Page 23 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

She nodded curtly.

“I truly am sorry. The menfolk make war, but the women oft suffer the damages.”

Anag’s face softened, and her gaze dropped to her feet.

“Is that how ye ended up married to our laird, mi lady?” Anag asked.

Aileana swallowed, standing and turning away from them. “I was given in a trade.”

Had James told them about her thievery? Sakes, the embarrassment…

“Our hunting party returned the day before, cursing about a lad who’d thieved from their camp,” the maid said. “His lairdship announced at board last night that he’d caught the lad, a Grant, and that to make reparations, yer brother promised ye to him.”

Aileana’s heart clenched. So James had kept her thievery secret?

“My people are desperate. From Laird MacD—from my husband’s conquest of Urquhart. We havenae much food or provisions. But it was wrong, the thieving, and yer laird demanded a wife as compensation. It was either me or my sweet sister. We only knew yer laird as a warlord against us, and my sister was so frightened…”

Should she tell them this arrangement was only temporary? For some strange reason she couldn’t push the truth over her lips. She had no illusions about remaining here. Did she?

The maid dipped in curtsy to her. “Ye needn’t fear Laird MacDonald. He’s a good man who sees to his people’s well-being. And whilst he might be able to strike down a Grant soldier, he’d never strike a lady. Indeed, we wondered if he’d ever marry, for he’ll be five and twenty aye soon, and ought to have sown several children by now, but until ye arrived here, he’d refused.”

Aileana squeezed her hand as thoughts of Lady Marjorie and the pain that had consumed James’s visage when he’d confided his sister’s fate in her came to mind. No, she was safe in his charge—of that, she was becoming certain. And yet still, his demands for marriage and desire for wedded permanence in the face of his refusal to marry until now sent a prickle of confusion over her skin of which she couldn’t make sense.

The other maid guided her to her dressing table with a kirtle and bodice upon her arm, summoning wee Maudie again to pour the ewer of water upon it into the bowl. The maid saturated a cloth, wringing it, and handed it to her to wash. Goodness, it smelled of roses. Such elegant water. Peigi would have loved this luxury.

Next, the maid helped her step into her stockings, tying them over the knees with ribbons, and draped the creamy kirtle over her head, dragging it down to her waist to secure the fastenings. Her bodice was next, and lastly, the rich sapphire gown and sleeves, which hung in billows of loose trumpeted fabric that bunched in her elbows. She caressed the heavy velvet, awed and wistful. Here she was, wrapped in such finery, while her people scraped by, one breath away from starvation.

“Yer style is finished,” said Anag. “What thinks ye?”

She held out a looking glass. Aileana’s wistfulness abated as she inspected her reflection and slowly lifted her hand to finger the hairstyle.

For a split second, it seemed Peigi’s reflection stared back at her.

“My.” She sighed. “Ye’ve done a fine job…I ken it’s unruly.”

“Nay mi lady,” wee Maudie now said, dropping her head to her feet. “Yer hair is so beautiful. I should hope mine darkens like yers when I’m grown. For right now, it’s such an unsightly ginger.”

“Yers is quite bonny, child,” Aileana countered, lifting her chin. “And let no’ a soul tell ye otherwise. My thanks for yer assistance this morn. It has made me feel welcome.”

The girl beamed at the compliment and curtsied.

Aileana glanced back at her reflection in the mirror. A true glass mirror! Not bronze. Her hair had never been so fashionable, even when Clan Grant had had the resources, and she touched the net at the back of her neck, beaded with seed pearls, edged in rich sapphire velvet. Her mother and Peigi would be proud to see her looking like this now.

Then her gaze settled on her face. Her smile fell. Her freckles had always been such a blemish, even if her mother had tried to downplay them by uplifting her other attributes. “Too much time in the sun, my dear… Ye’ll freckle if ye insist upon riding so much…”

“The dark blue is fine with yer auburn coloring.” The maid curtsied once more. “Surely his lairdship will be pleased.”

“What normally pleases him?” she asked, before biting her tongue. Why care about what looks or fashions please James?

“We ken nay,” the maid replied. “The laird has never made known a leman or a betrothed. Ye’re the first woman that he’s announced.”

Had he spoken the truth beside their campfire, that he’d kept no women before? Surely there had been at least one to slink from his chambers in the wee hours of morning, her chemise barely clinging to her arms. A man of his prestige and fine appearance would have his selection of women any night he chose.

The maid continued, “But he chose ye, mi lady, so we ken ye’re to his liking.”

Blush burned up Aileana’s neck and stained her cheeks. James hadn’t chosen her—she’d sacrificed herself to save Peigi. Aye, he did want me. He mouthed to me in Urquhart’s hall. She’d thought at the time it was because he’d wanted to punish her, not because he’d been attracted to her. Perhaps he’d been motivated on both accounts.

“How could any man no’ turn his head when ye walk into a chamber, enemy or nay? ’Tis obvious why the laird wanted ye over yer sister, even if ye’re thin. A good month at Tioram will put some softness back on yer bones.”