“There’s no need to curtsey,” she said Mable. “And please call meRose. Lady MacFinnan makes me sound like some old spinster.”
Mable looked up and managed a small, shy smile. The girl looked to be around seventeen or eighteen and had flaming red hair tied back with a scarf. “As ye wish… Rose.”
She opened the door and Rose followed her into what could only be described as an apartment. It was not a room but a suite of rooms, decked out with dark wooden furniture and upholstered in the same-colored plaid that Cailean wore.
“Oh my,” Rose said, looking around at the opulent sitting room. Beyond, she spied a bedroom, and a smaller room with an iron tub which she guessed must be the bathroom. “This is gorgeous. Tell me you have a coffee maker and it will be perfect.”
“A what?”
Rose waved her hand. “Never mind.”
Mable crossed to a large trunk. Flipping open the lid, she began taking out various items of clothing, holding them up, and glancing at Rose, and then either putting them back or laying them on a chair in response to a set of criteria she didn’t bother to explain.
“Would ye like me to help ye dress?” she asked when she was finished.
Rose eyed the clothes Mable had picked out. There was a long, royal-blue velvet dress, a corset to go underneath, several petticoats, and some undergarments made of linen.
Oh, hell. Was she really expected to wear that? Why hadn’t she insisted she go back to her house and pack some things before following Lir? Shereallyhad not thought this trip through.
“Um… I think you’d better,” she replied. “Otherwise I’ll be here until midnight.”
She peeled off her sodden clothes and dropped them into a basket by the door then dried herself with a large cloth that Mable handed her, before gingerly beginning to don the clothes provided. They smelled of lavender and, to her surprise, fit Rose perfectly. Mableclearly had a good eye for such things.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Rose observed as she held up her arms to allow Mable to tie up the bodice of the dress.
“Aye, my mother was maid to Lady Mary, the laird’s wife, and I was in training to take her place.”
“Lady Mary? I’ve not met her yet.”
Mable didn’t answer for a moment but then said quietly, “I’m afraid Lady Mary passed. Four winters ago.”
Rose put her hand over her mouth. “Mable, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”
Cailean had lost hiswife? Catriona had lost hermother? And here she was, griping about having to wear unfamiliar clothes.
A sudden wave of compassion went through her. What must it be like for Cailean trying to raise a daughter alone as well as lead his people? No wonder he was a little surly.
Finally, Rose finished dressing and did a little twirl, determined to lighten the mood. “Well? How do I look?”
There were no mirrors in the room, for which she was grateful. She suspected she looked ridiculous. Dresses werenother thing. They were impractical and just got in the way. Most of the time she could be found in a flannel shirt and a pair of dungarees.
“Beautiful, my lady… um… Rose,” Mable replied.
Rose grinned. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She clapped her hands together. “Right. I’d better go and find Cailean.”
“I’ll show ye.”
Together, the two women left the room and made their way back through the keep. Mable said not a word the whole time and Rose was content to look around as they went, taking everything in. It wasn’t every day you found yourself in a real Scottish castle.
They stepped outside and Rose saw that the clouds had cleared a little, letting through the late afternoon sun. The breeze was blowing from inland, bringing with it the scent of late flowers and alsosomething colder—the smell of snow from up in the mountains, perhaps.
Autumn had just been taking hold of the landscape when she’d left home but here, at this more northerly latitude, it had already begun to bite, and from here she could see that the hills beyond the keep were turning to golds and browns. Winter would not be far behind, and the last thing these people needed was a sickness sweeping through their population right when they should be gathering in the harvest and laying down stores to see them through that winter.
From somewhere nearby she heard a rhythmic clack-clack-clack, like the sound of wood striking wood. It was towards this sound that Mable led her.
They passed through a gate and came out beyond the walls, into a wide square of flattened grass with wooden seats along one side, although nobody was sitting in them right now. A large rack stood at one end full of weapons: spears, swords, bows, and horrible-looking spiky things that Rose had no name for.
The clacking sound was louder here and she tore her gaze away from the weapons rack to find two men to her left maybe twenty paces away. They were both stripped to the waist and were fighting with staffs—the source of the noise. She didn’t recognize one of the men—he was older, with black hair turning to silver—but the other she most definitely recognized.
