They paused in front of a door. Lady Catherine leaned over and whispered to Flora. Rosalie could barely make out the harsh words, “Burn the gown. I don’t want to see it again.”
Rosalie tried to hold back the tears threatening to overflow. She bit her tongue. Catherine turned toward her and smiled. “Someone will fetch ye for supper. We’ll assess yer education after.”
Flora opened the chamber; there was a hot steaming bath in front of the fireplace. Rosalie hesitated in front of the basin.
“Is everythin’ alright, m’lady?”
Rosalie started as Flora started untying her gown. “Yes, I jus’,” she pulled away and undressed, “have never ha’ a bath ‘fore. At least no’ a hot one.”
Flora smiled. “Le’ me help you with yer gown.”
Rosalie didn’t want her to touch it. “I can do it, thank ye.” She didn’t want to let it go when it came time. It was the only thing she had of her own, and the thought of anyone burning the dress Magda labored so hard to make pained her.
She reluctantly let it go and slipped into the bath. “Please,” her voice cracked as she choked on the lump welling in her throat. Flora turned to her, the dress in hand. “Please, don’ burn it. It’s all I have lef’.”
Flora’s eyes softened with sympathy, “If the lady sees it—” her mouth curved in fear.
“There mus’ be somewhere we can hide it. I promise I won’ wear it, I jus’…” the events suddenly caught up with her, and the lump in her throat overpowered the words - pushing the tears down her cheeks, “I’m sorry,” she swallowed.
Being the first chance away from Lady Catherine and her daughter since they took her, everything Rosalie had pushed down to please them surfaced. Her body shook with heavy sobs. She covered her face in equal parts embarrassment and an overwhelming longing to disappear from there.
Flora seemed to panic, “Shh.” Still holding the gown with one hand, she stroked Rosalie’s back. “I won’ throw it away, jus’ please be quiet. If the lady hears ye an’ thinks I’ve done somethin’ wrong…”
Rosalie peeked between her fingers and could see the concern in Flora’s features. She understood. The tears didn’t stop, but Rosalie stifled the noises. Watching Flora stash the gown made her feel a little better. At least she hadn’t lost everything.
Flora returned to Rosalie and started to wash her. Rosalie pressed her cheek to her knee and let the tears release all the culminating emotions. The conflict between familial duty and her affections for Declan, Alexander pushing her from the community, and now this, stealing away what little time she had left with the people she loved? And what of Declan? Would he wait for her, or would he move on thinking she abandoned him?
Despite what Lady Catherine said, Rosalie found it hard to accept this was her new, forever home. She wanted a family. She had always wanted a family, but this all came hard to believe. Even if they are her blood, a feeling in the pit of her stomach told her she would struggle to adjust to their ways and, once the excitement of her arrival wore off, tip-toeing Lady Catherine’s temper.
“Aren’t ye glad to be home, with family?” Flora asked in a whisper.
Rosalie sniffed. “I don’t know how tae feel. Everythin’s changed so fast.”
Flora nodded.
“Do ye like it ‘ere?” Rosalie turned to look at Flora.
Flora’s hand stalled for a moment. She did not return Rosalie’s gaze. “It’s all I ken.” Rosalie nodded, and Flora quickly added, “I’m sure ye’ll fin’ happiness ‘ere, though. Lady Catherine is quite excited tae have her daughter home.”
“Is tha’ what she’s tol’ everyone?”
“Aye, she sent a rider ahead of ye.”
“D’ye believe I’m her daughter?”
Flora looked at her then, studying Rosalie’s features. “Ye look like her. An’ yer in yer twenty-fifth year now?”
“Somethin’ like tha’.”
“It’s possible,” Flora said, “but I wouldn’ share yer doubts. It’s best that there buried. Ye wan’ tae be in this position. Trust me.”
The look Flora gave Rosalie was a grave warning. Rosalie could feel it through her body and shivered despite the hot bath. Rosalie groaned.
After a moment of silence, Flora patted her on the back. “C’mon now, let’s ge’ ye dry ‘fore ye catch a plague. They’ll have food waitin’ for the lot o’ ye downstairs.”
“I don’ know how I’m supposed to act.” Rosalie thought about the boy downstairs.
“Well, don’ talk tae me or the res’ o’ the staff fer starters. ‘Specially no’ like this. The lady migh’ correct ye, bu’ she’ll have more than words fer us, as per her civic duty. Best no’ tae speak at all, an’ jus’ copy Gale ‘til ye get the hang o’ it. They said gypsies raised ye?” The way she said ‘gypsies,’ she might as well have been talking about wolves.
“Yes.”
Then, in a lowered voice, she asked, “Can ye do any magic?”
Rosalie looked at her, surprised that this was the first question out of her mouth. “Oh yeah, loads o’ magic.” The words oozed with sarcasm, and yet, Flora still inhaled sharply and made the sign of the cross over her chest.
Rosalie rolled her eyes and then thought better of starting rumors in the castle that she was a gypsy witch. “No, I cannae do magic. I know some things, but they’re parlor tricks. That’s all a bunch of hogwash we tell people tae make money an’ get them tae leave us alone.” Flora nodded, not looking convinced. “Ye scared o’ me now?”
“Nae,” Flora said. “Don’ tell anyone that, though; who kens what they’ll think. The Lady’s already suspicious o’ yer time with them. Ye seem nice.”
Flora tried to smile, but it looked pained. Rosalie could sense the darkness behind Lady Catherine’s suspicions. Would she harm her own daughter if she suspected her of witchcraft? The thought was frightening. She would not make any more jokes about the like.
Rosalie was alone in this strange world, and thus far, Flora was the first person she felt comfortable talking with. “Flora?”
“Yes.”
“I’m scared.”
Flora nodded but didn’t say anything. The girl was gentle with Rosalie as she dressed her and adorned her hair. Rosalie’s gown was uncomfortable, with even more layers than usual. Massive sleeves puffed from her shoulders. Repeatedly, as Flora worked, Rosalie tried to take over, only for the girl to tap her hands away gently and continue her work. Before leaving the chambers, Flora looked Rosalie in the eyes.
“Jus’ don’ speak, an’ remember, we’re supposed tae be workin’. If ye keep the lady happy, ye’ll fin’ it’s pleasant here. I promise ye it’ll be alright, m’lady.”
The tone of her voice was unconvincing, although Rosalie appreciated the kindness. “Thank ye.”
Down below, the laird and lady sat at a long table with Gale at the far end. Unsure of where to sit, Rosalie tried to pull out a chair next to Gale. Gale’s eyes widened and shifted to the one on her other side, closest to the laird and lady. Rosalie got the hint and switched places; this time, the chair moved out for her by one of the working hands.
It was a dark and lonely room. The meal continued in complete silence. Each time Rosalie’s fork scraped the plate, Lady Catherine’s face scrunched up as if tasting something sour. Despite how hungry she was, it was difficult to keep an appetite with that much pressure on her.
The meal ended without a word passed between the family. Rosalie almost stood from her place before Gale placed a hand on the table, signaling for her to wait. The lady and laird rose first, and then the two girls followed suit. Edward disappeared. Rosalie took note of his eyes. They were red and puffy, and she wondered why he would cry if he believed with the same conviction as his wife that she was their lost daughter.
Lady Catherine led the girls into a small study. The modest collection of books and scrolls owned by the family displayed with pride on one wall. The majority of the room was left empty, save a set of couches, and a square tab
le sporting heavy chairs. Rosalie found Catherine’s joy almost unbearable.
It contrasted terribly against her feelings about being there. Under such conditions, she found Gale’s attitude a relief.
Lady Catherine stared out the window with her hands folded in front of her. “Tell me, what do you think o’ it here?”
Rosalie looked around the room and tried to find the right words to avoid offending Catherine. “It’s beautiful.”
“Aye,” she smiled. “I mus’ be honest with you; now that yer home, I feel uncomfortable calling you by the name they gave you. It feels wrong.”
Rosalie knit her brows. She didn’t know how to respond. The idea of losing her name among everything else was beyond comprehension. She sighed in relief when Gale spoke for her.
“Ye cannae jus’ rename her, Bridget.”
A pink stain spread over Catherine’s cheeks, “I wouldn’t be renamin’ her. Her name, her God-given name, is Bridget.”
“Ridiculous.” Gale crossed her arms and turned her head.
“I like Rosalie.” It came out as one word, and Rosalie hoped the lady didn’t catch onto her desperation.
Catherine’s face puckered for a moment. “I suppose we have more important matters to tend to.”
“Ye think?” Gale remarked.
“Watch yer tongue, girl. I willnae put up with your insolence.”
“I have noticed ye don’t know how tae run a household. Well, I’ve noticed a lot of things.” Rosalie could feel the condescension in her words. “Did they ever care to teach you how to read an’ write?”
“I can, well enough. Magda taught me.”
“Magda,” the woman hissed. “The witch that stole you. We will no’ speak o’ her here, understand?”
“Aye.” It pained Rosalie.
Throughout the evening, Lady Catherine listed Rosalie’s many inept ways due to her upbringing. With each criticism, she would assure her that between her and Gale, they would make her suitable for marriage in no time. It seemed as if things could not get any worse. One thing made clear - just as she had been expected to marry by her Roma community standards, they would marry her according to her social ranking, preferably to a baron.
All of the things that troubled her before were the same, except worse. At least with Magda and Anna, she didn’t question if she truly belonged. Still, if this were her family, she would accept it and try her best to move on.
Her thoughts turned to Declan as the woman talked, wondering what he might be doing and if he was thinking of her. Each time his face appeared in her mind, her chest would tighten. She would suffocate the feelings and try to focus on something else, only to think of him and long for him to rescue her, despite knowing it could not happen. Even if he wanted to find her, how could he?
By the time Gale and Rosalie were allowed to retire, one thing became clear to Rosalie: she must find out the truth about what happened all those years ago. Someone working must have been there and seen what happened. The truth was here; she could feel it.
Rosalie was relieved to find Flora waiting for her to help her undress. She waited until the door was closed behind them to speak to her.
“A lot o’ work for a dinner,” Rosalie said to break the ice as Flora started to remove the layers of clothes.
“Aye,” Flora huffed as she tore at the laces.
Silence passed before Rosalie mustered the courage to go for it. “Flora, d’ye remember when I went missin’?”
Flora’s hands stopped. She looked at Rosalie a moment as if trying to figure out where this was going. “Nay. I was jus’ a wee bairn.”
Rosalie nodded, “Wha’ abou’ yer mother? Did anyone see me get taken?”
“Ye need tae be careful, Rosalie.”
“I will, but I need tae know the truth.”
Flora picked up the garments and set them aside before pulling back the bed covers for Rosalie to crawl in. Rosalie shivered in her shift until Flora motioned for her to clamber into the large bed. It was softer than anything she had slept on in her life.
“My ma was there. An’ ye can talk with her, but I’m warnin’ ye if Lady Catherine catches ye pokin’ around,” she shook her head, “It could be bad. An’ this,” Flora patted the covers, “This is a good life. Try an’ get some sleep. I’ll rouse ye in the mornin’.”
Rosalie nodded as Flora left. Something didn’t sit right with her. Maybe she just needed to adjust, or that she could not accept Magda could ever kidnap anyone. The sight of Edward’s red eyes and the way he avoided even looking her way at dinner kept coming to mind. Then there was the way Flora kept warning her as knowing more than she let on. As if Rosalie asking questions would lead to answers she didn’t want to discover.
Chapter Eighteen
“Wait!”
Declan turned around and saw Angus struggling to run and catch up to him. As he saw Declan stop, the warrior slowed, grabbing at his side and favoring his right leg. By the time he reached Declan, he was out of breath and red-faced.
“I’m comin’ with ye,” he panted.
It came as a surprise to Declan. “Oh? An’ how’s Aggie feel abou’ this?”
“I’m fair plucked!” Declan smiled at Angus, bracing himself on his knees a moment before straightening back out. “Mad as a box o’ frogs, she was, ‘til I asked her how she’d feel if it were her or one o’ our bairns. Changed right quick then.”
“Ye sure ye want tae come? I dunno what’ll be waitin’ fer us.”
“AYE!” Angus drew his sword and shook it in the air with dramatic bravado. “I’ll cut them sassenachs down.”
Declan laughed gaily. “Put tha’ away ‘fore ye cut yerself.” He slapped Angus on the back as he re-sheathed his weapon. “Glad tae have ye.”
“When comin’ back, I willnae be takin’ ye all the way tae Kilchurn, mind ye.”
“I’ll take wha’ the Lord gives me.”
Declan continued towards the stables. The Brody chief outfitted him with more supplies than he expected. The day was cold enough to crystalize the dew on the grasses, but the sun shone brightly above in clear, blue skies. Hope hung in the air with Angus at his side. Within the hour, they rode out, heading for the Scottish borders.
Declan soon found Angus was worth his weight in gold. He knew the lands better than his beard. They were able to bypass the roads and navigate through the friendly allied territory, and the first few days wore on without incident.
“Thirlestane,” Angus growled. “I ken we’ll fin’ her there. It’s as Gilroy says.”
“An’ if they tol’ him wrong?”
Since riding out, they’d argued about where to look for Rosalie at least once a day. Declan knew that even if the rider were wrong, they would be scouring Thirlestane before looking elsewhere.
“How many English lairds are tearin’ through Scotland with a full wagon this time o’ year, ye think? The man Gilroy talked to said they didn’ stop the night, an’ he felt somethin’ wasn’t right when talkin’ tae the Sassenach. He was jumpy an’ whatnot.”
Declan nodded. He squinted at the sun, now lowering in the sky. “I hope yer right. I hope she’s alright.” Then he wished to change the subject entirely. “How long did ye ken Aggie fer ‘fore ye were wed?”
Angus had a toothy, blackened smile. “Three weeks. I’d seen her ‘fore that, but she’d have nothin’ tae do with me. Then one day, she got fed up with me pesterin’ her, an’ turned on me, hot as the devil. Been in love ever since.”
The old warrior’s eyes swam with the memory.
Declan smiled and thought about Rosalie. He wished they’d had the opportunity to talk following the altercation with Enoch. From the last conversation with Magda and Alexander, it seemed as if Rosalie’s arrangement with Enoch had ended. Still, he knew about her family situation, and what she would require to stay with them.
“I ken I want tae marry her.”
Angus guffawed, “I’d hope so!” A great laugh boiled up from within him.
; “I don’t ken if she’ll have me.”
“An’ why is tha’?” Angus raised an eyebrow, “Yer travelin’ a long ways tae risk yer neck fer the lass. An’ yer a chief with good holdin’s. O’ course she’d wed ye, lad.”
“She’s a gypsy.”
This bit of information seemed to shock Angus. His eyebrows disappeared in his mess of tangled, brown curls. “Ye don’ say.” Whatever he thought about it, he shook away. “Don’ they have all kin’ o’ weird rituals an’ whatnots?” Curiosity sparkled in the man’s eyes.
Highlander’s Gypsy Lass (Highlander's 0f Clan Macgregor Book 1) Page 16