Page 50 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

12

Kenna lounged back on the bed, letting the sun shining through the window bake her face and neck while she nuzzled deeper into the cushions.

A good nap can cure all evils, she told herself as she yawned and stretched.

Napping was all she had done the past few days. With Rob gone and the Queen’s court focusing all of their efforts on war preparations, there had been little else to do. Kenna, under the advice of her father-in-law, had remained confined to the inn and the small surrounding neighborhood. While the Queen had cleared her of blame, there were still quite a few who would be quick to point a finger should something go wrong. If she stayed out of sight, hopefully, she would stay out of mind.

The first few days of her self-imposed isolation had been fun. She and Florence had sat and played cards with the remaining Fraser men while Ellen sat disapprovingly across the room. They had laughed and drunk and shared stories until the moon was high in the sky. However, eventually, they had all run out of stories, and the games had become tedious.

The first day of quiet dullness was broken up by the herd of carts that descended upon the city. All that had been left behind on their original trek from Inverness Castle came pouring through the streets, the men who had been left behind to escort them looking weary and relieved after so many days on the road. Though Kenna had been more than pleased with the selection of dresses that Florence had ordered, some of which she was still yet to find an occasion to wear, it was comforting to be surrounded by her own things once more. As she went through everything, ensuring that every trunk and case that she had brought with her from Inverness was accounted for, she found herself in tears.

She missed her family, despite everything that they had done. How was that possible? An unfinished needlework project reminded her of perfect afternoons with Elizabeth, while memories of playing out in the sunshine with her brothers came so swiftly and suddenly at the sight of an old, mud-stained dress. The memories were welcomed but painful.

Florence and Ellen had helped Kenna sort through the things, doing their best to stack the piles of heavy boxes in a way that kept the room functional. But it was too many things in too small of a room, and now Kenna could hardly take two steps in a straight path before colliding with a pile.

Once she had grown used to it, coming up with efficient ways to traverse the maze of trunks, all that there was left to do with her days was to nap. Even those, though, were not always so peaceful. Sometimes her dreams took her to days on the grass, surrounded by her family—both old and new. Rob was smiling at her and wrapping his arms around her while she laughed and teased him. Florence was laughing, though Kenna could never figure out why. John and Hugh were running across the lawn, batting a ball back and forth with large clubs while Thomas and Laird Lovat sat serenely in the sun, each whittling something that she knew would be beautiful. Even Elizabeth was running, her black curls bouncing and her cheeks a healthy shade of pink. And then there was her father and mother, sitting high above them on a hilltop, looking down at the scene and smiling.

Kenna would wake from this dream in tears, knowing that such a scene could never be real. She might not ever lay eyes on her siblings again, especially if the Gordon rebellion grew particularly horrific.

Thankfully, her afternoon nap today had been dreamless. Kenna was so comfortable that she was considering closing her eyes again, letting her thoughts slip away as she succumbed once more to the silence and warmth of the room. That plan was cut short by a sharp knocking at the door, followed closely by Florence barging in with three large packages in her arms.

“Come with me,” Florence said, skipping out of the room just as quickly as she had entered.

Kenna heaved herself up and gave a final stretch before following Florence, who was waiting outside of Ellen’s room with a face so full of enthusiasm that it reminded Kenna of a dog about to earn a bone.

Kenna rapped on the door. “Ellen? I think Florence will cry if ye don’t let us in.”

“Then come in!” Ellen called from the other side of the door, and Kenna pushed the door open.

Ellen’s room was everything Kenna expected. It was always so neat and tidy, with a roaring fire blazing in the hearth. Ellen had draped a delicately sewn quilt across the bed, brightening the room with a bit of Fraser red and green.

Sitting next to the table, which was piled with needlework supplies, Ellen was gently passing a needle back and forth through a bit of white cloth. It would be a beautiful flower with petals as red as ripe strawberries once it was finished. The details in Ellen’s work were so fine that even the best craftsmen in the world would have been jealous. Kenna absently remembered the needlework projects in her room, all half-finished and sloppy, and tried not to be jealous.

“So, ladies, do ye remember all of those things that we ordered the other day?” Florence asked.

“Ye mean the mountain of new dresses?” Kenna replied, collapsing into the chair beside Ellen.

“The order that has resulted in new packages being delivered here every day fer nearly a fortnight?” Ellen chimed in.

“The order with a bill so large that they are considering naming the shop after ye in gratitude?” Kenna lobbed again.

Ellen laughed, for once, causing Florence to stomp her feet.

“Ach, that is enough from both of ye. Since ye both seem to ken exactly which order I am referring to, I am pleased to inform ye that in my hands are the final packages. This is it; there is no more. Do not even think of being depressed by this news after the display ye just put on.”

Florence threw one twine-wrapped package to Kenna and the other to Ellen. She held the third for herself.

“Depressed? I am thankful,” Ellen said as she started to undo the twine. “I think if much more arrived, dear Laird Lovat would have keeled over.”

Kenna lifted the gown from the package. The fabric was a deep blue, the color of the sea, with winding white flowers embroidered on the bodice. Nearly endless wisps of thin lace tumbled from the sleeves. Kenna glanced over at the others, who each held up a similar gown. Florence’s was as green as grass atop a Highland hill, while Ellen’s was a brown that shifted to gold as the light caught it.

“Aren’t they lovely? They are the color of each of our eyes,” Florence cooed, clutching her dress to her chest.

“Beautiful, thank ye, Florence,” Kenna said with a smile, folding the gown carefully back into the package for its safety.

It was possibly the finest dress she had ever owned. The Queen might have even envied it, despite the absence of gems and pearls. She traced her finger gently over the embroidery, marveling at the perfect placement of each stitch.

“Ye are quite welcome. Though I do hope that the dress will not fit ye much longer.”