Page 23 of The Highlander's Virgin Nun
Whatever was funny about the situation escaped him, but he tried to not let it bother him too much. Everyone found Harrison to be a strange fellow, and as long as he did not hate him as much as he had hated his father, Caelan deemed it an improvement in their relationship.
He carried on towards the town and was thankful that Rosaline did not ask any more questions.
As they reached the town, and shops and people began to come into view and pass by them, he felt her body relax again. The tension left her shoulders and neck, allowing her to turn and look at whatever piqued her interest.
Caelan pulled Miller’s reins sneakily, instructing him to walk a little slower. He wanted her to have the chance to take it all in, to focus on whatever caught her eye.
He had no objection to prolonging his time with her if he could do so without her realizing it.
CHAPTERELEVEN
“After ye,” Caelan offered as he held open the dressmaker’s door for her.
Rosaline took a step inside and immediately could smell the fresh linens and silks. Her eyes drifted around the shop in amazement.
Even outside the shop, she had been in awe. She had never been one to dwell too much on clothes, generally preferring to select any form of comfort she could over fanciful designs and fabrics. But these wereworks of art.
The dresses on display were simple—not adorned with endless bows and beads, but rich in fabric and color. As she began to walk around the shop, she skimmed her hands across the fabrics, deciding which one felt best on her skin.
If not for their voice, Rosaline would not have noticed the dressmaker entering from the back door of the shop.
“Good afternoon, Laird Sinclair.” The older woman bobbed a polite curtsy. “What can I do for ye today?”
“Good afternoon Mrs. Milloy. This is Rosaline. She is me betrothed. I am lookin’ to get some new dresses for her.”
“Ah, how lovely to meet ye, Miss Rosaline,” Mrs. Milloy chirped, coming around from behind the counter and offering Rosaline her hand. “I can certainly help with that.”
“I dinnae need anything lavish,” Rosaline said as politely as she could. “Just a few comfortable and presentable dresses to tide me over.”
“Ye’ll ken what’s best for a laird’s wife, Mrs. Milloy,” Caelan interjected.
Rosaline was trying to remain simple. She did not want to take too much from these people, should they choose to hold it against her someday. But she supposed he was right—a laird’s wife had to be dressed well in order to keep up appearances.
“Nae a problem. This way, dear.”
Mrs. Milloy guided Rosaline into a small room at the side of the shop, separated by a thick velvet curtain hanging from a wooden beam. The curtain closed behind her, and the dressmaker let her know that she would bring some options to try on, just to first establish fit and style.
Inside, there was a long, ornate mirror. Rosaline stood before it, taking in her body for the first time in years. Of course, the convent had no mirrors, as vanity went against their holy vows. She had seen the reflection of her face in the water and had acknowledged its natural aging. But this was the first time she had seen her body in full. She knew she had lost weight at the convent, as she had to fight for every scrap of food she could get, but she had not realized just how malnourished she looked until now.
Rosaline turned the side and pulled her dress tight at the back, revealing her true waistline and profile. She was so desperately thin. Her cheeks had sunken beneath her cheekbones, and tendons were visible at her neck. While she still felt strong enough, her appearance made her sad. Her body deserved to be cared for and fed; she would make an effort to restore it to full health.
“All right, love,” Mrs. Milloy said as she ducked beneath the curtain, piles of fabric in her arms. “Let’s take off what ye’re wearin’ so that we can find somethin’ a bit more form-fitting.”
Rosaline suddenly felt very shy. If her body looked this thin with clothes on, she could only imagine what it would be like without.
But Mrs. Milloy wasted no time. She immediately began to untie the laces at the back of the dress and then bent to lift the skirt over Rosaline’s head. With just her slip underneath, Rosaline saw the thinness of her arms and chest, her collarbone as visible as ever. Her legs were thin, but she had managed to retain some muscle. Her body had fought for survival despite the lack of nutrition. It was not quite as bad as she had envisioned.
“Lost a lot of weight recently, lass? This dress is miles too big for ye.”
“It was loaned to me by Caelan’s sister. Me dresses werenae good anymore.”
Rosaline felt a pang of shame at the admission. She was certain that a woman like Mrs. Milloy, clearly skilled and well-conversed, would be able to see straight through her words—that she had arrived at Castle Sinclair with nothing.
But the kind woman did not bat an eyelid.
“That’s all right, lass. All the more reason to shop! Now, let me just mark this muslin with yer correct measurements, and then we can get to the fun bit—colors and fabrics.”
Mrs. Milloy held small pins between her lips, gracefully using the sharp tools, and tightened the fabric at Rosaline’s arms, chest, waist, and hips. She pinned the muslin where it touched, but did not prick her. Finally, she knelt and folded the fabric to just a half inch off the floor, getting the length correct for Rosaline’s height.
