A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,51
wanted to give her something as a token of their engagement that she would appreciate. But he realized after years of receiving so little from her family, the mere fact that it was a gift overwhelmed her. When they rode out that afternoon, she’d confided in him the extent to which she’d gone to hide her dire financial circumstances. She told him of how she’d pawned her jewelry, hoping to earn enough sewing to buy her jewelry back and still have enough coin for what she needed. But she explained that the window of time she had expired before she could claim her finery. She shared the nights she’d stayed awake to remake her gowns, and how her disdain grew for the people not astute enough to realize that it was the same kirtle over and over but merely with different embellishments. She admitted the pleasure she derived from seeing so many women wearing her creations, none the wiser that the woman they disdained provided the couture in which they preened.
Brodie had listened with alternating waves of amazement, sadness, and anger as she described how life changed over the eleven years she lived at court. She held little back from Brodie as she admitted her sins like he was her confessor. The Laurel he’d witnessed in the brief time he knew her only lashed out when she felt cornered. Her tongue was sharp, but he didn’t understand how she’d earned her reputation until she admitted how she’d behaved when she was more newly arrived.
“I was horrible to many of the other ladies. I was so angry all the time. I didn’t want to see others happy around me when I believed I could never feel that way again. It was easy to follow the others’ lead. When I think back to what I said to and aboot Maude, I make myself sick. I remember one evening in particular. Maude stood beside Arabella Johnstone, the most beautiful lady-in-waiting in decades. They were friends, but I said Maude looked like a sow standing next to a dove. I claimed that her endowments made her look more like a tavern wench than a lady. The worst part is I leaned she overheard everything Cairstine, Madeline, and I said, and I didn’t feel a moment’s remorse.”
The only time she grew evasive was when she mentioned Madeline MacLeod—now Madeline Grant—discovered something she wished she hadn’t let slip, and that was how her former companion manipulated her. Brodie attempted to glean more from her, but she was too astute to give away more. She’d cast him a warning glance before moving onto another story. But Brodie already suspected what the secret was.
He noticed slight gestures and mannerisms between Monty and Donnan that struck him as odd. As he watched the pair more and more, he noticed they were in sync with one another like an old married couple. He and his second had been friends since they were weans, and he was close with his brother Dominic, but the dynamic between Monty and Donnan was notably different. It reminded him more of Dominic and his wife Colina or his cousin Kennon and his wife Fenella. He’d puzzled over why the men’s relationship didn’t bother him more. He knew he should have recoiled in disgust, thought it unnatural and against God’s will, even named them as sodomites. But he found he cared little once he noticed how much Donnan cared for Laurel. And Monty even redeemed himself when Brodie learned there’d been a disagreement the night of his betrothal, and Monty defended Laurel against a group of men. Monty and Donnan avoided explaining what caused the argument, and Brodie decided it was for the best he didn’t know, or he would have sought the men himself.
As the couple charged across a meadow that twelfth day, Laurel inhaled the unfettered air that only came from riding an hour north of Stirling. She looked at the mountains in the distance, seeing the Highlands nearly within reach. She laid low over Teine’s back as she raced Brodie toward the foothills. The ground had few obstacles, so she allowed her steed to have his head as they charged on. The couple raced across the field many times during their outings, and both were competitive, just like their mounts. Neither consistently won, taking turns in victory and challenging the other to a rematch.
Laurel’s tinkling laughter filled Brodie’s ears as they galloped neck and neck. He glanced at her, caught speechless once more