Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Within half a candlemark, Thora had come to several conclusions. First - Rhiannon McHavershan was a friendly, wonderful young woman with a heart of gold and an enthusiasm for tailoring that was second to none.

Second - Aedan Cameron was definitely getting his revenge for the way she’d cornered him into posing as her spouse by sending her to the seamstress.

The seamstress had pounced as soon as they entered her domain. “An’ who’s this, Master Sinclair?”

“Thora MacTavish. She’s travelin’ with Laird Cameron tae Laird Ross’s Yule celebration. She’ll be goin’ as Lady Cameron, and she needs the appropriate clothin’. Some o’ everything.”

With that, Mac had made his escape, leaving Thora in the clutches of the seamstress, who was staring after him with an open mouth. “Everything… and in such a short time…”

To her immense relief, Rhiannon seemed more preoccupied about the amount of work than the fact that the laird was to be married out of the blue.

A moment later, Thora found herself dragged into the middle of a whirlwind of measuring strings and fabrics. Rhiannon dragged her up onto a stool, chattering fast as a squirrel while she donned an apron covered in pockets, pins, fabric shears, and everything else that might be needed.

“Well, ye’re a lovely lass, that ye are… such pale skin and dark hair, and yer eyes… och, aye, yer eyes are lovely! And such a slim figure tae work with…och, just like a lady o’ the Fair Folk. ‘Twill be a pleasure tae make dresses fer ye… now just a moment tae tak’ yer measure…”

In short order, the measuring string was looped around her shoulders, bosom, waist, hips, arms, legs and draped across her back. Rather than writing down the information, Rhiannon labeled the measure with pins that had been decorated different colors. “I ken what each color is, ‘tis much simpler than tryin’ tae write things down and recall where I put the sheet later, and faster too.”

Measurements done, she began looking at different fabrics. “Yule… winter colors…ye’ll look bonny in them.”

She pulled several bundles of cloth down at once. “Greens I think… they’ll suit ye far better than reds… they can be used tae add trim or decoration, I think, nae as the main fabric fer anything except the underclothing…”

Before long, Thora felt almost overwhelmed by Rhiannon’s energy. It was all she could do to nod or shake her head as Rhiannon held up fabrics, made suggestions, and asked question after question about designs, decorations, embroidery, and texture preferences.

By the time Mac went to collect her for the evening meal, she was exhausted, and more than happy to leave the seamstress to her work.

She was less amused when Mac guided her to a new set of rooms, and pointed out a slightly oversized dress, simple but heavy with embroidery, and a sash in Cameron colors. “Laird Cameron thinks ‘tis best fer both o’ ye tae learn tae play yer parts afore ye journey tae Castle Ross. Until ye leave, ye’ll reside in these rooms, and ye’ll join the laird fer meals. We’ve decided tae spread a rumor that ye’re a lass he met while patrolling. It will also make the fact that you are accompanying the laird tae the Yule festivities more believable fer the council as well.”

She could see the logic, and Mac’s explanation of how and why she’d come to be at Cameron Castle made sense. It was definitely farfetched, but not unbelievable. And it was certainly more believable than a rumor she’d heard while walking through the halls - that she was a Faerie Princess come to take a mortal lover, either by order of or in defiance of the rulers of Underhill.

Still, she hadn’t considered starting their ruse so early. She hadn’t wanted to risk testing Laird Cameron’s patience any further than she already had. She wasn’t sure she was ready to begin playing the part of Lady Cameron.

Despite her reservations, she slipped into the adjoining bedroom and put on the dress and sash. Her brush had already been laid out on a bedside table for her, and she took a moment to rebraid her hair. Once she felt she was properly attired, she returned to where Mac was waiting. “’Twas the dress his idea or yers?”

“’Twas mine… even Rhiannon cannae finish so quickly.” Mac grinned at her. “It suits ye.”

“Thank ye, Master Sinclair.” She offered him a smile and curtsey, only for him to catch her arm.

“Nay one will think twice if ye thank me… Laird Cameron does often enough. But a lady doesnae lower her head tae a man-at-arms, and nay more should a lass who’s intended tae become a lady.”

Thora winced because she ought to have remembered that, as a laird’s sister, but fortunately Mac thought it was because she was simply a village lass acting in a manner unbefitting a lady. There was no reason Thora McTavish would know that and a village girl would be used to offering anyone from Cameron Castle the courtesy of a curtsey. Accidental or not, she’d acted precisely as she should.

For a moment, she wondered if her Gift was helping her after all. Perhaps it was guiding her, not with visions, but with the impulses required to properly enact the role she’d chosen for herself. Then she dismissed the thought, as Mac was waiting for her, and it was time for supper. After spending candlemarks under Rhiannon’s eye, she was in need of a good meal.

Silence fell when she entered the hall, filled with expectation and curiosity. Then Aedan rose from his seat and pulled out the chair beside his. “Thora.”

She walked over to his side and put her hand in his. Aedan whispered in her ear. “Mac explained matters tae ye?”

“Aye.” Then, just because she could, Thora turned her head slightly and smiled sweetly at him, looking deeply into his eyes. She smirked at the hiss of indrawn breath Aedan responded with, before he pulled back with the ghost of a smile on his stern face.

“Minx. ‘Tis nae kind tae tease when I’m tryin’ tae introduce ye tae me clan.”

“And why nae? Why should they have any doubt what I am tae ye?” She offered him a winsome smile, then took her place at the table. With a huff, Aedan sat beside her, and the servants began to deliver the meal.

She could hear the whispers that drifted around and see the eyes that would move her way, only to look aside a moment later. She could imagine what was being said at the different tables.

She took a deep breath, determined to ignore whatever rumors might be spreading. It was all part of the plan. She might be horribly embarrassed and feel guilt for what she was doing and the deception she was offering the clanfolk, but she couldn’t allow that to sway her decisions.

She had a part to play, and if Aedan Cameron could manage to contain his feelings and successfully act the part of her ‘lover’ and husband, then she would do no less.

Thora held out her cup for some wine and offered Aedan the warmest smile she could muster.

As he settled back into his chair, Aedan was still shaken by Thora’s look. He’d meant to make sure she understood what he’d planned. He hadn’t expected her to tease him.

Why had she looked into his eyes like that, as if she was boring into his soul? Was it because she was playing a part, as she had when she’d tried to - no, he had to admit ruefully - when she’d seduced him the night before? Or was it…?

He didn’t dare pursue that line of thought, or even consider it too closely. He couldn’t afford to let himself become entranced by her again. Thora MacTavish was far too dangerous for him to let his guard down around her for a second time.

He could see the Council members exchanging glances and whispers and did his best to pay them no mind. He was certain he’d get questions from them later, either when they cornered him in his study, or at another Council meeting.

He turned to see how Thora was coping with the attention, and found himself the recipient of a warm, inviting smile.

It bewitched him. There was a sort of luminosity that made her skin seem to glow and her blue eyes to shine with a soft inner light. Her black hair shimmered in the torchlight where it fell over her shoulder and contrasted with her paleness, giving her a sort of eldritch, fey look.

He’d never seen anyone like her, and for a moment, he almost believed in magic and visions.

Aedan jerked his gaze away and took a long swallow of his mead to clear his head. What am I thinking? I’m supposed tae be playing the part o’ a laird in love, nae losing me senses over the lass in truth!

He had to remember that, beautiful as she was, she was as much a trickster and a manipulator as any faerie in the stories his mother had read to him when he was a wee lad. If there was one thing that every story agreed on - even the ones where the Fair Folk were there to help, rather than tease, tempt or harm - it was that it was never safe to trust them.

The same was true of strange maidens who arrived in thunderstorms to bind him into ludicrous schemes for the sake of foiling plots that existed only in their dreams.

He needed to think of something else. Grasping at the first topic he could think of, he leaned over slightly. “Is the food tae yer liking, Thora?”

“Aye. I’m quite enjoying it. Though the company has more o’ me attention.” She offered him a sidelong glance.

She was daring him to play the game with her. They were both playing a role, a role they would have to make believable for the next several days. She was challenging him to match her bold performance.

Aedan never had been one to refuse a challenge, not from any man or woman, be they lady, laird, guardsman or village lass. He smiled back, and offered her a basket of thick-sliced bread. “Aye, the company is exceptional taenight.”

He let his eyes drift over the dress she wore. It was somewhat large on her slim frame, but with the sash of Cameron colors across her shoulder and round her waist, you would have to be standing close to her to tell. “That dress suits ye well.”

“Yer man-at-arms found it for me. And talking about me clothes, alas, I fear Miss Rhiannon is nigh overwhelmed. With yer permission, perhaps we ought tae engage a servant tae tak’ her a plate at mealtimes, and another tae remind her tae sleep? Otherwise, it seems tae me that she may forget tae care fer herself, and I would hate tae see her work marred or delayed by hunger or over-weariness.”

“An excellent suggestion.” Thora was right - the seamstress was quite capable of forgetting to eat or sleep in the midst of her work until she passed out from the strain. She’d once wound up in Maeve’s cottage for three days, after a fainting spell caused her to crack her head on the floor and rattle her skull.

Their conversation reminded him of something else. “I shall need tae have the shoemaker see ye. Ye’ll need some good indoor shoes fer dancin’ and some stout boots fer travelin’. Wouldnae dae tae be wearing anything that ends below the knee with the weather as it is. And I recall, ye lost yer last pair o’ shoes.”

“Only one o’ the pair, me laird.” She gave him an indignant look, which he returned with a raised eyebrow and smug grin, glad to have shaken her composure at least a little bit. “But I cannae deny I’ll be glad tae have some shoes more suited tae the weather when we leave.”

There wouldn’t be time to get her a properly fitted pair, but if he could find a maid with similarly sized feet - or a child - the shoemaker might be able to provide a pair with leather lacing that could be adjusted to fit her.

“Whatever are ye thinkin’ tae put such a smirk on yer face?” Thora was giving him a narrow-eyed look.

No reason not to tell her. “Wonderin’ if one o’ the village children or castle page boys will have boots that could fit ye.”

“Lout. My feet arenae that small.” She glared at him, but there was no heat to the expression - it looked more like fond exasperation to him. “Ye sound like me braithers.”

“Yer braithers?” The words reminded him that he knew very little about her - something that Lachlan Ross was sure to notice if it wasn’t remedied before they arrived at his castle. “How many dae ye have?”

“Three braithers and one sister. Me braithers are all older, and big, loud brutes, the lot o’ them.” A soft smile warmed her face after a moment. “I dae love them all, despite their ways. I want tae see them happy and prosperin’.”

It sounded like a large family, but then many of the villagers had large families. That was one way to ensure you had hands enough to tend the land and the livestock. Besides, there was little enough to do in winter, save enjoy each other’s company, work on small projects and…

He cut that thought short.

“What o’ yer sister?”

“We’re close tae the same age. She has an interest in healing, though she’s so kind it makes it difficult fer her tae deal with the wounded. She’s always after givin’ too much o’ herself. However, I’ve a hope that the man she loves will help keep her out o’ trouble, in a way I never could.”

“And yer braithers? Dae they tend the family lands?”

“Somewhat. Me eldest brother is handy with weapons, and sometimes puts his hand tae the sword when needed. Me younger braither likes tae talk tae folk. He has some skill as a trader, or he would if he werenae so full o’ mischief.”

“What o’ the third?”

“Betrothed tae a lass whose faither has nae sons. ‘Tis likely as nae, he’ll tak’ over those lands. ‘Tis well enough, since me eldest braither has claimed our family’s land since our parents passed away in an accident.”

The answers were vague, leaving him curious about the details - and the names of his supposed in-laws. However, even with that, he could hear the affection in her voice and a warmth that told him that they were clearly a close-knit group.

Aedan felt a brief stab of envy. He was an only child, raised from the moment he could toddle out of his nursery to be his father’s heir and the laird of his clan. The closest he’d ever had to someone he could share the burden with was Mac, who was the closest thing he had to a brother, despite not being his equal. Aedan tried not to think about it, tried to treat Mac as he would a sibling, but the knowledge was there.

What would it have been like, to have had people who could and would have teased him, as he was growing up? To have had family members to support him as he learned to be a laird?

What would it have been like, to have had an older brother to take the burden, so he could have been free to do whatever his heart desired?

Aedan snatched up his tankard and gulped his mead down, then reached for the flagon to refill his cup. There was no point in dwelling on things that might have been. His past was what it was, for better or for worse, and losing himself in dreams and fantasies of a life he had never lived would do him no good.

He had enough to deal with in the present reality, without succumbing to the madness of dreams and futile wishes.