Page 25 of The Highlander's Virgin Nun
Rosaline was whisked back into the changing room without the chance to utter a single word. She was in such shock and discomfort that she couldn’t even have thought of any objection if she had the time.
“I get the impression that ye are a woman of simple, classic styles. Is that right, Miss Rosaline?” Mrs. Milloy asked.
“Eh, aye.”
“Understood, lass. I will make a dress that suits yer frame and yer taste—nothing that will overwhelm ye.”
“Thank ye.”
“I will bring it to the castle for a fittin’, and make any adjustments upon delivery. If there are any parts of the wedding dress ye dislike, ye can tell me then and I will alter it.”
Rosaline merely nodded, overwhelmed already.
“Dinnae stress, lass. There are worse positions to be in than marryin’ a laird who is buyin’ ye a whole new wardrobe,” Mrs. Milloy quipped, with a warm, wide smile.
Rosaline managed to return it before the dressmaker slipped the navy frock over her head and readied a green one to try on next.
* * *
The pair mounted Miller for the journey home and set out below dimming skies. The appointment at the dressmaker’s had taken longer than was necessary, as Mrs. Milloy had insisted on holding a few white fabrics against Rosaline’s skin to ensure that they would not select one that might “wash her out.” Rosaline had thought white was white, but she had left with knowledge quite to the contrary.
Thus, as they rode back, the sun began reaching the horizon, and the sky darkened from a bright baby blue to a rich evening cobalt.
“There is an extra fur beneath the saddle if ye get cold.” Caelan’s tone was devoid of care, but his actions revealed him to be more attentive than he wished to come across.
Rosaline said she was fine for now, shrouded as she was in the warmth radiating from his body.
As they rode back to the village, Rosaline heard the faint sound of drums and saw brighter light than usual coming from the center of the rows of cottages.
“Is there a celebration?” she asked.
“A festival,” Caelan replied. “I thought we would be back before they began, but it seems they have started early.”
The smell of bonfire filled the air as they drew closer, and the music filled her ears. Pipes, drums, and fiddles were being tuned and tightened, and a few test runs were underway. Boys carried firewood from their cottages to the center of the village, all working together to build a bonfire that would heat and light the whole community. Women set up tables outside their homes with piping hot food in pots, ready to sell and share.
“What is it for?”
“It is an ancient festival, to worship a faerie that once visited our lands. It is said that she arrived depleted, starved and alone, but the villagers took her in and nursed her back to health. In return, she gifted our ancestors with great strength. It is said to be the reason us Sinclairs are such good fighters.”
“How lovely,” Rosaline murmured, thinking how fascinating the story was.
Immediately, she pictured the faerie and wondered about her wings. Shortly after, three little girls ran by with costume wings on their backs, made by their mothers from branches and cloth. Rosaline adored the sight.
“Ah, Cullen Skink,” Caelan announced, pulling Miller’s reins to the right and steering them towards one of the cottages.
“Good evening, Me Laird,” a healthy young mother greeted as he dismounted. “A bowl for ye and the lady?”
“Aye, please, Ingrid.”
She scooped a generous serving into two wooden bowls and handed them to Caelan. He gave her two gold coins in return, which she tried to refuse at first but later accepted, as he pressed them into the hands of her two children instead.
Holding both bowls in his large hand, Caelan helped Rosaline down from the horse and tied him to a nearby post. He handed her a bowl and began to walk through the village, allowing her to take in the festivities. Musicians gathered by the bonfire and struck some beautiful ancient tunes, and she watched the villagers dance around the flames.
“It’s wonderful,” she remarked.
“Aye, it certainly is.”
“Me braither would love this.”
