Chapter 11 #2
So why do I feel as though there’s a fire in me chest, eatin’ me up?
He had the answer, but didn’t particularly want to think about it. Ewan was still staring at him, brow furrowed, and Ryder pointedly avoided his gaze.
“Is there anythin’ else, me Laird?” Ewan asked.
Ryder cleared his throat. “Nay, thank ye.”
Minutes later, Ryder found himself climbing the narrow, spiral staircase up to Alaina’s room.
As he approached, the guards jumped to attention.
There were three of them, two of them soldiers he’d known from previous battles, and one young, eager-eyed boy of about seventeen.
He was young for proper duty, but it was only sentry duty, after all.
There weren’t many mistakes he could make here.
Ryder gave them each a nod and a faint smile, then tapped on the door.
There was a momentary silence inside.
“Whoever it is, go away,” Alaina snapped.
“It’s Ry, silly!” Sophie squealed, and a moment later the door jolted open. Sophie stood there, beaming at him. She snatched his hand and towed him inside.
“Ye must see our dresses,” she said fervently. “Megan hasnae tried hers on yet.”
Alaina’s room was always a mess, despite poor Flora’s best efforts. Flora sat in the window seat, her feet propped up on a cushion, concentrating on her sewing. She flashed Ryder a quick smile. Alaina sat at the end of her bed—sheets rumpled as always—and scowled at him.
Megan was sitting on a low stool by the fire, poker in hand. She avoided Ryder’s gaze. Perhaps that was for the best.
“Why did ye take Megan away?” Alaina demanded. “We wanted her to come with us to Mistress Weatherby’s.”
“Megan and I had things to discuss,” Ryder responded.
Alaina scowled. “That’s what she said.”
“Look at me dress,” Sophie piped up, and pounced upon a pile of material stacked up on Alaina’s bed. She picked up a dress made of dark blue velvet, with a low waist and long, flowing sleeves. It was decorated with gilt and what appeared to be gold thread.
“Alaina said that it makes me look regal,” Sophie pronounced proudly. “Alaina, show him yers.”
“He doesnae care about me dress,” Alaina snapped.
Ryder folded his arms. “Ye think I climbed all these stairs simply for chit-chat? Nay! I’m here to see the dresses.”
She huffed, but he was sure he saw a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She got up, flounced over to the pile, and pulled out another dress.
Hers was light and dreamy, with a coral-colored silk dress overlaid with thinner gauze.
The skirts were stiff with embroidery—silk flowers of all colors, endless greenery, and looping vines threaded through the pattern.
It was certainly beautiful. The sleeves were long, like Sophie’s, and the neckline scooped low enough to expose her necklace.
Alaina stared at him as if waiting for him to say something about it.
“It feels very grown-up,” Alaina announced, throwing back her hair.
“I like it,” Ryder said. “And ye picked one out for Megan?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Megan stiffen, just a little.
Alaina gave a rare smile and pulled out another gown.
This one looked as though it had been cut out of moss and leaves. It was crisp green, exactly the shade of grass underfoot, soaked with rain. It had a scooped neckline, riskier than the previous dress.
The sleeves were tight, the cuffs ending in a point over the back of the hand, but a shawl of gauzy green material was fixed to the back of the neckline and around the cuffs, adding an almost ethereal look to the garment.
It was sparingly embroidered with gold thread, enough to glitter when the light hit it.
In that dress, Megan would look like a goddess. An earth goddess, one who had just stepped out of the trees, barefoot and with loose hair flowing behind her.
Ryder closed his jaw with a snap, swallowing hard to work moisture into his dry mouth.
“It’s very pretty,” he managed.
“I thought so,” Alaina agreed. “Mistress Weatherby was nae pleased that Megan wasnae there, but we described her, and she suggested this. I do think it’s perfect.”
“I think ye should try it on, Megan,” Sophie chirped up excitedly. “Dae ye nae think so, Ryder?”
Ryder did not think that his thin vestiges of self-control would survive Megan in that dress. Already, he felt his blood rise, imagining her in that.
“She’ll dance well in that,” he managed. “It is a cèilidh, after all. We should all be dancin’.”
“I’ll dance if I can dance with who I want,” Alaina huffed, tossing the dress aside. Ryder felt faintly more in control of himself without that dress staring him in the face. He felt Megan’s eyes on him, and pointedly did not turn around.
“She should try it on,” Sophie repeated. “Why daenae ye try it on now, Megan?”
Megan gave an awkward laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her shaking her head.
“Nay, lass, nae yet. Once I’ve bathed, I’ll try it on then.”
Sophie looked faintly disappointed, but nodded anyway.
“Now that ye have seen the dresses,” Alaina added, folding her arms, “get out of me room, Ry.”
Her words were sharp, but she used his old nickname, which was nice. Ryder chuckled, making a mocking bow.
“As ye wish, me Lady. Enjoy yer ladies’ chatter. As for ye, Sophie, I do believe it’s time for bed.”
“I have been trying to get her to go for the past half hour,” Flora remarked, chuckling.
“I’ll go to bed if ye tell me a story first, Ry,” Sophie offered, reaching up to tug at his arm.
Smiling to himself, Ryder bent down to sweep her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Say nay more, me wee lady.”
He left the room with Sophie in his arms, pretending he could not feel Megan’s eyes on his back until he was out of sight.