Chapter One #2
“Och, Ailith! I had heard ye were here. Sine and I brought ye some clothing.”
Ailith smiled at her and waved her in.
“I am so grateful. My kirtle from last night . . .” She tipped her head toward the wrecked wool on the floor.
Another kirtle she’d have to throw away. At the rate she was going with her kirtles, she’d have no gowns left. Ugh, and the thought of weaving more made her skin crawl. Was there any task more boring than weaving?
“I saw ye. Sine and I did.” At the sound of her name, Sine pushed Muire through the doorway, her smiling face appearing behind her older sister.
“Aye. We brought ye a kirtle. ‘Tis too short, most likely, yet ‘twill do until ye return home,” Sine said over her sister’s protests.
Unlike her sister’s neatly plaited light brown hair, Sine wore her blonde hair loose and wild, just like the lass who owned it. Ailith smiled at the pair.
“Thank ye,” Ailith said, taking the proffered brown kirtle.
The soft wool was serviceable and exactly what she needed to put on over her more revealing léine.
She slipped it over her head, and Muire handed her a thin leather belt to gather the loose fabric around her waist. Not too loose, both Muire and Sine were leaner like their brothers, but the kirtle fit well enough.
Ailith gave the young women a grateful smile.
They did not leave right away. Instead, Muire sat in one of the chairs while Ailith dressed, and Sine hopped onto the foot of the unmade bed.
“I know much has happened in the past few days, but have ye made any progress with your wedding plans? I know my brother is at his breaking point.” Muire’s comment was accompanied by a wicked-looking smile.
She’s fishing for news! Och, the wee gossip. Ailith’s cheeks burned with a blush.
“He’d like to wed on the morrow. At dawn,” Ailith answered.
Sine and Muire exchanged a glance. “Och, leave it to William,” Sine laughed.
“What? Leave what to William?” Ailith asked, looking from one lass to the other.
Muire waved a dismissive hand. “He thinks ye can just throw a wedding together. Ye might if ye are a crofter’s lass or the like, but ye are the sister of a chieftain, and William is a beloved nephew of one.
This is the joining of two clans and the signaling of a union for many Highland clans.
My apologies, Ailith, your wedding is one of politics as much as it is of love. ”
Ailith’s brow furrowed, and she tilted her head at Muire. “So we cannae marry at dawn tomorrow because . . .?”
Sine shook her head. “Uncle Cormag and your brother will want as many clans to be there as possible. And how might we prepare a wedding and a feast in but a day? A daybreak wedding? No’ possible. Another day or two will be required.”
Ailith nodded at the MacDougal women’s sage assessment of the situation. Hell, she didn’t even have a dress that she knew of.
As if Muire could read her mind, she grinned at Ailith. “We’ve been working on your gown while ye were at Glenbervie. Do ye wish to see it?”
Question upon question filled Ailith’s mind about the gown.
Where had it come from? Why was it here?
Why was Mairi, her brother's wife, not helping her sew the gown? Och, perchance she was too busy with her new bairn. Perchance, Ailith was better friends and closer to William’s sisters than she realized.
Presumably, Muire was close in age to herself. It made sense.
Ailith recalled Muire’s concern over her injury a few weeks past. And how removed her own sister-in-law seemed. Aye, a closeness between her and Muire made strong sense.
Preparations for her own wedding had been a concern hanging over her head these past days as William had pressed the issue. To learn that Muire and Sine had worked on that element – what else might they have done in preparation?
“Ailith? Do ye wish to see the dress?”
Emotions caught in Ailith’s chest like a net. She nodded. “Aye,” she answered in a heavy voice. “I cannae wait.”
The lassies giggled and escorted her from William’s chambers and up the tower stairs one flight. They rushed her to a door on the right.
It was a salon or drawing room of sorts.
Formal appearance, with shiny, arched wood beams, wooden crown molding, and wood-edged windows.
A set of three, allowing for plenty of light on bright days, with stained glass set into the middle window, a series of interlocking circles like a Celtic knot in shades of blue and green.
Light glinted through that window, an undersea wonderland that shone upon the woven wool rug – no rush mats in this refined room.
Another arched inset window with a ledge provided light at the far end of the room, flanked by torch sconces.
A bookcase and slender round tables sat against the wall adjacent to the hearth, and overstuffed chairs were scattered around the room.
The room held the aroma of fire, fresh linen, and women’s spaces.
But in the corner of the room, near the farthest window, hung a dress over a wooden form that rivaled any wedding gown Ailith had ever seen or imagined.
The dress was a deep green, a hunter-green damask. An impossible green with a wee bit of a sheen. The green of a Scottish Glen; of an ancient, moss-covered castle; of a fae woods.
Heather dye? Mixed with iris leaf, perhaps?
Ailith thought as she approached the gown as if in a trance.
The skirt fell straight and long, surely long enough to drag on the ground both in the front and back.
The draping sleeves were of a matching green sheer linen, attached to the low bodice of the kirtle, so her shoulder might peek out from the shoulder straps.
A matching sash was sewn to the V-waist in the front, the slender panels flowing down the skirt nearly to the hem.
The beauty of the color and craftsmanship, however, paled against the embroidery upon the bodice.
A Celtic knot pattern, wide and reaching from one shoulder to the other, then dropping down the front in a V, weaving in and out in a deep green hue a shade or two darker than the gown itself.
Dainty, intricate threads formed a series of interwoven knots, reaching nearly to the sash.
So much detail and perfect stitching, all done by hand.
Had Ailith helped in any of this?
“Caitir stitched with us as well, when not tending her duties as chieftain’s wife,” Sine explained. “’Tis why the strands are so perfect.”
So Caitir was like Mairi then, fond of weaving and stitching. And did she have a talent for them. Ailith was speechless.
“We’ve been waiting for ye to come to try it on. We need to adjust the laces at the back,” Muire told her. Grasping the wooden form, she turned the dress around.
Ailith forgot to breathe. That same delicate embroidery was stitched along the back, on either side of the laces that criss-crossed down and tied at the waist.
This was no mere dress. This was a work of art. Had Ailith seen this dress displayed in some history museum? She easily could have – it was that divine.
“Since the dress was your mother’s, initially,” Sine said as she pointed to different parts of the gown, “we added the embroidery and the sash and removed the tight sleeves for the draping ones.”
Her mother’s gown.
Ailith’s chest ached at those words. Her own mother, when she was still Emilie, had died when she was a girl, and she had figured out that Ailith had the same fate – a mother taken too young.
She could almost imagine that this gown was her own mother’s, that if she had never come from the future, she’d wear that dress to her own wedding one day.
Blinking back a sudden rush of hot tears, she stepped to the dress and touched the sleeve that Sine held out to her.
“See? Your mother will yet be present on your wedding day,” Muire said, coming up behind Ailith and hugging her shoulders.
“Shall we keep it here? Ye can dress here, we will aid ye with your hair, and the feast will be below. Ye can even have your belongings brought on the morrow and reside here tomorrow eve.” Sine’s face glowed in her planning.
Muire giggled. “‘Twould be what William prefers.”
A broad smile broke Ailith’s lips, and again she had to blink back tears.
When she had traveled back in time, she hadn’t thought of having friends again, a world that might make her comfortable.
She had been prepared for the worst, and now that the mad king was dead and there was hope for the unity of the clans of Alba and her mushrooms, Ailith could enjoy a measure of peace and delight.
Och, the gown and lassies boasting about it gave Ailith such surprise delight.
She nodded. Their idea was sound and a sight better than getting ready for her wedding day with Mairi and her austere stare.
Would her brother agree? Most likely, anything to unite the clans. Being a pawn in the game of politics didn’t sit well with Ailith, but with a husband like William, she could abide it.
“Seocan should be more than agreeable,” Ailith told them as she continued to marvel at the gown. Muire untied the laces at the back and removed the dress from the frame.
“Come,” she said. “Off with your kirtle. Let us see if this gown looks as fine on ye as it does on this frame.”
Sine helped Ailith remove her borrowed kirtle, and Ailith stepped into the gown. It was like transforming into a princess from a fantasy. Muire yanked tightly on the laces, securing the back. Sine gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
“Och, Ailith,” she whispered behind her hands, “ye look like a queen.”
Once she was laced in, Muire adjusted the sleeves, and they led her to the elongated mirror.
The vision reflected back to Ailith was something from a dream.
It was Ailith, her own form that she had grown used to in the last month, but this image appeared far different.
More Ailith, if possible. The deep green brought out the brilliance of her mossy green eyes and made her dark red tresses stand out in stark relief, like a water sprite from the deepest Scottish loch.
Her breasts pushed upward from the scooped neckline, offering a gentle curve of her cleavage for view, and the skirts caught on her hips, falling in a perfect line to the floor.
The filmy sleeves brushed against the back of her hands.
And the embroidery seemed to stand out from the fabric, demanding attention to both the artistry of the gown and to the woman who wore it.
Truly, she looked like a marvel.
“Ye are as the goddess Brigid,” Sine whispered behind Ailith, her own eyes riveted onto the mirrored image. “Your hair rivals the flame as ye rival her beauty.”
“William will no’ wait for the wedding feast to end. Mark my words, ye will take ye to his chambers, your chambers, and secure this joining before ye make it to the main hall.”
Ailith’s lips twisted in Muire’s wry assessment, but the lass wasn’t wrong.
“As much as I’d like to admire ye all day, we should undress ye. William will return soon to take ye to your brother.” Muire moved quickly, leaning forward to kiss Ailith’s cheek. “But when ye return, ye shall no’ leave again and become a sister of ours in full. I cannae wait.”
The young women giggled again, then helped Ailith out of the divine gown.
Sisters.
She’d never had sisters. And now she was to have two.
Aye, such changes she had never considered.
And as she gazed upon the two smiling women hanging up her wedding gown, Ailith was grateful for it.