Then, with a little wave, she walked away, leaving Eliza feeling warm and grateful inside. Eliza stood up, carefully holding the roses in her hands to avoid any more accidents, and looked around her to see Duncan striding purposefully towards her.
He had not been close enough to hear what Eliza and the little girl were saying to each other, but he had seen Iona’s action and Eliza’s subsequent reaction, and he was enormously touched.
He stood amongst the villagers and called for silence, then said, “I would like to introduce you to my future bride, Lady Eliza Tewsbury. Please make her welcome.”
Everyone had heard about the Laird’s English fiancée, and there was a murmur amongst the crowd, but no one would dare say a word against her while he stood in front of them.
“May I go around and see the market?” Eliza asked him. “I can already see a few things that interest me.”
Duncan frowned, then smiled. “Of course,” he replied.
He had no idea why Eliza would need his permission. She began to walk towards the nearest stall, which stocked woollen goods, when Duncan spoke up again.
Handing Maisie a jingling pouch full of coins, he said, “Get my future lady whatever she wants.”
Maisie’s eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded and took her place by Eliza’s side.
Duncan sighed as he watched Eliza leaving, wishing he could grab her and drag her back to his bedroom again. He was now stuck with Iona’s tedious company, but it had to be borne. He could not afford to offend the Drummonds, since they were far too powerful—especially at such treacherous times, with an unknown enemy in his midst. He would have to endure it, at least for a while.
He sat down at the table outside the tavern where Iona was sitting, nursing a glass of ale.
“You don’t normally drink ale,” Duncan remarked, surprised.
“It was either that or the water from the burn,” Iona replied in tones of deep disgust. “They do not sell any wine worth drinking.”
“Ale is fine for me.” Duncan strode to the bar and came back with a full glass. “Sláinte Mhath,” he said, raising his glass.
Iona’s lip curled. She hated speaking Gaelic and was not afraid to say so. “Good health,” she said, making a disgusted face as she sipped her drink. “This is foul.”
Duncan clenched his hands into fists under the table.
This is going to be even worse than I imagined,he thought.
He drank his ale while Iona drawled on about things that not only angered him, but bored him witless. Nothing satisfied her, and she did not have a good opinion about anything or anyone.
However, his ears pricked up when she asked, “Your Sassenach, are you really going to marry her?”
“Yes, you know I am,” he replied, frowning. Duncan could stand no more; he was unwilling to start an argument, so he swallowed the rest of his ale.
“Now, please excuse me, there is someone I must speak to.”
He did not give Iona the chance to answer, but marched away and disappeared into the marketplace, breathing a huge sigh of relief as he sought out Eliza and Maisie.
He made his way through the crowd until he came to the stall where bolts of brightly coloured fabric were being sold, and he saw Eliza and Maisie so engrossed in looking at one of them that neither noticed him at all.
He smiled and went to stand behind them, just close enough to hear their rather interesting conversation. He knew nothing about fabric or thread or sewing, but it seemed that Eliza’s knowledge was encyclopaedic. She was guiding Maisie through the different properties of wool, linen, cotton and silk, and Maisie looked fascinated.
“Now,” Eliza took hold of a length of linen and began to pull it between her hands in the same direction as the weave of the fabric. “You see what happens here? The material does not stretch.”
Maisie nodded. She looked fascinated.
“But if I do this,” Eliza pulled the material in a diagonal direction, “you see how it stretches? If we cut the fabric this way, it will hang differently, and we can use it to make things that we want to have a certain amount of ease in them. It’s called cutting it on the bias.”
Maisie looked at Eliza in amazement and admiration. “Ye know an awful lot about this, Milady,” she remarked. “Why dae ye love sewin’ sae much?”
Eliza laughed softly. “I have been sewing and knitting for as long as I can remember. My mother taught my sisters and me when we were very small. She died some years ago, and I still miss her, but when I work with my hands it feels as if she is still close to me. I sometimes imagine that she’s looking over my shoulder giving me advice.”
Duncan felt a tightening in his chest as he realised that they had something in common; both had enjoyed a close rapport with their mothers and a distant or hostile one with their fathers. The realisation made him want to be even closer to Eliza in every way.
