A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,2

Laurel didn’t wait for her brother’s response, instead turning toward the keep’s entrance and disappearing.

Two

Laurel hurried through the passageways until she reached her chamber. She kept an eye out for the other ladies, not wanting anyone to see she carried the fabric herself. It wasn’t unusual for a lady-in-waiting to order fabric from a vendor, but it wasn’t often that they left the market with it themselves. Most women would have their purchases delivered, but Laurel hadn’t the coin to offer a page, nor did she want to make her guardsmen carry it. It wasn’t often that she purchased goods at the market, but she enjoyed browsing. She’d parted with her hard-earned coins that morning because she needed a hardier gown for the approaching winter months. The one she’d worn for the last five years was nearly threadbare, and she’d repurposed it as many times as she could. Since she shopped that day, she’d foregone the veil and plain kirtle she usually wore when she attempted to blend into the crowd. Her gown that day was hardly up to courtly standards, but it was finer than what she donned when she went to sell her Opus Angelicanum and embroidery. She was one of few Scottish women who knew how to stitch the intricate style so highly sought in England and Europe.

Laurel slipped through the door of her chamber, relieved that once again she didn’t have a roommate. She supposed there were a few perks to being one of the most senior ladies-in-waiting in the queen’s entourage. The last person to share her chamber had been Madeline MacLeod over the summer. The royal couple had summoned the former nun-in-training to court just before she was to take her final vows. Encountering Madeline in the passageway had been one of the greatest shocks Laurel had ever experienced. They’d once been friends of a sort. Madeline was the former ringleader of Queen Elizabeth’s attendants, and she’d risen to that position through manipulation and intimidation. Laurel arrived at court only months after Madeline, and she found a kindred spirit in some ways. Madeline’s haughtiness matched Laurel’s bitterness. When Laurel let slip a well-guarded secret about Monty, Madeline seized the opportunity to force Laurel’s support as Madeline ran roughshod over various members of court, most conspicuously Madeline’s future sister-by-marriage, Maude Sutherland.

Laurel opened her chest and lifted several kirtles out of the way before retrieving the Opus Anglicanum collar that was her current project. She hid the just-purchased woolen fabric in her chest and moved to the window seat. She would have a couple of hours to finish the collar’s intricate pattern and slip back to the market before the evening meal to sell her own fine embroidery. She considered how many times over the years she’d made this same clandestine dash, and how often she felt the secret satisfaction of seeing women at court wearing her creations, none of them the wiser that Laurel made them. She rued having to be in trade, but with no allowance coming from her father anymore, she had no other coin. Her father had ceased her allowance nearly five years earlier, around the time Madeline first left court, arguing that he was saving the allowance for her dowry. As the fourth of five daughters, and the only unmarried one, there was little left for her dowry.

Laurel’s father was the Earl of Ross, so they were hardly a poor clan. Her father had spent an exorbitant amount on the dowries of her first three sisters due to the alliances their marriages made; her younger sister Myrna’s dowry had been incentive for the groom to take her. As a result, her father was overly cautious about spending needlessly. He considered the monies he paid for her chamber and the food she ate, along with her maid and guardsmen, to be enough to sustain her. He refused to consider the expenses Laurel faced to be properly attired as a member of the queen’s court. Ever resourceful, Laurel had put to good use the hours upon hours of tedious stitching her mother insisted she practice.

Unbeknownst to all but a few, Laurel was her own dressmaker. She cut and sewed every garment she owned, often changing hems, cuffs, and collars, or adding and removing ribbons or other notions to make her older gowns appear brand new. The money she earned from selling her needlework, along with several prête-a-porté gowns. These ready-made kirtles enabled Laurel to clothe herself fashionably and to afford the various extravagances