To Marry A Scottish Laird (15 page)

Joan shook her head, quite sure she could never sing as beautifully as Kenna.

“Let us try it again. This time though, sing as softly as you can. Whisper even, and then we will—” She paused and glanced to the door as a knock sounded. “Kenna, will you . . . ?” Lady Annabel let the question die, Kenna was already halfway to the door.

“Good morn,” Lady Garia said brightly when Kenna opened the door. Spotting Joan, she smiled and said, “One o’ the dresses is near being done and we thought to ha’e ye try it on ere we finish it.”

“Oh, of course,” Joan said and stood quickly to move to the door. She was more than eager to quit her singing lessons for now. In fact, she would not mind stopping all the lessons altogether. It was terribly disheartening proving she could not do any of the tasks her aunt and cousins seemed to think were so important for a lady to know.

“I think ye’ll like it,” Garia said as she led her quickly down the hall to the solar. “At least I hope ye will,” she added wryly.

“I’m sure I will,” Joan assured her, and truly believed that. She was wearing another borrowed gown of Annella’s at the moment and while it was lovely, she was ever conscious that it was borrowed and she had to be careful not to stain it. A much more difficult task than one would expect when her husband kept dragging her out to the back courtyard at night to roll around in the grass. When she and his mother had returned below last night, most of the others were just rising to retire. Cam had pulled her aside for another good night kiss and hug, telling her to meet him again once everyone was asleep.

Joan had gone eagerly, but there had been a nip in the air last night, and she had been so worried about Annella’s gown . . . well, it would make things much easier when a few of the girls left and she and Cam could share a bed again.

“What think ye?”

Joan blinked her thoughts away as she halted in the door to the solar and saw the gown two of the women were holding up. It was a masterpiece of deep red with a square neckline and drop sleeves. Gold trim had been added under the bust, and at the upper arms.

“We made a matching chaplet too,” one of the women announced, holding up a wreath of red velvet with the gold trim crisscrossing it all the way around and then dangling down the back.

“Oh,” Joan breathed. It truly was a beautiful gown. She was a fair hand with the needle, but knew she could never have managed this wondrous creation herself.

“Try it on,” Garia urged. “So we can see what must be done.”

Joan moved forward and was immediately beset by the women, all first eagerly undressing her, and then just as eagerly dropping the new gown over her head and doing up the stays before all stepping back to consider their efforts.

“Oh my,” Garia sighed and the comment was followed by several murmurs and sighs by the other women.

Joan peered down at herself, gently running her hands over the soft cloth. It looked beautiful from her perspective, but she couldn’t see the whole picture. She frowned slightly as she noted that the hem was extremely long, and gently lifted the skirt a bit so that it wasn’t dragging on the ground.

“Do no’ worry about that,” Garia said at once, brushing her hands away so that she released the skirt. “We knew ‘twould be too long still. Finola said she had the same measurements as you in the bosom and waist and offered to act as yer substitute while we made it.”

“She did?” Joan asked with surprise.

“Aye, we were surprised too,” Garia admitted, but then shrugged. “Still, it was all she was willing to do and it did help. But we made it to her height to get the full effect, planning to hem it and add gold trim to the bottom when we were sure the rest fit properly.”

“And it does, ’tis perfect.” Joan glanced to the speaker, recognizing her as the lady who had fainted on the steps the day they’d arrived. Murine, she thought Lady Sinclair had called the blond woman.

“Aye,” a petite brunette said. Her big brown eyes moved over their efforts critically and then she suggested, “But we should pin it for hemming while she’s wearing it to be sure it’s absolutely perfect.”

There were general murmurs of agreement all around and then Garia raised her eyebrows. “Would ye mind standing still in it long enough to pin the hem?”

Joan opened her mouth to agree, but then hesitated. Her aunt expected her to attend her lessons. It was the reason her aunt and cousins had gone to all the trouble of packing their belongings and traveling here, leaving her husband and son behind. She could hardly just shirk those lessons and—

“Of course, she will.”

Joan glanced with surprise toward the door at that announcement and stared wide-eyed at her aunt. “Really?”

“Aye,” Lady Annabel said with a smile and then looked her over slowly and shook her head. “You look more beautiful than I could have imagined, Joan. Of course, you must help them finish it.” Moving forward, she kissed her cheek lightly, and whispered, “Maggie would be so proud to see you like this.”

Joan blinked away the tears those words brought to her eyes and hugged her aunt, which immediately brought protests that she would wrinkle the gown.

Laughing, Lady Annabel stepped back, holding her hands up as if to fend them off. “All right then, you girls go ahead and get started and I shall see if I cannot get one of the servants to bring you up some pastries and cider for all your hard work.”

Joan smiled as she watched her aunt leave.

“Oh dear,” Garia said suddenly behind her.

“Is something amiss?” Joan asked glancing around to the woman.

“We only ha’e two pins left,” Garia said slowly, peering at the items on a small table behind her. “The rest appear to all have been used in the other two gowns we have started.” She tapped her hand against her skirt briefly, then turned and headed for the door. “I’m sure I ha’e some tucked away in me chest in me room. I shall go fetch them.”

Once Garia left the solar, the feeling in the room changed somewhat, it filled with an awkward silence that made Joan uncomfortable. After a moment, she couldn’t stand it and blurted, “Thank you so much for doing this. I realize it must be— I mean, you all came here to meet Cam with the hopes of . . .” She waved vaguely rather than verbalize that they’d come hoping to marry her husband. “And then he showed up with me and yet you all . . .” She bit her lip briefly and then said sincerely, “ ’Twas very kind of you all, and I do appreciate it.”

“Ye’re welcome,” the petite brunette said solemnly, then stepped forward and offered her hand. “I am Saidh Buchanan.”

“ ’Tis a pleasure to meet you,” Joan said sincerely, clasping the offered hand and squeezing gently.

“Murine Carmichael,” the pale woman with the tendency to faint introduced herself.

“Edith Drummond.” A tall redhead took her hand next.

They introduced themselves one after another then, giving her name after name until Joan thought her head would spin with them all. There were twelve women after all. Her brain managed to hold on to the names of the first four women, but after that all she could recall were the last names Frasier and Graham, and the first names Glenna and Lorna, and she had no idea if they went together and whose face fit the names.

Fortunately, a servant arrived then with the pastries and cider that Lady Annabel had promised to have brought up. The girls all rushed to pour themselves a drink and select a pastry, but Joan held back, afraid to drop crumbs or spill cider on the new gown. She was thirsty though and tempted, but resisted.

“I found them!” Garia announced triumphantly as she entered the room a moment later, and then spying the girls just moving away from the tray on the table, rushed forward, crying, “Ooooh, lovely.”

Joan smiled crookedly as the petite woman hurried up to the table.

“Why are there two goblets still?” Garia asked. “Has one of these already been used, or did someone not get some?”

“I do no’ think Joan got a drink,” Murine said, glancing to Joan and back.

“I didn’t wish to risk spilling anything on the gown,” she explained with a grimace.

“Oh.” Garia glanced to her and back and then asked, “Are ye all right no’ drinking?”

Joan grimaced and admitted. “I’m thirsty, but I’d rather no’ risk it.”

“What if we placed some cloth over her chest?” Murine suggested. “Then she could drink safely.”

“Aye, that might work,” Garia agreed, turning to pour a second drink.

“Here, one o’ these might do.” Saidh bent to begin digging through a basket of cloth remnants, and straightened a moment later with one she considered suitable. “We’ll just tuck this in yer neckline.”

Joan glanced down to watch her tuck the cloth between the gown and her chest and then glanced around behind her when Garia cried, “Careful Murine.”

“Sorry, did ye spill yer cider when I bumped ye?” Murine asked with concern.

“Nay, ’tis fine,” Garia said with an apologetic little sigh. “Just be sure to be careful around Joan when she has her drink, else the cloth Saidh gave her will no’ make a lick o’ difference.”

“Aye, o’ course,” Murine said unhappily. “Can I take her drink to her for ye?”

“Aye. Please. That way I can get us both pastries,” Garia murmured.

“Can ye raise yer arms, Joan? We ne’er checked yer seams there to see that they were all right.”

Joan glanced around at Saidh’s request and automatically raised her arms, peering at the seams herself even as the other woman did.

“I’ll set yer drink here on the table next to ye, Joan, so ye can drink when ye’re ready,” Murine announced from her other side.

“Thank you,” Joan said, glancing to her again.

“Keep yer arms up,” Saidh ordered, making her realize that she’d let her arms droop a bit as she’d glanced around. The woman moved around her then, explaining, “I just want to see how it sits in the back.”

Joan nodded, and waited patiently.

“Lower yer arms,” Saidh instructed, and a moment later said, “Raise ’em again.”

“How is it?” Garia asked around a mouthful of pastry.

“Good,” Saidh decided.

“Great!” Garia said cheerfully, brushing her hands together to remove any crumbs. “Then we can start pinning the hem.”

“Should I stand on a chair?” Joan asked. “Would that make it easier?”

Garia paused to consider the question, but then shook her head. “Nay, ’tis better this way. We need to judge the distance to the floor and the chair would be under yer feet, no’ under the skirt.”

Saidh nodded agreement and held her hand out for some of Garia’s precious pins, asking, “How do ye want to do this? Shall I start in the back and ye in the front?”

“Nay, mayhap we should start in the front and ye go one way around and I go the other,” Garia suggested. “What do ye think?”

Saidh nodded and knelt in front of Joan. She peered down at them silently as Garia set the first pin, then the two women began to work, moving away from each other. Joan watched for a minute, and then glanced for her drink. Spying it on the table where Murine had said she’d set it, Joan carefully picked up the cider and took a big swallow, and then nearly spat it out. Good Lord, it was bitter. Not at all what she was used to. Usually it was sweet and—

“Try to stand still, Joan,” Garia muttered around the pins she’d placed between her lips.

“Sorry,” Joan apologized after swallowing the mouthful of liquid. She held on to her goblet rather than turn again to set it down and unintentionally move her dress. She glanced around at the women surrounding her and after a moment, asked, “So, you’re all without a betrothed?”

Silent nods were her answer and Joan bit her lip. No one was casting her accusing looks, but she felt guilty just the same. They’d come here hoping to win Cam’s interest and marry him, but she’d sort of stolen him before they could even meet him. Joan took a quick drink of the cider to avoid their gazes and immediately grimaced as the bitter liquid flowed over her tongue. She’d forgotten how bad it was. Swallowing the liquid, she reached to set the goblet on the table beside her, despite the risk of moving her gown. She didn’t want to drink it again by accident.

“Finola is widowed,” Saidh informed her now. “But the rest o’ us ha’e ne’er been married.”

“And probably ne’er will be,” Murine said with a little sigh. “Likely we’ll all end up in abbeys.”

“Speak fer yerself,” Saidh growled with disgust and paused in her pinning to scowl up at the woman. “I shall ne’er take vows.”

“Sorry,” Murine breathed timidly, her hand rising to her neck as if she feared Saidh would suddenly produce a sword and hack at her with it. She also swayed on her feet and Joan eyed her with alarm. Murine was a sweet girl, but she also had a tendency to faint at the drop of a chaplet. Honestly, she’d fainted on the front steps when Cam had appeared with a bride in tow, and then had fainted twice more while they were measuring Joan the day before, just from getting overexcited. She was looking overexcited now too, Joan noted with concern. “Sit, Murine and have some more cider. Mayhap something sweet’ll keep you from fainting.”

Murine nodded and picked up the pitcher, but set it down just as quickly. “The cider is gone.” She grimaced and sat down, waving away her concern. “ ’Tis all right. I’m fine.”

“Nay, you’re pale,” Joan said with a frown and then picked up her own goblet from where she’d set it on the table and held it out. “Here, drink this then. I’ve had enough. It’s a little bitter for me.”

“Are ye sure?” Murine asked.

“Of course,” Joan assured her, holding it a little higher. “I was no’ thirsty anyway.”

“Thank ye.” Murine accepted the goblet and took a gulp, her nose wrinkling. “You’re right. ’Tis bitter.”

“Really?” Saidh asked. “I found mine sweet, a bit too sweet fer me liking.”

“Mayhap all the sweet settled to the bottom and it needed a good stir,” Garia said, her tone distracted as she pressed another pin into the hem.

“Mayhap,” Saidh picked up her own goblet and held it out to Murine. “Have mine instead if ye like.”

“Thank ye,” Murine said, taking the goblet with her free hand and then holding out Joan’s goblet. “Do ye wish to have this one then? It may be more to yer likin’.”

Saidh accepted the goblet and took a swallow, her eyes widening and mouth puckering with distaste. “Ew, nay, this is more bitter than I like. It tastes like . . .” She shook her head. “ ’Tis off or something.”