Chapter 14
Kristen paced the length of her chamber with her cheeks still burning. Sunlight streamed through the window and left a pale line across the floor that she stepped over again and again.
“Fool. Utter fool,” she muttered. “Twice in two days.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Curiosity; that is all. I willnae be one of those foolish girls begging for scraps of affection.”
She turned. She paced. The image of him stepping out of the lake flashed through her mind anyway, water running over scars and muscle, heat rising in her throat like a fever.
“Nay,” she hissed. “Absolutely nae. I refuse.”
A knock suddenly sounded at the door.
She jumped. “Come in.”
Isla, a young maid, poked her head into the room. “Me Lady, shall I help ye choose a gown for dinner?”
“I daenae care,” Kristen said, flapping a hand. “Just lay out… something.”
“Aye.” Isla moved to the wardrobe and took out several gowns, before laying them across the bed in neat lines.
Kristen looked anywhere but at the bed, then drew nearer without meaning to. “Nae that one, Isla. The blue one is too bright. The green one is too plain. Nay, nae the grey one either. I look half dead in grey. Isla, stop smiling like that.”
“I am nae smiling.” The maid bit her lip to prove it.
“I am only trying to be presentable,” Kristen insisted, lifting her chin. “That is all.”
“Aye, me Lady.” Isla laid out a wine-red gown and smoothed the sleeves with care. “Shall I bring a shawl?”
“Bring it,” Kristen said, as if the choice meant nothing, and watched the maid go.
Silence returned. Six gowns lay across her bed like six judgments.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered.
She touched the hem of one, lifted another. She arranged them by color, then by trim, then by neckline, and hated herself for knowing which one flattered her figure most.
“This one’s for dinner,” she told the gowns. “Nothing more. The Laird has returned; it is important to dress properly.”
Her heart beat too fast. She tried a shawl, then a ribbon, then tossed both on the chair. Every choice felt obvious, and for some reason, every dress looked like the worst thing she had ever worn.
“Dear Lord,” she muttered to the window. “I am losing me mind here.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, before Isla burst into the room, panting. “Me Lady, some villagers at the gate are asking for yer help.”
Kristen straightened, grateful for anything that made sense. “Good. I am coming.”
The courtyard met her with the smell of hay and the scrape of cart wheels. Three villagers waited near the gate, and she studied them as she moved closer. A woman was wringing her hands, a man stood with his cap between his fingers, and a boy with mud to his knees hovered behind.
Maggie would have loved the place, but she had taken the children to nursery for their naps. Kristen had to steady herself without a dog at her heel.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
“The grain shed flooded, me Lady,” the man replied. “We misjudged the ditch, and the water leaked under the door.”
“Me goat is ailing,” the woman added. “She willnae rise, and her milk tastes strange.”
“And he put his geese on our grass,” the boy blurted, pointing at the man. “Da said it was fair, but it isnae fair.”
Kristen raised her hands placatingly. “One at a time. For the shed, I will send a guard to help ye fix it. He’ll ken more about these things than I do, so ye have to be patient.
” Her eyes flicked to the woman. “For the goat, ye will give her warm water with a pinch of salt, and ye will keep her by the fireplace. If she doesnae rise by morning, send for the healer. He should be able to help ye.”
“Me Lady—” the third boy started.
“As for the geese, nay grazing on the lower field till the ditch is right. Ye can take the east strip, and ye will keep to it,” Kristen spoke over him.
Relief flashed across the man’s face, and the woman nodded and nearly wept. The boy quieted, solemn under orders.
Kristen turned to the nearest guard. “Escort them home, and carry the timber as far as the mill road. Make sure the east strip is marked.”
“Aye, me Lady.” The guard nodded once.
“Bless ye,” the woman said, and gripped Kristen’s hand. “Ye make things right.”
“I try.” Kristen smiled. “Go now. The day runs fast.”
They left lighter than they had come, she could tell.
She stood a moment and breathed deeply. She had been doing this for five years; she knew how most of it went by now. She especially knew that most of the people just needed a listening ear. She had always tried to be that for everyone.
She turned around and looked up without thinking.
Neil stood on the tower wall, his hands braced against the stone, watching the courtyard with an unreadable gaze. For some reason, the evening made him look somber.
Eventually, he spotted her and gave a polite nod.
Her breath caught. She nodded back stiffly and went inside, before her heart betrayed her again.
Her chamber felt different when she reentered it, as if the gowns had been whispering in her absence. The light had dimmed by a degree, and the gowns held their place like a line of arguments that would not back down.
She trailed her hand over the wine-red dress and felt the fabric answer, soft and sure. “Fine,” she muttered. “I choose this one.”
She pulled it on and tied the laces. The bodice fit snugly around her back, and the way the skirts draped over her legs seemed right enough. She smoothed the waist and turned to the mirror. If she didn’t know better, she would think the woman staring back at her was hopeful and happy.
She twisted her hair and pinned it up, then let two curls fall, then pinned them again.
“Get a hold of yerself,” she whispered to her reflection. “Ye care what ye think, nay one else.”
The words steadied her, in a way. Her decision was made.
She lifted her chin and looked at her own eyes until they met her without flinching. The truth she would not speak out loud rose in her chest anyway.
She wanted her husband to look.
Davina breezed in without knocking. “Kristen… oh,” she murmured, then burst into laughter at the sight of garments strewn over every surface. “God’s breath, lass. Are ye preparing for battle or a feast?”
“It is only dinner,” Kristen said, shoving a shawl off the chair with the back of her hand.
Davina eyed her with a low whistle. “The Laird willnae ken what hit him.”
“Davina!” Kristen cried, heat rising to her face. “It is decent and proper, nothing more.”
“Aye,” Davina said, her eyes bright. “Decent, proper, and sharp as a blade if need be.”
Kristen folded her arms. “Ye came for a reason, I hope.”
“I did.” Davina sat on the edge of the bed, her skirt pooling around her.
“Now that the Laird is back, we will soon have chiefs visiting. Neighboring lairds, traders looking to strike deals, a priest or two who want their share of venison. We will need to prepare more beds and more bread. I have already sent word to the village for extra loaves.”
Kristen seized on the topic like a rope. “Good. I will speak with the kitchens about the game and the root cellar. We have half a wheel of cheese that needs finishing. I will also ask the maids to sweep the guest rooms.”
Davina nodded. “That is the lady of the castle speaking.”
“It is all that is speaking,” Kristen said. “Visitors daenae bother me either way. I only wish to be presentable.”
Davina hummed, sounding unconvinced. “Aye. And the lady of the castle has nay interest in impressing her husband.”
Kristen nearly choked on her breath. “Absolutely nae.”
Davina grinned. “Of course.”
Kristen turned back to the mirror, smoothed her hair, fixed a pin, removed it, then fixed it again. “The dress is fine because it fits. The color is fine because it is sober. The Laird willnae notice.”
“Ye think so?” Davina arched an eyebrow. “Men notice less than they should and more than ye wish.”
“I didnae dress for him,” Kristen insisted.
Davina cocked her head. “Then for whom?”
“For meself,” Kristen said, lifting her chin.
Davina’s smile softened. “Good answer. Keep it.”
Kristen let out a breath that failed to steady her. “Is there news of the bairns?”
“Already waiting for ye at the table, along with the others,” Davina assured her.
A laugh escaped Kristen’s lips. “Good. That is one problem I daenae have to deal with tonight.”
Davina’s gaze flicked to the window, where evening pressed low. “The courtyard looks different with the Laird around. I daenae ken if ye’ve noticed. Everyone seems to be on their best behavior.”
Kristen busied her hands with the shawl. “Aye, I noticed. I suppose once ye’re a laird, it doesnae matter how many years ye spend away.”
Davina looked back at the line of gowns.
She trailed a finger over the blue sleeve, then the green one.
“When the councilmen arrive, they will first look at him, then at ye. That is how it goes. If they find ye steady, they will keep their voices soft. If they find ye brave, they will keep their tempers in check.”
Kristen’s heart thudded once. “I have been handling the councilmen for years now. I ken how to deal with them.”
“Nay, ye daenae. Ye only ken the version when the Laird isnae around,” Davina sing-songed, unrepentant. “But daenae worry. The clansfolk will always remember who kept them warm when their Laird was away.”
Kristen looked down at the floor. “I only did me duty.”
Davina stepped closer and took her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Aye. And ye did it well.”
Kristen gently pulled free, then smoothed her bodice as if the motion alone could calm her. “It is only dinner,” she said quietly. “He will sit, he will eat, then he will leave.”
“Perhaps,” Davina allowed. “Or perhaps he will look.”
Kristen rolled her eyes, though the butterflies in her stomach would not cease fluttering. “He can look at the stew; it needs his attention more than I do.”
“That is a lie, and we both ken it,” Davina quipped.
Kristen tried to glare at her and failed. “Ye are impossible.”
“I am only trying to be helpful.” Davina shrugged. “Come now.”
She linked their arms with the ease of long practice. Her presence steadied Kristen more than any pin or ribbon.
Together they moved to the door. The chamber smelled of soap and clean linen and a tinge of something warm, like cloves.
“Hold,” Davina said and adjusted Kristen’s sleeve with deft fingers. “There. The Queen would envy ye.”
“Stop,” Kristen protested, but her lips quirked up anyway.
They stepped into the dim corridor, where torches flickered along the walls. The stone breathed cool air up the stairs. Voices drifted from below, along with the scrape of benches and the hiss of ladles across iron.
“Whatever ye feel,” Davina murmured as they walked, “let it be yers first. Let the rest come after.”
Kristen swallowed. “Aye.”
They climbed down the stairs, their linked arms swinging once, twice, like a small anchor between them. Just as the door to the hall came into view, the great bell chimed above the arch, calling the castle to table.
Davina squeezed her arm. “’Tis just dinner.”
Kristen drew a breath that did not quite fill her lungs. “Aye, ’tis just dinner,” she echoed, and they made for the door.