Lorna and Agnes were transparent as glass, and Evie had already mastered reading them. When neither answered, she gave them the demeanor she reserved for junior surgical trainees struggling to understand procedures. “I have a lot going on today. Either tell me why you’re looking at me like that or leave me be.”
“Lady Annag was Himself’s first wife,” Lorna said in a conspiratorial whisper. She and Agnes crossed themselves and, in unison, murmured, “God rest her soul.”
“I see.” Evie drew up her knees and hugged them. “Did the two of you attend her as you do me?”
“I did,” Lorna admitted.
Agnes didn’t answer, just looked aside, as though attempting to make Evie forget her scar. The maid’s actions spoke louder than words. Apparently, Annag suffered from the inability to see past Agnes’s disfigurement.
Evie supposed being compared to the first mistress of the keep was inevitable, but she had never handled that sort of thing well at all. Too competitive. Too determined to make her own mark in the world. At least that’s what her personnel file said—courtesy of her supervisor. “I assume this was her room?”
“Nay, m’lady.” Lorna emptied the glass into the bucket of the morning’s wash water and refilled it with fresh water from the pitcher. “The chieftain’s quarters used to be on the ground floor, behind the great hall.”
“Once Lady Annag died in there, Himself refused to dwell in those rooms again,” Agnes said. “Put them to use for quarters when the Ross or his kin come to visit.” With a shy smile, she offered a cloth she had dampened. “To help, m’lady. Yer coloring still isna right.”
Evie found some small comfort in knowing that she didn’t inhabit the same room as the first wife. But more importantly, she didn’t sleep in the bed where the woman had died. She didn’t believe in ghosts. Of course, she had never believed in time travel either. Until now.
After a gulp of water, she clapped the cool, damp linen over her eyes and sagged back down to the hard resting spot of the stone windowsill. “He wants to marry today,” she said, then blew out a heavy sigh. “And I agreed.”
“Today?” Agnes repeated, excitement pinging her voice an octave higher. “The dress, Lorna? Did the seamstress finish it?”
“I dinna ken. Mrs. Dingwall gave her but a short time, so I suppose it’s possible. ’Twas a wonder Mistress Kemp finished the blue she’s wearing right now.”
“I am still here. Stop talking as though I am not.” Evie lifted a corner of the wet cloth and peered at them both. “I can wear this to marry in. I really don’t think the dress matters.”
“But the other is such a lovely shade of the softest yellow.” Lorna clasped her hands in a pleading pose and bent closer. “It will surely bring out the gold in m’lady’s eyes,” she wheedled.
“Himself will be dressed in his best,” Agnes chimed in as she threw open the doors of both wardrobes. “I am nay so bad with a needle. I can stitch a bit of lace along the neckline of this chemise. Ye’ve yet to wear this one.” She ducked her head and turned aside with a giggle. “I can make it ready for tonight, mind ye. After the feasting.”
Evie covered her eyes again. If they kept this up, she would hyperventilate again. “I don’t care what either of you do. All I know is that when he sends for me, I need you to come along, too. You’re my witnesses, along with Mrs. Dingwall.”
“We be most honored,” Lorna said from what sounded like the other side of the room.
Creaking hinges and slamming lids made Evie lift the cloth from her eyes again. “Agnes, what is she doing?”
Already seated on a low stool and threading a needle, Agnes leaned to one side and studied her counterpart. “Jewelry, I believe, m’lady. Hose and slippers, too, I’m sure. She’s ensuring we have everything on hand so as ye can do Himself proud.”
Evie covered her eyes again, wishing she hadn’t given the overly strong wine back to Lorna.
A sharp rap on the door made her jump and sit upright. “What?” she snapped without thinking.
“I have brought the seamstress and the dress,” Mrs. Dingwall called through the unopened door. “I shall leave her here while I attend to matters below, then I will return to fetch her ladyship. Himself has everything in place and is donning his best now.”
Fingers pressed to the pulse point on her wrist, Evie counted off as she breathed in, held the breath, then exhaled. She had to calm down before she passed out. She gave her word. That meant everything. Besides, all her other choices seemed a lot less pleasant.
Lorna waited for her nod, then threw open the door and waved the seamstress inside. “Come, we’ve much to do, and her ladyship isna well at all.”
The tiniest slip of a woman scurried inside, nearly hidden by the bundled yardage of cloth and lace in her arms. “Ready her ladyship for the gown,” came her muffled order from deep within the folds of yellow. “I shall add the finishing buttons and trim once she has it on.”
Lorna and Agnes headed toward Evie like vultures about to strip a carcass.
She held them off and walked them back by sheer force of her will alone. “We discussed this earlier. You may help with the difficult ties and things, but other than that, I undress and dress myself. Remember?”
“Yes, m’lady,” the girls agreed in docile unison.
They had a habit of that, Evie noticed. Not entirely sure if that was a good thing or not. It was like they were in sync or something. Both of them stared at her with sad puppy eyes. But it couldn’t be helped. She had tolerated being dressed and undressed like a favorite doll as long as she could stand.
With a great deal of twisting, silent cursing, and accidental popping of a few buttons on the snug sleeves, she relieved herself of the kirtle. What she wouldn’t give for a comfortable set of surgical scrubs. Or jammies. Or better yet, her jeans. She draped the gown over the bench and turned back to the maids.
