Ava planted her fists on her hips. “What are ye even trying to say with this dress of yers?”
“That I am nae a fool,” Emma said. “That I am nae some easy lass he can just convince with his words. That I will hear him out, and that is all.”
“So a sermon,” Ava murmured. “Ye want a sermon stitched in cloth.”
“A small one,” Emma deadpanned. “Quiet letters. Only the clever ones can read them.”
Ava snorted again and pulled another gown free. “This one?”
“Nay,” Emma said quickly. “The sleeves pinch.”
Ava turned it inside out. “Ye havenae worn it since Saint Bride’s festival a few weeks ago.”
“I ken. I havenae worn itbecausethe sleeves pinch,” Emma emphasized.
Ava threw the gown onto the chair. “I am losing patience with ye, do ye ken that?”
“Join the club,” Emma drawled, but she smiled as she set a simple grey dress aside and placed it in a stack of dresses she might resort to at the end of the day.
Ava nodded and walked to the edge of the bed. Then, she settled beside her sister and bounced once. “Maybe this isnae about the dress, after all.”
Emma reached for a fallen ribbon and picked it up. “What else would it be about?”
“Maybe ye’re overcompensating for somethin’ else,” Ava mused. “Maybe ye’re growing fond of him.”
Emma’s laugh came quickly and was a touch sharp. “Fond? Certainly nae.”
Ava folded her hands in her lap and studied her. “Then why is that paper still blank?”
“What paper?” Emma asked, though she knew.
“The one ye keep beside yer bed,” Ava said, the patience in her voice evident. “If it were a man ye hated, ye’d have written a full poem by now.”
Emma dropped the ribbon. “Just because I daenae love him, doesnae mean I hate him.”
“So ye like him,” Ava concluded.
“I didnae say that,” Emma protested, the alarm in her voice growing with each word. She realized in hindsight that defensiveness did not exactly help her case. “I said I daenae hate him.”
Ava cocked her head. “A step is still a step.”
Emma crossed to the washstand and fidgeted with the comb there. “What I feel is none of his business.”
“It is yers,” Ava said. “And mine, because I have to listen to ye figure it out.”
Emma set the comb down. “Are ye saying that ye are tired of hearing me talk about him?”
“I am saying that I am tired of hearing yelieabout him,” Ava corrected lightly. “Try the blue dress again.”
“Nay.” Emma picked up the grey one.
She held it against her figure and turned to face the mirror. The cut was plain; the line clean. It said nothing in particular, and that suited her. She looked at her face for a moment, then sighed loudly.
Ava saw the look and softened. “What do ye see happening if ye marry him?”
Emma breathed in, then out. “I daenae ken,” she mumbled. “Maybe I’ll take care of Stella properly. The girl needs someone steady. He says the marriage would be in name only, and if I become Lady MacLeod, I’ll be protected.”
Ava nodded slowly. “If that is the story ye tell yerself, what is stopping ye?”
