They stepped out onto a gallery overlooking the vast Great Hall below. Voices drifted up, the most prominent amongst them being Sophie’s.
“...stand,” Melody finished dryly. “Well. She looks better.”
“Aye, very full of life,” Kat agreed, sounding as though she was holding back laughter.
The two women peered over the railing. Far below, Sophie hobbled with impressive speed from one end of the hall to another, gesturing wildly with one crabbed hand. A steward and a handful of servants scurried after her, one of them frantically repeating her orders to himself over and over under his breath, as if trying to commit them from memory.
“Fresh rushes, of course,” Sophie was saying now. “Plenty of herbs in them, especially lavender. Mint, too! That’s an auspicious scent for a betrothal feast. I want at least a dozen roast fowl on the table, and as much fruit as ye can get from the orchard. Good, clean food, nothin’ overcooked. No duck, I think, and the vegetables…” she trailed off, pausing, then abruptly twisted to look up above her. “There ye lassies are. Come down, quickly.”
“She was so ill,” Melody gasped. “She was inpain.”
“Lady Sophie can marshal her aches and pains at will, I can assure ye,” Kat sighed. “She’s a sick woman, to be sure, but whenever she complains of knee pain, there’s generally some reason for it. She’s a sneaky wee thing.”
Melody, who had never heard an aged woman described as asneaky wee thing,found that she really had nothing to say in return. Sighing again, Kat nudged her.
“Come, let’s go down.”
The gallery ran about halfway around the space, then a narrow set of spiral stairs led down to the stone-flagged floor of the Great Hall. Sophie stood at the other end, leaning heavily on her cane with one hand, and using her other arm to gesture vigorously at the tapestries.
“Off ye go, then,” she said, just as Melody and Kat approached. “We’ve nae got long. The feast happens tonight, remember? Everythin’ must be perfect.”
The servants bowed and scurried away, worry written clearly across their faces.
“There’s… there’s no need for anything fancy,” Melody stammered. “I don’t particularly enjoy social occasions, so…”
“I’m afraid this isnae about enjoyment,” Sophie interrupted regretfully. “This is about Laird MacDean takin’ a new bride atlast. Many clans have waited for news of his betrothal. Many eyes will be on ye, lass.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Melody muttered, trying to control a spasm of anxiety in her chest. She glanced up to find Kat looking at her, chewing her lower lip.
“Well, Melody willnae have to do much, will she?” Kat said at last, giving Melody a reassuring smile. “She’ll only have to stand by the Laird’s side and look grand. Nobody will expect much of ye, lass. There’s nay need to be nervous.”
“I am not nervous,” Melody lied clumsily. Judging by the look Sophie and Kat exchanged, she was not fooling anybody.
“Now that the servants have me orders for how the Hall must be decorated and what food must be served, we can turn our attention to more important matters,” Sophie announced. “We’ll have to find ye a dress, lass.”
“Me?” Melody managed.
“Well, I daenae mean Kat, do I? As I said, lass, all eyes will be on ye. We have a good deal to work with…” She took a step forward, lifting gnarled old hands to Melody’s face. Surprisingly strong fingers passed over Melody’s cheeks, as if testing their firmness. She pulled Melody’s lips back, just for a second, for all the world as if she were inspecting a horse for purchase. Muttering to herself, she tugged at Melody’s hair, twisting locks this way and that, pulling the hair forward over her shoulders, then pushing it back again.
Melody was entirely too shocked to resist, and simply stood as if frozen, allowing herself to be poked and prodded. It was not a pleasant feeling, and it left her feeling somewhat dissatisfied with herself.
I do not want to be the kind of person who simply stands still, mild and patient, and lets things happen to her.
If only there were some way for me to be different.
“Give over, me Lady,” Kat said at last, giving a huff of amusement. “Leave her be.”
Sophie clucked her tongue, but stepped back.
“Well, ye are a beauty, Melody. Ye have some height on ye, and some good curves, too. I daenae care for a stick-thin lass. It cannae have been easy for ye to be a wallflower back in London, I’d reckon, nae with height like that.”
Melody’s face burned. “I cannot decide whether you are complimenting me or insulting me.”
Sophie gave a hoot of laughter. “That’s the spirit! That’s what I want to see from ye, lass. A wee bit more of that fire. Life will kick ye to the ground again and again if ye daenae learn to fight back.”
“Or perhaps ye could simply nae push and pull her about,” Kat suggested pointedly.
Sophie waved her hand dismissively in the air. “Well, where else will she learn to stand up for herself? Ye have potential, Melody. I can see it.”
