by Mary Wine
“She’s a MacLeod, sister to the new laird.”
“A laird that has yet to secure the allegiance of his clan,” Lytge shot back. “A clan that is already ours.”
“Let her be, Father.”
His father sat back in his chair. “Ye sound like ye are warning me, lad. Why?”
“Because she is important to me,” Norris answered. “Very important. It would grieve me to argue with ye, but I will over Daphne. Let her be.”
The older man peered at him through narrowed eyes. Norris reached up, tugging on his bonnet to offer his father the respect due to him before turning to leave. It wasn’t in his nature to disagree with his sire, but Daphne unleashed things inside him beyond his control. It unsettled him, because a laird had to be as solid as stone when it came to his sense of judgment, not in jeopardy of being manipulated. Some men would see Daphne’s effect on him as a prelude to being a woman’s puppet.
“I wonder if the lass values ye so highly.”
Norris turned around to meet his father’s pointed gaze. “Well, does she? Ye keep having to carry her to yer chamber. If the lass does nae return yer regard, what use is she?”
Norris slowly grinned, earning him a grunt from his father as the older man shook his head.
“Ye are bruising the feelings of yer clan members for her when there are plenty of yer own kinswomen to dally with,” the earl continued.
“The cook was being presumptuous to accuse Daphne of thievery.”
His father nodded but also appeared unmoved. “Yet that attitude keeps our food free of poison. No small feat in times like these. His father was head cook before him, and his grandfather before that. There is none more loyal. The man also keeps the kitchens running smoothly and on a budget—something to remember since ye sent yer royal-blooded bride away and have left Dunrobin without a mistress to see to the books.”
“Daphne has been educated and is practiced in the skills of running a large house.”
His father slapped the table. “She has no dowry, something ye can demand from a bride.” He pointed at a small stack of letters sitting to his right. “There are offers for ye, me son. Ones that include lasses eager to warm yer bed and fill the coffers while they do it.”
“I run our land well enough to ensure there is a steady stream of income,” Norris remarked, refusing to look at the stack of letters. The knowledge that they were there made him want to cast them into the hearth. “Do nae negotiate another bride for me.”
“It is nae like ye to be so disrespectful,” his father grumbled.
“We’re in private, Father, and I mean no disrespect, but I am nae interested in wedding a stranger.”
“Then perhaps ye should go to court,” Lytge suggested. “With a new young king on the throne, there is bound to be a good crop of young heiresses there.”
“No doubt.”
However, he wasn’t interested. Norris tugged on his cap to show respect and left his father’s study. He paused in the hallway, considering the stairs that led up to the lady’s solar. The day was only beginning, and the sounds of training came up from the yard. He hadn’t been bragging about managing the estate well. They profited each season, but it took diligence.
His father’s question needled him. It was true he continued to chase Daphne. His cock twitched in response, but for once he ignored it. Would she choose him? Come to him if there was another option? Part of him needed to know. Too damn much so.
***
“Ye should nae have gone below stairs alone, mistress,” Isla scolded softly. The girl was busy pulling the covers off the furniture in the solar. “The laird is terribly worried something will befall ye. He had Gahan select several men to be under Cam’s direction to make sure no one trifles with ye.”
“Except for himself, that is.”
Isla surprised her by aiming a knowing stare at her. The girl looked more knowledgeable than Daphne might have expected.
“Are ye sure ye want to look that gift horse in the mouth?” Isla muttered. “Ye sounded right pleased last night.”
Oh, she had been… and so had Norris…
Her cheeks burned crimson as she contemplated the fact that Isla had heard her.
Isla returned to pulling sheets off furniture. “Men can be fickle, especially ones with position and title. They do nae have to look far for a willing partner to tumble. Nor would ye with yer fair looks.”
Daphne stood up and began helping. The work helped dispel her dark humor, and soon she was happily anticipating the next discovery. The solar was richly appointed. There were chairs with padded seats and tables. A full harp was under one sheet, along with mandolins and even a set of virginals. The mandolins were potbellied style with intricate borders painted around their flat faces. The virginals had gleaming white and black keys, and each rested on four ornately carved legs. There were boxes of music and even a music stand to complete it all.
Next came several lace-making pillows. They both gasped when they opened the boxes of silk floss to be used in making the finery. There were bobbins in wood and silver, and even four glass ones. What stunned Daphne was the gold and silver thread stored openly on the bookcase near the window where the light would be best for making lace.
“I heard the late countess was a grand maker of lace and other finery,” Isla said softly. “These were her things, but she had no daughters to teach her skill to.”
There was a trace of longing in Isla’s voice. When Daphne turned to look at the girl, she was gently stroking one of the glass bobbins. As the earl’s bastard daughter, the countess might have dictated Isla’s education. But since the mistress of Dunrobin hadn’t taken any interest in her husband’s bastard daughter, Isla had not been educated as a lady. Such was often the fate of well-blooded bastards.
“I will show ye, if ye like.”
Isla looked up, startled. She was shaking her head in a moment. “Oh… I could nae. Ye’re me mistress, and such fine things are nae for me fingers.”
“No, I am nae so different than ye, and I prefer we were friends, for ye are right. I should enjoy the time that I have Norris’s attention. Fate will no doubt intercede soon enough.” Daphne picked up one of the pillows and began to push pins into it. “For the moment, let us enjoy being able to pass the day like princesses.”
***
Daphne rubbed her neck, but it was still stiff. By late afternoon, her hands ached from working the bobbins, but delicate lace was growing inch by inch. The pillow was the easiest to use, for you simply turned it round and round, moving the pins. It was detailed work, requiring focus to make sure every thin thread was moved at the correct time.
Isla was beaming. She fingered the lace she’d made, her face shining with triumph. “I never thought to make something so fine.”
“Ye have a natural talent and a keen mind,” Daphne offered, standing up. Her back was tight, but the ache was nothing compared to the way she’d felt after the beating Morrell Comyn had inflicted upon her.
She strolled around the solar, pausing at the windows. Although the sun was setting, the men still trained in the yard, and the sound of their wooden swords drifted up through the open windows. The evening air was chilly, and Isla began to close the glass windows, doing it gently to ensure she didn’t crack one of the costly panes.
The sound of horses rose above the clacking of the wooden weapons, and Daphne looked down to see Norris riding into the inner yard. He truly was a master of the stallion he rode, though the animal still tossed its head. Norris reached up to rub its sweaty neck and then cast a look up at her. Their gazes connected, and she felt her belly twist. So quickly, so immediately.
Pure response.
So far above him she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw his lips twitch up into a smile. He reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet, making her
want to lower herself like some lady spying her gallant suitor arriving. Maybe she should greet him as such and await his courtship.
Ye mean his seduction…
“Supper will be on the table later, and the earl does enjoy having his son and guests at the high table. There are always clàrsach players.”
How long had it been since she’d heard the Celtic harp, known as the clàrsach, played? Too long. However, that wasn’t what made her interested in attending supper. It was her gallant suitor.
“I believe I’d like to bathe.”
Isla grinned, flashing her teeth in her excitement. She rubbed her hands together and opened the door to the stairs. The sight of the retainers standing there made Daphne hesitate, but anticipation was brewing inside her.
“The mistress is to bathe.”
They reached for the corner of their bonnets and moved out of the way. It was unnerving the way they followed her, insisting on going into the bathhouse to inspect it before allowing her enter. Asgree appeared, slightly flushed from hurrying, and shooed them away. They went only as far as the doorway and turned their backs.
“Ye’ll have to become accustomed to such things so long as ye are important to the earl’s son,” the head of house muttered. She snapped her fingers, and two maids began the process of filling a tub.
“Disrobe yer mistress.”
Isla was only too happy to assume the duty. The two maids working with the tub shot her envious looks as she carefully began to unlace and help Daphne from her dress. Asgree watched the process with an experienced eye, merely having to point, and her staff understood her. The woman was an accomplished head of house. Isla removed Daphne’s clothing and handed each piece to another maid, who would in turn drape it over a rack.
But when her underdrawers were removed, Asgree snapped her fingers, and the maid brought them to her.
Daphne blushed scarlet. “I’m nae bleeding.”
Asgree didn’t take her word for it. “I doubted ye would be,” she remarked after handing the intimate garment back to the maid. “Ye are too thin. I’ve seen it before. Many a lass suffers such near the end of winter when there has been little on the table for too many months, and their clothing is sagging. A year in a convent would no doubt account for how thin ye are.”
Daphne sat down in the tub, trying to relax as Isla began to wash her. The girl wouldn’t let her take the cake of soap from her hand, and Asgree brought over a rare sea sponge to use on her skin.
“Ye have much to learn about being waited on,” Asgree teased her gently.
“A wasted effort, since I do nae plan to have need of such knowledge once I return to MacLeod land.” For a moment, tears stung her eyes, because she doubted she would ever wed. What man would want her? The disobedient daughter of a defeated laird and one who had defied the king, as well.
“Fate likes to make up her own mind,” Asgree instructed her gently. “None of us know for sure what tomorrow will bring.”
For a moment, a tiny flicker of hope warmed her. A vision of her belly large with a babe sprung up in spite of her warnings not to allow herself to daydream. She did desire children.
Norris’s children.
Once again the thought was simply there, in defiance of her better judgment. The vision continued, with Norris reaching out to rub her swollen belly with a cocky grin on his lips. But tenderness in his eyes.
“Well, I do find meself agreeing with ye, Asgree. Tomorrow is something we know naught about.” Daphne stood up to let the cold air distract her from the daydream. It hit her wet skin, sending gooseflesh spreading across her limbs and puckering her nipples.
Asgree snapped her fingers, but Isla had already brought toweling forward. The head of house went to a small wardrobe and used one of the keys hanging on the ring at her waist to open it. The keys were the symbol of her position at Dunrobin and responsibility, for if the account books didn’t balance, Asgree would be the one called on to answer for any shortages. There were locked cabinets and chests that held items of value, such as the wardrobe she opened now. Inside were robes, some of them made of expensive fabrics, but any cloth cost a fair amount of coin, even wool. There were no doubt plenty of sheep on Sutherland land, but shearing took time. So did carding and spinning and weaving. Those who produced cloth had to eat.
“This will keep ye warm until we decide what ye shall wear to supper.” Asgree selected a gold-colored robe, and Isla helped hold it up so Daphne might slip her arms easily into the sleeves. It was lined in something so soft, she looked down and gasped when she realized it was silk.
“When the mistress was alive, she enjoyed fine things,” Asgree said with a touch of nostalgia in her voice. “I believe ye shall find something among her things to wear. Velvet never goes out of fashion.”
Asgree didn’t give her time to argue. She pointed toward the door, and Isla encouraged her to come along. The robe fell to her ankles, keeping her warm as she climbed the stairs to the lady’s solar once more. This time Asgree pointed to the next floor, and once they reached it, the head of house fitted one of her keys into the door to open it.
“The mistress insisted on private chambers once she’d conceived.” There was a note of sadness in Asgree’s voice. “Such likely accounted for the fact that she had only one child, for she never returned to the master’s chambers for more than a few hours.”
It was the way for many marriages, and yet it sounded sad. Lying beside Norris through the night had been satisfying on a level Daphne had never known before. The maids lit the candles, which were all placed in the candelabras as if the mistress might return at any moment. When they pulled off the sheets covering the furniture, there were no puffs of dust. Every inch of the chamber was spotless and as silent as a tomb.
“There are dresses aplenty in here,” Isla murmured, as excited as a child on May Morning. “Me mother told me stories of the velvet and silks, all trimmed with lace made by the mistress.”
There came the jingle of keys as Asgree unlocked the wardrobes in the chamber. They were set around the circular room, one wardrobe between the windows so one might turn all the way around and always be staring at one of them. They were arranged by season, as well. The lighter colors were obviously the summer clothing, so Daphne turned to find the darker-toned fabrics. Asgree was there, gently searching through the hanging garments.
Isla withdrew a delicate chemise and carried it to Daphne. “There is lace all around the neckline. It must have taken a week to make it.”
The two maids didn’t hesitate to remove the robe, leaving Daphne blushing as she was stripped bare. Isla lifted the chemise, and Daphne hurried into it, desperate to have something to protect her modesty.
“That convent tried to teach ye to be ashamed of yer body,” Asgree observed drily. “It is nae a natural thing to be so timid when there are only women here.”
It was gentle scolding, but a reprimand nonetheless. Nothing bred gossip faster than the unknown. If it was said she let no one see her body, there would be those who whispered it was because she was marked by the devil.
“Modesty was indeed stressed,” Daphne replied, forcing herself to uncross her arms and allow the darker hue of her nipples to show through the thin fabric. “I suppose I picked up a few habits I did nae have afore.”
Asgree nodded, and there was a rustle as she withdrew an undergown of russet silk. “I believe this one will fit well enough. When the mistress arrived, she was very thin from serving the queen at Court. They have strange notions of what is attractive in Edinburgh. Highlanders like women the way the good Lord intended them to be. Curvy.”
One of the maids giggled and took the undergown from Asgree. It crinkled as they lifted it up and helped her into it. Once on, the skirt fell in generous pleats all the way to the floor.
“Still, there are a few things I agreed with the mistress on.
” Asgree lifted something from inside the wardrobe, and it unfolded. “I hear the French are the creators of lace stockings. The Church preaches against them, while men pray to see them.”
Daphne giggled this time, the other girls joining her. Asgree grinned mischievously as she brought the stockings forward. One of the maids brought a chair close, and she sat down. Asgree refused to let anyone else handle the delicate creations. She gathered them up gently and worked her thumbs down the inside of them. Daphne pointed her toes and pressed her foot into one. Asgree drew the stocking up her leg and secured it with a ribbon garter just behind her knee. The second one went on just as easily, and a maid brought a pair of heeled shoes for her. Daphne stepped into them, unable to stop herself from moving toward the full-length mirror to see her reflection. She lifted up the undergown to admire her legs. The candlelight cast a warm yellow glow over her, clearly illuminating the black lace against her skin.
Asgree admired Daphne. “I believe I understand why the priests preach against them… and I’d wager a month’s pay that Norris would willingly fall onto his knees if he thought ye’d wear those.”
Daphne laughed in a tone both husky and full of anticipation.
Ye enjoyed the last time the man was on his knees full well…
Indeed she had.
“She does nae need the long stays,” Asgree told one of the maids. “And it is nae yet cold enough to wear them for the warmth.”
The girls looked at Daphne’s breasts, trying to learn the skill their mentor had. To be chosen to serve the mistress of the house was one of the best duties, for it came with the nicest surroundings. The girls lifted a dress and carried it like a babe, making sure not even the hem touched the floor. It was a rich shade of blue, and once it was close enough to touch, Daphne realized it was made of velvet.
“I can nae wear that. It is fit for a queen.”
“Or the Countess of Sutherland,” Asgree informed her in a tone full of authority.
“Which I am nae, either,” Daphne whispered. For just a moment, doubt punctured her enjoyment. What if Norris would not welcome her at the high table? No invitation had been issued. She’d look the fool sitting at one of the common tables in his mother’s finery.