“I have,” Lily replied, gesturing toward the deep grey gown folded neatly on the edge of the bed.
Daisy’s lips parted. “That one?”
“Aye, that one.”
“But, me Lady, that was one of the dresses the Laird said to return. He willnae like to see ye in it. Nae to mention… it might nae flatter yer figure, me Lady.”
Lily’s smile sharpened. “Then it is perfect. I am sure of it.”
Daisy hesitated, then bowed her head. “If that is yer wish.”
Steam drifted into the bedchamber at that moment, filling it with the faint scent of bathing oils and petals she had dropped into the water.
Lily walked over to the bath, stripped, and sank into the water. The warmth coaxed a sigh from her lips as she leaned back and closed her eyes.
“Have ye eaten, Daisy?” she asked after a moment.
The maid flushed. “Nay, me Lady. Nae yet.”
“Then go and eat. That is an order.”
“Me Lady?—”
“Daisy.” Lily’s tone sharpened, though her eyes remained soft. “Ye have been up for a while now, and ye have spent all yer strength getting me ready. Ye will eat, or else I willnae allow ye back into the room.”
The maid’s mouth fell open, then closed. Finally, she curtsied low. “As ye command. But what of ye? Will ye take yer breakfast here, as ye did yesterday?”
Lily opened her mouth to say yes. It was easier, quieter, and more proper. But then her eyes fell on that horrid gown. The dull grey fabric mocked her. She tried to picture Alasdair’s face when he saw her in it. She could almost hear the dismay in his voice and see the furrow in his brow.
The thought thrilled her more than she would admit.
“Nay,” she said at last, her lips curving. “Nae here. I will eat in the dining hall. With the Laird.”
Daisy’s eyes lit up, though she tried to hide her smile. “Good. I will fetch ye when breakfast is ready. And I will return in time to lace ye into the gown.”
Lily waved a hand lazily. “So be it.”
The maid bobbed another curtsy, then slipped out of the room.
Lily sank deeper into the bath, the warm water lapping at her chin, but her thoughts remained focused on that dress. She pictured herself walking into the dining hall, her chin high, her shoulders squared. She pictured Alasdair’s eyes narrowing when he saw her.
She smiled to herself in the rising steam, already tasting the satisfaction.
She could not wait.
Alasdair leaned over the table, his forearms resting on the wooden surface. A roll of parchment rested before him, containing the map of the castle and its surrounding areas. Finn sat on the left with his usual ease, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he squinted at the drawings on the map.
“They will come with questions, that is for sure,” Alasdair said, tapping the edge of the parchment. “The council havenae convened since the war ended. They willnae want to talk about it, at least nae outright. They will want to discuss caution instead and how alliances can help. And they will want to talk abouther, of course, but I will shift the conversation. The war has ended. We need to start focusing on the future. I ken that.”
Finn chuckled low. “Ye ken better than everyone. Always have.”
Alasdair gave him a sharp look, but Finn only lifted his hands in jest.
“I daenae mean it as an insult, Braither. I mean only that ye speak plainly. If the council wavers, it may take yer temper to remind them who carries the sword for this clan.”
Alasdair exhaled, his jaw tightening. “It willnae be me temper. It will be the truth. If Laird MacEnroy’s men move one step further across the forest, the blood they spill willnae be mine alone to carry. The council must hear it.”
Finn leaned back, stretching his legs out beneath the table. “The war has ended. I ken that even Laird MacEnroy willnae want to do something as senseless as that. Daenae worry, the council will see yer perspective.”
