Mavis wiped her hands on her apron. “Follow me.”
Quinn should have known that Mavis would have the answers, cook or not, soshe followed slowly behind, leaving the confines of the kitchen to another spiral staircase. Mavis surprised Quinn with her agility on the steps. Just when Quinn was certain they were headed toward the tower, Mavis turned in the opposite direction toward the fire-stricken part of the castle.
“Collin only keeps some of the relics in the ballroom, but not all.”
“No?”
She threw open a pair of double doors, seemingly untouched by the fire, and stepped aside, watching Quinn’s face.
Her mouth dropped open as she walked into a beautiful room with the finest of silks and silver. Antique furniture filled the walls, along with tapestries, and the finest of carpets covered the floor. Quinn stepped over to the closest mannequin and ran her fingers over the dress covering it. It was the same dress in the portrait. “The portrait doesn’t do this dress justice. It’s stunning.”
“It’s yours. Made and designed by Lady Menzie, after the portraits were commissioned, for the woman who returned the emerald.”
“Gwinnie?” Quinn asked.
“No, her mother-in-law.”
“Noooo.” A smile split her lips. “Old Iron Fist did this?”
“She did.” Mavis walked over to the mannequin and held out the skirt. “And it looks like it will fit.”
A special garter sat on the mannequin’s leg beneath the skirt. It held a blade, encased in a sheath, with an emerald encrusted gem handle.
Mavis slipped the handle free and held out a dagger. “She had a smaller emerald placed in the handle above the blade as a token of appreciation for whoever returned the emerald. She gave a matching one to the psychic who foretold your coming.”
“Seriously?” Iron Fist was sentimental? “Have you heard any tales about what happened to the psychic?” Quinn asked, moving around the room taking in all the beautiful pieces.
“She stayed, worked for the mistress and handed down her blade to the women in her line.”
Her words made Quinn pause and then turn to face Mavis. “Are her relatives still here in town?”
Mavis smiled and lifted her skirt, pulling a dagger from her leg holster. “As a matter of fact, we are.”
She dropped her skirt.
“You’re a psychic?” Quinn asked.
“’Tis true.”
“Did you see me coming?” Quinn asked, stepping over to her; she took thewoman’s hand, feeling an instant kinship from one weirdo to another.
“I did, and when Angus told me he was picking you up, I dinnae know if I should be mortified at what it meant or excited that you were real.”
“So you know the secrets of the curse?”
“No, dear. I only know what was told to me by my ancestors and the reasoning behind this dress. Lady Menzie took ill no’ too long after the emerald went missing, and Laird Menzie, along with the rest of the castle, mourned her loss.”
Everyone must have thought Lady Menzie had lost her mind to believe in psychics and God knows what else. Quinn was surprised someone back in those days didn’t think Lady Menzie was a devil worshiper for even employing someone who could tell the future. Quinn’s respect for the Menzies was growing on a daily basis. They were kind, caring and crazy, just like Quinn.
“Collin wants me to call the tailor if the dress disnae fit you for the dance tonight.”
“He wants me to wear that?” Quinn turned back to the beautiful garment and eyed it with renewed interest. Tilting her head, she let her gaze travel over the beautiful piece of art and the exquisite detail put into making it. The dress would fit, even if she had to wear multiple layersof Spanx and gobs of butter to slide that sucker on. That bitch was hers.
“Aye,” Mavis answered, walking to the back of the mannequin and untying the corset. “Strip and let’s see if it fits.”
Ten minutes later, Quinn stood in front of a floor-length mirror in the room inhaling little breaths. The tightness of the corset made it difficult to breathe, but it sure did make her breasts look fabulous.
Quinn grabbed her boobs and grinned. “Margarete only wishes she had these babies.”
