Page 24 of The Highlander's Virgin Nun
“That should do. Now, what colors and styles do ye generally go for?”
Rosaline’s eyes widened as her mind went blank. She had picked out dresses as a girl, often leaning towards pinks and purples, but those were a child’s choices. She was an entirely different person now. At the convent, she could not choose, ever. The act of voicing her opinion was an entirely alien notion to her. She had no idea what she wanted.
Mrs. Milloy saw the panic on her face and immediately sought to quell it.
“Nae to worry, dear. It is often better to try things anyway, in case one’s preferences have changed over the years. Let me bring some samples in for ye to try on.”
Before Rosaline could thank her, the dressmaker had slipped out the same way she had come in.
“Willnae be long, Laird Sinclair,” she heard her say to Caelan as he waited outside the changing room. “Just goin’ to try a few styles to see what the lady likes best.”
Within a moment, Mrs. Milloy returned with an even larger pile of fabrics over her arm and hung them on a small rail inside the changing room. Rosaline wondered how she had the strength to carry them all.
Mrs. Milloy tied an underskirt around Rosaline’s waist and picked the first dress from the rail. Rosaline was thankful that she had not asked her to pick one first.
A dark blue dress was slipped over her head and fell naturally onto the underskirt. Mrs. Milloy adjusted the fabric so it sat correctly and then tightened it at the back with a small clip, shaping it better to Rosaline’s waist.
“Well, I think this color is just dashin’ on ye.” Mrs. Milloy beamed at her in the mirror, smoothing the fabric down her sides.
“It is a beautiful dress,” Rosaline agreed, equally pleased with its fit.
The color was not one she had seen on herself before, navy being generally reserved for grown women, rather than girls. It brought a kind of sadness to see herself thrust into adulthood and marriage, with only torture and isolation for a transition. But still, she had survived. She was lucky to be here, alive, mostly well, and being cared for.
“I like it very much,” she declared.
“Why dinnae we show yer man?”
Before Rosaline could protest, Mrs. Milloy pulled back the velvet curtain and gently turned her around by the shoulders.
“What do ye think of the blue gown, Laird Sinclair? It matches yer tartan quite nicely, I think.”
Caelan suddenly snapped to attention. He had been leaning against the doorframe and gazing out the window in thought. His eyes flicked to Rosaline, and she swore she saw his mouth drop open a little in surprise. He quickly straightened and took a deep breath, composing himself.
“It is a bonnie dress, indeed, Mrs. Milloy.”
“Me dresses are only made bonnier by the wearer. Suits her well, dinnae ye think?” Mrs. Milloy was not going to let him off without a compliment. Rosaline almost enjoyed watching him squirm.
“Aye, a good match,” he relented, having to lower his eyes in the end.
“We shall try a few more just to check any other colors that may bring out her dark features. How many are ye lookin’ to purchase, Laird Sinclair?”
“Two or three will suffice, I’m sure,” Rosaline quickly answered, retreating into the dressing room and hoping that would be that.
“At least eight, please, Mrs. Milloy. A mix of day and evenin’ dresses.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Milloy agreed, as eager to settle the sale as Rosaline was to avoid it.
“And one more thing.” Rosaline’s shoulders rose at the dressmaker’s voice. “Ye said ye are to be married. Do ye have a wedding dress already?”
“Nay. Is this somethin’ ye could manage within the week?”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Milloy nodded earnestly. “I can have the wedding dress and four dresses delivered to ye within two days. The rest I will deliver after the ceremony.”
“Wonderful,” Caelan murmured.
“Caelan, I—” Rosaline blurted out.
“Quiet,” he cut her off. “Accept the gift.”
