Chapter 7
Melody’s heart hammered against her chest. That felt rather cowardly, really. Victoria would never be so shaken after a simple conversation, that was for sure.
Well, at least I didn’t disgrace myself too much there.
Painful memories prickled at her. There was the time she’d been reduced to tears at Lady Bournemouth’s garden party, all but paralyzed with anxiety about slipping on the muddy ground.
The many times she’d said something hasty, or trite, or shared an opinion that a lady wasn’t meant to have. There were, of course, countless occasions where Papa had given her a sharp reprimand in front of others, who politely pretended not to notice.
Yes, she was rather good at embarrassing herself in public.
Strangely, though, without Papa to glower at her and without Victoria to rush in to help, some of that prickling fear had abated.
It had not gone, of course, but perhaps now that she was out from under their watchful–and in Victoria’s case, loving—eyes, she could act with a little less terror.
Or something like that. She reached the large, circular chamber that Callum had described. A large, arched doorway was labeled Healer’s Chambers, but even without the signpost, she would have known the place. Sharp, savory scents, all mingling together, came drifting out of the open doorway.
There was lavender, sage, feverfew, roseElsie, and more.
She caught a glimpse of narrow pallet beds lined up against a stone wall, half-hidden by a discreet privacy shield across the doorway.
Quiet murmurs of conversation rose here and there.
There was an air of calm about the place, tangible even when one stood outside, as Melody did.
Should I knock? Just walk in?
Swallowing hard, she stepped through the archway, putting her within touching distance of the privacy shield.
“Excuse me? Miss Kat?” she called.
All conversation ceased. Tapping footsteps approached, and then a young woman emerged from behind the privacy shield, drying her hands on a rag.
“Who are ye?” the woman asked at once, her gaze drifting over Melody from head to foot. There was no anger or sense of demand in her voice, only cool curiosity.
“My name is Lady Melody. I’m sent to fetch somebody to attend to Lady Sophie. I’m supposed to ask for Katherine. Or, um, Kat.”
The woman took another step forward, tilting her head. “I am she. What’s an English lass doing in our Keep, then?”
Melody blinked, looking at her afresh. Kat seemed to be about four-and-twenty years old.
She was tall and strong-looking, and in London Society would be described as handsome rather than pretty.
Her hair, long and red, hung down her back in a fat braid, tendrils escaping around her face.
The narrowness in her features reminded her of Angus, since, of course, she was his niece.
Her eyes, however, were large and brown, almost too dark for her coloring.
“It’s a long story,” Melody managed at last. Well, that was the truth, wasn’t it?
“I heard a rumor,” Kat ventured, taking another step forward. “That our laird is betrothed.”
“Already?” Melody responded, before she could stop herself. “We only told a councilman about it a few hours ago.”
Kat’s full lips twitched into a smile. “Aye, well, Uncle Angus told me first. He said I might be waitin’ on ye. For now, he said. He was most specific about that.”
Melody bit her lip and said nothing. It was not a surprise that Angus disliked her.
Really, she couldn’t blame him. From his point of view, his respected laird had entered into a hasty, ill-advised marriage with a strange English girl, of all people.
No doubt he didn’t expect the betrothal to last. And of course, he’d be right about that.
“Ye have dashed his dearest hopes, I think.” Kat continued, with a huff of amusement.
“Hopes?”
“He wanted me to wed the Laird. Nonsense, of course, but ye ken how the old folks have their pet schemes. Another council member, Liam, wanted his daughter to become the new lady. It’s often like this when a powerful man is single, ye ken?”
“I… I don’t think I know that.”
Kat gave a grunt. She finished drying her hands and tossed the rag somewhere behind the privacy screen.
“Come. Let’s go and attend to Lady Sophie. It’s her knee, I imagine? The pain comes and goes.”
Without waiting for Melody’s response, Kat set off at a sharp, long-legged stride down the hallway, leaving Melody to scurry after her.
“Slow down, can’t you?” she panted.
“Is there any particular reason ye’re dressed as a servant?” Kat asked, ignoring Melody’s request.
“Well, yes. When I snuck into the keep, I stole a servant’s gown to go unnoticed. Nobody’s offered me anything else to wear.”
“Why did ye want to sneak into the keep? Actually, forget that, I’m nae sure I want to ken,” Kat sniffed. “Lady Sophie says that ignorance is bliss, and I believe her. So, ye are to wed the Laird, eh? My congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Melody responded instinctively.
It seemed polite. The whole thing had the air of a harried dream, the sort of dream that didn’t even make sense when one was in it.
She finally managed to catch up with Kat, who had at last slowed down, and the two women walked side by side for a moment.
Melody shot a quick, curious glance at her new companion.
Kat’s dress would never have been accepted in London Society, not even for a minute.
She wore a plain green wool dress, with a thick, worked leather belt around her waist. Countless little pockets and pouches of varying sizes were fixed to the belt.
Some held vials stopped up with corks, one held a rather nasty-looking knife, and another gave off a sharp-sweet smell of herbs.
There was more. Her skirt was lifted shockingly high, almost to her calves! There were tiny buttons sewn in around halfway up her skirt, Melody noticed, which could be lifted to hang from twine loops attached along the edge of her belt, which in turn lifted her hem from the floor.
Of course, one could only see the sturdy, well-worn leather of her boots, but even so. They’d faint in the ballrooms if anybody appeared like that in London.
It did look practical, though. There was something else strange about Kat, though, and it took Melody a moment to realize.
“Your fingers,” she gasped, blinking hard. “Your fingers are green.”
Kat glanced carelessly down at her green-tipped fingers. “Aye, I’m a healer.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, I daenae ken how yer fine London doctors work, but here we have to pick herbs and plants and such to make medicines. All that rummagin’ around in the greenery leaves a tinge to the fingers, to say nothing of the pastes and plasters that have to be made up. Some herbs are delicate.
“Grindin’ them in a mortar and pestle can make them taste bitter, and cuttin’ them fine ruins the power of the herb.
Sometimes, the only way to activate the herb is to crush it with yer hands.
The warmth in the skin is part of it all.
So, just about any healer worth her salt has green fingers.
It fades with age, but never disappears completely. ”
Melody was quiet for a moment, contemplating this. She glanced down at her own pristine hands. Not pristine at the moment, of course, since there’d be no opportunity for her to take a proper bath. Still, there was no green tinge.
“Shocked, are ye?” Kat said, after a moment. She sounded thoroughly amused. “How did ye come to know the Laird, by the way? Ye haven’t been long in the Keep. I’d ken if ye were.”
“I don’t know him. Not well. Our betrothal is… sudden.”
Kat nodded and didn’t question further. “Well, Lady Sophie thinks that marriage will be good for him, and so does everyone else, so I suppose this is all for the best.”
They reached the circular crossroads where Melody had met Callum. There was no sign of him now, of course. Kat took a sharp turn, and Melody hung back, frowning.
“I’m not sure this is the way to Lady Sophie’s room,” she called. “I could have sworn it was that way.”
“It is,” Kat responded. “But I have a feelin’ that she willnae be there. Come, this is the way to the Great Hall.”
Melody followed reluctantly. “What would she be doing in the Great Hall? Her knee is so bad, she can hardly…”
They stepped out onto a gallery overlooking the vast Great Hall below. Voices drifted up, the most prominent amongst them being Sophie’s.
“...stand,” Melody finished dryly. “Well. She looks better.”
“Aye, very full of life,” Kat agreed, sounding as though she was holding back laughter.
The two women peered over the railing. Far below, Sophie hobbled with impressive speed from one end of the hall to another, gesturing wildly with one crabbed hand.
A steward and a handful of servants scurried after her, one of them frantically repeating her orders to himself over and over under his breath, as if trying to commit them from memory.
“Fresh rushes, of course,” Sophie was saying now.
“Plenty of herbs in them, especially lavender. Mint, too! That’s an auspicious scent for a betrothal feast. I want at least a dozen roast fowl on the table, and as much fruit as ye can get from the orchard.
Good, clean food, nothin’ overcooked. No duck, I think, and the vegetables…
” she trailed off, pausing, then abruptly twisted to look up above her.
“There ye lassies are. Come down, quickly.”
“She was so ill,” Melody gasped. “She was in pain.”
“Lady Sophie can marshal her aches and pains at will, I can assure ye,” Kat sighed. “She’s a sick woman, to be sure, but whenever she complains of knee pain, there’s generally some reason for it. She’s a sneaky wee thing.”
Melody, who had never heard an aged woman described as a sneaky wee thing, found that she really had nothing to say in return. Sighing again, Kat nudged her.
“Come, let’s go down.”
The gallery ran about halfway around the space, then a narrow set of spiral stairs led down to the stone-flagged floor of the Great Hall. Sophie stood at the other end, leaning heavily on her cane with one hand, and using her other arm to gesture vigorously at the tapestries.
“Off ye go, then,” she said, just as Melody and Kat approached. “We’ve nae got long. The feast happens tonight, remember? Everythin’ must be perfect.”
The servants bowed and scurried away, worry written clearly across their faces.
“There’s… there’s no need for anything fancy,” Melody stammered. “I don’t particularly enjoy social occasions, so…”
“I’m afraid this isnae about enjoyment,” Sophie interrupted regretfully. “This is about Laird MacDean takin’ a new bride at last. Many clans have waited for news of his betrothal. Many eyes will be on ye, lass.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Melody muttered, trying to control a spasm of anxiety in her chest. She glanced up to find Kat looking at her, chewing her lower lip.
“Well, Melody willnae have to do much, will she?” Kat said at last, giving Melody a reassuring smile. “She’ll only have to stand by the Laird’s side and look grand. Nobody will expect much of ye, lass. There’s nay need to be nervous.”
“I am not nervous,” Melody lied clumsily. Judging by the look Sophie and Kat exchanged, she was not fooling anybody.
“Now that the servants have me orders for how the Hall must be decorated and what food must be served, we can turn our attention to more important matters,” Sophie announced. “We’ll have to find ye a dress, lass.”
“Me?” Melody managed.
“Well, I daenae mean Kat, do I? As I said, lass, all eyes will be on ye. We have a good deal to work with…” She took a step forward, lifting gnarled old hands to Melody’s face.
Surprisingly strong fingers passed over Melody’s cheeks, as if testing their firmness.
She pulled Melody’s lips back, just for a second, for all the world as if she were inspecting a horse for purchase.
Muttering to herself, she tugged at Melody’s hair, twisting locks this way and that, pulling the hair forward over her shoulders, then pushing it back again.
Melody was entirely too shocked to resist, and simply stood as if frozen, allowing herself to be poked and prodded. It was not a pleasant feeling, and it left her feeling somewhat dissatisfied with herself.
I do not want to be the kind of person who simply stands still, mild and patient, and lets things happen to her.
If only there were some way for me to be different.
“Give over, me Lady,” Kat said at last, giving a huff of amusement. “Leave her be.”
Sophie clucked her tongue, but stepped back.
“Well, ye are a beauty, Melody. Ye have some height on ye, and some good curves, too. I daenae care for a stick-thin lass. It cannae have been easy for ye to be a wallflower back in London, I’d reckon, nae with height like that.”
Melody’s face burned. “I cannot decide whether you are complimenting me or insulting me.”
Sophie gave a hoot of laughter. “That’s the spirit! That’s what I want to see from ye, lass. A wee bit more of that fire. Life will kick ye to the ground again and again if ye daenae learn to fight back.”
“Or perhaps ye could simply nae push and pull her about,” Kat suggested pointedly.
Sophie waved her hand dismissively in the air. “Well, where else will she learn to stand up for herself? Ye have potential, Melody. I can see it.”
“Potential?” Melody echoed, frowning. “What do you mean?”
Sophie did not deign to answer. Instead, she turned to Kat.
“Now, she cannot be left in a servant’s garb. We need a dress for her. A fine one, and we need it quickly. Any alterations must be done before tonight, so we have nae much time.”
“I’ll speak to Margaret. I’m sure she has somethin’,” Kat answered. “Me sister,” she added, glancing at Melody. “She’s one of the Keep’s dressmakers. I daenae care much for gowns and all my clothes end up torn or dirty, so she’ll be glad to dress somebody like ye.”
“Excellent! We’ll go there at once,” Sophie announced. Without warning, she set off at a cracking speed, her cane clack-clacking on the stone as she left the two women behind.
“Her… Her knee…” Melody whispered, dazed.
Kat gave a snort. To Melody’s surprise, the healer looped an arm through hers, for all the world as if they were a pair of proper English ladies going for a promenade.
“Ye have nae ken Lady Sophie long,” she murmured. “But surely this cannae surprise ye?”
“Nay, I’m nae sure it does,” Melody confessed, biting back a smile.
“Hurry, lassies!” Sophie called back, having reached the end of the Hall. “There’s nay time to waste. Me grandson must be stunned!”
“Must he?” Melody mumbled, and Kat snorted.
Apparently, Sophie’s hearing was also better than she had let on.
“Aye,” she shot back testily. “He must.”