Chapter 13
Perhaps this was a mistake.
No, it definitely was a mistake.
The seamstress’s little shop was small, with a tiny front parlor showcasing her designs and a slightly larger room at the back in which they sewed up the dresses themselves. The space certainly wasn’t built to accommodate a man of Evander’s size.
He’d been given a comically low stool, which creaked warningly under his weight, and the seamstress and her assistant shuffled around him.
The seamstress, a woman of indeterminate age and hair that should probably have gone gray years ago, strode to and fro, barking at her assistant. Fabrics appeared as if by magic: lace, silk, fur, even a few paste jewels. They all fluttered around the central figure like a whirlwind.
The central figure, of course, was Skye. She’d been placed on a low pedestal in the center of the room, looking a little shocked.
“What do ye think, then?” the seamstress asked, taking a step back and tapping her chin. “The blue suits ye.”
Evander’s opinion was not asked for. He wasn’t sure if he’d have offered it even if it had been.
This world of fashion and fabric did not suit him, not one bit.
He couldn’t understand why the seamstress had sniffed and turned her nose up at some bright orange fabric and glowered at the assistant when she suggested yellow.
“Look in the mirror,” the seamstress added, gesturing.
Skye turned uncertainly to see her own reflection.
The mirror, a long, highly polished thing, showed a thin young woman with long, glossy dark hair and crisp, clear eyes, draped in a midnight blue fabric that seemed to make her glow.
“I like it,” she admitted.
That was an understatement. Evander’s mouth dried out as he took in her form.
Stop it!
“There are pearls sewn into the cuffs and hem,” the assistant added, brightening.
“I… I like it,” Skye said again, casting a tentative look at Evander. “But it must be expensive.”
“Aye, well, pearls are sewn into it,” the seamstress responded, business-like. “If ye would prefer something else, I can—”
“Let her have the dress she wants,” Evander spoke up, leaning back. He kept his voice as low and disinterested as he could.
Skye shot him a quick look out of the corner of her eye, but he didn’t quite manage to catch her gaze.
“Take her to change,” the seamstress instructed.
With a nod, the assistant helped Skye down from the pedestal and over to a curtained alcove. She pulled the curtain across, but the material was thin. With daylight streaming into the room, it was almost transparent.
A shadowy curve hinted at Skye lifting her arms, letting the assistant unlace her kirtle. The material came loose, and she gave a small sigh, splaying her hands across her ribcage.
Evander swallowed dryly and shot to his feet.
Air. I need air.
“If ye want her all kitted out,” the seamstress observed, “I’d recommend the dress, a cloak in a matching shade of blue—no pearls, they’ll only get ruined—and some linens.”
“Aye, that sounds fine,” Evander managed weakly. “And perhaps a nightdress.”
“Certainly.” The seamstress strode over to a cupboard, pulled open a drawer, and withdrew a thin, snow-white nightdress with a wide neckline. “Will this suit?”
Evander stared at it, wide-eyed. The neckline would skim the tips of Skye’s shoulders, baring her white collarbones and slim throat.
He could imagine how it would look on her, the thin material just translucent enough to reveal the pinkish tips of her nipples and the softness of her skin, just thin enough to suggest—
He cleared his throat weakly. “Aye, that’ll suit. Add it to the bill.”
Blood simmered in his veins. The familiar stirrings of desire low in his gut clamored for attention, and he clenched his jaw, forcing down the sensations.
The seamstress, probably oblivious to his discomfort, nodded briskly. “I’ll package it up.”
At that moment, the curtain whisked back, revealing Skye.
The dark blue dress suited her more than he could have imagined. It hugged her figure, the thick material promising warmth against rough wind and driving rain. In some lights, the color seemed almost black, but the contrast of her hair against the dress made it glow more blue than ever.
“What do ye think?” she asked, anxiety nipping at her voice. She fidgeted with the pearl-encrusted cuffs, glistening cream against the dark dress. A similar, thick border of pearls circled the hem, clinking softly when she moved. “Is it too much?”
Ye look like a goddess.
He blinked, closing his jaw with a snap.
“It’ll do,” he said abruptly. “What about the other dresses ye liked? There was a green tartan one and a red one?”
She reddened. “I daenae need that many dresses.”
He shrugged. “I’ll buy them for ye, even so.”
The seamstress inclined her head. “I’ll take care of it.”
Sometime later, they stepped outside the shop, laden with bags and boxes. Evander set about strapping them to the horses’ saddles, while Skye shifted from foot to foot, her new blue cloak snapping around her in the wind.
“Thank ye,” she blurted out. “For the dresses, I mean. All of the clothes, really.”
“No need to thank me.”
“I’m sure me braither or me cousin will pay ye back.”
He paused, glancing back at her. “Pay me back? Ye are me wife, are ye nae? Besides, ye look very regal and attractive in all that. I did it as much for me as I did it for ye.” He punctuated his comment with a wink to make it clear that he was teasing her.
Skye blinked, her eyes widening, then broke into a tentative smile. A giggle reluctantly escaped her lips, and Evander allowed himself to grin.
I’ve missed this.
When was the first time he’d heard her giggle like that? It had been some time after they’d first returned to Keep Bryden; or was it the first time they met? No, that first day it hadn’t been a giggle, it had been a laugh.
It was the bloody cat that made her giggle the first time, he thought, and his mood soured. Just the cat. Nae me. This has always been a marriage of convenience. No point tryin’ to change that.
He cleared his throat, checking the tension of the knots he’d used to bind their purchases to the saddles. They would hold, for now.
“There is one thing that still bothers me,” Skye said after a moment.
He glanced back at her, lifting his eyebrows questioningly.
“Me faither,” she elaborated. “Yer faither killed mine. I was so angry about it. I must still be angry about it. I hated ye and yer clan for that, so how could I have gotten over that?”
He was silent for a moment. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to tell her everything. If he told her too much, perhaps she’d get confused about what were her own memories and what he’d told her.
“Perhaps ye realized that it was me faither who committed that crime,” he said. “Nae me.”
She nibbled on her lower lip. “Perhaps.”
He turned away, heaving himself up onto the saddle. “Come, we’d better get going. If we leave now, we can reach Keep Bryden before dark. I’m keen to get home.”
As they approached Keep Bryden, Skye scanned it eagerly for any familiar sign. Surely she must recognize the place?
Nothing seemed familiar. Keep Bryden was just a keep, a craggy, mossy old castle with high, forbidding walls and a maelstrom of trees and undergrowth growing tightly all around it. A wide, well-maintained cobbled path led up to the gates, which were guarded by a handful of guards.
She wondered if Mason was here already, waiting to greet them. She remembered him, of course, from before the bride swap treaty. Faithful, trustworthy Mason, who had always been there, always ready to help.
Still, there was no sign of him when they trotted through the gates. Feeling eyes on her, Skye glanced over to find Evander watching her carefully.
“Do ye remember anything?” he asked. “We came in this way when ye first arrived.”
She shook her head regretfully. “None of it seems familiar. I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, lass.”
“It’s beautiful, though.” She tilted her head back, breathing in deeply and closing her eyes. “The air smells green.”
He gave a huff of laughter. “That’s the same thing ye said when I brought ye here before.”
“Really?”
“Oh, aye. I remember because I thought it was such a strange thing to say, but also nae at all surprising to hear from ye.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I daenae say strange things.”
He lifted his hands from the reins. “I never said that ye did.”
She felt an incomprehensible smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and hastily tucked it away.
Now wasn’t the time to let herself get distracted.
Surely this keep would be full of potential memories for her to uncover.
After all, she’d come here directly after the festival and lived here.
Here was where she’d decided to marry Evander.
Surely the place must hold some clues as to how that happened.
They trotted across the courtyard, and a pair of wide-eyed stable lads came forward to take the reins.
The second the soles of their boots hit the ground, all hell broke loose.
Guards rushed forward, talking earnestly to Evander. Skye heard half-shouted questions aimed toward him, repeated when there was no answer. Before she could even pat her horse goodbye—the mare tried to bite her, of course—a gaggle of women swept around her.
“Lady Bryden, Lady Bryden, ye are home!” one gasped.
Another woman tugged at her sleeve. “Is it true that ye have lost yer memories?”
“Oh, but ye must remember me, me Lady? Do ye remember me?”
“I’m Susan. I met ye first when ye came here!”
“Do ye want mint tea and shortbread? I remember that it was yer favorite!”
“Hush, lass! She doesnae want tea and shortbread. She wants a bath, daenae ye, me Lady?”
“Do ye truly remember nothing?”
It was impossible to tell who was saying what. The women crowded eagerly around her, all chattering, making her head spin.
Skye longed to press her hands over her ears and block out the noise.