Not only that, but she felt unmoored without him by her side in this large, unfamiliar place. The keep seemed cavernous to her—all twisting hallways and stairs, room after room with locked doors, and paintings on the walls that seemed to follow her every movement as she walked by. As much as she could, she avoided roaming the halls alone, fearful that she would get lost—or that she would come across James’ family or the Campbells. Both scenarios sounded nightmarish. Freya was determined to avoid them all as much as she could, until she had no choice but to face them.
With a sigh, she looked at her reflection in the looking-glass that stood in the corner of her room. Just like everything else in it, it was lavishly decorated, its frame carved with intricate designs, and she couldn’t help but feel terribly plain in comparison.
I cannae believe I am comparing meself tae a looking-glass. Why did they have tae make it so… so pretty!
A knock on the door took Freya’s attention away from those intricate details and when she opened it, she found Morgana standing there. The small smile that graced her lips fell the moment she saw Freya, and Freya instantly had the urge to apologize—though for what, she could not say.
“Ach… this willnae dae at all,” Morgana mumbled, as if talking to herself. Without another word, she walked into the room and pulled Freya along by the hand, before she began to circle her with a scrutinizing gaze. “What are ye wearing?”
With a frown, Freya looked down at herself and the dress she had on. It was simple, that much was true—a plain cut in a deep brown, with a gray-brown skirt. It was far from the beautiful dress Morgana wore, with its deep blue color and the intricate details in white lace and gold thread, but it was the finest one Freya owned; the very same one she wore to church and to feasts, when she had to look her best.
“I… this is the best I have,” she admitted, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Is it nae good enough? Perhaps I shouldnae come tae the feast?—”
“Nonsense!” said Morgana, waving a hand dismissively. For a moment, Freya had thought that perhaps she would manage to get away with not showing up, but that one word had swiftly crushed all her hopes. “We must simply find ye another dress. Come!”
Morgana had hardly finished her sentence before she grabbed Freya’s hand once more and dragged her out of the room. Freya trailed after her quietly, unable to do much more other than trust her. Surely, anything she would find her would be better than the dress she was currently wearing.
As they rushed through the hallways, Freya didn’t know where they were headed, but it certainly wasn’t where she found herself in the end. Morgana brought her to a door which she shoved open with little care to reveal chambers much like the ones where Freya was staying. The only difference was that they were a little larger, a little more lavishly decorated, and—most obviously of all—filled to the brim with personal belongings.
In comparison, Freya’s chambers seemed empty, holding nothing but what a noble would consider essentials. These rooms were filled with books, clothes, and little knick-knacks, some of them thrown haphazardly while others were carefully placed on shelves and bookcases. At the same time, they showed wear and tear that Freya’s chambers didn’t—a small burn on the carpet and the tapestry that hung over it on the wall, a chipped stone on the edge of the fireplace, a few missing candles on the candelabras.
Morgana had brought her to her own rooms.
As Freya looked around, stunned by the sheer number of things in there, Morgana popped open a chest at the back of the room and began to throw dress after dress out of its depths. Freya hesitantly moved closer, deeper into the room, and then stood awkwardly behind her as she rummaged through the chest.
It wasn’t long before Morgana stood with a triumphant exclamation, holding a dress in her hands. “Try this,” she said as she shoved it right in Freya’s hands, and Freya took a moment to look at the dress and feel the soft fabric under her hands.
Never before had she held anything as luxurious or expensive. The dress was a soft lilac, with embroidery and lace around the hems and sleeves, and Freya fell in love with it instantly.
It was far more intricate than what she was used to wearing. Her clothes were all built for convenience and ease of movement. This one seemed to have too many laces, too many components that needed her attention.
She looked helplessly at Morgana, but she was back to rummaging through her clothes—this time going through a large cabinet at the other end of the room.
With a sigh, Freya stepped behind the wooden screen, where Morgana had draped yet more garments. She undressed as quickly and efficiently as she could, and then began to tug on the dress Morgana had given her, doing her best to wear it properly.
By the time she was finished and stepped out from behind the screen, some parts of the dress were too tight, others too loose, and others simply hung around her frame.
“I’m almost certain this isnae how it’s meant to look,” she said, holding her arms up to the sides for Morgana to see.
Freya had thought that she would laugh at her, perhaps, or mock her for not knowing how to wear her dress. But all Morgana did was frown a little in concern, before she rushed to the door, pulling it open and calling for assistance.
Before long, two maids appeared in the room and they both curtsied to them both—a gesture Freya returned a little awkwardly, before she realized that she probably shouldn’t have. The rules of the castle confused her—she was not a noble, and yet she was not one of the maids or the artisans who lived in the grounds. It occurred to her just then that she hadn’t bowed to Morgana when she had first come to her, but she didn’t seem to mind at all.
This is all giving me a headache!
“Please, help Miss Webster with her dress,” Morgana said, and the two maids wasted no time before they descended upon Freya, their capable hands shoving her with remarkable ease into the dress. They pulled and tightened, smoothed and straightened, and by the end of it all, Freya could almost believe she, too, was noble-born when she caught a peek at her reflection in the looking-glass.
She looked magnificent. Never before in her life had she been as pleased with her appearance, as stunned by her own reflection.
“Nay!” Morgana called, falling onto her bed with a huff. “This willnae dae!”
“What?” Freya asked, blinking in surprise.
“It willnae dae,” Morgana insisted. “It’s too long and too tight at the hips and too wide at the waist… and the color! It’s all wrong!”
Before Freya had the chance to protest and point out that this was the best dress she had ever worn, Morgana shoved another in her hands. And then, when she didn’t like that one either, another and another, rejecting them all.
Freya was about to tell her she had to pick one as they would be late for the feast when she stepped out from behind the screen once more, but then Morgana gasped and clasped her hands together. A pleased smile spread over her lips as she looked at Freya and she rushed over to her, pulling her to the looking glass.
