to worry about. No one would think such a thing. Privacy was something only traitors and plotters craved to cover up their sins.
But she had become accustomed to being alone. Jemma bit her lower lip and sat still while Ula directed the maids to begin washing her hair. They worked carefully around the new stitches in her scalp while still more maids entered with the dresses Ula had spoken of. She closed her eyes but could hear the footsteps all around her. Nervousness and excitement brewed inside her until she was flooded with a combination of the two emotions. The sun seemed to be arching toward the west remarkably quickly today. Maids flowed in and out of the chamber. They brought her trays of food that she left untouched, and warmed cider that she only sipped. The dresses were tried on, and then more women appeared with their sewing boxes in hand to begin stitching quickly on the one that was selected.
A hush remained, and Jemma realized that she was the cause of it. The staff was waiting to see what sort of woman she was. No one wanted to be the one who chattered too much and gained the displeasure of the new mistress. Everything felt as if it was rushing too quickly toward the moment when she would be expected to make her choice.
Knowing that didn’t ease the tension. It tightened and filled her with anxiety while Ula brushed her hair until it shone. The dress was a soft blue silk with velvet edging. The neckline was square and the sleeve had thick cuffs that turned back to lay against her forearms. Ula looked at the hat that came with it but shook her head. It was a style once favored by Catherine of Aragon, built high to represent the desire to achieve heaven’s favor.
“I don’t understand the court fashions at times, but ye do nae need a hat since it is yer wedding day. It’s a pity there is no ivy left, everything has turned to color now.”
“I don’t need decorations.”
Ula nodded approvingly, and the housekeeper raised her voice just a bit when she answered so that every maid in the chamber was sure to hear.
“A wise thing that is, knowing that decorations are naught but a waste of resources.”
The last thing set out for her was a pair of silk slippers. Jemma stared at them for they appeared too fragile to be anything but a figment of her imagination. But she stopped before stepping into them.
“Gordon took my shoes away.” Saying the words awoke her temper—she was still quite displeased with the manner in which the man had tried to keep her inside his fortress. But her cheeks also heated with a blush as she recalled just what had happened when he took her boots off.
“I wouldn’t be calling these shoes, they are more slippers, and pretty as they might be, they are quite useless for much more than supping and dancing.”
Of course, court ladies would have slid their slipper-clad feet into over-shoes that kept the delicate silk creations from being soiled on the way to their banquets. Costly Persian carpets would have been rolled out to cover the hallways so that they might step out of their over-shoes and onto carpet that would not mar their pretty slippers.
She wasn’t going to wear them.
Turning around, she walked toward the table and picked up a hand mirror that lay there.
Was she pretty? She really had never contemplated the question. Her father had told her she was fair beyond all others, but he was her father.
“Ye will please the laird.” Ula spoke in a soft tone.
“Hmmm . . . perhaps.” Jemma placed the mirror carefully back on the table. “But will he please me?”
There was a collective gasp from everyone in the room except for Ula. The housekeeper held her silence for one long moment before erupting with laughter. She slapped the top of her skirts and continued to shake with amusement.
“I do believe the laird may have met his match. ’Tis a grand day indeed.”
Gordon couldn’t recall when he’d been so nervous in the past. His shoulders tingled with the strain, every muscle tight with anticipation. Would she come? He debated the alternatives if she didn’t appear.
But the truth was, he wanted Jemma to walk down to their wedding of her own free will. Part of him needed it more than he wanted to admit. Trying to tell himself she was a logical choice for a bride didn’t change the fact that he yearned to see her submitting by choice.
That was something too many men didn’t understand the value of. It was something that they failed to see in their own mistresses. Part of what drew them away from their marriage beds was the freely given affection a mistress offered. She embraced a man because she wanted to, not because of some contract. Many would tell him he was insane to want that from a wife, and there was a possibility that they were correct, but that wouldn’t keep him from hoping. He looked toward the door and sighed when it remained empty.
He ground his teeth against each other and moved down the aisle. He wasn’t abandoning his ideas, but he would have her tonight.
Even if that was outside the bonds of matrimony.
Jemma took a deep breath and tried not to turn and look at all the women watching her. She could feel their eyes on the back on her head, but she kept her pace slow and steady as she crossed the courtyard.
Gordon suddenly appeared at the doorway of the church, his face a mask of disgruntlement. She stopped, staring at that expression and trying to decide what to do next. Her firm decisions didn’t hold up well against that dark expression. She stood in place, trying to recall what her reasons were for joining him.
But his eyes suddenly lit with joy. There was no other way to describe it. The emotion erupted clearly in those blue centers before his lips parted and his teeth flashed at her in welcome. He held out a hand with his palm up in invitation. Jemma took a step forward and frowned when she lowered her foot onto a sharp stone. His smile faded but not completely as he closed the distance between them.
“Are ye losing yer courage now when ye are so close? Where’s the spirit that got ye this far, Jemma?”
“It is annoyed by being barefoot.” She kept her voice low so that her words did not drift to those watching. The men along the curtain wall had turned to witness the moment, and the priests filled in the doorway to the church while the nuns peeked through the stained glass windows.
