Page 37 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

The maid blinked. “I asked about the greenery, me Lady.”

Heather said Ceana’s name twice before she looked up. Heat crawled up her neck as Mairi removed the pins and handed the fabric away without comment. Every mention of tomorrow reminded her of Oscar’s apology, though the memory of their kiss remained far more vivid than the regret he had placed around it.

A small plate waited beside her chair with the oatcakes she had praised at breakfast. No one admitted to sending them, yet the cook remembered. The maids also spoke of preparing her place in the Great Hall as though she had already ceased to be a guest. Their hope remained careful, shaped by women who had entered the castle before her and departed soon afterward.

“The Laird ordered a simple ceremony,” Mairi said as she checked another item on her list. “That means we shall avoid waste. It doesnae mean we will send ye out like a lass runnin’ to market.”

Ceana almost smiled. “I am content with whatever ye arrange.”

“Nay.” Mairi lowered the list. “Ye may choose the garden or the Great Hall. A bride ought to decide something about her own weddin’.”

Heather looked across the fabric spread between them. “On that matter, we agree.”

Ceana glanced toward the garden again. Paisley had grown to trust her there, while Tommy and Ness had turned it into the only place where she could forget how she had arrived at the castle.

“The garden,” she decided. “The children are comfortable there, and I would rather speak me vows where they can stand beside us without feelin’ displayed.”

Mairi’s expression warmed before she lifted her list again. “The garden, then.”

Heather lifted a length of blue ribbon from the table. “Ceana should wear Morrag colors during the handfastin’.”

“Morrag will be represented,” Mairi assured her. “MacKane cloth has already been measured.”

“Then use both,” Ceana ordered. She took the ribbon from her mother and laid it beside the dark green fabric. “I am joinin’ this household. I am nae arrivin’ without a name of me own.”

Neither woman argued.

Mairi began considering how the two ribbons could be fastened, while Heather pressed down the Morrag cloth with visible satisfaction.

Paisley had remained near the fireplace throughout the discussion, bent over a small piece of embroidery. Once the maids turned toward the table, she approached Ceana and held out the finished ribbon. Small silver leaves ran along one edge. The stitches were careful, though one leaned slightly away from the pattern.

“I made it for ye,” she said. “Ye could carry it tomorrow, if ye wish.”

Ceana accepted the ribbon with both hands. “I would be honored.”

“Ye daenae have to return it afterward.” Paisley watched the embroidery instead of Ceana’s face. “Ye can put it away with things ye no longer need.”

The request tightened Ceana’s throat.

Good God.

She folded the ribbon gently and placed it beside her glove. “I shall keep it, and I shall remember who made it.”

Paisley said nothing.

“Neither the ribbon nor its maker will be discarded.”

The girl looked at her then, searching for mockery. When she found none, she nodded and returned to the fireplace. Heather had witnessed the exchange from across the room, and the concern on her face deepened as she watched Ceana tuck the gift away.

Ceana escaped the solar when Mairi began discussing the placement of benches. She intended to inspect the garden, though men’s voices reached her from a chamber beside the gallery.

“The missin’ cattle came from the same grazin’ land,” David said. “Bryce is testin’ how quickly we respond.”

Ceana’s eyes moved to the map that covered the table between him and Oscar. Messengers moved through the open doorway, which made the discussion no secret.

“I will send riders back with ye,” Oscar decided. “A second group will remain near the border until yer own watch is strengthened. If Bryce crosses it, word will come directly to me.”

Ceana stopped outside the door.