Four
The hairs stood up on the back of Laurel’s neck the next evening as she entered the Great Hall. Heads swiveled and eyes bore into her as she moved toward the table where she usually sat with Blythe and Emelie Dunbar. Their older sister Isabella had once been a lady-in-waiting, but she’d married a Scottish man raised to be an English knight. They now lived among the Sinclairs, distant relatives to the Rosses through marriage. As she drew closer and more whispers rippled through the diners, she feared Sarah Anne or one of the other ladies from the day before had deduced she was the seamstress who created the gowns Sarah Anne bought.
“None of us will ever marry if we must wait for her. Our wombs will shrivel like prunes, and our hair will turn gray, and our teeth will all fall out before anyone takes her.” Laurel heard each word as she drew closer; Sarah Anne did nothing to lower her voice.
So word has already spread. What the hell did Monty do last night?
“Laurel,” Blythe waved her over, sliding down the bench from her sister to make room for Laurel. She tried to stifle her bone-weary sigh, already too tired to play along with the courtly intrigue. Neither Dunbar sister nor Laurel spoke until the first course was served. Blythe kept her voice low, “The queen mentioned you would likely marry soon. When Lady Catherine asked when, the queen couldn’t give a day. So Lady Margaret asked who you were marrying. The queen admitted that the mon hadn’t been chosen, but it would be soon since there would be no other weddings until after yours. Is it true that none of us can marry until you do?”
Laurel flinched, but nodded her head. She looked away in search of her brother. She found Monty watching her, sadness and guilt in his eyes. She wondered what he’d said and to whom while drinking the night before. It was clear the gossip had spread among the women and the men, so her shame was complete.
“My brother will see to a betrothal, but it will be soon,” Laurel hedged. Emelie and Blythe sensed they would get no more from Laurel, so their meal continued in awkward silence among the friends. It meant Laurel heard the rumors more clearly. Her head pounded by the time the music began and servants cleared away the tables. She watched as Monty approached, but another man stepped in front of her brother at the last moment.
“Good evening, lass.” The man’s breath smelled like onions, and Laurel fought not to curl her nose. “I’m Laird Ogilvy’s cousin. Shall we dance?” The odiferous man didn’t wait for Laurel’s answer, pulling her into the crowd that was forming lines for a country reel. Laurel thanked the heavens it was a dance that would make them switch partners often. When they partnered, the man asked her age, how regular her courses were, whether she was a maiden, and asked to see if she had all her teeth.
“I shalln’t ask you any questions since I can already smell you’re a bilious and gaseous coxcomb. Your mouth is as fusty as your arse. If you wish to examine teeth, bed down with your horse.” Laurel pulled away and spun around to find everyone in earshot listening. Heat suffused her cheeks as she looked around, spying hands pressed against mouths in shock while others did so to keep their voices from carrying. Laurel walked toward a set of doors she knew would force people to step aside. Her humiliation was excruciating, but she wouldn’t slink away. She held her head up until she entered the passageway. She found Monty and Donnan already waiting for her.
“What did he say to you?” Donnan demanded, looking over her head at the closed door.
“Naught of importance,” Laurel dismissed the question.
“Laurel, what did he say?” Monty pressed.
“He asked how old I am, whether I’m soiled, if I bleed regularly, and he asked to see my teeth,” Laurel whispered.
“I’ll kill him,” Monty declared.
“Don’t be ridiculous. He asked naught that most prospective grooms wouldn’t. I’m six-and-twenty and of middling looks. I may have been taken aback, but I don’t have a right to be offended. My future husband will want to ensure there is naught wrong with me since I’m well past my prime. I spoke without thought.”
“Laurel, those were not appropriate questions, and he did not have a right to ask them,” Monty disagreed. “I’ll speak—”
“Nay, you won’t,” Laurel interrupted. “Maybe you won’t consider him, but you have to consider someone. I’ve made enough of a scene. Making a bigger one will only prolong your search. I’m retiring now, and I shall plead my courses in the morn. It will give me an excuse to remain out of sight and reassure potential suitors that I can breed.”
“Laurel?” Donnan spoke up. “I’ll marry you.”
“What?” Laurel and Monty spluttered.
“I’ll marry you. You can come home, and since you already know aboot Monty and me, and since he’s your brother, he would be welcome in our home without question,” Donnan explained. Laurel stood mute as she considered what her friend offered. She could see the merits of his suggestion, but one thing stood in the way.
“What aboot when I never provide you with children? You will live not only with the shame of having the Shrew of Stirling as your wife, but you’ll also live with the pity people will give you for being married to a shew who’s barren.”
“We—we could—” Donnan stuttered. Laurel shook her head and smiled sadly.
“You shouldn’t both have miserable marriages. I would do it if I thought it would make both of your lives easier, but it won’t. People will talk more and pay more attention to you, Donnan. Even if we had a cottage where you and Monty could meet, people would still talk aboot us. I thank you for your offer. I know you do it out of kindness.”And pity.
“Laurel, we’ll sort it out. I promise,” Monty swore. He hadn’t a clue how he would go about it, but he would ensure Laurel married a man he trusted and respected. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to scour the Highlands for a man who would meet his expectations. He would have to settle for a Lowlander, which made his heart ache for his sister even more.
“Thank you both,” Laurel mumbled before hurrying to her chamber, only to toss and turn that night.
* * *
“What do you think?” Monty asked Donnan over the rim of his mug. They’d returned to the Crosspool Tavern after watching Laurel flee down the passageway.
“I don’t ken, to be honest. I still think you both should consider my offer. I can protect her from your family and give her a home where she’ll be treated well.”
“But can you give her bairns? Do you wish to?” Monty asked.
“You ken the answers to both of those. Aye, I can, but nay, I don’t wish to. But if that’s what she wishes, if it would make her happy, you ken it doesn’t mean aught else changes,” Donnan reasoned.
