CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“John Erly is taking me?” Gillian gasped when her sister came to her chamber and described her plan. “But why?”
“Because I want you to be safe, Gilly. John is an excellent swordsman,” Fia replied.
Gillian pulled back her sleeve. “I have my own dirk, Fia—and I have Callum, Keir, and Tam, and—”
“They’re all fine men, but John canspeakfor you. He’ll see to things. There’s no need to be shy with John. He’s very charming.”
Gillian knew just how charming.
She swallowed. “How long is the journey?”
“Ten days or so. You’ll be on time for your wedding, but just barely. You’ll have to leave tomorrow morning.”
With John. What was there to say? But it appeared that her sister didn’t expect her to say anything. Fia crossed to the wardrobe.
“We’ll pack now, before supper—just what fits on a garron, so nothing slows you down. Your trunks can go later, by ship, when Dair is home again—they may even arrive before you do if . . .” Fia frowned. “We won’t worry about that now.”
“Of course not,” Gillian murmured. She’d ride like the wind, get there quickly, bid John a final farewell at the city gates.
“Oh, and John will be with you in Edinburgh for a few days. He’s agreed to give you away at your wedding,” Fia said, as she folded a chemise and added it to the pile.
“Give me away?” It meant he’d stay, be at her wedding, beside her.
Fia smiled. “Aye. He’ll fit in well in Edinburgh, among the kind of folk Sir Douglas knows. Callum, Tam, and Keir won’t.”
Fia pulled out a pair of plain woolen gowns suitable for travel.
Then she caught sight of the pink and gold gown that Gillian had worn to the masquerade. Meggie had taken one look at the lovely dress when Gillian returned home and had insisted it must be Gillian’s wedding gown.
And there was no saying no to Meggie—not without an explanation. She hadn’t imagined John would be at the wedding to see the gown. Would he even remember what she’d worn that night? She wondered for a moment if her sister would recall seeing a woman in pink at the masquerade, but there was no recognition in her eyes.
“Is that the gown you chose for your wedding?” Fia said, running her fingers over the shimmering silk. “Oh, Gilly, it’s magnificent! You’ll be a lovely bride.”
“Meggie chose it,” Gillian said, clearing the lump from her throat.
“Well, I agree with her.”
Gillian watched as Fia folded the gown carefully, rolled it, and bundled it into a pack. The silk rustled and whispered, full of secrets, as it was tucked away.
“It’s a shame to squash it so, but one of Laire’s maids can work the creases out. I hope there’ll be time . . .”
Gillian raised her chin. “I might wear something else. Something simpler.”
Fia caught her hand. “Are you worried that such a lovely gown will cast you into the center of attention? I know you’re shy, but it’s your wedding day, Gilly. It’s not the day for a sensible gown.”
But the pink gown was the very opposite of sensible. It was a daring gown for a bold woman, the kind of woman who had adventures. It reminded Gillian of how it felt to be wild, free, and desired. Once she spoke the vows that would bind her to Sir Douglas, she’d have to be sensible forevermore. Her adventure—brief as it was—would be over.
Gillian didn’t want to be sensible. She wanted kisses, passion, fire.
She wanted John Erly.
She added a simpler blue gown to the pile, and Fia sighed, suspecting why.
But Gillian couldn’t bear the idea of wearing the flamboyant pink gown for another man, especially Sir Douglas.
It was John’s gown.
