She had not expected the Laird to continue trying to make conversation with her. So often she would attend these meals and not speak to a single soul.
“N-nay, thank ye,” she stammered out.
It was not that her uncle made her nervous. Truth be told, he was not an altogether intimidating man. Age had pulled his shoulders in until they rounded forward, creating a small hump at the bottom of his neck. Peaceful times and a tendency for indulgence had given him a large, round belly that pushed into the table while he ate. His brows were bushy and thick, peppered with white streaks to match his receding hairline.
Yet all that age had changed for him did not change the fact that he was once a respected and feared warrior and was now her Laird. Reminding herself of this fact made it all the more strange for him to have offered to serve her any food.
The rest of the meal was no less odd. All the maids, usually slowed by their exhaustion, were quick to see to every little thing Taryn needed. Their eyes were turned down with a pity that made Taryn’s stomach twist. The longer she sat at the table, the more she felt like a lamb being led to slaughter.
Taryn picked at her food, her appetite having vanished completely. If her uncle noticed, he said nothing. Nor did he comment on her impending marriage, as if he knew just how extreme his request was.
It was almost a relief to see her mother glide into the Great Hall, a stream of servants in tow, half an hour later. From the determined look on Rowena’s face, Taryn knew that her mother had plans for her today. She watched her mother approach the table and dip into a low curtsy. There was something about the dramatic flourish that Rowena gave it that made the entire thing feel like a mocking performance. Perhaps it was the way the corners of her mother’s thin mouth pinched, or the way her wrists rolled, and her fingers flared at the Laird.
“Good morning, Laird McGregor,” though her mother spoke her greeting more like an announcement.
Clearly accustomed to her strange behavior, the Laird simply nodded and carried on his conversation with the elder sitting next to him. Taryn nearly laughed at the way her mother’s eyes lit up at being so completely ignored.
“Where is Jonah?” Laird McGregor asked Rowena, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Out for his morning stroll, I would think,” she answered demurely, ever the picture of the perfect wife.
“Send him to me as soon as he has returned.”
This time, when Laird McGregor spoke, it was he who waved his hand, effectively dismissing her. Taryn winced at seeing that her mother’s only worth to the Laird was as his brother’s wife. She idly wondered if that was all she would be good for, too—someone to embroider cushions and pass along instructions when bade.
“Are ye finished? Good,” Rowena asked and answered, her eyes flitting over Taryn’s half-eaten plate. “We have much to do today. Bid Laird McGregor farewell and come with me.”
Obediently, Taryn rose from her seat and dipped into a quick curtsy. She avoided anyone’s gaze as she trailed behind her mother. She had enough pity to last a lifetime, she didn’t need to borrow anyone else's.
“Today we are meeting with the dressmaker. We must see to yer wedding trousseau before it is too late to make any adjustments. While I am sure the Baron will be able to afford ye many new dresses once ye are wed, I want to make sure that ye have everything ye need now. I will nae have ye showing up to his home looking unfit to be there.”
From the excitement in her mother’s voice, Taryn knew this was her attempt at cheering Taryn up. It was apparently unfathomable to Rowena why Taryn would not be happy at theprospect of marrying a titled man and getting the clothing to match.
“Go behind the screen and take off everything but the shift. Ye will only take these new clothes with ye. The rest will be burned once ye leave.”
Rowena spoke, not knowing just how much she wounded Taryn with her orders. The clothes she wanted to burn had been lovingly chosen and made for her by her best friend. Laura and her mother had worked tirelessly only six months ago to update Taryn’s wardrobe. And while they had been somewhat limited to the awful color choices Rowena had made, the dresses were some of the most beautiful things Taryn had ever seen. Wearing them felt as if she were wearing a gift from her friend.
The only consolation in all of this, Taryn thought as she moved behind the changing screen in her room, was that she would get to see Laura one last time. If she were to have new dresses, her mother would have summoned the best dressmakers in the clan, and that was Laura’s family. Just as the thought entered Taryn’s mind, a knock sounded from the door, revealing Laura and her mother standing, arms laden with fabrics and sewing tools.
“Och, good. I was starting to think ye would never arrive,” Rowena greeted a bit bitterly. “Stoke the fire so that Taryn is nae shivering while they take her measurements. Did ye bring the fabrics I requested?”
From behind the paneled screen, Taryn listened to her mother order a roomful of servants and artisans around as though it were nothing. There was no thought given to the sharpness in her tone or how she questioned the ability of those she had summoned. When Rowena asked Laura’s mother, Isobel, the same question for the third time, Taryn winced.
“Need any help back here?”
At Laura’s soft offer of help, tears nearly sprang from Taryn’s eyes. Biting her lip to keep from crying, Taryn nodded.
“Och, it cannae be as bad as all that,” Laura whispered as her fingers worked the laces of Taryn’s corset.
“Ye have nay idea. They have ordered me off to my death.”
Laura’s eyes went wide, but before Taryn had the chance to explain anymore, Rowena stepped behind the screen, arms crossed.
“We are ready to begin. Hurry up.”
Moving quickly, Laura folded up the rest of Taryn’s clothes and nudged her out into the room. The same bolts of fabric she had been admiring the day before were laid across her bed, along with some of the plainer, simpler fabrics that would make up her undergarments.
Accustomed to this routine, Taryn stepped onto the small, rounded platform that had been placed in front of the fire and held out her arms. While Isobel circled Taryn, pressing a measuring tape against all sides of her body, Laura wrote down the numbers Isobel called out.
