Page 70 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

God help them all.

Chapter 15

The morning arrival of the earl’s betrothed was met with all the fanfare of a royal progress. Crowds lined the streets of the village cheering as the procession rode passed. Fiona stood hidden in the shadows of her small tower chamber, watching it all as a detached numbness settled over her body.

When the last of the Sinclair soldiers, retainers, and clansmen came through the gates and the crowds returned to their work, Fiona took a deep breath to calm herself. There was nothing she could do now. Since running from Gavin yesterday afternoon, she had once again retreated to her chamber, anxiously awaiting news from Father Niall. She knew the possibility of leaving before the earl’s intended entered the castle was slim; nevertheless, it had been a fragile hope.

Determined not to wallow in self-pity while she waited, Fiona picked up her needle and thread and began sewing a shirt for Spencer. Concentrating on the tiny, neat stitches provided a slight distraction. The garment took shape as the day wore on; however, when the sun began to set and no word had arrived from the priest, Fiona knew she would have to wait at least another day before departing.

A sudden loud knock on her chamber door gave her a momentary start of optimism, but when Alice answered it, they found Duncan standing in the doorway.

“The earl sent me to fetch Lady Fiona to the evening meal.”

Fiona felt her stomach clench into a knot. She heard Alice mumble something, then Duncan raised his voice, repeating his instructions. Fiona could see the strain in Alice’s back as Duncan spoke. The twinge of guilt at the sight was not easily ignored. ’Twas Fiona’s battle to fight, not her maid’s.

“I fear I am indisposed this evening, Duncan. Please send my regrets and inform the earl of my infirmary.” Fiona turned away in dismay, mouthing a silent prayer that he would listen.

Duncan’s face became impassive. “Ye’re to come to the great hall. I’m sure if I go there without ye, someone else will be sent to fetch ye. And I imagine they willnae be as understanding or tolerant as me.”

Something inside Fiona went still. She stared determinedly at him, but Duncan never moved a muscle. Visions of being bodily dragged into the great hall fluttered through her mind, bringing on a mild panic.

“I need some time to prepare,” she finally answered.

Duncan nodded. “I’ll wait, but dinnae take too long or else we’ll be making a grand entrance.”

With an answering nod, Fiona shut the door, then leaned back against it. Shame washed through her. It was too much. How could she face them? How could she walk into that hall and pretend she was nothing more than a grateful widow to whom Gavin had shown chivalrous consideration?

Yet it needed to be done. The Sinclairs had no doubt heard the rumors about her. It would look suspicious if she were absent from such an important event as their arrival banquet, especially since she had not been seen by any of them the entire day.

“We must hurry. Fetch the new blue silk gown, Alice.”

The maid scrambled to do her bidding, shaking out the garment vigorously to ensure there were no wrinkles. Fiona had been daring in her styling of the garment, using the costly blue silk Gavin had purchased as a gift for her at the fair. The tight, square bodice allowed a hint of her breasts to show and the close-fitting skirt hugged the rest of her body like a glove, revealing every inch of her feminine curves.

Having only just finished the embroidery on the neckline and sleeves last week, Fiona had not yet worn the gown. She was planning on surprising Gavin one evening, hoping he would approve of her daring choice. Well, now there would be no intimate revealing of the garment, yet Fiona somehow suspected that Gavin would besurprised.

As Alice laced up the back, pulling tightly to ensure the fabric flowed perfectly, Fiona smoothed down the sides. Though it might be considered false, the beautiful dress gave her fledgling courage a boost. She sat quietly as Alice skillfully arranged her hair into an intricate crown of braids and then carefully added the circlet of gold and a white veil.

“You look like a queen, my lady,” Alice said passionately.

Well, ’tis better than looking like a whore.

Shaking off that repellent thought, Fiona rose to her feet and opened the door. As promised, Duncan was waiting. His jaw momentarily dropped when she stepped into the light provided by the wall torch. Grateful for another boost to her confidence, Fiona took hold of his arm.

They descended the staircase slowly and stood at the entrance to the great hall. As she had hoped, the celebration was loud and lively, packed with people all eager to catch a glimpse of the earl’s intended bride.

Aileen Sinclair was easy to spot. She looked young and fresh sitting beside the earl on the dais, her shimmering red hair unbound, flowing across her shoulders like a river of fire. The sight of the couple made Fiona’s stomach twist, yet she managed to force her feet to move forward.

She had thought she and Duncan could get lost in the crowd as they approached, but after traveling a few feet, heads began to turn. The conversation around them died away. Looking neither right nor left, Fiona quickened her step. She kept her mind blank, her chin high, her spine straight.

“Good evening.” Fiona stood before the dais and executed a deep, graceful curtsy. She could feel Lady Aileen’s gaze on her, but held off looking in her direction for as long as possible.

“Lady Fiona, at last.” Gavin gave her an appraising look, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, making her glad she had worn the daring gown. “May I present Laird Sinclair and his daughter Lady Aileen.”

“Milady,” the laird grumbled, turning his attention back to his meal.

Not precisely a snub, yet close enough. Knowing it was not possible to avoid looking at Aileen any longer, Fiona braced herself, then raised her chin. A lively, intelligent set of eyes met hers, along with a timid smile.

“I am delighted to meet ye, Lady Fiona,” the younger woman said. “’Tis a relief to have another lady sitting at our table. The men speak of little else but war and sieges and battles. ’Twill be a pleasure to have a change of topic.”

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