Chapter Thirteen #3
“’Tis perfect, then,” pronounced Christie.
Ailie agreed. “I’ll just adjust the waist, here.” She was tugging the laces at the back of the dress, drawing it tighter. “Christie, pour the tea. We must get dressed ourselves.” Her voice had the slightest flutter at the edges when she said, “It won’t be long until the guests begin to arrive.”
Christie’s dress was a light sea-green, setting off her pale, creamy skin tone.
And Ailie put on a flattering dark blue dress, which emphasized the sapphire color of her eyes.
Christie brushed her own hair, leaving it down.
She fashioned Ailie’s hair in an uptwist, leaving curled strands to delicately frame Ailie’s face.
Then she turned her attention to my hair, of which she braided only small select strands, coiling them around my hairline, leaving much of my hair long, and brushing it carefully. “I daresay you’ll get noticed tonight.”
* * *
THE MORRISONS WERE the first to arrive, just as darkness was beginning its gauzy descent. Seven slightly plump and very lively young women swamped the hall in a flurry of tittering laughter, bright-colored fabric, almost-identical curled brown hair and—as Ailie had suggested—abundant cleavage.
I recalled the conversation of Wilkie’s brothers, regarding the second-eldest daughter, Stella.
I spotted her immediately. She stood out from her sisters in several ways: she was slightly taller with longer, darker hair and a distinctive shimmery beauty.
And while her sisters bustled into the manor, excited and boisterous, Stella’s eyes were cast down, and she did not appear to be at all pleased to be here.
The women were followed by a rather tired-looking but upright older man with a furrowed brow and a determined expression, who looked eager at the prospect of the company of Laird Mackenzie and his brothers, none of whom—I was painfully aware—had yet to make an appearance.
The group was greeted by Ailie, Christie and other upstanding members of the clan, including cousins and other Mackenzie relatives, and welcomed with ale and food.
I had met several of this extended Mackenzie family, although I did notice that Wilkie’s sisters seemed somewhat protective of me and stayed by my side much of the time.
As before, when I was introduced, it was pleasant yet perfunctory, with little information offered.
And it wasn’t long until the Munro party arrived, which was comprised of the two sons, two nephews and a daughter of Laird Munro.
The Munros had varying shades of strawberry blond hair, ranging from the daughter’s almost-blond to the gold-lit copper of the sons.
The eldest, Magnus, was a tall and ruggedly handsome man, and I could see that Ailie’s eyes only left him when he happened to look in her direction, at which time her cheeks flushed with bright splashes of pink.
“She refuses to speak to him,” Christie whispered, handing me a goblet of ale. “’Tis quite amusing to watch. My confident, poised sister turns into a spineless, quivering wallflower.”
Christie insisted on topping up my goblet, and after several sips, I began to feel its relaxing, bubbling effects.
She chattered about the crowd, giving me fascinating backstories, one by one, as she pointed out the guests.
One or two of them looked vaguely familiar to me, and I guessed that I might have served their table at the Ogilvie keep. I doubted that they would recognize me.
Clementine Morrison, the eldest sister, was the first subject.
“She’s had a run of bad luck at the altar, poor thing,” Christie said, in low tones that were almost a whisper.
“Her first attempt was a Macallister who decided he was in love with someone else, only days before they were due to be married. Can you imagine? The second was Eoin Buchanan, nephew of the laird, who ended up scandalously running off with his own brother’s wife.
And it appears that Clementine has had enough.
Last I heard, she’s due to retreat to a convent in the spring.
She’s become most devout—look at her dress, after all—’tis much more demure than those of her sisters.
She’s decided she’s had enough of men altogether and will dedicate herself to the church. One can hardly blame her, I daresay.
“So Stella is next in line to secure a new laird for the Morrison clan. And look at her. She’s stunning, yet painfully shy.
” It was true that Stella Morrison was a rare beauty.
She had long, dark brown hair that was inflected with blond highlights.
The long strands curled at the ends and glowed like glimmer-edged spirals.
She was taller than her sisters, and slimmer, and she projected an entirely different aura than the rest of her family.
She seemed somber and disengaged from the gathering surrounding her.
“I heard from Ainsley Munro—the lass is a wealth of information, mainly because her brothers and cousins travel the Highlands and attend all the gatherings—that Stella’s in love with a lower-ranking stable boy or some such, but that her father has banished him from the keep.
And only days ago. So she’s heartbroken and has refused marriage to another. ”
“That must be why she looks so sad,” I said.
“Aye, I would say so. That, and the fact that her father will likely hear none of it. If he arranges a marriage for her despite her protests, there’s little she can do about it.
She’s not in a position to refuse his dictates, whether it’s the exile of her beloved, or the forced marriage to a man of his choosing. ”
A man of his choosing. The words lingered in a most unwelcome echo.
I knew, as we all did, which man Laird Morrison had in mind.
Wilkie had professed to his brothers that he favored none of the Morrison women, but now that I had seen Stella for myself, I wondered if she might present a more welcome possibility to Wilkie than the one called Maisie.
And Christie continued, as though reading my thoughts.
“That one is Maisie,” Christie said. “It was she that issued an invitation to Wilkie, with Laird Morrison’s approval, last month. She is famously precocious and wishes it to be her husband who will inherit the lairdship.”
Maisie Morrison was not at all comely like Christie had described; she was in fact quite beautiful, it had to be said.
She was not tall and big-boned like her sister Clementine, nor tall and slim like Stella, but rather petite with a rounded, curvy shape that might have even been described as plump.
But her shape suited her. She filled out the curves of her dress voluptuously.
Her wavy brown hair shone in the candlelight, and her pink cheeks and vibrant eyes suggested an almost wonton frivolity.
She giggled and whispered with her younger sisters, clear excitement written on her face.
“Maisie has designs...” Christie hesitated, looking at me, her light blue eyes luminous with light and youthful earnestness.
“Well, she has designs to marry a Mackenzie. And since Stella is not ambitious in that way, Laird Morrison agreed to it. Yet I do wonder if that will change, now that Stella’s stable boy has been sent away.
Perhaps Stella will now be forced into marriage because of her unsuitable yearnings,” she said, speaking her unsettling thoughts aloud.
Christie squeezed my hand briefly. “I’m glad you’re wearing that dress tonight, Roses. You outshine everyone in the room.”
“You are kind, Christie. So very kind.” In fact I felt almost tearful with it; I wasn’t sure I deserved Christie and Ailie’s steadfast support, but they genuinely seemed to be encouraging of my presence in Wilkie’s life.
I couldn’t begin to guess at why this might be.
And as though in answer to my unspoken question, Christie said softly, “We Mackenzies are all romantics, you should know.” She paused, contemplating me quite earnestly, then she said, “Our mother died in childbirth when I was born, Roses. Our father pined for her and continued to worship her memory until his dying day. He never remarried. And I can tell you that all my siblings, myself included, aspire to that kind of devoted love. And we made a pact—if we were ever to find it, we would recognize it for what it was, and not deny it. Knox found it, but his wife was lost to him, also dying in childbirth, and their baby boy along with her. It was a traumatic event for all of us, and one I believe that has changed Knox’s outlook.
He’s harder than he used to be, less indulgent of his own feelings or anyone else’s.
I suppose that may have something to do with his lairdship as much as anything else, I don’t know.
What I do know is that he has changed, at least on the surface.
He’s forced himself to change. But the rest of us continue to believe.
I think Wilkie’s been overcome by you in this way, Roses.
We can all see it. We’ve certainly never seen Wilkie behave as he does with you.
He’s truly in a state. He’s half mad over you.
I must admit it’s a new look for him, and I’m finding it quite entertaining—oh, look, here he comes. ”
At that moment, Laird Mackenzie, Wilkie and Kade walked into the room, and I caught my breath.
The three of them together were a spectacle in itself, for their size and masculinity alone.
They looked a force to be reckoned with, with their dark hair and flashing eyes, and dressed in their clan-colored kilts, as were the other men.
Their presence filled up the room and caught the crowd’s attention.
But I only had eyes for one of them.