Page 63 of Laird of Wrath

Across the room, Mabel was bent over the great chest under the mirror, arranging necklaces into little velvet-lined boxes. No one had asked her to do so, but that was how she had always been. She had simply noticed that they had become tangled and quietly begun putting them right. She worked with slow, careful fingers, lifting each chain separately until the knot loosened of its own accord.

Rhea watched her in the mirror. “Mabel.” Her sister looked up. “Would you do me a kindness?”

“Of course.”

“Leave some of them tangled.”

Mabel frowned. “Why?”

“So ye have somethin’ to do on the morrow,” Rhea teased.

Mabel seemed to take it as anything but a jest. “I’ll find somethin’ else to do on the morrow.”

Rhea couldn’t help but smile. “I daenae doubt it.”

Mabel returned to her task with the faintest hint of a smile.

It was easy to overlook her if one did not know her well. She seldom interrupted, rarely volunteered an opinion unless asked, and possessed the unnerving habit of appearing exactly where she was needed without anyone seeing her move there. Twice while getting ready, she had silently handed Lara the pin she was searching for before Lara herself realized it had gone missing. Lara, of course, had attributed that to fate, claiming it was a good omen that it had been found so easily.

Now, Lara gathered Rhea’s hair into both hands. “Ye’ve been sleepin’ with it loose.”

“I always sleep with it loose.”

“I ken,” she said. “An unfortunate habit, me Lady.”

She released Rhea’s hair, letting it tumble over her shoulders in heavy blonde waves. It nearly reached her collarbones now. It had already gotten too long, Rhea decided. She would have to cut it shorter again, especially since August was around the corner. The heat would soon be unbearable.

Lara drew the brush carefully through the ends. “Ye ought to braid it before bed.”

“I dislike sleepin’ in braids.”

“Ye dislike brushin’ knots more.”

“I have ye for that,” Rhea reminded her.

Lara didn’t try to argue with her.

The room settled into an easy rhythm. Agnes moved between the bed and the wardrobe, carrying armfuls of linen with the efficiency of someone who had dressed noblewomen for longer than Rhea had been alive. Every now and then, another maid crossed the room carrying something she had been sent to fetch, weaving gracefully through chairs and baskets without colliding with anyone—a graceful dance.

Only Elsie managed to trip over the edge of the carpet, but she caught herself before falling, though one satin slipper flew from the pile she carried and landed under the dressing table.

“Och.” She stared at it in horror. “I am so sorry. Me Lady. I didnae?—“

Rhea twisted in her seat, looking at Elsie, then at the slipper, then back at Elsie with a frown. “Elsie, it’s only a slipper.”

She had barely finished speaking when Lara gasped. “It’s nae only a slipper.”

“What?”

“Ye mustnae throw slippers!” Lara exclaimed.

Rhea knew where this was going. She shook her head inwardly.

“I didnae throw it,” Elsie whispered miserably, wilting right before her eyes. “It… escaped.”

“Escaped?” Lara let out an exasperated sigh. “Be more careful, lass! If a slipper crosses a room before a celebration…”

“What happens?” Sienna prompted from her seat by the window, her lips curling into an amused smile.