A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,5
quickly to prepare for the upcoming Christmas, Hogmanay, and Epiphany expenses. As the man trembled, she lifted the satchel from the counter, but the haberdasher’s hand shot out.
“Very well.”
Laurel watched as the man opened the lid of the chest. When he attempted to use the lid to shield the coins he counted, Laurel shifted to see. She kept a running count in her head as the man stacked the coins, having given up trying to hide them from her.
“Ah-ah,” Laurel shook her head as he made to close the lid. “You’re no dalcop, so don’t be an eejit. That’s eighty pounds, six shillings that you’ve counted out.” Laurel made a gesture for him to reopen the chest. “I made an offer, and you accepted it. Do you intend to renege? Are you little more than a gillie-wet-foot?”
“I am no swindler!”
“Then pay me the agreed-upon amount,” Laurel insisted. The door opened behind her, and several feminine voices carried to her. Laurel’s stomach tightened into a knot, recognizing them as belonging to a handful of ladies-in-waiting. She wondered why they were in town so close to the evening meal, when most of the merchants would be packing up their shops in the market. She needed to hurry if she was to make it to the other merchant.
“I have customers,” the haberdasher hissed. “Give me the gowns and take what I offer. Then be gone with you.”
Laurel didn’t budge. She knew the ladies wouldn’t recognize her, since they would never imagine Laurel would dress so plainly. Laurel waited, but the man didn’t intend to pull out more coins. When he made to step around her, Laurel flipped open her satchel and turned to the young women.
“Ma ladies,” Laurel greeted them, infusing her natural burr back into her accent. “Ye must be from the castle,” Laurel gushed.
When the women turned toward her, their disgust at the Highlander brogue plain on their faces, she pulled the first gown from her bag. She held it up beside her, twisting it from side to side to catch the sunlight on the embellishments. She took a tentative step forward and lowered her chin.
“I canna say the three kirtles I have are so fine as what ye wear,” Laurel demurred, despite recognizing two of her own creations in the group. “But I am newly a widow, and I must sell ma wares to feed ma weans.”
Laurel didn’t flinch when the haberdasher released a stream of curses that made the young women titter. She felt no remorse for her scheme. If the man hadn’t attempted to shortchange her, assuming she didn’t know how to count as high as one hundred pounds, she wouldn’t have taken such delight in the tale she was spinning.
“The mon here quoted me a price, then tried to fool me by nae paying what we agreed upon. Is that how they be here in Stirling?”
“Nay,” Lady Sarah Anne Hay stepped forward, wearing one of Laurel’s designs. As the leader of the younger ladies-in-waiting, Laurel had known she would insist upon being the first one to inspect the gown. “The stitching is quite fine.”
Laurel bobbed a shallow curtsy, “Thank ye, ma lady.”
“Such a gown would easily sell for fifty pounds,” Lady Sarah Anne said as she fingered the material. “How many did you say you have?”
“Three, ma lady.” Laurel laid the gown over her forearm as she pulled out the next one to several oohs and ahhs. The gown was finer than the first one she’d shown the group. She watched as several women ran their fingers over the velvet and whispered to one another. When she felt the excitement crescendo, she presented her pièce de résistance. The satin and velvet gown was a deep amethyst hue with Opus Anglicanum along the hem and train of the skirts, and embroidery covered the bodice. This was the gown that merited the price she’d demanded.
“This is exquisite,” Lady Margaret Hay, Sarah Anne’s older sister, murmured. “Even Lady Laurel doesn’t have something so fine.”
Of course she doesnae. She sells any gown this extravagant. To this day, I dinna understand how nay one realizes that they see me in the same five kirtles season after season, year after year. All I do is change out the ribbons and laces. I suppose the different embroidered patterns helps. But still. Daft lot they are.
“I shall take them,” Sarah Anne announced.
“Them, ma lady?” Laurel infused surprise and uncertainty into her voice.
“Aye. One hundred and sixty pounds is what I’m willing to pay for the