“But ye’re a lass. Surely ye like it every once in a while?”
Iris’s gaze narrowed. “Ye are talking with the lass who can kick yer arse. I’m not like the others.”
“Nay,” Stephan replied, “ye’re not.” He set his mug on the log next to him and grasped her upper arms, giving them a quick squeeze. “Come now, Iris. It will be no worse than a busy evening at our keep. Ye can make yer appearances to the host laird and then come back if ye would like, but if ye dinnae show up, Da will drag ye out, clothed or not.”
Iris blew out a frustrated breath, knowing that her brother was likely right. Her father would see it as a snub to their clan and wouldn’t allow her to get away with it.
She had no choice in the matter. “Fine,” she grumbled, shaking off his touch. “I will come, but I won’t dance.”
Stephan laughed as he grabbed his mug, taking a hearty swallow.
“Trust me, Iris. No one there wants tae see ye dance.”
Iris let out a shriek and threw her own mug at his head; Stephan ducked, and it fell harmlessly to the ground.
“Take care, dear sister!” he called out as he walked away. “Ye cannae damage this pretty face for the lasses taenight!”
Iris placed her hands on her hips and fumed as she watched him disappear amongst the tents. She had heard about the gathering celebration from the other clansmen and ignored it just as quickly, knowing that she would rather spend her night alone in her tent than go to something like that. It was something her sisters would have liked to get all dressed up for and attend, but Iris had no thought of doing so.
Clearly Stephan had known what she was thinking, and after his talk with her, she didn’t think she could just follow through with her plans that evening.
She would be going to the celebration.
Iris’s stomach quivered in anticipation as she made her way back to her tent, throwing the canvas aside to enter. She still had a clean tunic and a pair of breeks in her satchel.
That should be well enough.
As she opened her satchel, Iris spied the dress that her sister had given her, pulling it out in a wrinkled heap. In the dim lighting of the afternoon that filtered through the canvas, Iris could see the stitching detail and how the fabric felt under her fingertips. At first she had thought it funny to bring the dressalong, a means to appease her sister and the hard work that she had gone through in creating the dress for Iris.
Now, well, Iris wasn’t so sure it hadn’t been the fate of the gods for her to have the dress.
Sighing, she fell onto her small cot and held the dress in her callused hands, brushing her thumb over the embroidered roses. The reasons she had wanted to impress another Scot had been with her skills, showing them that she could fight just as well no matter the fact that she wasn’t a lad.
This dress would show a side of Iris that she wasn’t so certain she was ready for, and it was all James’s fault.
Pressing the dress up to her nose, Iris detected the sweet smell of lavender that her sister Gretna washed her skin with. A wave of homesickness overcame her suddenly, and Iris found herself having to blink back the tears that crowded her eyes. While she wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else right then, she did miss her sisters greatly. Gretna would know how to handle this…thisattractionto James. She would have the witty words of wisdom for her sister, far more than Stephan had told Iris earlier.
Either that or Gretna would be forcing Iris into the gown, fussing over her so that she could make the proper appearance.
A small laugh escaped Iris before she pushed to her feet, holding the gown to her form. The skirts were long enough to hide her scuffed boots, and thankfully, her sister had thought enough about what Iris would need. There were deep pockets hidden in the folds of the skirt, more than capable of holding her dagger.
Was she truly considering wearing the gown? There was only one way to find out.
Iris placed it on the cot, and after tying the canvas flaps together, she quickly undressed, shivering in her undergarments as she slid the dress over her head. After a few minutes ofstruggling, Iris finally got it to fall where it was supposed to, her deft fingers lacing the bodice up until it fell flat against her chest.
She swallowed as she saw the swell of her bosom along the neckline, frowning as she tried to tug it higher. Well. Gretna was making it impossible for Iris to keep any small piece of herself hidden.
Giving up lest she rip the delicate fabric, Iris set to righting her hair, deciding on a set of braids that encircled her head like a crown, with the remainder of her hair down about her shoulders.
She felt ridiculous. Would James even notice her this evening? Would he even care that she went to all these lengths to put on a dress and, well, make herself noticeable?
Iris didn’t know why it mattered so to her, but it did. She wasn’t going to be the only lass at the keep tonight. No, there would be many lasses far bonnier than she was and more than enough to turn a handsome Scot’s head…like James.
He probably wouldn’t even look for her.
Iris reached for her spare tunic before she let it fall to the cot, deciding that it didn’t matter. She was going to wear the gown and that was the end of the story. If they laughed at her, then so be it.
At least she would have a tale to tell Gretna when she returned home.
