Page 24 of Rose
He pursed his full lips and pressed his finger to them. “Another secret you must keep or else my men will think I’m soft.”
She laughed. “Yer men adore ye, and ye ken they do. Never have men sung their captain’s praises more.”
He flashed her a sexy sideways smile, and she felt her knees go weak. She looked down at her tunic to escape the heat of his gaze, which reminded her of what he had told the riverman. She fingered the soft fabric. “Ye mentioned going to visit a tailor, but ye’ve already purchased me this fine tunic. Surely, I do not need more than one serviceable gown.”
He gave a soft chuckle, the rich sound tempted her to once again meet his gaze. “As my wife, Rose, you will need many serviceable tunics, not to mention veils, wimples, jewels, and an assortment of other items.”
Her eyes widened at the list of treasures he intended to buy for her. “If ye think that is all necessary, but my brother’s wives have warned me about wimples and headdresses. I might have to draw a line there.”
He smiled. “I don’t blame you. They do seem very confining, and since you are my Scottish bride from the isles, I believe wearing a veil alone would be appropriate.”
A short while later, Rose rested her hand comfortably on the captain’s arm while they traversed the long dock. She upturned her face to the warm sun.
“Are you happy to be on solid ground?” he asked.
She smiled. “Indeed. It feels heavenly to stretch my legs.”
They carried on down a dirt road, passing peat huts with thatched roofs like her own on Colonsay. Soon, the one-story homes and shops gave way to two and three-story stone buildings. It was in front of a tall stone building with an oversized pair of scissors hanging above the door that they stopped.
Tristan opened the door for her. “After you, my dear.”
Rose smiled and started to step forward, but then she hesitated. “What am I to expect?” she said. “I’ve never been to a tailor. I’ve always made my own clothing.”
“Expect a flurry of activity. This will not be a relaxed visit, given the demand of my order. They will be measuring, poking, and prodding you amid a dizzying array of fabrics and colors. I promise that you will be exhausted before we leave.”
“Will I survive?” she jested to hide her sudden nerves.
“You will, but it is to the tailor and his staff that we must give our sympathy. While I take you for a stroll through the market to recover, they will be working their fingers to the bone to complete our order in time for our departure on the morrow.”
“Och, those poor people.”
“On the contrary, I will be lining their pockets heavily to complete the task. Trust me, Rose, they are glad for our business.”
Rose entered and straightaway a short, stocky man in green hose and a darker green tunic made of thick brocade seized her hand. “You must be Captain Thatcher’s bride.”
She opened her mouth to confirm his statement when he jerked her forward, robbing her mouth of words. A breath later, she was standing on a stool surrounded by half a dozen sets of scrutinizing eyes and as many pairs of poking and prodding hands.
“My dear,” Tristan called to her over the heads of the tailor and his servants. “I would like to introduce you to Roger the Tailor. Roger, this is my wife, Rose.”
Roger stood next to her. “Pleased to meet you, Mistress Thatcher. Lift your arms.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” she said in jest, but the tailor either didn’t appreciate her humor or his brain was too full of measurements, colors, and fabric to have heard it. She raised her arms and saw the smile on Tristan’s face, demonstrating that he, at least, had enjoyed her jest.
Roger’s nimble fingers proceeded to pinch and poke her from head to toe while he barked orders at her and everyone else in the room. Servants with arms full of draping cloth moved around the room like a dance, gracefully swooping close to her with new fabrics, then backing away again as someone else stepped forward. Colors flashed by her eyes as they were arranged across her shoulders then whisked away.
“Bring me the olive brocade, Thomas,” Roger shouted.
A moment later, a thin boy with wide eyes and a panic-stricken face disappeared to the back of the room. When he finished selecting a fabric, he raced back to Roger’s side.
“Does that look like olive green to you, boy? You are my apprentice. Do not shame me.”
Rose watched the boy glance at the dark green swath of brocade, clearly uncertain whether his answer should be aye or nay.
“No, it is not,” Roger barked.
The boy’s eyes grew even wider as he raced back to the teeming shelves where he stood unmoving, his hands gripping his hair. Rose’s gaze flitted between the impatient tailor and the nervous lad, wishing there was some way she could help. But then Tristan crossed the room and assisted the lad who looked like he wanted to throw his arms around the captain’s neck in gratitude. Her heart flooded with warmth as she met Tristan’s gaze. She decided in that moment that there was nothing more appealing in a man than quiet confidence. Tristan wore his size and strength with graceful ease. He was humble and good, and he led his men with a firm but kind hand. If she did ever decide to marry again, she hoped he possessed the same gentle strength.
When Roger at last bade her step down, Tristan had ordered seven tunics and surcotes of various silks and rich brocades, several kirtles, just as many veils and sleeping gowns, not to mention three pairs of slippers. She could not imagine how she was ever going to wear everything. It was amazing and ridiculous all at once. And one thing she knew for certain, it was an adventure.
