“I know ye find yourself in a less-than-ideal position,” Sorcha continued, and Blair started. Was the woman a mind-reader as well? “Yet we must make the best of what we have. ‘Tis a lesson I was taught by my mam, and she from her mam before her. Our only intention is to protect ye and see ye provided for. I would no’ have ye suffer any fate alone or feel as though ye dinna have a friend or confidant here in your new home.”
New home? Ugh.
“Adaira?” Sorcha turned to her daughter, who stepped away from the chair with a dramatic flourish.
Blair’s breath caught in her chest.
They had brought her a gown. Not just any gown, but a wedding gown, one befitting royalty. ‘Twas so much nicer than the gown her uncle had thrown at her the morning she’d wed Mungo. This was an exquisite gown sewn with care and love.
Where had they found it in so short a time?
“My sister’s gown,” Sorcha said, and again, Blair had the sense the woman could read minds. “She had it sent over when word spread of your wedding to Reade, and I was overjoyed that she did. She is more of a size than ye are, a bit more slender and a few fingers taller. Shall we see if it fits?”
Sorcha’s voice was so caring, so tender, that Blair feared if she moved, she’d begin to cry. The prospect of coming to the MacDonalds, becoming their prisoner, and being forced to wed, had required Blair to form a protective wall around herself. And here was this kind woman and her daughter hammering chinks in that wall with their kindness, slowly tearing it down.
And the gift of a dress? A real dress, not a gussied-upléineand skirts?
These MacDonalds were an enigma, to be sure.
“Come, let’s see if it fits!” Adaira cheered as she lifted the gown from the chair.
Sorcha took Blair’s hand, leaving Blair no choice but to follow her. She quickly lifted the worn shift off Blair’s body, which immediately pimpled in the cool air. Blair had a moment of shock at Sorcha’s bold moves and seeming lack of propriety as she stood naked in front of the two women. Then, just as quickly, Adaira was tugging a chemise, followed by the gown, over her head.
Once she was in the gown, Blair had the opportunity to study the fine dress and its intricate details. The sleeves were the lightest linen, nearly transparent, with a slightly fitted ruffle at the wrist and puffed at the shoulder. A fitted bodice covered the frothy sleeveless chemise, which was light-brown velvet and embroidered with thistle leaves a shade or two darker than the frothy colored material. The bodice hugged her high breasts, pushing them higher than the stays would when she wore them underneath, as if in offering, then narrowed to her hips where the skirts, the same creamy color as the chemise, fell softly to the floor.
It was an exquisite gown, unlike anything she’d ever worn, or even seen, in her life. ‘Twas as light as the air itself! The gown was too good for the likes of her.
“I canna accept this,” she said in a dejected voice as she fingered the fine material. Not wool, linen? Nay, too thick. Brocade, mayhap? She hadn’t touched it enough to know for sure.
Sorcha patted her arm, and Adaira giggled again. “Mo stór,” Sorcha cooed. “Dinna fret. It fits ye verra well. Once ye have your stays, ‘twill fit like ‘twas made for ye.”
Blair shook her head. “Ye are too kind.”
“Nonsense!” Adaira cried. Oh, but she was an excitable one! “’Tis our gift to ye. Consider it a wedding gift. To welcome ye to the family.”
Then the lass hugged her,hugged her, and Blair froze, stiffly accepting the embrace. Was the entire family this amiable? Och, they were touchy!
Nay, not the entire family.Not Reade.
“I dinna know what to say. Thank ye for this.”
Sorcha patted her again, then reached for the hem to lift the divine gown off. “Ye are more than welcome. I dinna have a Gordon plaid, or would ye rather –”
“I have my plaid,” Blair countered quickly and pointed to the table after she tugged her arms through her shift. “’Tis tattered, though.”
“Ooch,” Sorcha said, waving off her concerns. “A few quick stitches tonight and ‘twill be as good as new. I’ll have a maid bring up the sewing for ye.”
Blair was at a loss for words. When was the last time she’d experienced such tenderness? Made to feel as though she belonged instead of as nothing more than a means to an end?
A long time.
Sorcha lifted her skirts and wrapped her arm around Adaira’s waist as they walked toward the door. She turned around to Blair when they reached the doorway.
“And dinna fret too much, lass. Even the greatest ogre has a softness in his heart. Good eve to ye.”
Blair clutched the gown to her chest as she watched Sorcha and Adaira leave, closing the door behind them.
The greatest ogre? A softness? What did she mean?
