Iris smirked at her sister’s demands. Gretna enjoyed having her head in the clouds and believed that only love was good enough for her. Though Iris had warned her sister not to fall for some fanciful notion, she saw it every time Gretna was around. Either her sister was going to find someone giving her what she wished for or she was going to have her heart broken.
She hoped for her sister’s sake that it was the latter.
“Well, I’m not interested,” Iris finally said, wrapping her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “I only love mahself.”
“Ye cannae keep yer bed warm at night,” Gretna argued, shaking her head.
“Oh?” Iris asked. “Wot do ye know aboot warming beds?”
Gretna’s cheeks pinkened. “I mean, I overheard one of the servants talking aboot it.”
“Which wasnae meant for yer ears,” Iris chided softly, squeezing her sister’s shoulders. “Be careful, Gretna. Not every Scot is a kind one.”
Gretna nodded, and they shared a quick embrace before her sister stood, smoothing her skirts.
“One day we will all be forced tae wed, Sister.”
“Perhaps ye and Lena,” Iris finished, standing as well. “But not me.”
It wasn’t until after her sister had quit Iris’s chamber that Iris realized she had left behind the gown. Picking it up, Iris held it to her body, the rich green reminding her of a summer pasture. Her sister had clearly taken great care of the gown; it was far too much for the likes of Iris.
Far too much.
Would there be dancing? Iris hadn’t attended a gathering with her father before, always left behind or on the battlefield instead of gallivanting across Scotland. If she dared ask her brothers, they would laugh at her, calling her the one word she despised—lass. Iris detested when they saw her as a weaker sex, knowing she could hold her own against them any day. She could fight with the best of them, outrun and outride many of her father’s warriors without a second thought.
Snorting, Iris folded the dress and without hesitating, shoved it in her satchel as well. She would have no need for the gown but at least Gretna would know that Iris took it with her.
After Iris finished gathering her things, she walked down to the main hall where her brothers were seated at the table with their father, discussing their most recent skirmish.
“Och, there ye are,” her father replied as Iris took her seat. “I hear that ye want tae compete in the gathering games.”
“Aye,” Iris replied, lifting her chin and daring him to deny her request. “I can beat the best of them.”
Ian chuckled as he picked up his ale. “Aye, dear sister. Even if ye cannae, ye will find a way tae do so.”
Her father frowned. “I dinnae think ye should participate in the games, lass. I need ye by mah side.”
“Tae do wot?” she asked. “Tae look like a proper lass? Da, they will take one look at me and see that isnae the case.”
“Hear! Hear!” Stephan laughed, holding up his own tin mug to clink it with Ian’s. “Let her participate, Da. We have nary an interest tae do so.”
“Fine,” her father grumbled, waving his hand at his children. “Do as ye wish, Iris. ’Tis not like I could stop ye anyway.”
Iris grinned as she thought about representing her clan in the games. Her brothers likely wished to chase the lasses and drink themselves into oblivion, but Iris had loftier goals, and that wasfor their clan to be on top of the games when the gathering was complete.
It wasn’t until later, when Iris had gone to her chamber to sleep, that she realized what her father had granted her. He could have picked anyone to represent their clan: her brothers, any of the warriors, anyone other than her.
Yet he had chosen his daughter, the one who should have already been wed and bedded by now. Her father shouldn’t even be recognizing Iris or her brothers, having all come from different women that wasn’t the laird’s wife. Stella Wallace had been the laird’s wife, and Iris remembered the lovely woman who had coddled her as a child. Iris’s own mother had died in childbirth and Stella had been the one to take her in, just like she had Ian and Stephan. Finally, after some years, she gave their father two lovely daughters, but after Lena’s birth, she never seemed to be the same.
Iris had tried (oh, how she had tried) to bring Stella back to her once-cheerful self, helping with her sisters and doing all she could to keep the strain from Stella’s eyes. But it hadn’t been enough.
Stella had taken her own life the summer of Iris’s eleventh year when Lena was barely a year old. Afterward, her father had fallen into a deep grief and the keep had seemed less bright. It was also the time that Iris had thrown her own grief into something more, wielding a sword for the first time and declaring that she was going to be a warrior someday.
That had been ten summers ago. Now Iris was a warrior and about to represent her clan.
Drawing in a breath, Iris pulled off her clothing and donned a warm nightgown, a luxury she didn’t have while away from the keep. While she didn’t like for her brothers to single her out as being a lass, there were a few comforts she had missed, such asher own chamber to sleep in, a bed under her body, and a soft nightgown to drape over her.
After plaiting her hair, Iris slipped under the cool sheets, pulling the furs up to her chest. She was in a happy place in her life despite what her sister thought. She was exactly where she wished to be, and her father was no longer forcing her to be anything else.
