“James has cleaned up rather well. You should take a dip in the loch too.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Your bride must have no idea of the fine features you hide under all that dust you’ve picked up in your travels.”
He rubbed his heavily whiskered jaw. “As only a mother would say.”
Anne laughed. It had been so long since she’d witnessed a family’s closeness like this. Her parents had always shared a special bond, and had lavished attention on their only child. She’d missed this, family, teasing and togetherness. “He looks fine to me.” She rubbed his bristles. “A little furry, but I can deal.”
“You’ve picked up more than a few new expressions. I’ll go bathe. We’ll speak later.” He dipped his head then stepped away. “Mother, make sure my bride isnae late.”
“Midday. I have no’ forgotten.” He left and Mary chuckled. “My, my. What a nice surprise to find Alex taking the time to learn more about you.”
“We’ve agreed to a friendship. It’s a start.”
“More than a start.”
Another knock sounded and Mary opened the door. A seamstress scurried in, a white damask gown folded neatly over her arm.
“This is my wedding dress, Anne.” Mary lifted the shimmery silk woven into a lacelike pattern.
“It’s beautiful.” The bodice was cut boldly low and trimmed with lace. So extravagant. “Are you certain you wish to lend it to me?”
“My family spoilt me, as I shall spoil you. Please wear my gown. My daughter did.”
“I—I always wanted to wear Mum’s dress when I married, only it was lost in a fire.” It too had been made of white damask, only the fire that had taken it, had in turn taken her parents’ lives too. She fought back the sudden threat of tears. She was stronger than this, but it was a momentous day, one her parents should never have missed.
“Then wear it, and think of your mother. She’ll be watching from the heavens, I’m sure.”
“Thank you.” Mary knew what to say. “She would have liked you.”
“Such a compliment. Thank you.” She turned to the seamstress. “Let’s get to work. I wish to see my new daughter wed in this gown.”
The seamstress was a perfectionist, fitting and pinning the fabric to her. She took in every little nip. Once satisfied, she helped her step out of it then perched on the corner chair with it laid over her lap. From her basket, she selected needle and thread and set to work stitching.
At another knock, Mary crossed the room and bid a serving girl to enter. She placed a breakfast tray laden with a bowl of oats and honey on the side table. Two lads followed, heaving a wooden tub between them. They set it before the fire then hurried out as more servants arrived with pails of steaming water.
“Come. Time for you to eat.” Mary pulled out a chair and patted it.
Yes. Her belly gurgled. It had been far too long since she’d last eaten. She swirled the honey over the oats and ate as Mary oversaw the tub filling. After the servants left, she discarded her clothes and bathed. So refreshing. She lazed with her head on the rim while Mary sang a gentle Scottish song of bens and burns, and of the hearth and home. Words that made little sense, yet she understood them all the same. “I love that tune. My mum often sang when she bustled about her kitchen. They remind me of the good times.”
“I sang them to my bairns too, and I shall teach you the words if you’d like.” Mary held out a drying cloth. “Though after you’re wed. Alex willnae be happy if we’re late.”
She stepped out of the tub, wrapped the cloth around her and sat before the fire. Mary fussed over her. She brushed her hair until it gleamed then threaded dainty white silk flowers in a ribbon across the top.
The seamstress rose and smoothed the gown. “’Tis done, my ladies.”
“Wonderful.” Mary reverently examined the dress then grinned. “Perfect. Are you ready, Anne?”
“I better be.” She stepped into the gown, and Mary quickly laced the stays. The lacy fabric flowed smoothly over her curves.
“You look stunning, my dear.” Mary pinched her cheeks. “And ’tis noon. We must be away.”
She twirled. “I feel like a princess.”
“Mayhap a fairy, and since you’re a MacLeod, ’tis in your blood.”
Yes. The Fairy Flag at Dunvegan had been gifted decades ago by the fairy princess to the son she’d had with the MacLeod chief after falling in love with him. She’d wrapped their firstborn in the crimson and yellow patterned cloth as she’d sung him to sleep, a story told down through the generations. It was the Fairy Flag Annie had wished upon and the same flag she’d viewed from the future at Dunvegan, which had brought her back again to the past. That Fairy Flag had a lot to answer for. So did Annie. She’d love to know more about her. Where had she disappeared to? And what would she do to make this all right?
“What has that worried look on your face?” Mary straightened the long sleeves of lace so they sat lower on Anne’s wrists.
“That I mustn’t forget the Fairy Flag, nor Dunvegan. But for now, Alex is waiting.”