Page 74 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
Through his laughter, he managed to ask, “Did what?”
“Got ye to feel another emotion!” she replied excitedly, throwing her arms around him again. “I got ye to feel joy! Och, I cannae believe it!”
His laughter faltered, softening into a suspicious smile. “Is that what the Laird MacMillen business was about—ye tryin’ to get me to feel somethin’?”
“Well… aye, and it worked! And when ye left me that book, I kenned ye were capable of empathy, even though Ididhave to put ‘considerate’ back on the list,” she said in a giddy rush. “Although, maybe I can cross it off the list again. I once read that a lass should find herself a considerate lover, so…”
He burst out laughing again, not knowing whether to be annoyed or applaud her efforts.
“Ersie and I had a bet, ye see,” she continued regardless, apparently too excited to know when to stop talking. “That I could make ye feel emotions. But I cannae remember if this means that she wins or I win.”
He shook his head slowly, his laughter fading to a faintly disapproving sigh. “I think I liked ye better when ye were afraid of me. I didnae realize I was in the middle of an ambush.”
“Ye dinnae mean that!” she urged, pulling him closer to her.
He smiled despite himself, catching her by the chin. “Nay. I dinnae.” He kissed her softly. “But when I get back to the castle, Ersie is gettin’ a night in the dungeons for conspirin’ with ye.”
“Ye dinnae mean that either,” Freya replied with a grin.
Doughall groaned. “Nay. I dinnae.”
Taking his bride by the hand, he led her away from the secret meadow, waiting for the spell of that place to break as they headed back through the shadows of the forest.
But the spell did not break, his heart still full, her hand still warm in his, a smile still tugging at his lips. And as he glanced down at her, he had to wonder,Might I change me mind?
29
“Och, Freya…” Ersie stood in the doorway of the assigned dressing room, her hand pressed to her chest, her eyes shimmering as if she might cry.
Freya glanced at herself in the looking glass, hardly recognizing herself. “Do ye think it becomes me?”
“Becomes ye?” Ersie croaked, stepping into the room. “It looks like it was made for ye.”
Not wanting to ruin the exquisite, ivory-colored silk with her clammy hands, Freya twisted to try and get rid of a tiny crease… or perhaps for the pure pleasure of watching such a beautiful garment swish. It had struck awe into her very soul when Isla had shown it to her, and it took her breath away now that it was on her body.
I didnae ken I could look like this…
“It’s a pity I’ll have to wear me spectacles,” she said shyly, admiring the tight bodice embellished with tiny, twinkling beads clustered together to form ferns, while smooth seed pearls looked like they were rolling off the fern fronds like morning dew drops.
Golden lace bordered the edges of her neckline, the end of the bodice, the hem of her skirts, and the peaks of her shoulders, where they gave way to billowing sleeves in the most pristine, gauzy material, so white it appeared silver when the light struck it.
“What are ye talkin’ about?” Ersie said in a chiding tone. “Ye wouldnae be ye without yer spectacles. Nor would ye be able to see the astonished faces of everyone when ye first walk in. Truth be told, I dinnae think ye’d look nearly as perfect without them.”
Isla, who had just appeared behind Ersie, made a noise of assent. “I couldnae agree more.” She paused, gazing at Freya with fond eyes. “Och, I justkennedit would be the gown for ye. I dinnae think the beauty of seein’ ye in it will ever wear off.”
“How can it be that ye never wore it yerself?” Freya asked as Isla approached and pulled something out of her apron pocket.
After the fiasco with the sickly yellow gown, in the labyrinth of Isla’s private quarters, the older woman had known precisely where to find the gown among her array of armoires. But upon taking it out, praying under her breath that the moths had left it alone, she had explained that while it was hers, she had never worn it.
“Me sister gave it to me,” Isla replied with a sad smile. “Said she didnae want it, that it made her look ghoulish, but she didnae have the heart to throw away somethin’ so beautiful. I had planned to wear it for me own weddin’, but it didnae suit me either. Now I ken why—it was always meant to be yers.”
Freya’s eyes widened. “It was yer sister’s?”
“Aye, though I cannae recall where she got it from,” Isla said, slipping something around Freya’s neck. “We used to do all our shoppin’ together, but I remember she hadsuchan array of gowns to choose from for her weddin’. Every dressmaker sent a gown on the slight chance she’d wear it and they could brag that Lady MacGordon had chosen their work. She was a fabled beauty, that sister of mine. Famous across at least half of Scotland for that… indescribably beautiful face of hers.”
Freya gasped as Isla fastened a necklace around her neck—a simple white ribbon with an enormous teardrop emerald that rested in the hollow at the base of her throat.
“I cannae wear this,” she insisted, for the jewelry definitely wasn’t hers.
