A purr of contentment almost escaped Harley as the buttery scone melted on her tongue.Maybe she could allow herself to betaken care offor just a little while—at least until she got her bearings and learned the lay of the land.She sipped her tea and stifled a gag. “Wow.” After smacking her lips, she ran her tongue across her teeth. The cloying sweetness of the tea was thickenough to slice. “Uhm…could you add a little more tea to this cup of honey? I appreciate your efforts and am thankful you’re here, but it’s a little too sweet.”
Ellen huffed a disgruntled snort as she added a little more tea to the cup. It was quite apparent she considered the duty of increasing Harley’s dress size her own personal quest. “Lady Rachel sent a dress for ye, and I gathered the underpinnings needed to go along with it. Yer dress, underthings, and slippers are behind the screen along with a pitcher of fresh water, linens, and soaps.” She made a face. “Lady Rachel said ye would most likely wish to tend to yer own washing rather than be proper and allow me to do it.” She shrugged. “Whatever ye wish, mistress.”
“I would. Thank you.” Harley preferred not to even think about Ellen scrubbing her down. After finishing her scone, she walked behind the screen and came up short at the wooden chair with a hole in the seat. Even though she knew what she would find, she peeped into the hole and wrinkled her nose at the sparkling clean chamber pot waiting on the shelf under it. Lovely. An indoor outhouse. She bit her lip, staring at the thing while her bladder insisted she get a move on and use the antique convenience.
It seemed like she peed forever. Which she decided was a good thing, because that would make for fewer visits to the wooden toilet. She tried not to think about what would happen whenotherbusiness became necessary. More of the same, of course, but the fresh bag of large green leaves hung on the arm of the chair would leave a lot to be desired when it came to cleaning up after a number two. She shuddered to think of the ordeal her next menstrual cycle would entail.
“One battle at a time, Harley,” she muttered under her breath. The pitcher held cold water. If she wasn’t awake before, she was now. She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering as she washed with what felt like ice water.
The stories were true. Castles in Scotland were indeed drafty. And perched on a cliff above the sea, Castle MacKay was not at all overly warm even though it was early summer. Or she assumed it was. Ithad been back in Kentucky, and what little she had seen of the land from the lookout tower had appeared green and teeming with life.
She didn’t tarry with her ablutions, just warmed herself by briskly toweling dry, then turned and eyed theunderpinnings.Ellen had stacked them on the small table beside the vibrant crimson dress hanging from a wooden peg hammered into the privacy screen.
“Nothing for the bottom half other than stockings,” she said to herself, as she held up what appeared to be an antique bustier, a shapeless dress along the lines of a white cotton nightgown, a pair of stockings, and ribbons that she wasn’t quite sure how to use. “I should have taken that course on historical fashion for an elective,” she said as she put the stockings and ribbons back on the table to have both hands free to attack the corset. “Does this thing tie in the front or the back?” she called out to Ellen.
“The front, mistress. I thought it best since Lady Rachel informed us that where ye are from, ye tend to be quite shy and private—preferring to do things for yerself—rather than allowing me to help as is proper.”
Harley smiled. Obviously, Ellen did not approve of a lady handling her more personal matters herself. She wondered where exactly Rachel had told everyone she was from. Shaking her head at the thought, she slung the corset around her back, pulled the edges close in the front, and struggled to lace the thing as snugly as she’d seen them do in the movies. “This is not comfortable.” She turned and eyed her sports bra, then checked the neckline of the dress. The sports bra would never work since the gown appeared to be one of those that somewhat bared the shoulders.
After one last deep breath, she gave up and tied the supportive garment, wondering how long it would take her breasts to spill out over the top. She’d never been the busty sort, but that thing lifted the girls and set them on a shelf for everyone to admire. Stockings next, she decided, then maybe the linen nightgown? Seems like she’d seen a movie once where the women wore that to keep their gowns clean longer by protecting them from sweat and body oils.
She perched on the edge of the wooden toilet,pulled on the stockings, then stood. With every step she took, they crept downward. The ribbons. That had to be what kept the stockings up. Harley shook her head. “And here I thought they were for my hair.”
“What say ye, mistress?” Ellen called from the other side of the screen.
“Nothing.” Harley yanked the stockings back up in place, then tied the ribbons around her legs just above her knees. “This feels weird.” No underwear, hosiery held up by ribbons lashed around her knees, and a sleeveless straight jacket to keep her chest shelved up under her chin. She donned the linen nightgown next, and while it made her feel less exposed, it did not diminish the strangeness of herunderpinnings.
“And now, for the dress.” Harley pulled it down from the hook, marveling at the richness of the vibrant crimson cloth. She slipped it on over her head and let fall in place. “It fits—perfectly,” she called out to Ellen.
“Lady Rachel has a good eye,” the matron said, sounding as though she was farther across the room.
It not only laced in the front but also under her left arm. She pulled those snug first, tied them, then tucked the loose ends out of sight. The gown wasn’t quite off the shoulder, but it was close. The sports bra would never have worked. Harley frowned at the amount of exposed flesh as her breasts swelled dangerously close to the neckline. Actually, they mounded above the neckline like a pair of softballs ready to pop out and play. She shoved them downward, held tight to the neckline and corset, and hopped up and down, trying to shake everything down to a respectable level.
She emerged from behind the screen, still tucking as much of her chest down into her dress as possible. Head bent and focus fixed on her décolletage, she walked straight into Ronan, then squeaked and jumped back a step. “What are you doing in here? Did you ever think of knocking, or is that something they didn’t start doing until thenextcentury?”Her cheeks burned like fire, and the heat spread to her chest. She knew without looking she was probably a brighter crimson than the dress.
Ronan stared at her, silent as if carved of stone. Lips barely parted, his gaze raked across her, making her burn even hotter.
“Well? What do you want?” She stamped her stockinged foot and clapped her hands inches from the tip of his nose.
He cleared his throat and pulled himself up to his full, impressive height. “I knocked, lass.Mistress Ellen let me in on her way out. She said ye were dressing and bade me promise to stay on this side of the screen and wait for ye like a proper gentleman.”
“A proper gentleman, my Aunt Fannie.” While the look in his eyes made her feel beautiful, a feeling she hadn’t felt in a very long while, she wasn’t about to let down her guard. “What do you want?”
“I thought to give ye a more extensive tour of the keep and the grounds.” He cocked a brow and tipped a glance down at her feet. “But ye might not be comfortable traipsing about the place in yer stockings.” After a contrite bow, he added, “Ye look verra lovely in yer gown, lass. Verra lovely, indeed.”
“Thank you.” Her hands went to her hair. “I still have to deal with this, though.” She glanced around the room, trying to remember what Ellen had said about shoes or slippers. “As you can see, I am not finished dressing. Why don’t you come back later—or better yet, eat something from the breakfast buffet so Ellen will think I ate it.” She went back behind the screen and searched. No. No shoes there. Hadn’t Ellen said that was where she put them?
His deep, rumbling chuckle filled the room like light from a sunny window. “Aye, ye will find Ellen relentless in taking care of her charges. ’Tis why Mother assigned her to ye. Yer slippers are out here, lass. Beside the bench at the foot of the bed. And yer brushes and combs are on the dressing table.”
She rounded the screen to find him on one knee, a pair of leather slippers in one hand and his other held out for her to take. “Allow me to help ye finish dressing, and then I’d be most happy to give ye a complete tour.”
Flustered at such gallant attentiveness, she crossed the room and held out her hand. “Give me the shoes.I don’t need any help.”
With a sly glint in his eyes, he held them justout of her reach. “Nay, lass.Ye must allow me to make amends for barging in on ye uninvited. I dinna wish ye to think me some ill-mannered cur. Allow me to fit the wee slippers on yer feet, and then I shall brush yer hair.” He winked. “Ye will find me gentle and quite talented.”
He was goading her. The man acted like making her snap at him thrilled him immensely. Teeth clenched to keep from giving him that satisfaction, she flounced down onto the cushioned bench and held out her foot. Rather than verbally spar, she fixed him with a venomous glare.
With his amused gaze locked with her lethal stare, he cradled her stockinged foot in his massive hand and methodically swirled his thumb in a mesmerizing circle around her ankle. She tensed every muscle to keep from shivering and revealing to him how tantalizing that felt.
