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Authors: Jessi Gage
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on the rumpled bed. “I’ve got a shift ye can use that I can trim the hem from, but we’ll have to wait on the men for a proper dress. Now, how shall we do your hair? Up, I think. With a crown of heather. Aye. Darcy likes heather.”
With Fran on a mission, Melanie had no choice but to follow her and weather the bustling wind of her energy. She dressed Melanie in a long cotton slip and began twisting and piling her hair into a graceful up-do. Laird Steafan might not be known for his hospitality, but Melanie could find nothing to complain about when it came to the generosity of his cottars. In fact, Fran seemed positively delighted to have Melanie disturbing what would likely otherwise be a peaceful night with her husband and baby.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” she said to Fran, meeting her eyes in the small bronze mirror on the chest of drawers. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
“Nonsense,” Fran said, her smile dimpling her cheeks. “It’s not hospitality. We’re practically family.”
Chapter 5
Darcy had been punched in the gut plenty, but never had he been nearly doubled over by the mere sight of a woman. Malina came out of Edmund and Fran’s bedroom dressed in his mother’s finest gown, which he’d plucked from the wardrobe up at Fraineach after deciding with no small amount of self-flagellation that he’d go through with Aodhan’s plan. The gown draped her from shoulder to floor in forest-green velvet. Gold ribbon wrapped her just below her bosom in a high waistline that hid the gentle swell of her belly. Ivory silk covered her arms and graced her neckline, which was low and so tight her creamy bosom pressed at the silk as if impatient to burst free.
She cleared her throat and he realized he’d been staring at that low neckline and the bounty it tried in vain to conceal. He snapped his eyes up to hers. They blazed with emerald humor.
“I see I’m about the same height as your mother,” she said, poking out the toe of her borrowed slipper from under the hem.
Fran bustled around her, frowning at the poor gown’s straining neckline. “Aye, though ye’re a bit more–” She pressed her lips and made a motion with her hands in the general vicinity of her own bosom. “As am I, dear, as am I. ’Tis tight, but ’twill have to do. By the look on poor Darcy’s face, I dinna think he minds much.”
He scowled at his sister-in-law before giving Malina his full attention. “You are lovely,” he told her, his eyes catching on the heather crown perched amidst her silvery hair. “So lovely,” he whispered in awe.
Fran giggled.
Malina’s cheeks flushed. She said, “You clean up well, yourself. This uncle of yours must be quite the particular man for everyone to have to dress to the nines just to go say ‘hi’ to him.”
He understood only every fourth word that came out of her mouth, but he caught her meaning just the same, since she was eyeing his best shirt and the deep green, finely-woven plaid his uncle had ordered from Edinburgh. Steafan had given it to him last year in a ceremony to honor him as heir. “Ye’ll wear it the day ye wed and the day ye become laird if the Lord doesna see fit to give me more bairns,” his uncle had said.
His gut curdled with guilt. Malina still didn’t suspect she was about to be wed. He was surprised Fran hadn’t told her. He looked at the woman questioningly, but she turned to a pile of dirty pots by the kitchen hearth, leaving him to his own mess.
“Best be off with you,” Fran said, her back to them. “Steafan willna like to be kept waiting.”
Unable to meet his unwittingly-betrothed’s eyes, he turned to the door. “Come along, Malina. ’Twill be over soon.”
He heard her steps behind him and wished he had the courage to take her hand and have her walk at his side. They went up to the keep that way, her trailing behind him, and stopped before the broad oak door. A prickle on the back of his neck
With Fran on a mission, Melanie had no choice but to follow her and weather the bustling wind of her energy. She dressed Melanie in a long cotton slip and began twisting and piling her hair into a graceful up-do. Laird Steafan might not be known for his hospitality, but Melanie could find nothing to complain about when it came to the generosity of his cottars. In fact, Fran seemed positively delighted to have Melanie disturbing what would likely otherwise be a peaceful night with her husband and baby.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” she said to Fran, meeting her eyes in the small bronze mirror on the chest of drawers. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
“Nonsense,” Fran said, her smile dimpling her cheeks. “It’s not hospitality. We’re practically family.”
Chapter 5
Darcy had been punched in the gut plenty, but never had he been nearly doubled over by the mere sight of a woman. Malina came out of Edmund and Fran’s bedroom dressed in his mother’s finest gown, which he’d plucked from the wardrobe up at Fraineach after deciding with no small amount of self-flagellation that he’d go through with Aodhan’s plan. The gown draped her from shoulder to floor in forest-green velvet. Gold ribbon wrapped her just below her bosom in a high waistline that hid the gentle swell of her belly. Ivory silk covered her arms and graced her neckline, which was low and so tight her creamy bosom pressed at the silk as if impatient to burst free.
She cleared her throat and he realized he’d been staring at that low neckline and the bounty it tried in vain to conceal. He snapped his eyes up to hers. They blazed with emerald humor.
“I see I’m about the same height as your mother,” she said, poking out the toe of her borrowed slipper from under the hem.
Fran bustled around her, frowning at the poor gown’s straining neckline. “Aye, though ye’re a bit more–” She pressed her lips and made a motion with her hands in the general vicinity of her own bosom. “As am I, dear, as am I. ’Tis tight, but ’twill have to do. By the look on poor Darcy’s face, I dinna think he minds much.”
He scowled at his sister-in-law before giving Malina his full attention. “You are lovely,” he told her, his eyes catching on the heather crown perched amidst her silvery hair. “So lovely,” he whispered in awe.
Fran giggled.
Malina’s cheeks flushed. She said, “You clean up well, yourself. This uncle of yours must be quite the particular man for everyone to have to dress to the nines just to go say ‘hi’ to him.”
He understood only every fourth word that came out of her mouth, but he caught her meaning just the same, since she was eyeing his best shirt and the deep green, finely-woven plaid his uncle had ordered from Edinburgh. Steafan had given it to him last year in a ceremony to honor him as heir. “Ye’ll wear it the day ye wed and the day ye become laird if the Lord doesna see fit to give me more bairns,” his uncle had said.
His gut curdled with guilt. Malina still didn’t suspect she was about to be wed. He was surprised Fran hadn’t told her. He looked at the woman questioningly, but she turned to a pile of dirty pots by the kitchen hearth, leaving him to his own mess.
“Best be off with you,” Fran said, her back to them. “Steafan willna like to be kept waiting.”
Unable to meet his unwittingly-betrothed’s eyes, he turned to the door. “Come along, Malina. ’Twill be over soon.”
He heard her steps behind him and wished he had the courage to take her hand and have her walk at his side. They went up to the keep that way, her trailing behind him, and stopped before the broad oak door. A prickle on the back of his neck
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