The Laird's Captive Wife (19 page)

‘Your brother looks much better,’ Iain observed, coming to join her one morning.

‘Yes, he does.’

‘He seems much more animated of late.’

‘Male companionship is proving beneficial. He has been shut up for too long with mine.’

‘I think no man would object too strenuously to that,’ he replied.

The words were casually spoken but the look that accompanied them was not. For many reasons it was disturbing, not least for its lingering warmth. Moreover, she could detect no sign of tension in his manner now; their former conversation might not have happened.

‘All the same fresh conversation is always welcome,’ she replied. ‘It is not good to be too long alone with sombre thoughts.’

‘No, it isn’t.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps you too might find new company stimulating.’

‘New company?’

‘Yule is almost upon us. It is the custom here to hold a feast.’

‘Yule,’ she murmured. ‘I had forgotten.’

Ordinarily she would have looked forward to it. This year she had been dreading it but since the destruction of Heslingfield it had become an irrelevance and she hadn’t given it a thought. It was as though her mind had deliberately blotted it out. Guessing at some of her thoughts Iain laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

‘I’m thinking it will not be an easy time for you, lass, or for your brother either. Do you wish me to abandon the feast this year?’

She regarded him with real surprise and for a moment found it hard to speak, not least for the warmth of his touch and his look. Then she shook her head. ‘Thank you, but no. It will not be easy, as you say, but it must be faced. Besides, I would not put a damper on other people’s enjoyment and neither would Ban.’

‘Neither would I…what?’ inquired a voice behind them.

Ashlynn turned to see her brother. ‘Iain was asking whether we wished the Yuletide feast to be abandoned this year on account of what happened to Heslingfield.’

Ban met his sister’s gaze and held it. Then he turned to look at Iain. ‘No, my lord, not for the world would I have you do so. Rather, let the occasion be held as it always was at Heslingfield. In that way all the right memories may be kept alive.’

He reached for his sister’s hand and squeezed it. Ashlynn managed to return his smile. The sight of it pierced Iain to the heart.

* * *

The following day the fine weather broke and the grey sky grew leaden, threatening snow. The wind was bitter. One brief exposure to that icy blast on the roof terrace sent Ashlynn hurrying back to the warmth of her room. She had not been there very long before someone knocked on the door. Feeling sure it would be Ban she bade the caller enter. However, it was a very different figure that appeared on the threshold.

‘Good morning, Ashlynn.’ Iain surveyed her in silence for a moment and then smiled faintly. ‘May I come in?’

Gathering her wits she answered in the affirmative and watched him step into the room. Then he turned and beckoned to someone without. To her astonishment four women entered, all total strangers and all of them carrying a variety of large bags and bundles. They smiled as they made their duty to her. In bemusement Ashlynn looked from them to him.

‘Madame and her assistants have just arrived from Dunfermline. They’ll be staying with us for a few days.’

‘Will they?’

For the first time she realised he carried under his arm several bolts of cloth which he laid on the bed. His companions bore several more. Soon the fur coverlet was transformed into a riot of colour.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

‘Your new wardrobe, my lady,’ he said, ‘or the basis for it, at least.’

‘New wardrobe?’

‘Aye, and not before time.’ He eyed her homespun gown with disfavour. ‘Since the day I first saw it I’ve wanted to get that ghastly dress off you. I’d have done it a lot sooner but the ladies here had commitments at the royal court and could not be spared.’

‘They’ve come from the royal court?’

‘That’s right.’

Incredulous and speechless Ashlynn watched him cross to the door again. He paused on the threshold.

‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

With that he was gone. Ashlynn tried to gather her scattered wits and turned to look at the rolls of cloth on the bed. The elder seamstress hastened to fetch the azure silk. Drawing out a length she held it against Ashlynn.

‘The colour looks well on you, my lady.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ she replied, running her fingers over the surface of the material. ‘I never saw anything so fine.’ It was no more than the truth. Never would she have dreamed of owning such a gown.

However, before she had finished admiring the blue, Madame gestured to an assistant to fetch a bolt of red velvet, considering it intently, letting her gaze rest on Ashlynn’s face and hair a moment and thence to the slender form below, taking in the whole picture.

‘This will also look well,’ she said. Seeing Ashlynn remain silent, the seamstress regarded her keenly. ‘Does the cloth displease you, my lady?’

‘No, it’s beautiful. It’s just that I find it hard to choose between the two.’

‘No need, my lady,’ replied the other, ‘since we are to make half-a-dozen new gowns.’

For a moment Ashlynn was rooted to the spot. Half-a-dozen new gowns! Never in her life had she been permitted more than one new dress at a time and, even then, not in fabrics like these. Madame smiled.

‘So we keep the red I think.’

‘I, er…yes.’

The red bolt joined the blue.

* * *

Half an hour later those two had been joined by four others in gold, cerise, forest green and mauve. Then she found herself being measured by the giggling assistants. From time to time Madame spoke to them in the French tongue, apparently giving detailed instructions. Ashlynn looked on in awed silence. She dreaded to think what all this must be costing. Never could she have envisaged so generous a gift. These cloths were sumptuous, fit for the royal court indeed. Apart from the dress material there were also lighter, finer fabrics of the type suitable for chemises and stockings. These too came under close scrutiny as Madame picked out the shades that would complement the rest. Then, when she had taken her client’s measurements, the dress patterns emerged from a leather bag. Ashlynn regarded them with concern.

‘Aren’t they a little revealing?’

‘These are the latest styles, my lady. Let me show you.’ She gestured for the younger woman to come closer. ‘Notice the wider sleeves. They allow the colour of the chemise to show to advantage. The bodice fits close to the body.’ She let her gaze rest on her client a moment. ‘A figure like yours should also be shown off to best advantage, my lady.’

Ashlynn wondered what on earth Iain was going to say about that. The proposed style was so far removed from the modest drape of a Saxon gown that it was vaguely shocking, but the woman in her found it hard to resist. The thought occurred that such a fashion might also be pleasing to a man, if for rather different reasons. Would it please Iain? Would he truly
see
her then? With almost uncanny prescience Madame interjected.

‘My lord was most insistent on this point.’

‘He was?’

‘Oh, yes, my lady. Gowns in the French style. Those were his instructions.’

Ashlynn made no more demur. There was little time to dwell on the matter because the seamstress’s assistants wanted to measure her feet. Having done so, they traced out the size on soft leather prior to cutting out shoes which would later be sewn to fit her.

‘It will take a few days to complete the work,’ said Madame, ‘but I hope it will meet with my lady’s approval.’

Ashlynn was quite sure of that. She could hardly wait to see the results. Iain’s face imposed itself on her mind. Would her choice meet with
his
approval? She hoped so. He had made her a most generous gift and one she had certainly not been expecting. It behoved her to thank him at least.

* * *

When the session ended she sought him out and found him in the hall.

Iain heard her in silence and then replied, ‘As the wife of a laird it is fitting that you should dress as one. Do not feel obliged to thank me.’

‘I did not thank you from a sense of obligation, my lord, but because I meant it.’

There followed another short silence before he inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Then I accept your thanks in the spirit they were meant.’

After he had left Ashlynn took herself off to the roof terrace needing space to try and order the riot of her thoughts. She was tempted to pinch herself to find out if she woke or slept. It would not have surprised her in the least to discover the last couple of hours had been a dream. Never in a thousand years would she have expected him to think of this, but she was woman enough to appreciate it and to look forward to seeing the finished gowns. It would be good to wear truly flattering feminine garments again. Would he find her attractive then? She glanced down at the homespun dress and sighed. He obviously considered her a perfect fright at present. Almost at once she was ashamed of the notion; she ought to be beyond this sort of foolishness. They would have company over Yuletide and he wished her to look the part she played, that was all. Had he not made it clear enough? She could have no hopes of him.

Quite deliberately she turned her mind away from Iain to the matter of Yule. If they were to have a feast then arrangements needed to be made for that and for the guests. Rooms must be cleaned and beds prepared. Then there was the hall. The very thought of it was enough to bring a grimace to the face. After years of neglect and solely masculine influence it was more like a temple to barbarism than the heart of the house. However, that was about to change. Ashlynn lifted her chin. Like it or not, she was mistress here now. Had she not been told to arrange matters as she pleased? Having made up her mind she returned within doors and summoned Morag.

‘Gather all the household servants in the hall. I want to talk to them.’

* * *

Some time later a disgruntled steward waylaid Iain below stairs with a string of queries. Did his lordship really mean for the hall trestles to be taken down and scrubbed? Was the straw to be changed when it had barely been down six months, and the floor swept at that time too? Since when had dust and cobwebs ever hurt anyone? Had his lordship really intended that the majority of the servants should be taken from their regular duties to carry out such work, or that two of them should go out for a whole morning to collect greenery and leave him, Davy Kerr, shorthanded as a result?

Iain listened with concealed surprise but said nothing at first, waiting till the man ran out of breath.

‘Who ordered this?’ he asked then.

‘Lady Ashlynn, my lord.’

‘Did she so?’

Davy Kerr’s pigeon breast swelled with virtuous indignation. ‘Aye, my lord.’

Iain eyed him steadily. ‘Then you’d best get to it, man.’

For a moment the steward could only stare at him in disbelief. ‘Beg pardon, my lord?’

‘You heard me. Get to it.’

‘Very well, my lord.’ Kerr threw him a fierce stare and then bowed stiffly before turning to go.

‘Oh, and Kerr…’

‘My lord?’

‘Don’t ever question Lady Ashlynn’s orders again.’

The tone was soft but the look in the laird’s eyes was not. Kerr swallowed hard and nodded, then scuttled away as fast as he could.

Iain continued on up the stairs and came to the hall. He stopped in his tracks on the threshold. The room was a hive of frenetic activity with servants bustling about in every direction, armed with brooms and pails and scrubbing brushes. Ashlynn’s slender regal figure stood in their midst directing operations. Homespun gown or not she had an air of natural authority about her and no one questioned the instructions she delivered with such cool and firm assurance. The men looked slightly bemused but the women’s expressions approximated more to triumph. For a while Iain stood and watched in silent amusement and considerable enjoyment. If he’d ever entertained any doubts about her ability to run his household they had just been removed. He’d seen military commanders with less skill.

‘What the devil’s going on?’asked a voice beside him.

Iain glanced over his shoulder to see Ban. ‘I believe your sister is readying the hall for the Yuletide celebrations.’

‘Ah.’

‘I take it you’ve seen this before.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘She looks to be very thorough.’

‘You have no idea.’

Iain grinned. ‘So what would you advise?’

The younger man surveyed the scene for a few moments longer. ‘That we make ourselves scarce.’

‘My thought exactly. How about a jug of ale and a game of chess?’

‘A most excellent suggestion, my lord.’

* * *

It took most of the day and a small army of servants to clean the hall to Ashlynn’s exacting standards. By then the men she had sent out earlier returned with a cart full of fragrant greenery to decorate it. When it was carried indoors it filled the air with sweet fresh scent. Ashlynn drafted all available hands to help and by the time they had done she surveyed the result with real satisfaction. Beside her Morag nodded approval.

‘The place looks like it used to in the old days, when Lady Alice was alive.’

‘Lady Alice?’

‘Lord Iain’s mother, God rest her soul.’ Morag shook her head. ‘She always had the hall decked thus for the feast. After she died things were never the same. But then men have no sense of these things.’

‘Some might say they have so sense at all,’ replied Ashlynn.

Morag chuckled. ‘You’re not wrong there, my lady.’

Ashlynn gathered all the servants together. ‘You’ve done a magnificent job. Now go and get something to eat and drink. You’ve earned it.’ Having dismissed them she went to sit down by the fire feeling weary now herself.

Ban and Iain found her there a little later. Both men stood looking round the room in open-mouthed amazement.

‘God’s bones,’ murmured Ban, ‘it looks like a different place.’

Iain mentally agreed. It did. Apart from the obvious cleanliness it smelled wonderful, a mingling of green foliage and fresh straw and scrubbed wood. The old tallow lights had been replaced with fine beeswax candles which threw a sweet soft-scented glow over the whole room. In an instant he was transported back to his childhood when his mother had been alive, and he felt his throat tighten. Then he became aware that Ashlynn was watching him.