Page 61 of Deadwood
“Then maybeyoushould’ve introduced us,” Siara snapped back, leaning toward him to add emphasis to her words.
I shook my head, thinking I might’ve heard him wrong. “Wait. Bowen’s right-hand man?” Was Bowen more than he was letting on?
They both looked at me. Flynt made no move to clarify as Siara grabbed the bag and came forward, setting a hand on my arm. “Come. I have clothes for you. This dress is a disaster.”
Flynt stayed downstairs as Siara guided me to my room, setting the sack on the bed. She opened it to reveal a pile of clothes, a pair of boots sitting on top. “You can wear whatever you’d like. They’re all yours now.” She pulled out the boots and plopped them on the ground, then each item of clothing, holding them out in front of her before laying them neatly on the bed. “There’s pants, shirts, coats, some underwear?—”
“I can’t accept this,” I said, interrupting her.
She paused her movements, giving me a curious look. “Why not?”
I searched for an answer, but realized I didn’t have a good one. I truly did want to get out of this dress. It was caked in dirt, torn in various spots, and the corset was far past uncomfortable at this point. “I’m only here temporarily.”
She set the shirt she’d been holding on the bed. “Would you rather be wearing that during your temporary stay?”
I looked down at my dress, inwardly cringing. It even smelled odd. “Not exactly.” She quickly inhaled as she was about to speak, but I added, “But I don’t need this many clothes. We’re hoping to leave by the end of the week.”
The corners of her mouth ticked up, and she dipped her chin. “Right. Well, feel free to wear whatever you’d like from the pile until then.”
She headed for the door as I regarded the clothing on the bed. “Are there dresses?”
She paused, her hand on the knob. “There are some in the bag. You can sort through it, choose what you like.”
I nodded. “Thank you for bringing these.”
Her eyes softened. “Of course. I’ll wait downstairs.”
She closed the door behind her, and I moved for the bag, reaching in to empty it. After laying out the few dresses that were in there, I stood back, admiring them. None had corsets, and the fabric was soft like silk, shining in the dim sunlight coming in from the overcast sky outside the window. I’d never been offered such simple dresses. They were mostly black, but some had beautifully simple details on the skirts or the tops, weaves of lace or various colored stitching decorating them. One was completely solid black, a bit shorter than the others, and I assumed it was for sleep.
I opted for the dress with the more simple skirt, weaves of dark gray flowing through the soft fabric, blending with the black. Looking in the mirror, I attempted to run a hand through my hair, but it wouldn’t be fixable until I had a bath. I’d take care of that tonight. The water would feel good on my ankle, but already, it was feeling better with the wrap and tea I’d been drinking. I was still limping and moving slower than usual, but the pain wasn’t as bad as before. Even better, if they had warm water, it would help immensely with the swelling.
Once I was changed, I headed back downstairs to find Flynt and Siara sitting at the table. Upon seeing me, they both stood.
“It looks like it was made for you,” Siara said, admiring the dress.
It hugged my body in a way my usual dresses didn’t, and I felt somewhat vulnerable.
“You look nice,” Flynt added, barely sparing the gown a glance.
“Thanks.” My cheeks felt warm, and I wanted to sit, but it felt wrong to do with them here.
“How are you feeling now that you’re out of that sad excuse for a dress?” Siara asked, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Better.” I offered a small smile.
“Tomorrow night, we’re hosting a dinner in the main hall, if you’d like to join,” she said.
“We?”
“Bowen, Raiden, Siara, me,” Flynt clarified, drawing out the last word like I should know who these people were by now.
“Who’s Raiden?” I asked.
“The commander,” Flynt answered.
My brows pulled together. “Like the head of the guard?”
Siara nodded. “He’s also our friend. Acts all big and tough, but he’s a softy.” She tipped her head to the side. “Sort of.”
