Mared suspected that were she privy to all that had gone on, Aileen would be surprised and distressed by many things her brother Hugh had done. And she chafed at the piteous looks from her family, argued that her attendance at the preposterous ceilidh was entirely unnecessary. When her father, tired of the battle, laid down the law and said that she would attend, she prepared for an interminable evening at Eilean Ros by sporting a very bad humor and donning her best evening gown, such as it was.
Her best gown was a heavy and rich purple brocade, fancifully embroidered along the sleeves and hem and bodice, and repaired in more than one place. It was a winter gown, the color and fabric ill suited to the long summer nights in Scotland, but it was the only gown she had to wear to important social events. When one’s family fell upon hard times, pretty gowns and silk slippers were the first necessities to fall by the wayside.
Not that Mared minded too terribly—mostly, she stood to one side at large affairs such as this, as guests generally seemed vaguely fearful of her. And she hardly cared what Payton Douglas might think of her attire—after all, he’d seen this particular gown enough times in the last few years to form a very firm opinion of it. At a Christmas dance just last year, he’d casually fingered the sleeve of it and remarked, “I would that ye had clothing less somber than this.”
Mared had smiled as she moved her arm away from his fingers. “I do indeed, sir, but I intend to wear that gown to my audience with the king. It wouldna do to wear it before that occasion, aye?”
He’d smiled tenderly, blast him, and Mared had felt that smile filter down her spine, all the way to her groin. “One day,” he’d said, “ye’ll have no need to wear a gown more than once.” And he had walked on, leaving her to stand self-consciously against the wall, hating her gown and hating him.
She did concede to a bit of primping by allowing Ellie and Anna to put her hair up in a fashion they said was quite popular in London—a pile of dark ringlets pinned in back and a thin ribbon of silk, borrowed from Beitris, wrapped around her head in Grecian style. A pair of amethyst earrings dangled from her earlobes.
“Are ye certain this is the current fashion?” Mared asked, peering closely at herself in the mirror.
“Yes, of course! Ah, but how lovely you are, Mared,” Ellie avowed appreciatively, standing back to have a look at her handiwork.
“You’d be an Original were we in London,” Anna opined from her supine position on the bed. “Everyone adores a darkly exotic look just now.”
Mared didn’t know if she had a darkly exotic look, but she was rather intrigued with her fancy appearance. She really rather liked it and secretly wished for a more suitable ensemble.
The family—save Grif and Anna, who thought it best not to attend in her condition, and Natalie, who was too young to attend—climbed into an ancient old coach they had once kept for emergencies, but now served as their primary form of conveyance, pulled by two braying donkeys, and creaked and moaned their way across Ben Cluaran.
When they arrived they were surprised to see so many carriages and carts parked along the tree line. In the drive, a couple had just disembarked—he was wearing a formal black coat, and she was wearing a sparkling gold gown.
“How lovely!” Ellie cried, clearly enthralled. “It’s a ball, Liam!”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered beneath his breath and stuck a finger between his collar and neck once more in a vain attempt to loosen it.
“A ball!” Mared cried, feeling quite ill at ease all of a sudden. “He said nothing of a ball! He said a ceilidh!”
“Have you any idea how long it’s been since I’ve attended a ball?” Ellie gushed excitedly, her gloved hand at her throat as she peered outside. “And oh, look there! See the woman in pink?”
Mared strained to see—it was none other than Beitris, in a pretty pink ball gown, walking carefully behind her mother and father.
“Mary Queen of Scots,” Liam muttered. “’Tis a blasted ball.”
“You should be pleased, darling,” Ellie said gaily. “You’re well acquainted with all the dances, and Anna tells us that during your escapade in London, you did quite nicely on a crowded dance floor.”
Liam scowled.
“I’ve no use for balls,” Father said irritably. “I donna like the dancing or the noise.”
“Ye’ll smile and be quite happy to attend,” Mother said calmly and looked pointedly at Mared. “I rather suppose he’d have the whole of the lochs see Mared on his arm. ’Tis what a gentleman does when he intends to take a lass to wife.”
That was certainly not something Mared had considered, and the suggestion caused her heart to leap to her throat. She instantly clapped her hands over her ears. “Ach! I’ll no’ hear it!” she insisted as the coach rolled to a halt in the drive.
“It is out of yer hands, Mared. Donna tempt fate,” her mother warned her as the door flew open. “A Lockhart never breaks his word!” And with that, she gave her hand to Liam, who had already bounced from the coach to hand them all down.