Page 21 of The Highlander's Virgin Nun
“What do ye mean? She has dresses.”
Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Ye brought her here, Caelan. Did she have any bags when she emerged from the forest? Did she lug any belongings onto yer horse?”
Thathad not crossed his mind. He furrowed his brow.
“She came here with nothin’ but the clothes on her back, Braither.”
“But she has other dresses—I’ve seen them.”
“Ye are so unobservant, some may think ye never have grown eyes. Nay wonder ye cannae find the assassins.”
He didn’t appreciate her words, but he couldn’t argue. He had often glazed over ideas that others found obvious, focusing on more obscure details. While it tripped him up in conversations about clothing and visuals, it had served him well in complex warfare.
“Those aremedresses, Caelan. The lass has nothin’ of her own. Mine suffice for now, but she is very slim—they are too big for her. Plus, if she is to be yer bride and stay here forever, I think ye ought to get started on her wardrobe. Ye’ve nay excuse nae to.”
Caelan glanced once more at his maps. He had trawled every corner of Scotland, marked in there, waiting for something to click. Maybe he needed a break so he could come back with fresh eyes. After all, if he was going to have a wife, it was his duty to keep her.
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “I’ll take care of it.”
* * *
He had first checked the courtyard and then her rooms, but he could not find her. He had overheard her discussing some old books with Michaela, so he checked the library in case she had gone to seek them out. When he had no luck there, he revisited anything else she had shown interest in—the village. He had recommended that she get to know his people; perhaps she had gone for a wander through the cottages.
Caelan stepped out of the castle and headed towards the gates, when at last he spotted her long, dark curls out of the corner of his eye.
Rosaline was just visible through the doorway to the stables. She was wearing a red frock. Now armed with the knowledge, he remembered seeing his sister wearing it before. He saw how the sleeves gaped at her wrists, and how the fabric hung around the waist he could feel in his hands if he thought back to their moment by the outpost.
Still, she looked immaculate in the unfitting dress, the red hue bringing out the warmth in her dark brown hair and her soft skin.
She stood on her tiptoes, leaning over the pen door towards his stallion, Miller. The horse, whom he relied on due to his mistrust of others and loyalty only to him, came slowly towards her and pressed his head into her palm. She stroked his nose, and he nuzzled her, immediately trusting her.
“He doesnae let many touch him, ye ken.”
Rosaline jumped at Caelan’s voice as he leaned against the doorjamb. She turned her head and only let out a breath when he remained in the doorway, keeping his distance.
“He’s yers?” she finally asked.
“Aye. This is Miller, me stallion. He’s a good lad, but nae the most trustin’.”
Rosaline continued to stroke the horse, paying Caelan no more attention for now.
“It will do ye well that he is happy to let ye touch him, as ye are about to ride him.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re headin’ to town.”
Caelan opened the pen gate and moved inside, greeting Miller with a pat on the head and retrieving his saddle and reins. As he worked, Rosaline remained outside the pen, a look of concentration on her face as she tried to decipher the situation—as usual. She was a detective.
“What for?”
“I’m takin’ ye to get some clothes. Ye should have told me that ye didnae have any of yer own. I didnae realize ye were wearin’ Alexandra’s dresses.”
She shuffled out of his way as he marched Miller out of the pen, and then quickly followed as he led him to the castle gates.
“There’s nay need, really,” she protested as they walked. Her words did not stop him. “I am eatin’ well, and I will fill out these frocks in nay time, I’m sure. Unless Alexandra wants them back.”
Caelan stopped to tighten his belt and threw the saddle on Miller’s back, attaching the reins to the harness.
