3
Sure enough, the weeks that followed were calm and happy indeed. Isla was delighted with her new maid, and although Bonnie sulked for a while, she got over it when she was given a maid of her own the following week. Margaret wished for Ainsley’s sake that the scullery girl could have been given that position, but she knew all too well that things did not work that way. Ainsley would have several more years of proving herself ahead of her before anyone would even think of making her a maid to one of the young ladies of the castle.
It was a shame, Margaret thought. Ainsley was so close in age to Bonnie that she felt the two of them would have gotten along wonderfully. Even so, the older maid who was assigned to Bonnie seemed largely acceptable to the little girl.
Even though Margaret had never had a sister of her own, she supposed it was a universal truth that they naturally wanted whatever their siblings had, whatever it might be, so that they would feel equal and not left out.
For her part, though, Leslie seemed content without any maid at all. She had never required much looking after. She tended to spend her days in nature, studying various flowers and insects for hours at a time and recreating their detailed forms meticulously using ink and paper.
Isla and Margaret became inseparable, always whispering and laughing. Half the time, Seamus found he couldn’t make heads or tails of what they were saying to each other. It irritated him, and it took him several days of watching and listening to realize that they had developed a series of secret codes between them—gestures, expressions, and turns of phrase that no one else could decipher.
“I tell ye, it is not appropriate behavior for a lass yer age!” Seamus insisted one morning after calling Isla into his study. “I dinnae appreciate some…strange bloody languagebeing spoken beneath my roof, so that I have no idea what the people around me are saying! It’s not right!”
“It’s hardly as if we’re speaking French or the like, Father!” Isla scoffed. “Truly, no one is trying to keep any secrets from you! Margaret and I have simply become fast friends, just as I knew we would. Why, we entertain so many notions at the same time that sometimes it seems we are the very same person!”
“Even so! Carrying on with yer maid as if ye’re a couple of wee girls at play when ye’re of a marrying age! What will Brodie MacKenzie think to see his bride act like a featherbrained child?”
“I have no idea what Brodie MacKenzie might think of such things, or of anything at all, really, given that I am utterly unacquainted with him despite being betrothed to him,” Isla replied. “However, if ours is to be a marriage of convenience, then I cannot imagine that he would be particularly upset by my behaviors or find them relevant to our union as a whole. And besides, Father, Margaret and I are only having a bit of fun! Where is the harm in that, pray tell?”
“All I ask, Daughter, is that ye comport yerself with a bit of dignity as befits a woman about to be wed.” He cleared his throat, then turned toward the door and spoke up a bit more loudly. “Margaret, ye may enter now, as I’m well aware ye are standing with yer ear to the door. I’d have words with ye as well.”
The door opened and Margaret entered, her face as red as a radish. “My apologies, sir. I did not mean to offend, I just—”
“Ye were concerned about Isla and wanted to hear what was being said to her,” Seamus said wearily. “Aye, girl, I’m well aware of how close the two of ye have become.”
“Surely you won’t now chastise her for being such a dear friend to me?” Isla demanded.
“Nothing of the sort, I assure ye,” Seamus told her. “I have received word that Brodie MacKenzie shall arrive tomorrow. I expect ye to make him feel welcome, which includes making yerself as presentable as possible in order to give the lad a good first impression.”
He turned to Margaret, speaking gruffly. “Margaret, in all the years ye’ve served me, never have I asked anything as important of ye as this: Ye are entrusted with Isla’s clothes, hair, and general appearance. Ye have a clever eye for detail, and as such, I believe ye are up to the task. Dinnae prove me wrong, else ye might once more find yerself alongside Elspeth in the kitchen!”
“You have my solemn word, sir, that I shall not let you down,” Margaret promised. She knew that Seamus was too good a man to mean his threat about demoting her—back to the kitchen, at least. However, she valued his opinion of her immensely and did not wish to disappoint him.
“Very good,” Seamus replied, striding out of the room.
Isla turned to Margaret with a sly smile. “Well! You know what this means, don’t you?”
“What’s that?” Margaret answered quizzically.
“Now you get to dress me up as though I were one of your dolls!” Isla winked.
“I shall have to take your word for it! I never had any dolls when I was a wee girl.”
Isla’s eyebrows went up. “What sort of nonsense is that? All little girls have dolls!”
The maid shrugged good-naturedly. “Noble-born girls, perhaps, and girls with parents to give them such things. Not I.”
Her words made Isla sad. She could not imagine such circumstances, given her own upbringing. “In that case, all the more reason why you should finally have ample opportunity to enjoy such endeavors now that you’re grown! Come, let’s go to my chamber and explore my wardrobe together!”
Isla seized Margaret’s hand, practically dragging her through the corridors of the castle and up the stone steps until they stood in Isla’s room, laughing and out of breath.
“You certainly seem excited!” Margaret observed. “I thought you did not care about meeting Brodie MacKenzie?”
A shadow passed over Isla’s face briefly. “I do not. In fact, I find the prospect thoroughly loathsome. But if I am to be forced into such a fate, then might I at least revel in dressing up for the occasion?”
Margaret smiled and nodded, but privately, she felt bad for Isla. A peculiar thing, no doubt, feeling pity or sorrow for one so far above her station, whose life had been blessedly free of the hardships Margaret herself had endured.
Still, it’s hardly a fair comparison, is it?Margaret reasoned.Those with greater wealth and privilege than others still experience losses and tragedies aplenty, and those events every bit as sharp and sorrowful as those which assail the rest of us. Poor Laird Malcolm is the perfect example. There are none above him in this clan’s hierarchy…and from what I have heard, the death of his wife and infant during childbirth was a deep wound indeed.One from which the servants say the dear man never recovered, God love him.
