Grandmamma laughed. “The council writes and thinks it rules a house it doesnae live in. They will see ye as a use or a nuisance. Be a use until ye can afford to be a wall.”
“I ken,” Erica said.
Grandmamma leaned back and let the chair take her weight. “What do ye admire in Alex?” she asked, mild again.
“His certainty,” Erica answered without pause. “He didnae chatter when he moved. He read the ring. He cut only when the other man made it law. He didnae ask for praise.”
“He gets that from his faither. He was also a principled man.”
“Did his faither also marry a woman he met at a festival?” Erica asked.
Grandmamma laughed. “I suppose that part is all him.”
Erica responded with a brief laugh as well and watched as the older woman pushed herself up with one hand and took her cane. Then she walked to the bed and looked at the dresses. After studying them for a while, she reached out and touched the green one with two fingers.
“This one,” she said. “’Tis his favorite color.”
Erica looked at the dress. “I see.”
Grandmamma moved to the door. She paused with her hand on the knob. “Welcome to MacMillan Castle.”
She tapped her cane once on the floor and left.
The room fell quiet again. Erica stood there for a beat, then looked at the two dresses. This time, she knew which one she would wear.
CHAPTER 8
The doors opened wide,and Alex looked up out of habit. He expected formality and nothing more, but hisbreath left him clean. Erica stepped into the hall in a green dress that seemed to catch the firelight.
“What the?—”
Firelight found the color and held it. The cut sat right on her shoulders. The green in her eyes shone brighter with the dress, and he caught himself holding his breath longer than he had intended.
She looked ethereal, like a fairy from a storybook.
He felt the sharpness of his own reaction and tried as much as possible not to let it move his face. Across the board, Grandmamma’s eyes cut from Erica to him. She did not blink, and he knew she saw more than he wished.
Erica crossed the hall at a measured pace, and he watched as she greeted the first servant.
“Thank ye, Morag,” she said to the maid holding a jug of water. “Ye kept it cool.”
Morag smiled, surprised to be noticed. “Aye, me Lady.”
A boy with trenchers passed.
“What is yer name?” Erica asked.
“Ewan,” he said.
“Good speed, Ewan,” she said. “Be careful.”
He nodded, pleased and clumsy, and missed the corner anyway by a hair. She did not laugh. She merely moved on.
“Fergus,” she said at the sideboard, “ye keep a tidy board. Our steward back at Bryden could take a lesson or two from ye.”
The steward gave a brief bow. “We try.”
“Ye succeed,” she praised.
