Page 23 of The Wrong Bride
He continued, “So now that we agree that we’ll keep silent about the real circumstances of our meeting—”
She laughed without mirth. “Meeting? As if we first saw each other across a ballroom?”
He ignored her outburst. “I think we should simply say we met when I came to bring ye to Scotland, exactly as I intended to do if your father hadn’t—”
“I know, I know, fine, have it your way. We were introduced, and my whole family agreed to rid themselves of me by letting a veritable stranger take me away.”
She looked up at him through the strands of her hair as she combed. To her surprise, he wasn’t angry. He reached into the pocket of his coat and removed something that was wrapped in a delicate piece of tartan cloth in the same colors she’d seen his clan wear.
“This is the gift I had brought for ye,” he said.
The gift he’d brought for Cat.She let the comb slowly settle in her lap as she stared at the item.
He held it out, and though she hesitated, she tookit from him. The tartan easily fell away to reveal a small, decorated wooden box that looked quite old. Inside nestled a necklace that glittered in the setting sun when she lifted it out.
“It has been in my family for many generations,” he said gruffly. “’Twas made here, of pearls from Scottish rivers and amethysts dug out of Scottish hills, set in gold captured in our rivers.”
He was obviously proud of his heritage, the heritage her family had scorned and avoided. It was . . . jarring, strange. But the necklace was truly lovely, and it made her feel conflicted to be wearing something that represented his clan.
“I thought dower gifts were of cattle,” she said at last, trying to sound scornful.
He answered as if he didn’t take offense. “Our fathers decided to share land instead.”
“Do not forget the money from my uncle that would have gone into this marriage.”
He rose, then while heading for the door to the dressing room, he ordered, “Wear the necklace tonight.”
He didn’t look back, as if he didn’t expect a refusal, then closed the door behind him.
For some time, she sat looking at the necklace, spreading it out in her lap, the pearls creamy, the amethysts pale purple crystal. It wasn’t gaudy, but it definitely spoke of wealth the clan had had sometime in the past. The McCallums didn’t seemterribly poor now, but if they’d been desperate for her—Cat’s—enormous dowry, there was need. But they weren’t going to receive Cat’s dowry, and the contract would be broken. They were going to lose their special land, too, the one that produced their whisky. McCallum didn’t want to believe the truth, and he would suffer for it in the end. She wasn’t going to feel sorry for him. Civilized men did not respond to problems by kidnapping women.
She leaned back in her chair and tried to imagine Cat here, kidnapped in the dead of night and dragged across the country. If Cat had known about the marriage contract, she might have accepted it, while still feeling the pain of helplessness. Cat felt more a part of Scotland than Riona did, being the daughter of a Scottish earl. Cat had visited their estate a few times with her brother, Owen, the heir, and Cat always spoke about the beauty of wild Scotland. But both women had thought they’d marry Englishmen . . .
Her depressed thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door that opened to the corridor. Pulling her dressing gown tighter, she walked to the door, then opened it to admit Mrs. Wallace, who pushed a stumbling young woman in front of her.
“Lady Catriona,” Mrs. Wallace began, “I ken that fine-born ladies have maids of their very own, so I brought me niece, Mary, who’s been wantin’ to work in the castle. There’s mostly men here, o’course, but I thought servin’ you, she could be of help and learn a thing or two.”
Surprised, Riona said, “Thank you, Mrs. Wallace. Hello, Mary.”
The girl didn’t raise her eyes, only nodded and whispered, “Good day, my lady.”
Mary was dressed in a plain gown with an apron pinned to the front, and a little mob cap perched amid brown curls tamed into submission at the base of her neck. Though she was thin, her red chapped hands bore evidence of hard work and the strength necessary for it.
Mrs. Wallace clapped her hands together, and her niece jumped. “Then ’tis settled. I’ll help for a day or two, and between us, Lady Catriona, we can train our Mary in what pleases ye.” She opened the wardrobe doors and pulled out the first gown. “She’s a good little seamstress, Mary is, and ye might be needin’ that skill for a while.”
They spent some time choosing an outfit for Riona to wear to her first dinner with the clan. It was a deep maroon that Mrs. Wallace thought highlighted her green eyes. The stomacher revealed by the lacing was cream with lovely flowered embroidery, which was echoed in the fancy petticoat on display beneath the open skirt. After two weeks without wearing stays, it was rather jarring for her rib cage to be laced so tightly. Jarring, yet also familiar, as if she was almost back to herself, instead of a prisoner.
Making “ooh” noises of appreciation at the sight of the McCallum necklace, Mrs. Wallace proudly put it around Riona’s neck, where it sat like a weight of expectations Riona would never meet.
She sat at the dressing table looking into the mirror as Mrs. Wallace worked on arranging her hair into a chignon, leaving random curls to drape against her neck. She knew her old life was gone. Whether she married or not, she could never again be considered an innocent, virginal potential bride. No man would want her now, she thought, swallowing hard.
“Are you and Himself harkenin’ back to the old ways for the start of yer marriage?” Mrs. Wallace asked as she worked.
Riona frowned. “Pardon me?”
“Ye’re here, livin’ in the chief’s rooms. Will ye be handfastin’ then?”
“Handfasting?” Riona echoed uncertainly.
