Page 12 of The Empire and the Wolf King

I followed her, wondering if I was supposed to. In a back bedroom she pulled a stack of clothes from a shelf and placed it on the bed.

Then she went and stood by the door with her hands clasped at her waist, giving me no instructions. I calculated that these were for me and she was going to observe again.

Without planning, I pulled my dress off over my head and then my under tunic, leaving myself completely unclothed. Anddrat,I hadn’t looked at what I was going to put on.

I gulped and guessed — the second item down looked like a linen shift. I opened it up and dove in, pulling it on and jabbing my arms in the sleeves. This was all done awkwardly. I glanced at Madame Siddall and she was not impressed.

It was a little like when Magnus and I lived in the home of Lady Helen Fleming in Edinburgh for those long months in 1552 — like there was nothing I could do to make her approve of me. There was no going up from here, I had no idea how to put on these clothes.

I wondered if I ought to just tell her that because I was aqueenI rarely dressed myself.

I was a freaking queen. I was not going to be judged.

I blew hair off my forehead, I would need to fix my hair again.

The next big item in the pile was a gray dress. Very simple, a little like a pilgrim. I pulled it over my head and got it stuck on my shoulders. I struggled for a second, unable to get it down or off.

She muttered, “Tsk-tsk,” and stalked over to yank it off my arms. She shook her head while unpinning the front, then brusquely pulled the dress over my arms and manhandled me pulling it closed. “Thou hast how many babes?”

“Are you asking because the dress is too small?”

She nodded as she grasped the front fabric roughly.

Ow, that was going to make it hard to breathe.

She jabbed pins in to close it tight.

I gasped, “I have had four babies. The first I miscarried, he was a little boy. The second is my husband’s son, I adopted him. I have two I carried full term, a little girl, Isla who is four years old, and a baby boy named Jack. I guess I can blame the pouchy tummy on those two…”

She jabbed in another pin.

I asked, “How many babes have you carried?”

“I have been blessed with twelve living, four souls have passed on to Heaven.”

I muttered, “Wow, that’s…”

She said, “Thou are young though, you will have many more.”

My eyes went wide. “Well I don’t know, that would mean one a year for a bit. Not sure I’m that robust.” I awkwardly laughed.

She did not laugh. She unfolded a small shawl from the pile and wrapped it around my neck, tucked it, and pinned it down my front. In the close proximity I was aware how much I needed to brush my teeth and put on deodorant.

Then she unfolded a piece of white cloth, an apron, and wrapped it around my waist, tying it very tightly in the back. She stepped back and looked at me, her head cocked judgmentally.

It took effort to raise my arms to my hair, the seams on my shoulders stretching past what seemed safe, so I could only smooth the sides and hoped my hair looked good enough. My stomach growled once more. She ignored it, and placed a bonnet on my head that completely blocked my peripheral vision, and tied it under my chin.

She turned and walked from the room.

I guessed I should follow.

In the main room I found Magnus, wearing a man’s shirt and a pair of breeches, with stockings and his boots. His hair was tied back in a bow, his face washed. I had forgotten how absolutely hot he was in breeches. I flushed remembering that long ago day when he dressed like this in London in the eighteenth century.

I was not nearly as fancy as I had been then, but I was definitely an ‘Abigail’ to his ‘John Adams.’

If only he had a coat. He reached over and pulled a coat off the back of a chair and pulled it on and smoothed down the front.

He raised his brow.

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