Page 30 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

Ellen only gave a small smirk. “‘Tis a feat to marry Rob; he has always seemed so set against the concept.”

“Well, the Queen didn’t leave much room fer objection,” Kenna replied as Ellen’s eyes flicked back to her and Florence did up the laces on the blue dress. Something in her stare was unnerving and, for a reason she could not quite understand, she added, “Fer both of us.”

“I see, yet still a blessing, to be sure,” Ellen said with a smile that Kenna could easily identify as false.

“Perfect!” Florence exclaimed, circling back to Kenna’s front so she could adjust the fabric here and there until it was to her liking. “Ye two are the same size. Hourglasses. What witches ye both are fer not sharing a bit of yer busts with the rest of us. ‘Tis a crime to yer fellow women.”

Ellen’s smile changed, and Kenna wondered how anyone could have mistaken her false smile for a true one. Her true smile lit her entire face, making the gold in her eyes sparkle and her nose crinkle ever so slightly.

“Poor Florence, perhaps ye’ll still grow.”

“I say my prayers to God every morning.” Florence gave a dramatic sigh. “In the meantime, we simply must go spend some money to soothe my wounded pride.”

“Again?” Ellen asked, looking a bit disconcerted.

“Aye, or Kenna will be coming to ye whenever she needs to change.”

“Apologies. I am afraid that would be the case,” Kenna said, wincing as Ellen’s smile faltered once more.

Florence seemed to know every shop in Aberdeen, and half of the shopkeepers called her by name as the trio of women went strolling past. At last, Florence pulled them into a building at the very edge of the town, and Kenna’s eyes widened in amazement. Stacked all the way up to the ceiling were massive bolts of fabric in every pattern and color. Long streamers of ribbon hung from the ceiling, the various pieces twisting about each other until they became one multi-colored swirl. In opposition to the storm of color was a mountain of lace, as perfectly white and delicate as a snowflake caught on glass.

A group of women sat at the center of it all, a large bit of fabric stretched between them. Their fingers were so quick and nimble, the gentle flash of a needle barely seen before it disappeared back into the fabric situated between them. Finally, one of them glanced up and beamed a welcoming smile at Florence. Whether it was a smile of friendship or of seeing your next few months of coin standing in the doorway, Kenna could not be sure.

“Lady Fraser, what might we do fer ye?”

“We need a bit of everything,” Florence replied before pushing Kenna forward into their eager fingertips.

* * *

After hours of measurements, pinning, and a furry of cloth, lace, and ribbons, Florence finally had become content and allowed them to bid the shopkeepers goodnight.

Kenna mentally counted all of their purchases as she rubbed the soreness along her side from a few pins gone astray. Between the three of them, there had been a fair bit of damage done to the gold stores of Clan Fraser.

“Florence, are ye sure this is all right?” Kenna asked as the final coin count grew ridiculously high.

Florence had demanded Kenna to pick out design after design, and before she knew it, her entire wardrobe had essentially been replaced when the goal had only been to create a few pieces to hold her over until her trunks arrived. Silk gowns and fine petticoats, cotton shifts and linen dresses, simple riding dresses to replace the ones stained or burned—no garment had been forgotten. The cheeky lass had even ordered both Kenna and Ellen some rather unseemly nightgowns, batting her eyes at them while saying that she wished for nothing more than to become an aunt.

“Kenna, Kenna, of course ‘tis all right. The Laird Fraser and the great Laird Lovat would never wish to be scandalized by daughters so terribly out of fashion while in the company of the Queen’s court. Nor would it be so proper fer such noblewomen of such noble houses to be caught sharing clothes out of necessity rather than desire,” Florence replied with mock frivolity.

As Florence strode down the street, her arms waving beside her as she continued her argument of support for their spending, Ellen leaned over to Kenna and murmured, “Take the spoiling while ‘tis offered. Laird Lovat becomes quite the miser when he returns to Fraser lands.”

Ellen had slowly started to warm to Kenna as the hours of holding up fabric and tassels had carried on. Kenna appreciated Ellen’s cool collectiveness when faced with the constant force that was Florence Fraser.

The sun was dropping low in the sky, and the few revelers that had held on to the celebrations far longer than the rest were finally starting to retreat into the warm comfort of inns and friendly houses. The small tavern on the first floor of their inn was full to the brim with Highlanders, some Fraser and some just there to share in the ale and good company. The Frasers in the room cheered when the three women entered, though, Kenna noted, none of them were Rob.

“Innkeeper! Might ye bring us a bit of wine?” Florence called as she led the trio up the stairs to their rooms, eliciting more raucous cheer from the crowd, which Florence returned with a fluttering of eyelashes and a coy curtsey.

They all settled into Florence’s room. Somehow, though Kenna’s room only had one chair, Florence had managed to acquire four, arranged perfectly around the hearth with its slow crackling fire.

“Kenna, how is it being married? Satisfying?” Ellen asked between slow, steady sips of wine.

“Ach, Ellen. I hardly wish to hear of my brother’s ability to satisfy his wife!” Florence said with alarm, yet her wide eyes turned to Kenna for an answer.

Kenna shrugged, not entirely sure what to say.

“Rob hasn’t bedded me because he thinks that he’ll get me to beg him, though he did kiss me rather well after he rescued me from the Queen’s torturers,” she could have said.

“‘Tis not quite what I had imagined, but nothing in life ever is,” Kenna finally replied, tipping back a sip of the exceptionally dry vintage, relishing at how fine it was compared to the roughness of the whiskey that the men had shared with her on the road.