Page 21 of Alec

Chapter Six

Ava led Olivia upstairs to what she called the sewing room, where several maids were hand stitching clothes. On the walls were long wide shelves with stacks of men’s and women’s garments, as well as cloth slippers, caps, veils and aprons. The scent of sunshine-dried linen and dried herbs permeated the space.

“Fair morning, ladies,” the laird’s wife said to the maids, and after telling them not to get up went over to a shelf and retrieved a soft gray gown. “I think this one is about your size. I tried it on last week and popped a few seams.”

“’Twas but one, my lady,” a girl at the table assured her. “I repaired it when Elspeth brought it back.”

“Thank you kindly for fixing my mess.” Ava grinned at her, and then glanced down at herself and sighed. “I should steal some gowns from Doon—she’s the only gal at Dun Talamh who’s bigger than me.”

“You have a great figure,” Olivia assured her. “I also know how to sew and tailor clothes. If I can borrow some supplies I can alter the gown to fit myself.”

Ava took her through to the next room, and introduced her to Forbia, the clan’s head seamstress. After explaining what she needed, the older woman handed her a box filled with thread-wound wooden bobbins, slim wooden cases with pins and needles, and a large pair of quite modern-looking shears.

“Healer made the snips,” Forbia told her. “Mind the edges, lass, for they’re as sharp as fighting blades.”

“I will, thank you.” Olivia noticed a beautiful pile of dark red fabric on a table. “What a gorgeous color. Is this meant for Lady Ava?”

“I surely hope not. Wearing red makes me look like the hostess of a late-night horror show.” She glanced at the seamstress. “Do you have any plans for this linen, Forbia?”

“No, my lady,” the older woman said. “Our lassies dinnae wear such red garments, as ’tis considered dressing above their station. We but use the cloth to test the strength of our madder root before we add the dye to the indigo vat to make violet.”

“Now that’s more my kind of color,” Ava told her. “Any time you want to get rid of some purple, pour it on my clothes.”

“I’ve already dyed several bolts for you, my lady. As for the dyeing cloth, we discard that,” the seamstress told Olivia. “If you desire use such instead and make some garments from it, ’tis enough for a bodice and skirts.”

“That’s very kind. I’d love to.” She picked up the vibrant linen.

Elspeth met them in the passage outside the guest chamber, a tray with a pot and two cups in her hands. “The laird thought you and Mistress Gibson might enjoy some brew, my lady. He also bid me remind you of the midday gathering.” She smiled as soon as she spotted the fabric in Olivia’s arms. “Och, the weavers must be ready to dye the binding ceremony sashes and the lottery cords.”

“You tie up everyone at this shindig?” Ava asked.

The head chambermaid giggled. “No’ exactly, my lady. Those who choose to wed have their hands bound together with a sash that our lord ties as he marries them. Those who wish join the lottery must choose the end of a cord buried in the ground, all criss-crossed beneath, with lads on one side and lassies on the other. The cords, they’re all the same color and weave, so ’tis impossible to ken which holds the ends of the same one. They then tug the cords up from the soil and reel in their partner. Those holding the same ends are matched, and expected to remain wed until the next binding ceremony.”

Olivia followed the maid into the chamber and asked her to sit down and join them for tea, but Elspeth told her she needed to find one of the other maids to finish some work and left.

“That girl works much too hard,” Ava said, frowning as she handed Olivia one of the cups. “She’s always trotting around these days trying to round up the others. I need to talk to Tasgall about the concept of vacation time.”

“Medieval people usually attended mass, and sometimes went on pilgrimages, but otherwise they worked every day of their lives.” Olivia smiled a little as she remembered the reenactments she and some of the other interns had participated in during her summers in France. “If you need to go do something else, please do. I have plenty of sewing and tailoring to keep me busy now.”

“I won’t be needed downstairs for another hour or so. I meant to ask, do you belong to any particular faith?” Ava asked. “Some of the other outsiders do get together for a prayer service on what we hope are Sundays. I’ve been to one, and it’s real nice.”

One of the greatest joys of her adult life was being able to do whatever she liked on Sundays, not that she would say that. “The aunt who raised me was very religious, and took me to church once a week, but I didn’t share her faith. I stopped going after she died in a car crash when I was seventeen.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Ava cradled her mug between her palms. “My folks blamed God for all their troubles, so I never attended a church. Never thought I should, given all their bad-mouthing of the Almighty. Can’t say I believe or disbelieve. If you live decent, don’t hurt others, and try to be a good person, that’s good enough for me.”

Olivia wondered if she should tell her the whole sordid story of her past, but decided against it. She wasn’t tiny anymore, so she didn’t have to explain why she’d been that way. In time she might want to confide in the other woman, but for now she’d rather Ava not know the truth.

“We should all try to be good people,” she finally said. “I try to remind myself that every day is a gift, and find ways to be thankful for my life. Even here.”

“You’re a peach, Olivia.” Ava hesitated, and then asked, “Would you mind answering a personal question?”

Had she given something away? She braced herself. “Of course.”

“Do you think you’re safe when you’re with Alec?” Ava asked.

“Very much so.” Her relief fought with her confusion; why would she ask about him? “Ah, he’s been so kind to me, and so patient.” Maybe she had inadvertently violated a cultural practice. “Is that a problem?”

“Our war master isn’t the friendliest fellow at the castle,” she said slowly. “He’s always been very suspicious of outsiders, and absolutely no one would call him patient—except you.”