Emma whistled as she worked. The dresses were imprinted in her mind. Of course, they weren’t made up yet. The seamstresses in Edinburgh would still be working on them, but she should have them by tonight, just in the nick of time.
A fizzle of excitement rolled down her spine at the thought of the dresses. Not just the dresses, but also Thomas.
There was no point denying it any further. She was attracted to Laird MacPherson, tiresome though it was. Well, there were worse men to be drawn to, weren’t there? No doubt he would save his affection for more worthy women—even though his kiss had seemed to be genuine—but Emma could pretend. She could dress up in fine silks and pretend to be a real lady on the arm of a man like him. She could keep her fingers curled into fists or tucked into her sleeves so that nobody could see their green tinge.
“Are ye all right, lass?” Delphine asked, breaking into Emma’s thoughts. “I think that newts-eye seed is ground finely enough.”
Emma glanced down at the pestle and mortar, where she’d very nearly crushed the herbs into water. She laughed awkwardly and reached for more dry herbs.
“Sorry, Delphine. I’m… I’m distracted today.”
“I see.”
There was a twinkle in Delphine’s eye. It had been there since Emma had departed for Edinburgh a full three days ago.
Had it really been three days? Emma hadn’t seen much of Thomas since then—the nettle stings had apparently healed up nicely, with no more need for salve—and it was hard not to feel disappointed.
She tried to tell herself that it was a relief, that she could get so much more work done when hewasn’t around, badgering her and bothering her.
Unfortunately, telling yourself that something was so didn’t makeit so, much to her chagrin. Wretched Thomas and his insufferable smile were never far from her thoughts.
“I must see those dresses when they arrive,” Delphine commented, watching Emma pour more herbs into the mortar and begin to grind again. “Ye deserve fine things, lass.”
“I don’t need fine things. Just practical things. I wouldn’t say no to a new dress, I’ll be honest.Threeis extravagant, though.”
Delphine snorted. “A little extravagance is no bad thing. Now, ye have worked hard enough. Go and find some food and take a rest. Go chat to yer friend, eh?”
Emma faltered. “Are ye sure?”
“Aye, go on. That way, ye can rest, and I can have a nap without ye listening to me snoring and trying not to laugh.”
Emma suppressed a smile. “Aye, very well.”
Riley was not in the laundry. The chief laundress pointed towards the courtyard, bored and distracted. Drawn by the murmur of conversation, muted and whispering and therefore intriguing, Emma rounded a corner and found her friend in a narrow alleyway, talking to a young woman she had not met before.
“Riley?”
“Oh, Emma, there you are!” Riley perked up, gesturing for Emma to come close. “This is Flora. She’s brand new to the laundry.”
“Good day to ye, Flora,” Emma said with a smile. “I’m pleased to meet ye. Welcome to the Keep.”
Flora was a spindly, waif-like blonde girl who seemed somehow diminished. She had all the makings of beauty and a face that ought to be pretty but somehow wasn’t. Perhaps it was the way her clothes hung off her like a scarecrow, the papery quality of her skin and the dark circles around her eyes, or perhaps it was her ratty hair, which was a bald patch near the scalp just starting to grow in.
It was clear that Flora had not had a good life until now. She was eating something, a slice of bread and cheese that was probably supposed to be Riley’s lunch.
“Hello, Emma,” Flora muttered, her voice reedy. “Riley was just telling me about ye.”
“I told her about Laird MacPherson kissing you,” Riley blurted out.
A tide of red-hot embarrassment shot up Emma’s neck, turning her face beet red.
“Ye didwhat?”
She had told Riley about the kiss in a moment of weakness two days ago.Somebodyhad to know about it. It hadn’t occurred to Emma that Riley would be so foolish as to tell anyone else,let alone a young woman who had apparently only just come to work in the Keep.
“She won’t tell anyone!” Riley reassured. “Will you, Flora?”
Flora obediently shook her head from side to side. She crammed the last of the bread and cheese into her mouth, chewing so vigorously that Emma feared she’d bite off one of her fingers.
