Right now, she might only be a pawn, but a sheltered, protected pawn.
If Reade turned her away, she’d become a victim of the Campbells for certain.
All those thoughts pounded in her head, wearing her down, and she didn’t try to stop the tears that fell onto the gray coverlet, staining it dark with wet teardrops. She had nothing left. The past several days, even with the kindness of the MacDonalds, had been too much. Then to end up married to the brusque, hard, bear of a man who was Reade MacDonald?
Blair grabbed her skirts and climbed into the bed, which had to be the softest, nicest bed she’d ever slept in. The coverlet and blankets made the bed so plush, she sank into it. Not bothering to change out of her borrowed wedding finery – she didn’t have the energy for it – she lifted the blankets and wiggled under them. They were like her shield against the world, a secure weight, and the warmth the bedding provided calmed her, drawing her out of her tears and into sleep.
For the first time in longer than she could remember and distraught though she was, Blair slept hard and through the night.
The next morning, Sorchaand Adaira entered the chambers unannounced, their arms full of colorful cloth. Blair popped up in bed, her eyes crusted and her hair loose and wild around her head. She had expected Reade to return sometime in the night, not that she would have noticed, thus the sight of his mother and sister surprised her from her sleep.
Where had Reade been all night? Why was Sorcha here? She opened her mouth to ask when Sorcha interrupted her.
“Och, ye are still abed? The day’s a wastin’!” Sorcha cheered as she approached the bed. She pulled up quick and Adaira followed, nearly smacking into her mother’s backside.
“Ye slept in your wedding gown?” Sorcha asked, her voice full of unasked questions.
Questions Blair wasn’t prepared to answer.
“We, uh, ‘twas quick. And I was tired,” Blair stammered. It was a pathetic attempt to cover up the obvious, but she wasn’t about to tell the mother of her groom that he’d left her untouched on their wedding night.
Sorcha’s lips pressed into a thin line as she hovered at the foot of the bed. Adaira had no compunctions about letting the implication go. She strode up to Blair and flipped the covers back.
“Well, ye look a fright,” Adaira told her in her sing-song voice. “Mother and I brought ye some gowns as we didn’t see that ye brought much with ye. ‘Tis only hand-downs, I’m afraid. But we can see what cloth we have here or purchase some at the next market day and make ye some clothes. The wife of Reade MacDonald should look the part, aye?”
Blair nodded but didn’t speak her agreement. Was she truly a wife when her husband hadn’t bedded her yet? When he might neverwantto?
Adaira set the clothing down on the bed and she took Blair’s arm, lifting her from the covers, while Sorcha grabbed one of the gowns and shook it out. It was a full dress, with a tightly laced bodice and a full plaid skirt. A dark red and green MacDonald plaid.
Oh my, Blair thought miserably. Wearing the MacDonald tartan made the marriage real. At least, as real as it could be.
“I think this should fit ye fine,” Sorcha said as Adaira unfastened the bodice of the rumpled wedding dress before tugging the fabric over her head.
Adaira frowned as Blair’s mussed head popped out from under the skirts. “We’ll do something about that hair after ye are dressed.”
Wearing only her chemise and stays, Blair then fell under Sorcha’s capable hands as she whipped the dress over Blair’s head and adjusted the kirtle sleeves under the bodice and the lay of the skirts that brushed the tops of her bare feet. The pale, bracken-yellow bodice hung open as Sorcha worked. Once she was pleased at the fit of the gown, Sorcha tugged at the bodice laces, nearly yanking Blair off her feet. When Sorcha finished, she stepped back to admire her handiwork.
“Perfect, or near enough. ‘Tis enough clothing there to suffice until we can have a gown or two sewn for ye. Ye have your arasaid and a belt if ye are outside. Do ye have spare shift?”
Blair nodded her head, unable to speak. She had no words for their generosity. Giving her shelter and clothing? Offering to make more?
The animosity between the Campbells and MacDonalds made it easy to judge the clan by the rumors that flew across the Highlands. But those rumors didn’t reflect individual people. Or at least, notthesepeople.
“Och, well, better to have enough than no’. We shall have another sewn.” Sorcha flicked her eyes to the top of Blair’s head and grimaced. “Och. Adaira?” Sorcha half turned to her daughter.
Adaira reached into a pocket and withdrew a large boxwood comb. “Here, sit. I shall try to rein in this wild mess.” Her tone was light, letting her know she was joking.
But other than having Sorcha and Adaira prepare her for her wedding, a comb hadn’t touched her hair for over a week. Adaira had worked her hair into a manageable queue for her wedding. Today, though, she needed to cover it with a kerchief at the very least, which meant it needed to lie down somewhat.
Sorcha made small talk about the stronghold and the persons who lived and worked within as Adaira combed through Blair’s hair with a gentle and patient hand. Blair closed her eyes as Adaira worked through the knots in her waves, relishing the sensation of the comb and Adaira’s fingertips against her scalp.
“I dinna want to pry as to why ye were still in your wedding garb this morn,” Sorcha said in a tone heavy with suggestion, “but I do have to ask, are ye well and truly wed, lass? ‘Tis important, ye know.”
Adaira’s hands slowed and Blair dropped her chin to her chest. She bit her lip, trying to figure out the best way to word her wedding night. The question alone lacked impropriety, but Blair understood why Sorcha was asking. The MacDonald Lady was keen and insightful — that was evident to anyone who met her. Securing the marriage secured Blair’s safety and limiting her as a potential spy benefited the MacDonalds. Anything less worked against them.
“I dinna believe your son cares for me overmuch,” Blair whispered hoarsely in response. “He harbors a severe dislike for me, and while I understand ‘tis because of the belief I’ve some manner of information, his dislike seems to come from a darker place.”
It cost Blair nothing to be honest, and both Sorcha and Adaira had been so concerned for her, she felt that her honesty would be well received.
