Jenna scrubbed herself down with the lavender soap, washed her hair as best she could, then reluctantly climbed out of the bath and toweled herself down. She eyed her pile of clothes. She didnotrelish the thought of putting them on again. They were mud-stained and unpleasant-looking, but she’d not brought a change of clothes with her. Sheknewshe should have gone home and packed.
But she needn’t have worried. The door opened and Ingrid stuck her head through. Jenna yelped and wrapped the towel around herself.
“I heard ye get out of the bath,” Ingrid said, completely unbothered by Jenna’s embarrassment. “And knew ye would be wanting achange of clothes. The laird has sent some up for ye.”
Oh, he has, has he?Jenna thought, wondering exactly what Arran would know about how twenty-first century women dressed.
Pulling the towel tight around herself, Jenna followed Ingrid back into the bedroom and looked around for a clean pair of jeans, shirt, and underwear. She didn’t see any. What shedidsee was a long flowing burgundy dress laid out on the bed, some kind of underskirt, and what Jenna could only describe as a corset.
She looked at Ingrid. “You’ve got to be kidding, right? You can’t expect me to wear that!”
“The laird sent it up for ye especially. He said he would like ye to wear it.”
“Oh did he? Well, I’ll wear just what I please, thank you very much. I reckon if I wiped my jeans down, they’d be just fine—”
“He said it was important that ye blend in when ye go about the island.”
Jenna paused. “Blend in? Why? Everyone knows who I am and where I come from.”
“Everyone in Dun Tabor knows,” Ingrid corrected. “But the people in the outlying villages dinna. And the laird says it might be best if ye dinna stand out to any enemies.”
Enemies? Jenna swallowed thickly. What enemies could she possibly have?
The raiders,she thought, remembering the burned-out ships she’d seen yesterday.
“All right, fine,” she said, running her hand along the arm of the dress. She had to admit itwasbeautiful. Made from a fine satin but with velvet panels on the bodice, it would no doubt look amazing on Ingrid or Rosaline. But on her, she suspected it would look nothing short of ridiculous.
“Wonderful!” Ingrid said, clapping her hands together. “Then I will help ye dress!”
It turned out that, despite her protestations to the contrary, Jenna most definitely needed Ingrid’s help to get into the dress. It was a complicated affair with many layers that had to be followed in order, and then a set of hooks up the back of the dress that she couldn’t reach by herself. By the time she was finished, she was feeling irritable and her headache was worse. Did women in this time have to put up with this every day? How did they stand it?
When she was finished, Ingrid stepped back and looked Jenna over. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “Ye look like a princess.”
“Really?” Jenna asked, looking down at her arms hidden in the dress’s long, bell-sleeves and the way the dress flowed over her hips and fell to the floor in waves. “I feel like one of those frilly plastic women you put over a toilet roll.”
Ingrid blinked, uncomprehending, and Jenna waved a hand. “Never mind. Well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep the laird waiting.”
“Would ye not care for some breakfast first?”
Jenna eyed the steaming tray. The smell coming from it made her stomach turn. “You know what? I think I’ll skip breakfast.”
*
Arran paced thebailey with barely concealed impatience. Where was she? Was she going to keep him waiting all morning? As lord of this castle, he was used to everyone working to his timescales and wasn’t accustomed to being kept waiting. He didn’t like it one little bit.
“Ye are going to wear a furrow in the stones if ye aren’t careful,” observed Mal.
He was standing a few feet away with the horses, arms crossed over his broad chest, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Arran bit back an angry retort. Snapping at his cousin was unlikely to make the lass appear any quicker.
“Too bad for the stones,” he muttered.
With a sigh, he stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes felt grainy and his limbs heavy from lack of sleep. He hadn’t slept well, although this was nothing new. It seemed he’d not had a decent night’s sleep from the moment his father and brother had died and the lairdship had fallen to him.
Yet he felt more out of sorts than usual this morning, full of impatience and irritability, when he ought to be full of hope and enthusiasm. After all, hadn’t he gone into the future and found a MacFinnan spellweaver? Hadn’t he convinced her to come back here with him and fix the magic that would save them? He’d done everything Lir had asked of him and now, surely, there was cause for optimism?
So why did he feel so surly this morning?
Jenna MacFinnan’s face flashed into his mind. In truth, much of his sleepless night had been spent thinking about her, no matter his efforts not to. There was something about her…
