A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,10

you to bear him sons,” Queen Elizabeth pledged quietly.

“Thank you,” Laurel mumbled.

“Perhaps you wish to retire,” Queen Elizabeth suggested.

“Yes, please, Your Grace,” Laurel whispered. She dipped into another low curtsy before backing away. She didn’t look at Monty before turning to the door, but she sensed he followed her again. Once they were in the passageway, Monty grasped her elbow and pulled her to a stop. She swung around, ready to bare her teeth, but when her older brother’s arms opened to her, she fell against his chest. She sobbed for every failed dream she’d had over the past decade, for every mistake she’d made along the way, and for the fear that consumed her.

“Laurel, I don’t take this duty lightly. I will do my best to find you an honorable mon to marry,” Monty said as he held his trembling sister. “If I can’t, then I will smuggle you away. I’ll take you wherever you wish to go, and I will make sure you are safe.”

“There’s nowhere to take me, Monty. The king decreed I will marry, so I shall. It matters not to whom, so find someone, and you can leave. Have done with it and return home to inform Mother and Father I am no longer their problem,” Laurel said as she pulled away.

“Why do you insist upon saying you’re our problem or that we don’t want you?” Monty demanded.

“I’ve been a lady-in-waiting for ten Christmases, Monty. Of those, I’ve been at Balnagown for two. Besides my guards and Ina, no Ross has ever been here for Christmas. When Father arrives here, it’s often days before he seeks me out. He refuses to do more than pay for my chamber and food. What does he think I wear after five years of no allowance? I haven’t been to Balnagown in three years, and then the last time was only for a fortnight when Sorcha died.” A fresh round of tears began when Laurel thought of the sister who’d been born between Monty and Laurel, who had died giving birth to a stillborn daughter. Laurel had returned to her clan for the impending birth and left in deep mourning.

“How do you have such fine clothes, Laurel?” Monty’s brow furrowed. “Are you doing what I suggested? Is that how you have fine clothes? If you’re not a maiden, you must tell me.”

Laurel jerked away from Monty and crossed her arms. “It’s far worse than that, Monty.” Her laugh was hollow as she watched her brother’s horror. “I’m in trade.”

“What?” Monty stammered.

“There are at least a dozen women in the Great Hall at this very moment wearing gowns I made. I’m a seamstress. I sell gowns that I make and embroider, so I have the coin to pay for all the ridiculous and unessential items I’m expected to have here. I wear the same gowns for years on end, changing the embroidery, ribbons, and embellishments. But they’re still the same pieces of material, taken apart and refashioned. Who do you think pays for the gifts I give my guards and Ina at Epiphany? Who do you think buys the extra mugs of whisky and ale for the men at Beltane? Who ensures Ina has clothes that aren’t threadbare after eleven years of service here? Who pays for my soaps? Who pays for the wool for my stockings or the linen for my chemises? My jewels? All paste. Before I realized I could sell the clothes I made, I sold my jewels.”

“But why didn’t you ask Father for more, explain to him why you needed an allowance?” Monty asked.

“You really must think I’m addlepated if you think I didn’t ask—beg—for at least what I needed for the others. I’ve asked through missives. I’ve asked when he’s been here. I’ve asked you to ask him!”

“But I didn’t know you were going without proper clothes. Are you making a gown to sell from that wool you bought today?” Monty wondered.

“No. I need that for myself. My sturdiest gown is wearing too thin for another winter. I have fur trim I’ve been saving that I can use to hide the wool’s flaws.”

“Why did you go to that vendor? Why not buy better quality?”

“Because I can’t afford better, Monty. Do you not understand? I sneaked out of the keep this afternoon and went back into town. I wear my oldest and plainest clothes and cover my hair and face with a veil when I go to sell my wares. I sold three yards of needlework