Thinking of her own forced marriage, Kendra bit the inside of her cheek. “How?”
“You don’t want to know.” The nurse’s lips pressed tight, and Kendra knew that her brothers’ matchmaking had been nothing like Trick’s grandfather’s. Unlike Elspeth, deep down she knew a small part of her had wanted to wed Trick. And she also knew her brothers wouldn’t have pushed her into the marriage if that hadn’t been so.
“She was unhappy all her days,” Mrs. Ross continued. “Even after the duke left her alone to reclaim her lost love, she never recovered from the loss of her son.” She brushed at her gray skirts and stood. “Well, I’d best be off about my duties,” she said, looking to Kendra. “Welcome to Duncraven, your grace.”
“My pleasure. I hope we can talk more later.”
“Aye, we can. After we bury my Elspeth.” With a long, miserable sniff and a swish of her skirts, she sailed from the room.
Kendra waited until the door clicked closed behind her, then released a heartfelt sigh. “Oh, how terribly romantic. Doesn’t it give you the shivers?”
“Doesn’t what give me the shivers?” Trick opened a cabinet and began pulling out clean clothes.
“Thinking about Elspeth and Hamish, in love all those years. And finally getting to be together.” While his back was safely turned, she slid from between the sheets and pulled down her chemise, which had ridden up in the night. Relieved, she made her way over to look for a suitable gown to wear to a burial. She wondered what would be an appropriate way to wear her hair. She would have to send for Jane to come up and style it. “Now that I’ve heard your mother and Hamish’s story, I’m so glad she invited him to live with her here. Maybe they found a bit of happiness, after all.”
“Maybe my mother sent me letters. But that didn’t make her a good woman.” He shook out a shirt, then stripped off the one he was wearing, a long pull of his muscles as he drew it over his head. Kendra watched, enjoying the view more than she’d be willing to admit. “She was still an adulteress, and a Covenanter, and she betrayed—”
“Did you not hear a word your nurse said about what happened between her and Hamish?” Pulling out a forest-green dress, she sighed and held it up. “This is the darkest thing I brought. Do you suppose I’ll be scorned for not wearing black?” She turned it around and frowned at the scooped neckline. “What will Hamish think? I noticed yesterday that the women here wear more on top.”
He blinked at her. “Your top looks fine to me. Niall knows you didn’t come here expecting to attend a funeral. And I cannot imagine why you’d care what anyone else thinks. Hamish, especially.” He put on the clean shirt, then began to unlace his breeches. “I feel sorry for the old man, but that doesn’t mean I like him. He lived in sin with my mother—”
“I suppose, then, that you’ve never so much as touched a girl without the benefit of wedlock.”
His long fingers fumbled on the laces. “Will you stop interrupting me every time I try to make a point?”
Ignoring that request, she stared at him a long moment, until he lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Well?” she pushed.
Clearly fuming, he remained silent while he hopped on one foot and then the other to remove the breeches. Half annoyed, half amused, her gaze followed the breeches down, but his shirt was very long and covered him nearly down to his knees, revealing nothing of particular novelty.
She blushed when he caught her looking, but he only crossed his arms and leveled her with a glare so fierce that, had he been a Gorgon, she would surely have turned to stone. “I’ve already told you I don’t hold with infidelity. I’ve never touched a married lass.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Besides my brothers, you’re probably the only male member of Charles’s court who can say so.” She dropped the green gown over her head and wiggled it into place. “Hamish and your mother were victims, Trick. They shared a love that lasted decades—a perfect love, like my own parents’.” Threading the laces across her bodice, she looked up. “Would you deny them what little happiness they found? Have you no mercy?”
“I haven’t the choice to deny or allow it, do I? What’s done is done. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. Or them.”
A knock came at the door, and she yanked her laces tight and reached for her stomacher while he stomped over to answer it.
“What now?”
Dressed in a red kilt, Niall took a startled step back. He turned to leave, taking with him an armful of matching tartan.
Trick reached to grab his elbow. “Forgive me, Niall. I thought you were Mrs. Ross. Not that I should have been barking at her, either.” He blew out a breath before turning to face Kendra. “And I’m sorry I was so short-tempered with you.”
“I understand,” she said softly. The stomacher safely attached, she smoothed her skirts and put a hand to her disheveled hair.
Niall didn’t seem to notice it, however. “Patrick didn’t get any sleep,” he told her.
“Did you not?” She cocked her head at her husband speculatively. “Any at all?”
“Nay. Niall and I stayed up with Mam.” Kendra thought she caught a look of surprise when he heard his own use of the name. “We did some keening.”
“Did you?” She couldn’t imagine.
“Ochone!” Trick sang, the word vibrating up to the beamed ceiling, and Niall laughed, breaking the tension.
“Come in,” her husband said, closing the door behind his brother.
Niall aimed a glance at Trick’s bare legs and then held out the length of red tartan. “I’ve brought this for you.”
Trick made no move to take it.
“I thought you might like to wear it to
