Chapter 5

5

P anic shot through Bridget, jolting her out of the warm cocoon she'd made with the blankets and pillows. "Oh my."

"Mornin'," the servant said as she snuck a long glance at Bridget.

"Oh dear, is this your room? I'm really sorry. The Laird put me in here last night. But perhaps there was some mistake."

"Ye're English. Seems the rumors are true for once."

Bridget pulled the blankets up to her chest and carefully studied the maid. The girl's wild red locks reminded her of fire in the way it swayed and twisted as she bustled about the room.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Bridget asked, trying to keep the distance between her and the maid by moving about on the bed.

"I dinnae mind it. But ye might find that there are people here who will not take too kindly to yer being English. Me advice? Ye keep yer mouth shut in big groups unless the Laird or one of his soldiers is with ye."

"Is it really that bad?" Bridget asked as panic gripped her.

She was accustomed to prejudice, but not as the prime object of pure loathing. It seemed that since she'd run away from her wedding, this would now be her lot in life. Bridget couldn't help but wonder whether it was some form of justice that was being served to her for her misdeed.

"Aye, it can be for a Sassenach such as yerself. But I could be the one joshin' ye now, could I nae?" the maid said with a sinister grin that made Bridget wonder if anything she'd said was true.

Bridget was up to her eyeballs with the teasing. It seemed as if every single Scot who crossed her path made sure to rub her mistakes in her face.

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll take my chances," she said as the maid made her final sweep of the room.

"Suit yerself. Nay skin off me back either way. Maybe you'd like to ken that breakfast is being served in the Great Hall. Best go down there and get yerself somethin' to eat before the men finish everything off."

Bridget hadn't realized just how hungry she was until the rumble of her stomach made it quite obvious. It dawned on her that she hadn't had anything to eat since the night before she arrived on the island.

"Ye're more than welcome to go eat. Nay one is goin' to bother ye, I promise. In fact, if ye dinnae believe me, ye can walk there wit' me if ye like," the maid said and nodded her head before walking to the door.

"What's your name?" Bridget asked.

"The name's Gail. And what might yers be?"

"Bridget."

"Well, if that isnae the most English name if I ever heard one," Gail said with a light chuckle that made Bridget feel a bit more self-conscious than she ought.

She nodded politely but wished she could scream. Was everyone on the island going to make fun of her name? If they were, she wished she could just meet everyone all at once and be done with it.

"So I've been told," Bridget said as she climbed off the bed.

Gail's eyes widened, and she shook her head. "Heavens, what happened to ye? Ye look like ye've been through the wringer, ye have. Ye cannae go downstairs lookin' like that. Do ye nae have somethin' else ye can put on?"

Bridget glanced down at the filthy, tattered dress she'd been forced to wear due to a lack of alternative clothing. She knew she was a frightful sight to behold, but what else could she wear? Her things had been stolen, and…

She turned her head and stared out the window to focus on something other than her dismal situation. She didn't want to recall everything it had taken her to get to Scotland or the fact that she was on the wrong island.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She wanted to cry and release her pent-up emotions, but what good would that do? It was bad enough that everyone was teasing her about her name. If she expressed her emotions, they'd see she was vulnerable to further ridicule, and that was something she wouldn't tolerate.

Bridget swallowed hard, bit her tongue, and pushed down her emotions. She let her breathing slow down before releasing her stress and worries into the air.

"I'm afraid I don't," she finally managed to say once she had her voice under control. "You see, everything I had was stolen from me, and… well, this is all I have."

The maid's pitiful expression made Bridget want to crawl into a hole and die. Bridget understood the look all too well. It was the look of someone who wanted to express how sorry they were but never would, due to her size.

Bridget knew she carried extra weight on her sides and that the dresses she liked were more expensive due to the amount of fabric needed to cover her. Of course, it didn't help that her mother constantly reminded her just how undesirable she was.

A light tap on the door startled Bridget. She turned quickly to mask the tears that were still threatening to spill over.

"Is she up?" a familiar voice asked, pulling her attention to the door.

To her surprise, she found Ava standing in the doorway with some light blue fabric in her hands.

"Ava? What are you doing here?"

"Ye ken the healer? Well, seems to me this lass gets around." Gail chuckled and nudged Ava, who appeared disinterested as she stepped into the room.

"How is yer ankle this mornin'? Did the balm help?" Ava asked as she stopped at the foot of the bed and dropped the fabric.

"It did a little, yes. Thank you. I don't think I got a chance to tell you that properly before."

"Think nothin' of it," Ava said. "I just hope me cousin finds who took yer stuff and returns it to ye. But until then, I dinnae think ye want to be walkin' around in that tattered thin'. How about ye give this a try and see if it suits ye? Gail, why nae come and help her?"

"But nothin' will be left when we get downstairs," Gail grumbled.

"I'll ask Cook to make more food then. Besides, what sort of hosts would we be if me cousin didnae feed the lass?" Ava said with a wink as Bridget collected the dress and made her way to the dressing corner. She stepped behind the curtain and took off her wedding dress, grateful to never have to wear it again.

The moment the hideous thing fell her to ankles, she drew in a huge gulp of air and let her chest expand. It felt wonderful to get out of the corset her mother had commissioned to tighten her waistline. A smile touched her lips as she threw the dress over the curtain.

"Would ye like me to burn it for ye? We can throw it in right now if ye'd like," Ava asked as Bridget started shifting and shimmying into the dress she had provided.

Although the fabric was smooth and soft, it hugged her hips, thus accentuating her curves, but it was the bust that bothered her the most.

"I can't wear this," Bridget said in shock.

"It cannae be that bad," Ava cooed. "Come and let us see. Maybe it just needs to be tightened a bit and sorted."

Self-conscious, Bridget stepped out from behind the curtain. She felt as if she were stepping out naked for the whole world to see. There was no way her mother would ever approve of her wearing such a dress. Not when it revealed far too much of her ample bosom and hugged her hips like the arms of a lover.

"What are ye goin' on about? Ye look fine," Ava said. "Tell her, Gail. Tell her she looks bonnie."

"Aye, ye do, and I'm nae one to lie about such things. That dress really does look stunnin' on ye."

"You don't think it's too much around the bosom?" Bridget asked, brushing her fingertips over the exposed skin.

Her nerves tingled as she studied herself in the mirror. Her green eyes popped against the light blue color, and it complemented her complexion so well that she couldn't help but start to see the truth in what they were saying. She really did look pretty in the dress. But was it too much?

"Ye look bonnie. Dinnae change. Stay just the way ye are," Gail said with a delighted expression on her face. "Alright, the lass is dressed, can we please go and eat now? I'm starvin'."

The Great Hall was more than anything Bridget had expected. It was a massive room that could easily accommodate hundreds of people. The antler chandelier added character to the room. To the left of the main entrance was the grand fireplace and roasting pit. Bridget wondered if she had somehow stepped back into a time of rural living.

"Come," Ava commanded as she looped her arm through Bridget's and guided her through the throngs of people. "Ye see there, that's Logan, Ewan's braither and man-at-arms. Ye need security, that's yer man. He's loyal to Ewan and a bit of a rascal, but harmless. Oh, and then there's me husband. Is he nae a catch?"

Bridget couldn't help but smile as Ava's face lit up the moment she spotted her beloved. A part of her wished she had that sort of bond with someone, but who would want her when she was so different from the other women? And it wasn't just in looks; she'd lost count of how many times her mother had scolded her for speaking out of turn at social events.

"Angus," Ava called with a wave of her hand.

A man with thick brown hair and a happy grin walked over to them and wrapped his arms around Ava.

"Where have ye been all me life? Dinnae ye ken I've been searchin' for ye, lass?" Angus said as he delivered one kiss after another, making even Bridget blush. "Oh, forgive me. I didnae mean to interrupt."

"Aye, ye did, but it's all right," Ava said, throwing her arm around his neck. "I forgive ye."

"Well, that's mighty kind of ye, truly," Angus said as he rubbed his nose against hers.

"And who is this lovely young thin'?" a woman asked from behind Bridget.

Turning slowly, Bridget found herself standing before the most regal and graceful woman she'd ever seen.

"Martha, this is Bridget, our English guest," Ava said, emphasizing the country of origin.

"I see. Well, it's a pleasure to meet ye. We rarely get visitors out this far. What brings ye to our little island?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Bridget said as heat rushed to her cheeks. "Please forgive me for how I'm dressed. I just could no longer wear the tattered thing I came with."

Martha gave Bridget a once-over before shrugging. "I see nothin' wrong. All the right bits are covered. Now, did we come here to stand around and talk about fashion? Or shall we get something to eat?"

"I could eat," Bridget said as she silently begged her stomach to stop making such embarrassing noises.

It was enough that everyone was staring at her because of the dress she was wearing, but to have them hear her stomach begging for food was too much.

Little bites. Make it last. No seconds. It's what Mother would expect of me. I'm a guest here, and I'll not make a fool of myself.