Page 31 of The Highland Ghost’s Virgin

He stopped in the doorway.

The long table was buried under fabric. Bolts of it, swatches of it, a whole hillside of color spread across the wood where the council usually argued over grain quotas and border disputes. Grisselle sat in the middle of it with a length of pale heather-colored linen draped over one arm, holding it up against the light streaming through the tall windows.

"It'll wash out by the third wearing," Greer was saying, not looking up from the list in her hands. "Ye want something that holds its color, or ye'll be standing at yer own vows looking like a dishrag."

"It's meant to be pale, Greer. That's the entire point of the color."

"There's pale, and there's forgettable, and I'll nae have ye forgettable at yer own wedding."

"What if we dyed it darker at the hem only," Isobel put in, "and kept it pale through the bodice? Best of both, and it'll look deliberate rather than accidental."

"Now that," Greer said, considering it, "is nae a terrible thought."

Grisselle laughed at something Isobel said under her breath, and Alpin found the sound had lodged somewhere behind his ribs before he'd decided to let it in.

He crossed the threshold.

"What about the food?" Isobel went on, already reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. "Have we settled the venison, or are we still arguing?"

"We settled the venison three days past," Greer said. "We're onto whether Fergus MacKay's whisky gets locked up before the ceremony or after."

"Before. Absolutely before. Have ye forgotten the officiant proposal already?"

"I'll have Tam keep an eye on him," Grisselle offered. "He seems fond enough of order that he'll enjoy the responsibility."

"Tam couldnae keep an eye on a barn door," Greer said. "But bless ye for offering."

Alpin had to press his knuckles briefly against his own jaw to get it back under control.

"I offer because someone has to." Grisselle looked up and caught him standing there, and didn't look away fast enough to pretend she hadn't. "You have an opinion on any of this, or did you only come to inspect the grain stores from a safe distance?"

"I came for the grain stores." Alpin picked up a swatch of the pale heather linen off the table, turned it once in his hand, set it back down exactly where it had been. "Greer's right. It'll wash to nothing."

Greer made a small, satisfied noise and didn't say I told ye so out loud, though her face said it plainly enough.

"Then what would you choose?" Grisselle said, "Since you've apparently an opinion after all."

"The green. The one under yer elbow." He didn't quite look at her when he said it, his eyes on the fabric instead. "It'll hold its color, and it'll suit ye better than the pale."

Grisselle glanced down at the swatch she hadn't noticed she was resting her arm on, and said nothing for a moment longer.

"Well," Isobel said, breaking the pause before it could stretch any further, "he's given his opinion. Try telling him a wedding's soft business after that."

"I said one sentence, Isobel."

"Aye, and I'll treasure it for years." Isobel turned back to Grisselle without missing a beat. "What about flowers? We settled on heather, aye?"

"Heather," Grisselle confirmed. "Whole armfuls of it, if we can manage. My grandfather always said…"

"—a bride carrying heather carries the whole hillside with her, aye, ye've told us," Isobel said it fondly rather than dismissively, already reaching for another swatch. "I like that. I might steal it for me own wedding, whenever that happens."

"Ye'd have to find a man first," Greer said.

"I'm working on it. Slowly. Carefully. Like a woman avoiding a bear trap."

"Ye'll be old and grey before ye find one that way."

"Better old, grey, and unmarried than married to the first fool who asks," Isobel said, entirely unbothered, and reached for the next bolt of cloth without missing a beat.