Page 22 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

“We are to be yer personal maids. The laird requests ye be dressed for the morning’s celebrations,” the first maid said, though she regarded Aileana warily. “A traveling party goes without the walls to find the perfect Yule log and haul it back to begin burning tomorrow eve.”

Morning? Disoriented, she moved to a tapestry, peeling it back and peeking through the crack in the shutters. Stark, early light leaked through. Soldiers gathered for training in the yard. Moments later, James emerged from beneath her window, slipping into a training jerkin and gauntlets and snagging the hilt of a practice sword his man, Angus, tossed to him.

“Did I sleep the whole night?” she asked as James’s orders rang out into the bailey and his men took formations to begin sparring.

“Aye, mi lady,” the woman said, her tone curt. “Ye passed out. The laird had ye put to bed and sat by yer side until yer fever broke.”

James had done what?

“Ye’ll join him for the countryside jaunt if ye feel to rights,” said the other, just as warily.

She spied MacDonald tartan draped over the maid’s arm. A garment for her to wear? Presumptuous on their parts to assume she’d be willing to don such colors. Unless…James hadn’t told them about their marriage’s lack of permanence. Why? Did he intend to dishonor his agreement to return her home by Twelfth Night? And lay complete claim to her?

A daft, impulsive reaction. She looked down at the earrings in one hand, the kerchief in her other, running her thumb across it, then out the window at him as he drilled his men, deflected his partner’s blows, and shouted pointers. His muscled legs and torqued body, hugged by the jerkin, really was a thing of beauty. Nay, he’d been sweet just now, forging further goodwill and returning her most-valued possession. Could she keep taking a nàmhaid at his word?

The maids flitted about the chamber while the serving girl, no more than six or seven, closed the door and sat down beside it. They tucked in her bed linens, fluffed her pillows, and laid out their bundle of fabrics. Dark sapphire blue, rich hunting green, soft mauve. And that damning red plaid.

Such beautiful, rich gowns. Her heart squeezed to think of Clan Grant having gone without for so long, while Clan MacDonald seemed to have so much.

“The seamstress will visit this afternoon to take yer measurements,” the first maid spoke again as she smoothed the wrinkles from the garments. “The laird has ordered a new wardrobe made, but until that can be done, these gowns might suit. The Lady Brighde has kindly offered them.”

That suspicion niggled again. A new wardrobe would be costly and time consuming. Why would James invest such an expense in a temporary handfast?

“We’re to see ye break yer fast, per his lairdship’s request.”

Not a single smile warmed their faces. Instead, they kept their eyes averted, avoiding coming too close to her.

“Come sit, mi lady,” the first maid said, an air of irritation to her voice as she placed a tray of savory smells upon the fireside table, pulling out her chair. “Maudie, bring that basket of hair adornments here.”

The little girl hurried from the door with a basket on her hand, bobbing in a quick curtsy.

“Ribbons for yer hair, mi lady,” the girl said, eyes wide and brown, red hair curling out from beneath her linen bonnet tied beneath her chin. “The blue will be most comely on ye.”

Aileana took in her expectant face and bent lower to smile, though even the child shied back from her. Were they worried she’d bite? She straightened, her smile falling.

“Have I offended?” Aileana asked, glancing at the maid who intended to style her hair, and sat.

The other servant, still tidying the chamber, stopped and glanced at her.

“The laird tells us ye’re sister to Laird Seamus Grant, mi lady.” The maid tugged Aileana’s hair straight.

“I am. I’m his youngest sister,” Aileana replied.

The maid swallowed stiffly, and as Aileana faced the tray before her, the maid took to running a comb through her hair, yanking upon her tangles with little gentleness. “Yer brother’s men killed my husband four years ago when he and the Frasers sacked Tioram and sent his lairdship fleeing.”

Aileana gasped. Winded. As if she’d taken a pummel to her gut. Her clan had done what? She’d always thought her brother’s campaign to help the Fraser’s instate a new laird had been due to a legitimate claim to the Earldom of Ross. Mayhap all of what James had said was true. And it had affected these innocent people’s lives.

“I…I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didnae ken.”

The maid scoffed.

“Anag,” snapped the other, flashing the woman at her hair a warning look and silencing her.

Aileana winced at the rough combing, but sat quietly, her appetite once again thwarted. She could eat once the maids left. She’d harbored such anger at James these past two years. Anger at how he’d wronged them. But blast it, the truth of who’d started the feud was murky, hidden deeply in a past lost to time. Her conviction solidified as she looked down at the kerchief once more. This bad blood would never be leeched away until both sides decided to cut their losses and move on. And that was hard for maids such as this one, who’d lost their loved ones because of it.

Her hair finally complete, the maid began to pack her bits and bobs into the basket again and swept it onto her arm, but Aileana snagged her hand.

“Anag, is it?” she asked as the maid looked down at her with surprise.