Page 36 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
Another beat to consider. “Flora was never one to seek out hardship in our relationship. I daresay I could’ve gotten her to do quite a bit without her fightin’ back.” He paused, brow furrowing as he noted the concerned frown on his laird’s face. “Not that I ever crossed that line, m’laird.”
“Ah–of course not.” Arthur shook his head, tugging on the reins of his horse as the pair came to a stop in front of a small domicile in the middle of the village’s square. The lingering scent of dye drifted around various hanging cloths set up to dry, with a few women exiting the home with a variety of new gowns in arm.
“To answer yer question, though,” Nathan continued, hitching his horse to a nearby post as he spoke on. “I simply sat Flora down one day and asked her fer the truth. Told her that me goals werenae to unknowingly hurt her, and if she didnae trust me with her truth, then she didnae trust me as her future husband.”
“And that worked?” Arthur asked.
Nathan shrugged his shoulders slightly. “She made her opinions loudly ken after that. That’s actually why Maesie’s still alive; ’twas to first time she argued with something I wanted done. Loudly,” he emphasized with his all-too neutral stare. “An’ I’m grateful fer it everyday.”
“But, what if ye ken ye’re having her do something fer the best?” Arthur asked.
Nathan held the seamstress’ door open, turning to face Arthur once more. “How do ye ken its best with only yer opinion on it?”
Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but surprisingly found himself lacking a retort.
“Believe me, m’laird; yer opinion holds more weight than many others throughout these lands.” Again, Nathan shrugged his shoulders. “I ken I’d follow yer lead to the ends o’the earth. But I’ve been at yer side fer years, now, so I ken very well that ye have experience. But,”
“But?”
It was one of the rare times Arthur saw a slight smirk from his man-at-arms. “If ye ken it all, ye wouldnae be asking me fer me opinion.”
Fair enough. With a slight nod, Arthur stepped through the doorway and inside the seamstress’ home, storing Nathan’s opinion away until he was alone in bed. The older woman glanced up from her stool, a partially-finished shirt stretched out across a table covered in bits of scrap. Her sewing needle was partially pulled out from the linen’s shoulder seam, and she bowed her head respectfully. “Good evening, m’laird.”
“Evening, Goody Isla,” Arthur replied back. “Apologies fer keeping me maither away from ye; things have been awful busy at the castle.”
“So I hear!” Goody Isla said, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “Heard a bit o’whispering between the folk who came from there. Ye found herself a pretty lass, m’laird?”
‘Another’ pretty lass, Arthur knew she wanted to add. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d called upon the Goody for her expert craftsmanship.
“So! What’s the occasion, m’laird?” Goody Isla inquired.
“Laird Marsden is having a ceilidh fer his wee one, and I’m in need of a gown fer me betrothed.” Arthur paused, suddenly realizing he hadn’t the slightest clue what to actually ask for. The color, the shape, the material—he had no idea what Olivia’s preferences were like, given she’d been stuck wearing Flora’s clothes during her stay. “She…has long, red hair and bright blue eyes. A bit curvier than me sister is. A bit shorter, too,” he added, hoping that would be enough to go on.
Goody Isla tapped her chin thoughtfully, briefly abandoning her current project as she stood up from her stool gingerly. “Oof–getting too old to be sitting as long as I do.” She then hobbled to her back wall, hand brushing across a number of fine looking cloth. “Green would be the obvious choice, but her eyes may clash a touch. Could do blue–matches our clan colors, though she’s nae part of the family just yet…”
Arthur quietly waited as the seamstress mused aloud, glancing around the room to try and pass the time. She really did have quite a few projects going at once–a kilt for what appeared to be a young boy, a wedding dress for a lucky bride, a dozen or so work shirts for the men in the fields–but one in particular caught his eye.
It was the very beginnings of a gown, dappled in various shades of grey that, somehow, made it the most colorful fabric in the room. It reminded him of grey stones shimmering beneath the river, of rain streaking down the side of a massive boulder.
Of a seal swimming through the ocean waves.
“Och, I hadnae the time to put that one away,” Goody Isla admitted sheepishly. “Had some traveler passin’ through request it personally–left before I could get the measurments, though. I wasnae sure what to do with it…the fabric’s far too pretty to cut down.”
“I’ll take it,” Arthur said. “Can ye make a gown outta it, still?”
“Aye, I can. With it half-made already, it’ll be done much sooner than one I start from scratch.”
Now he was certain about his choice. “‘Tis the one, then. Can ye have it done in a few days time?”
Goody Isla gave a wheezing chuckle. “I’ll start on it first thing in the morning, m’laird.”
With the payment worked out and another ‘good evening’ exchanged between parties, Arthur remounted his horse feeling far more at ease. He still needed to talk to Olivia, certainly, but at least now, she had a nice surprise in the making. “Ye’re still nae coming, are ye, Nathan?”
His man-at-arms shook his head, mounting up as well and grasping at his stallion’s reigns. “Flora’s only gotten more nauseous–we’ll be visiting the healer soon to see if it’s sickness or child.”
“Hopefully, ‘tis the latter,” Arthur said. Briefly, his mind drifted to what his own children might’ve looked like, if things were different between him and Olivia. If his life wasn’t one of lairdship, if he were already set on his path. “Ye think clan MacCulloh is still in uproar?” he suddenly asked.
“Without proper leadership?” Nathan snorted, following his laird’s lead as the pair made their way towards the main road. “I wouldnae be surprised if another group comes along and grabs ‘em up. Nay, ‘tis a life of menial labor fer the MacCullohs. And that’s only if their attackers nay kill them simply fer the land.”
