Maggie took the sword in her hands and hefted it up. A vision of a kilt-covered man running through the highland mists brandishing the sword filled her thoughts. She wondered if Ian’s comments on feuding came from the warriors in his family’s history. At least she assumed they were warriors from the collection of weapons Ian possessed. After handing the sword back to him, she pointed to a sharp knife. “What is that one called?”
“The knife?” Ian replaced the broadsword and handed the knife to her. “That is a dirk. Essentially, it is a long dagger with a straight blade.”
Maggie studied the detailed pattern in the handle of the knife and ran her finger along the smooth blade.
“Careful, lass. I don’t want you to cut that delicate skin.” Ian took the knife from her, looking to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself on the sharp blade.
“I didn’t.” Maggie yanked her hand away as tingles raced up her arm from Ian’s touch. “What does the round thing up there do?”
“That is a targe, dear woman, not a ‘round thing.’ It was used as a shield during battle.” Surprised by her interest in the weapons, Ian couldn’t hide his pleasure at showing her something important to him.
“The design is quite eye-catching.” Maggie stood on her toes to get a better look at the pattern of the shield. She envisioned it stitched into the hem of a skirt. Ian took it down and held it so she could see the rich detail. “Is that a thistle?” she asked, pointing to a leaf design.
“You have a good eye. Yes, the row around the outside is made of thistles.”
Maggie rubbed her fingers across an intricate design in the center. “What’s this called?”
Hypnotized by the movement of her fingers, Ian pulled his thoughts together enough to answer. “A Celtic knot. Some say that one represents infinity, a beginning with no end. Others refer to it as a love knot for the same reason.”
The mention of love caused Maggie to stiffen and take a step away from him. Ian hung the targe back on its hook.
“All these weapons belonged to my ancestors. The MacGregor clan is one of warriors. In fact, at one time the parliament suppressed our name in an effort to dispossess the clan. It was natural, I suppose, for my family to amass a collection of weapons. My grandfather gave these to me the last time I visited.”
“So your father’s family still lives in Scotland?” Maggie wandered around the room, stopping next to a portrait of a couple. The man wore a kilt and bore a strong resemblance to Ian. The woman beside him looked friendly and kind, although tiny compared to the brutish size of the man. Absently, Maggie wondered if she appeared that small beside Ian, then decided she had to be several inches taller than the woman in the portrait. “Are these your parents?”
Ian chuckled. “I should say not. My mother wouldn’t pose with Dad dressed in a kilt. Those beloved people are my father’s parents. Granddad passed away last autumn, but my grandmother is alive and well. She lives with my aunt and her family. My father has two brothers and three sisters in Scotland.”
“No wonder you enjoy going to visit them.” Maggie followed as Ian walked over to a photograph of a striking couple. The man looked like an older version of him while the woman possessed both beauty and grace. “Your parents?”
“How could you tell?” He gave her a teasing smile. “Don’t I look just like my dad? According to my mother, I act just like him, too.”
Maggie smiled at Ian’s grin, arriving at the conclusion he took pride in being like his father.
Curious as to who created such a welcoming and inviting atmosphere in his house, she motioned toward the artful seating arrangement. “Your home is very lovely. I didn’t know you possessed a talent for decorating.”
Ian chuckled derisively. “I don’t and furthermore, I really don’t care all that much about it. Mother came and did all this…” Ian waved his hand around the front room. “She took charge the moment the walls and roof were finished. In the event she plans an unannounced visit, I try to keep it up to her standards. That’s why I hire Mrs. Byron to come in a few times a week.”
It was clear Ian adored both his parents. Maggie thought it sweet that he kept the house in such pristine condition just to please his mother. “The plaid fabric for your throw pillows is unique and very striking. I’ve seen many plaid patterns, but never one identical. It would make a lovely winter dress. Do you know where I might purchase the fabric?”
“That is the MacGregor tartan, lass. You can’t go around sewing frocks for just anyone out of it. That particular pattern is special to my family’s clan.” Ian lifted a pillow and rubbed a thumb across the fabric.
Chagrined, Maggie hoped she hadn’t committed some unforgivable blunder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”
“Dinna fash yerself.” Ian set the pillow down and took Maggie’s hand in his. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
Maggie felt like a child about to open a much-anticipated present. “I’d love to.”
Ian took her on a tour upstairs, showing her the many bedrooms. She stood in the doorway gaping at a well-equipped bathing room with a large tub surrounded by ornate porcelain tiles. A separate water closet sent pangs of jealousy through her.
Envious of his modern conveniences, she thought of the hip tub at her apartment she had to fill with water heated on the stove and the outhouse behind her shop that she shared with two other businesses.
The notion of soaking in such a big tub, full of steaming water and fragrant soap bubbles seemed like an impossible wonder. How grand it would be to take a bath without having to haul bucket after bucket of water.
Ian led her down a back staircase to a large, airy kitchen complete with hot and cold running water, double sinks, a commercial-sized icebox, and a huge stove. The assortment of cupboards and wide counters, along with a worktable, would be a dream come true for any woman who enjoyed cooking. Maggie glanced at the small table beneath a window that overlooked Ian’s meadow. She pictured him sitting there, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the sun fill the morning sky.
As they sauntered down the hall toward the front door, Maggie admired two beautiful tapestries on the wall. One bore a coat of arms. She studied it for a moment then turned to look at the other tapestry.
The pattern made her turn to Ian with a sassy grin. “You couldn’t brand the tapestry, so you had someone weave it into the design?”
“My dad had that made for my birthday. It was my favorite gift.” Ian’s rakish wink almost made her trip as he led her to his dining room. A glass-fronted cabinet lined the far wall. The frosted glass of the two center cupboard doors bore his brand.
“That is just too much,” Maggie said with a giggle. “Do you have that brand sewn into your shirts, too?”
“I hadn’t thought of that one, but I might just do that. Would you be willing to turn your thimble to work for me?”
“Not to stitch thistles into your clothes, but I would be willing to make you a new suit, since I feel somewhat responsible for you ruining yours today.” Maggie rarely made men’s clothes. The few occasions when she did make a man’s suit, it was for one with a wife who could take his measurements. Most likely, she could use Ian’s old suit to get accurate measurements.
“I’d be verra pleased to own a suit you made, but I’ll pay for it. It was my own carelessness that gave me a dunking, although I could say I was utterly distracted by a beguiling beauty.”
“You do go on, don’t you, Mr. MacGregor?” Maggie turned toward the door, but Ian grabbed her hand, pulling her back around.
“Please, Maggie, call me Ian. You referred to me as such more than once today and I’d be most pleased if you’d continue to do so.”
“But it isn’t…”
Ian placed his index finger on her lips to silence her. “I don’t care what is proper or not. I appreciate your friendship and friends should not be so formal.”
Anxious for him to move his hand away before she gave in to the baffling urge to kiss his fingers, Maggie nod
ded in agreement.
“That makes me verra happy, lass. Now, before the sheriff shows up at my door looking for you, I better get you home.” Ian picked up the quilt and picnic basket then escorted Maggie outside.
“Thank you for showing me your home, Ian. It truly is lovely.” The house had a masculine feel to it, lacking the doilies and fripperies prevalent in many homes, but it offered a homey, inviting appeal. Ian’s home was a place she could easily relax if it wasn’t for the unbelievably charming and good-looking owner.
Determined not to let her thoughts dwell in places they ought not to go, she gave Ian a solemn, yet altogether flirtatious glance. “I’m quite disappointed.”
“Disappointed? By what, lass?” Ian tried to think what he could have done to fail the woman in the short time she’d been in his home.
“I fully expected you to put on your kilt and march around playing bagpipes.”
Humor danced in Ian’s expressive blue eyes as he took Maggie’s elbow in his hand, guiding her down the front walk and out the gate.
“Och, lass, I don’t think you’re ready to witness me in a kilt. For certain, it’s a sight to see. Why, women would swoon in the streets and come completely undone. As for the bagpipes, I don’t own any. My father can’t play them, and I sound like I’m trying to squeeze the life out of a demented badger when I make an attempt. I leave the playing of them up to my cousins. Two of them have a talent for it.”
Laughter bubbled out of Maggie as they walked toward her store. “I think I might like to hear you try, anyway. With a description like that, I bet it is quite something to behold.”
“What you’d behold is your hands to your ears, lass, and beg for mercy from the sound that desecrated the good air around you.”
They strolled down the alley to her back entrance. Maggie took the key from her pocket and unlocked her shop door. “Thank you for a lovely, lovely day, Ian. I enjoyed it.”
“My thanks to you, lass. Other than a ruined suit, it was one of the nicest days I’ve had in a long while. Perhaps we can do it again sometime. If you ever need anything, anything at all, just let me know.”
Maggie took the basket and blanket from him, stepping inside her workroom. “Thank you, again, Ian. Have a pleasant evening.”
“You as well.” Ian turned to leave but stopped before she closed the door. “Maggie?”
She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes holding an unmistakable tenderness in the late afternoon light. “Yes?”
“Are you sure about the dance?” Ian hoped she’d change her mind and accompany him.
“I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean I won’t dance with you a few times.”
“I’ll count on it.” Ian tipped his head to her then took long, purposeful strides down the alley, disappearing around the corner before Maggie shut the door.
Upstairs, she sank into the rocking chair and set it into motion, leaning her head back against the smooth wood as she replayed the day in her mind. Ian made her laugh in a way she hadn’t for years.
Reluctant to explore the reasons why, she grinned as she thought of how he looked as he slogged out of river, brandished the big sword, and showed her his home.
She sighed and closed her eyes. “I just wish he would have put on that kilt.”
Chapter Seven
“This is such a lovely color on you, Mrs. Fortney,” Maggie assured one of her most demanding customers. Like clockwork, the woman strolled into the dress shop once each season, wanting something fresh and new to make her wardrobe the envy of her friends.
Maggie worked hard to come up with innovative ideas to keep the woman happy. So far, she’d been successful.
As she straightened one of the gores in the skirt, Maggie smiled in the mirror at the petite blonde. “That pale shade of pink makes you blossom like a summer rose.”
Pleased with the compliment, Mrs. Fortney tittered and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “And you are quite certain I’m the only one with this design?”
“Absolutely certain. I made this exclusively for you.” Maggie stood and adjusted a ruffle on one shoulder.
“I’m aware of your friendship with the new Mrs. Jordan and everyone in town knows she wears gowns created by Madame Beauchene. I want to be sure you aren’t planning to share my design with her.”
The woman tilted her nose in the air and Maggie tamped down the urge to pop it.
She forced a smile. “I assure you, Mrs. Fortney, this dress is an original and you won’t see another like it created by me.”
“Very well. I want you to complete the final embellishments and have it delivered before Saturday. If the weather cooperates, I plan to wear it Sunday to church.” Mrs. Fortney didn’t wait for Maggie’s response. Instead, she marched into a dressing room.
Maggie followed and helped her change then wrote a receipt for the dress. After Mrs. Fortney paid for the gown, Maggie handed her the receipt.
“Make sure I have it by Saturday, Maggie, dear.”
“Yes, Mrs. Fortney. I promise it will be there by Saturday.” Maggie wanted to grind her teeth at the woman’s incessant nagging and questioning. Instead, she offered a departing smile. “Have a lovely evening.”
“I plan to.” Mrs. Fortney turned and started to open the door, but it swung open, taking her and Maggie by surprise.
“Afternoon, ma’am.” Ian tipped his head politely to the woman and held the door for her to exit. She gave him a prying glance, but sailed out the door and down the street without another word.
Ian stepped inside the shop and spied Maggie behind a counter. From the set of her chin and the spark in her eyes, he easily read her agitation.
“Is this a bad time, lass?” He walked over to the counter and laid his ruined suit on top.
Maggie shook her head. “No, Ian. It’s fine. Mrs. Fortney is one of my more… challenging clients.”
Ian chuckled and leaned an elbow on the counter, propping his chin on his hand. Maggie was close enough she could see light and dark flecks of blue swimming in his vibrant eyes. It would be easy for a woman to lose herself in eyes like that, if she was given to such ridiculous notions.
“You have a verra nice way of saying the woman tries your patience. I’ve done some work for her husband and he seems like a nice enough fellow.” Ian studied Maggie from the dark curls piled on her head to the buttons marching down the front of her raspberry-colored gown.
With her pink cheeks and lips, she looked like a luscious berry, ripe for the picking. It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to reach out and grab her arms, pull her against his chest, and kiss her senseless.
“Mr. Fortney is a nice man. I’m not sure how he came to be married to Mrs. Fortney, but I suppose beauty has a way of clouding a man’s judgment.”
“That’s for sure and certain,” Ian muttered. Maggie turned his head to mush whenever he thought of her.
“Begging your pardon? I didn’t hear what you said.” Maggie gazed at him, wishing he’d create some space between them. His proximity left her rattled, yet oddly energized.
“It’s not important, Maggie. I did hope, though, your offer of making me a suit still stands. I have an important meeting in Portland in a few weeks and would like to have the suit to wear then. Is that a possibility?”
Maggie already had enough orders for new summer attire to keep her hopping for weeks, but she would put everything else aside and make Ian’s suit. She still felt partially to blame for ruining the attire he’d just placed on her counter.
“Certainly. I can have it done by then. It helps that you brought your other one. Since it appeared to fit you very well, I can use it for measurements. Is there anything about it you didn’t like or any area that it felt uncomfortable?” Maggie picked up the suit and carried it to her workroom. She spread it out on a high worktable and studied the inside seams of the jacket then the trousers.
“No. It fit perfectly, which is one reason I hated to see it ruined. I was thinking, though, to have you make
the new suit in a lighter fabric, one that wouldn’t be as hot to wear in the summer months. If I like it, perhaps you could make a heavier weight suit for winter.” Ian watched as Maggie carefully examined his old suit. He’d ruin every piece of clothing he had if it meant spending time with the alluring woman. His gaze fell to her fingers as they ran over the seams and he wished he wore the suit while she did it.
Ashamed by his improper thoughts, he cast them aside and focused on answering the question she’d asked but he’d not heard.
“I apologize, Maggie, I was woolgathering.” The boyish smile on his face made her heart as soft as warm butter.
“I asked if you’d like to look at the fabric I have available and choose one.”
“Of course, although I trust your judgment.”
Maggie went to a shelf on the wall where she kept fabrics more suited to men’s clothing and started to lift a few of the bolts down so Ian could examine them. He gently nudged her aside, carried the fabric over to her worktable, and set the bolts down in a stack.
After spreading out the selections, Maggie held up a piece of lightweight blue twill. “Do you like this piece, Ian? It’s a blend, but a much lighter fabric than your old suit.”
He reached out and rubbed the fabric. It didn’t feel like it would be unreasonably hot or itchy, so he nodded his head. “It seems fine, lass. What would you recommend?”
Maggie eyed him then went back to her shelves of fabrics and returned with two more bolts. She laid them on the counter next to the blue fabric. “If it was up to me, I’d make your topcoat out of the lighter blue fabric, a vest out of the darker blue brocade, and pants out of the dark blue twill. With a high stand collar on your shirt and a four-in-hand tie, it would be the height of fashion.”
What Maggie didn’t add was that the blue would bring out the color of Ian’s eyes and accent his blond hair. As she envisioned him in the suit, her stomach knotted with excitement and anticipation.
Thimbles and Thistles: (Sweet Historical Western Romance) (Baker City Brides Book 2) Page 7