“Many things. Much about MacKay, as I’m sure he told ye. ’Tis natural that he would be curious. About Da and Alber, Da and me, Seamus and why I chose him to succeed me, MacKay and Domnhall, and ye at MacKay.”
“So he learned all ye ken about MacKay’s capabilities, did he?”
“I kenned what he was doing. He learned what he needed to ken.”
The idea of his father interrogating Mariota irritated Stellan. Anders laughed when he complained to him about it.
“Ye have it all wrong, brother. Mariota didna tell Da anything she didna wish to. And in the process, he became as smitten with her as ye and everyone else. Never fear, yer betrothed guarded her clan as she needed to, but ensured two things: that Sutherland would be an ally to her friend Seamus as laird of his clan, and that she’d be welcome in yers.”
“She didna need to do that. She already was.”
“Aye, but she’s a wiser lass than Da kenned. He was impressed.”
“Good.”
“Especially since he’s none too pleased with us at the moment.”
“Aye, well, he’ll get over that.”
“He will, but Mariota just smoothed the way.”
Mariota had never been sohappy. Stellan was so much better that his father had decreed that their wedding could go forward. She was in love and no longer in danger, and she had made friends here who would help her prepare for her new life.
Despite hours tending Stellan before he healed well enough to leave the healer’s care, despite spending as much time with him since as his training and duties as heir allowed, she had explored every nook and cranny of Dunrobin, learned a great deal from hawk master Ian while flying Valkyrie, met most ifnot all of the people, and found a few favorite places within the keep. One of which was the weaver’s, where the woman was close to finishing the four-seasons tapestry Mariota had seen at an earlier stage before her da had taken her back to MacKay.
“I could spend hours staring at it,” she told the weaver during her latest visit. “Ye have a wonderful talent and skill. I look forward to seeing everything else ye create.”
“Ye are too kind, milady,” the weaver told her, blushing at the praise while her gaze lingered on the work she was finishing with the final touches of embroidered flowers in the spring and summer quadrants.
Mariota noted several new additions since she’d last seen it, including tiny leaping fish in the firth depicted along the eastern edge. “Nay, ye are justifiably proud of yer handiwork. I look forward to displaying it.” She took her leave then. She’d agreed to meet Nan, who promised to help her find something suitable to wear to her wedding. Mariota didn’t believe there was time to make anything new, but perhaps they could alter something. Nan and Brìghde had both offered to find dresses that might fit her.
They were waiting for her in the great hall when she entered the keep. “There ye are. Ye must have been visiting Valkyrie again,” Brìghde said, greeting her.
“Nay, the weaver. She is finishing that most amazing tapestry we saw when I first came here. I canna wait for everyone to see it. But look at what ye have brought! How many dresses to ye think one lass needs to be married?”
“Only one, but the right one. And I ken the rest of yer belongings just arrived from MacKay, but I doubt ye have a gown to wed in since ye never mentioned having anything suitable.”
“’Tis because I never wanted to marry. I never imagined I would, no’ truly,” she said as she mounted the stairs. “I ken thatsounds daft for a lass who was the laird’s heir, but I fought my da on every betrothal he suggested.”
“Ye were waiting for the right betrothal. The right man,” Nan told her as Mariota opened the door to her chamber.
She stopped and gaped at what confronted her. The trunk she’d had all her life to hold her clothes sat at the foot of her bed. But on the bed lay other things she didn’t recognize. “What is all this?”
“There’s a missive on top,” Nan pointed out.
Mariota picked it up and read. “Gifts from MacKay to celebrate my wedding,” she read. “Linens and other things made by the crafters in the clan. And Seamus sends along things that belonged to my mother, dresses and jewels, he says, that he found in the laird’s chamber when he moved in. Da never told me he’d kept anything of hers.” She started digging through the piles until she located a velvet bag.
“We should let ye explore this in peace,” Brìghde said. “Ye may now have a suitable dress. But if nay, Nan has made something for ye.”
Mariota blinked back tears and turned to her friends. “Nan?”
“No’ made exactly. Altered and embroidered.” She moved aside two other dresses on her arm and held up an ivory silk kirtle embroidered down the front and around the hem with leaves and flowers.
“The seasons! How did ye find time to copy the weaver’s work?”
“Nan is an artist with a needle,” Brìghde told her, making Nan blush.
“Do ye like it?”
