After a fortnight living in solitude with her newborn cradled beside her bed, a bout of melancholy attacked Helen today. Aleck had ordered the bairn to be moved from Helen’s chamber to the nursery. He’d cited the unbearable racket at all hours of the night screeching through his adjoining chamber walls. Such is the affection of my husband. The fortnight hidden away with Maggie had been a heavenly reprieve. But even Helen knew her bliss wouldn’t last. Henceforth, Maggie’s care would be entrusted to the nursemaid and Helen would resume her duties as lady of the keep.
Standing in front of her polished copper mirror, she clamped her hands to her waist and pushed in on her stays while Glenda laced her bodice. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask the tailor to alter all my gowns.”
“You’ve slimmed down a great deal since Maggie was born.”
Helen regarded her bosoms, now swelling above the neckline of her blue gown. At least she was more voluptuous. Aleck seemed to prefer women with more shape. Perhaps he would now look fondly upon her. The thought, however, turned Helen’s stomach. She’d been married to Aleck long enough to shudder any time he suggested paying a visit to her bedchamber. In addition, by his frequent derisive comments, she suspected he wasn’t overly fond of bedding her either.
Alas, arranged marriages often did not come with a silver lining…or love. But Helen had a duty to her clan, and now to Maggie, and she would see to everyone’s care with forthright, if not stoic, dedication.
Glenda finished tying the bodice and gave it a pat. “How is that, m’lady?”
Helen released her grip and inhaled. Her head spun. “I must admit I haven’t missed wearing stays during my confinement.”
The chambermaid frowned, deepening the lines in her jowls. “These new contraptions are devices of torture if you ask me.”
“True, but fashion dictates ladies must wear them.”
“Aye?” Glenda placed a matching mantle of blue, adorned with gold threaded fleur de lis over Helen’s shoulders. “Next the powers above will be convincing Scottish women that iron corsets are the style.”
Helen laughed. “If that comes about, at least there will be no need for women’s armor.”
“Armor?” Glenda gaped, pinning Helen’s silk veil in place. “Do not tell me the women at court wear armor?”
“Of course not, silly. But ladies might be a bit more secure if they did.”
“Do you believe so?” The chambermaid brushed her hands along Helen’s skirts. “But isn’t that what menfolk are for?”
“Aye.” Helen turned sideways and regarded her profile in the mirror. “Though perhaps we would gain a bit more freedom to move about if we were more self-reliant.”
Glenda gestured toward the door. “Sometimes I think you live in a fanciful dream.”
“I suppose I do.” I would have withered under Aleck’s harsh nature by now if not for my vivid imagination. Helen picked up her skirts with a sigh. “Besides, I like my stories. They help me escape, if only for a brief interlude, and I see no harm in it.”
“Nor do I.” Glenda opened the door and bowed her head. “Enjoy the evening meal, m’lady.”
Helen smiled while her stomach squelched. She dreaded rejoining Aleck at the high table. But like the books she so loved to read, her time of solace had come to an end. She stood tall and headed to the stairwell. The voices below stairs rumbled with a familiar hum, reminding her of all the duties she must resume as lady of the keep—caring for the villagers of nearby Kilchoan, and menu preparation being at the top of her list.
The jumbled conversations grew stronger as did the aroma of rosemary herbed lamb. When she rounded the last few steps, she stood at the bottom of the stairwell and looked across the tapestry-lined hall. The tables, filled with her kin, were lined end-to-end forming two long rows. She nodded to those who noticed her, then focused on the dais.
Aleck presided over the throng from his oversized chair as usual, but Mary the widow sat in Helen’s seat. That the buxom woman had been invited to dine at the high table didn’t surprise her, but the fact that the pair was being openly affectionate did. Upon Helen’s confinement, Aleck had wasted no time finding a leman. Helen had felt slighted, of course, but he’d been reasonably discreet—aside from the lewd noises coming from his chamber at night. Fortunately, Helen was the only one privy to such a disturbance.
Mary wrapped her arms around Aleck and mashed her breast flush against him. In fact, the woman leaned so far forward, she not only gave Aleck a peek at her wares, the clan’s highest ranking men seated at the high table could see as well. The scene was scandalous. Mary hadn’t even respectably covered her brown tresses—she was, after all, a matron.
Something must have been inordinately funny because they laughed raucously, until Aleck looked up and spotted Helen. Then he puffed out his chest as if he was proud of consorting with his leman in front of the clan.
The rumble in the hall silenced.
Helen lifted her chin and affected a pleasant smile. All eyes fixated on her as she proceeded to the dais. The swishing of her skirts in concert with her footsteps echoed clear up to the rafters. Aleck shifted in his seat and glared with a look Helen knew well. She was to keep her mouth shut. Mary released his arm, but remained in Helen’s chair.
Lovely.
“You’re late,” Aleck groused as she neared.
Ignoring him, Helen climbed onto the dais. Head held high, she strolled to the place reserved for the lady of the keep. “Good evening, Mistress Mary. My husband requested my presence in the hall this eve.” In the folds of her skirts, she clenched her fists and forced a serene expression. “I believe ’tis time to remove your person from my chair.”
Aleck inclined his head to the seat at his right. “Och, Helen. Mary has already portioned her trencher. It will not pain you to sit over here for a meal.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, but she did not falter. How she’d expected him to support her assertion was beyond Helen. Clearly, he cared not about her humiliation upon arriving in the great hall to see a woman pressing her breast into her husband’s arm. Then to be swatted aside with a “sit elsewhere” was almost more than Helen could bear.
She pursed her lips and slid into the chair at Aleck’s right, then looked out over the hall. Stunned faces gaped back—faces of people she’d grown to love and she hoped had also developed a fondness for her. She spread her palms and offered a gracious smile. The banter resumed and a servant placed a tankard of mead in front of her.
Helen bowed her head in appreciation. “My thanks, Roderick.”
On her other side, Grant, the MacIain henchman, dipped his head politely. “’Tis good to see your bonny face this eve, m’lady.”
He’d learned his manners from Glenda, his ma. Thank heavens all MacIain’s are not brutes. “I’m glad to be well enough to dine in the hall, though it was difficult to leave Miss Maggie.”
“Och, the bairn will be right with Sarah. She’s a fine nursemaid.” Grant held up a trencher of bread and offered it to her.
“Aye, she is,” Helen said, reaching in.
Before she could tear off a bit from the loaf, Aleck stretched in front of Helen and snatched the tray from Grant. “When I said it was time to return to your duties, I expected you to be attentive to the ram’s horn announcing the evening meal.”