakes, the crestfallen expression contorting yer face is almost believable,” she muttered.

And yet heat splotched her cheeks as misplaced guilt cut through her, knowing he was putting the clues together that she was readying to depart.

“What’s this? Why are ye packing?” he demanded, not responding to her remark.

Her mouth opened to argue as she cast a glance backward at the sight of his unabashed hurt.

“I was simply looking for extra hairpins.”

His gaze darted to her dressing table and the heap of pins upon it. He leveled a disbelieving glare at her.

“Ye’re shite at lying.” He frowned, striding over to her window to secure the shutter closed against the chill. “Ye’re packing. Why?”

“Why?” she gasped, then swiveled to face him. “I should have gone home the moment ye offered to take me. Why should I remain now that I ken the true folly in thinking we could forge a thread of peace? When yer people look at me, they see only my brother. They see an enemy, and considering this farce will only last a fortnight, I see no reason to attempt to win their favor when they wish nay to give it. Name one person who wishes me to remain.”

“Me.”

He spoke the single word with such ardor, he nearly sounded desperate, sincerity alight in his blue gaze. False sincerity. Yet still, her eyes watered with no control to stop them, and she fought desperately with her dress to tie the strings.

“Aye, to put me in yer bed so my brother will forever be kept at bay.” His face grew stormy, but she continued, “To keep my brother under yer thumb so that if ye should ever wrong him again, he’ll have no recourse for fear of hurting me in an attack. From the beginning, I knew, deep down, this was merely an attempt to overpower us, but I’d hoped that mayhap, just mayhap, especially after ye confided in me about Lady Marjorie, that ye felt differently, and I was a fool to think yer attempts at flirting were because ye might fancy me—”