Chapter 11
Emma couldn’t hide her surprise when she saw Thomas standing outside, dressed in a plaid, a well-worn pair of breeches, and high boots for riding.
He raised an eyebrow. “Did ye think I would forget?” he asked pointedly.
She flushed. “Nay.”
The truth was that she’d hoped he would forget.
Yesterday, after he had left, the afternoon had passed in a confusing whirlwind. At one point, Emma had been sure that she must have misunderstood or simply misheard. Why would a laird want to take her to a gathering anyway, let alone out to buy her a dress?
She hadn’t dared dare ask Delphine, and the subject hadn’t come up. She had had another sleepless night, but this time it had been mostly due to the unseasonable warmth that had sprung up.
“A sure sign that there’ll be a thunderstorm soon,” Delphine had said ominously.
It wasn’t as if either of them could enjoy the warm weather in any case, ensconced as they were behind the thick walls of the Keep.
And now, it was the following day, breakfast was barely over, and Laird Thomas MacPherson was standing at the door to the Healer’s Chambers, waiting patiently for Emma to go with him.
“It’s not convenient,” she said. “I don’t need a new gown.”
He snorted. “Nobody needs a new gown.”
“Well, I can’t afford one.”
“Did ye think I would make ye pay, lass? I am a gentleman.” He winked, flashing that grin that still sent Emma fidgeting and flushing red.
“Go on with him, lassie,” Delphine called from inside the chamber. “Have a good time. He’s given his word to me that ye won’t be bothered, so I can assume that ye are safe. He wouldn’t dare lie to me.”
“I surely would not, Delphine,” Thomas said, laughing. He glanced back at Emma, raising his eyebrows. “Well? Are ye ready?”
Emma huffed, annoyed. “Fine. Give me a moment.”
Her heart was racing, and that was a bad start. She didn’t know how they intended to get to the nearest town—hopefully not sharing a horse saddle—but she would need to keep him at arm’s length.
The memory of the kiss refused to go away. She could hardly look him in the eye without remembering how his lips had tasted and the pleasant scrape of his stubble against her skin. And then, it seemed that if he looked into her eyes, he’d be able to hear her thoughts.
Wouldn’t that be mortifying?
Not for Thomas, of course. She imagined he would be smug, preening happily at the thought of her getting hot for him.
Not that she was, of course. No, absolutely not.
She changed into a pair of sturdier walking boots—a present from Delphine to help with trudging through the forest in search of herbs so that she could wear a thinner pair of slippers while in the Keep—and slung a shawl over her shoulders.
She turned to find that Thomas had followed her and was now standing in the doorway to her room. He was looking around with unapologetic interest.
“I’m ready,” Emma stated brusquely, pushing past him. “Let’s get this over with, eh?”
“Such a gracious lassie,” he commented with a grin.
“We’re going in the carriage, then?” Emma asked a little unnecessarily.
Thomas didn’t laugh at her. “Aye, we are,” he replied, barely glancing over his shoulder.
He led the way across the courtyard to where the carriage stood, the MacPherson tartan and crest engraved on the side. It was made of smooth, polished wood, varnished and sealed, with a door on one side and a shuttered window that could be opened and closed from the inside only.
The carriage was a great, square thing, taller than any cart Emma had ever been on, and was drawn by four horses. It seemed to be quite an unwieldy thing, and she wondered how they would get along the narrower, uneven country roads.
“Ye cannae always use the carriage,” Thomas said as if reading her thoughts. “It’s only really useful on the main roads. Not good for the boggy ground, although a wonderful shelter in bad weather.”
“I see,” Emma said, staring up at the contraption with trepidation. “Doesn’t it bounce ye around badly?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Nay. It’s built with a type of suspension, which cushions the occupants.”
“Suspension?”
He grinned. “Why don’t we get going, and I’ll tell ye more, eh?”
A soldier opened the door for them to climb in, and Emma’s eyes widened.
She’d imagined that the interior of the carriage would be much like the seat of a cart: hard, plain wood, serviceable, and sturdy but not at all comfortable.
She was very wrong.
There were two long, wide seats on either side of the carriage, covered in furs, cushions, and pillows.
The floor was carpeted with rabbit pelts, soft and smooth, and there were more pelts nailed to the sides so that the occupants didn’t have to lean against bare wooden boards.
There was another huge fur and a couple of woollen blankets so that a person could make themselves a perfect little nest. Sprigs of bound and dried herbs hung from each corner of the inside, filling the air with the sweet-savory scents of lavender, rosemary, lemongrass, and sage.
“Go on, then,” Thomas said, laughing. “We’ve got a distance to travel. Make yourself comfortable.”
Emma needed no further encouragement. She bounced into the carriage—which didn’t rock and wobble like a cart which she found strange—and settled into a seat.
Thomas climbed after her, taking the opposite seat, and the door was closed and latched behind them. Then, the carriage lurched forward, and they were off.
She barely noticed. Smoothing her hand over the furs, she bit her lip at the luxurious opulence.
“I’ve never been inside a carriage like this,” she admitted. “Or in any carriage, actually. I’ve ridden in carts before, usually in the back with the goods and straw. I suppose that’s not the same.”
“Nay,” Thomas said, watching her with a strange expression. “I suppose it’s not. Well, I rarely use this thing. It was my father’s before me, and I prefer to ride. I was actually thinking of gifting it to ye and Delphine to use.”
She looked up sharply. “Me and Delphine?”
“Aye, for yer patients.” Thomas glanced away, suppressing a smile. “I know that Delphine thinks she’s being so sly, but I can tell how badly she struggles. I’m nae about to throw her out for being old. I’d have a riot on my hands if I did. But I ken that she needs help.”
Emma swallowed hard, glancing away. “It would certainly make things easier for her.”
Thomas gave a short nod. “Well, I think that could work, then.”
Silence descended, and time passed. How much time, Emma could not have said, but long enough for the carriage’s comfortable opulence to start feeling less comfortable than it had at the start.
They were now going downhill, she could tell from the angle and the fact she kept slipping forward from her seat, dangerously close to launching forward onto Thomas.
That would be a truly terrible idea. She unhooked the window shutter, opening it to peer out at the passing landscape.
Privately, Emma hoped that a blast of cool air would do something about the growing heat in her belly.
She wanted something, something intense and primal, and it had everything to do with the man sitting opposite her.
Thomas looked entirely unruffled. He was sitting directly across from her, his limbs loosely arranged and graceful, his knees spread comfortably wide apart.
Emma immediately wished that she had not looked at his legs.
The breeches he wore were snug, fitting the muscular curve of his thighs a little too closely.
She had a sudden and vivid vision of herself putting a hand on his knee, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath, and sliding her hand up the inside of his thigh.
Maybe even far enough to slide under the plaid, which was bunched voluminously over his lap.
“Feeling sick?”
She flinched, color rushing to her cheeks.
Had he caught her staring at his legs?
But when she glanced up, he looked like his usual, annoying self, and a sharp retort came easily to mind.
“Sick of yer company, I am.”
He snorted, grinning. “Fine. Don’t come wailing to me if ye throw up everywhere. Some people don’t take well to traveling in a carriage.”
The thought of vomiting over the fine, fur-lined interior really did make Emma feel a little nauseous. Before she could make another caustic remark, the carriage suddenly bounced over a pothole, jerking both of them forward.
Emma was already leaning forward, off-balance, so it shouldn’t really have been a surprise when she found herself launched face-first into Thomas’s chest.
“Oof,” she gasped, her cheek pressed against the rough material of the plaid.
A pair of hands descended on her shoulders, warm and gentle.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
Thomas’s voice reminded Emma of where she was and what had just happened.
She was kneeling on the floor of the carriage, her face pressed into Thomas’ chest, his knees on either side of her.
Warmth seeped into her, hot and almost itchy, and she could hear his heartbeat echoing in her ear.
She could feel the strong muscles of his thighs on either side of her and found herself wishing that he hadn’t chosen to wear such tight breeches today.
Red-faced and mortified, she scrambled backward, desperately trying not to touch him.
“I beg yer pardon,” Emma said stiffly. “That was an accident.”
Thomas was watching her with an intent, amused expression. Was it her imagination, or had he arranged his plaid a little more loosely over his lap?
“I ken it was,” he said. “Anyway, it hardly matters. We’re here.”
Emma had never been to this town. She’d never traveled far from home, really, and she knew that the carriage had brought her much further than she’d ever been before.
The town—she didn’t know its name—was a large one, bustling with people, animals, shops, horse riders, and carts. There were even a few carriages like theirs, with the windows shut up tight.
Once she’d gotten over the breathtaking newness of the town, she was immediately struck by something new and all-encompassing.
The smell.
The scent of manure was nothing new, but the town stunk of human filth, unwashed bodies, rotten food and rotten rubbish, and the cloying scent of decay.
“What is that smell?” she murmured, pressing her sleeve over her nose.
“That’s the smell of the city,” Thomas replied, grinning. “Welcome to Edinburgh.”
“Edinburgh,” Emma repeated, rolling the name over her tongue. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Aye, it’s a sight and a half, for sure. It’ll only get finer as the years go by. What do ye think?”
“I think it’s marvelous,” she admitted, gingerly taking her sleeve away from her nose. “Although, we’ll both stink when we get home.”
“What did ye think the herbs were for?” Thomas said, leaning close with a grin. “Now, let’s get on, shall we?”
“Where are we going?”
“In here. We’re expected.”
Thomas led the way along the filthy street, and passerby parted to let him go through, eyeing him curiously.
Emma felt almost as if she were seeing him for the first time.
In this big city, Thomas walked like he belonged here.
His back was straight, his shoulders were rolled back, and his head was held high, yet he did not seem pompous or arrogant.
He smiled kindly down at an old woman with a basket on her arm, stepping aside to let her pass by first.
Everyone gave him a second look, especially the women. It was as if they all knew that he was someone.
All these people listening to their guts. Delphine would be pleased.
He paused in front of a freshly painted shop, waiting for Emma to catch up.
“In here,” he said, grinning like a parent watching a child about to open a fine gift. “Ladies first.”
Emma was about to make some sharp reply about that, but then she stepped into the shop, and the words died on her tongue.
It was a dress shop. Of course, she had seen fabrics before and bought them from markets. The brown dress she was wearing now was one of her own creations.
But this was something else. One wall was entirely filled with fabrics, in materials and colors she had never imagined. Women in black stuff dresses waited patiently with folded hands, waiting on finely dressed ladies, all talking about the fabrics and discussing patterns in books.
Some of the dress patterns had been made up into gowns, so the buyers could see what they would look like. Emma’s dress was a plain, simple thing, almost feeling like a rag or a burlap sack beside the fabulous creations of silk, satin, and lace.
“This is Charlotte,” Thomas said, cutting into her thoughts. “She’ll help ye choose three fabrics and three dress patterns. I will handle the bill.”
Charlotte was a demure mousy-haired woman of about thirty, dressed in black. She stepped forward with a smile and bobbed a curtsey.
Emma watched agog. Had anyone ever curtseyed to her before? No, she didn’t think so.
“This is too much,” she managed hoarsely. “I cannae accept this.”
A cloud fluttered across Thomas’s face.
He glanced down at Charlotte, who tactfully turned away. Leaning down, he whispered in Emma’s ear, “Ye are doing me a favor, remember? Ye are coming to the event as my fiancée. Ye will be good and convincing, won’t ye? This is our deal.”
Of course. Their deal.
Emma swallowed hard, feeling almost foolish. How could she have forgotten? He was buying her these dresses so that she would look the part. If she looked like a grubby healer in a moth-eaten dress, nobody would ever believe she was about to marry Laird MacPherson.
Don’t be so stupid. Don’t read more into it than there is meant to be. Don’t make things awkward. Just play your part, aye?
“Aye, of course,” she said aloud, flashing him a cool smile. Some of the joy at the sights, sounds, and colors faded away, but not all of it.
Three new dresses were a luxury Emma had never experienced in her life. She’d never even had the luxury of getting two new dresses at once.
Thomas eyed her, frowning. He waited for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head. “Right. Well, I shall leave ye here with Charlotte. I’ll be back in an hour. Is that enough time?”
Emma glanced up at the wall of fabric. She could see silk, wool, stuff, calico, satin, and lace. More, probably. Maybe fabrics she’d never even heard of, in colors and patterns that she did not know existed.
She could just stare at those fabrics for an hour.
“Maybe two hours,” she said.
Thomas chuckled at that. “Two hours it is, then. Enjoy.”
He left before she could say another word. She watched him go, picking his way easily through the filthy cobbles of the road. He disappeared into a shop marked Jewellers.
A pang went through her chest, although she wasn’t entirely sure where it had come from.
“Me Lady?” Charlotte asked, her voice soft. “Is there any fabric ye would particularly like to see?”
Emma surveyed the wall for a long moment. Then, she pointed at a bolt of what looked like silk dyed the most vibrant, eye-catching shade of red she’d ever seen.
“That one.”