Page 39 of Enchanted

Chapter Fifteen

Rosalyn stood alone in her chamber, wondering how a person prepared for handfasting. She knew from a couple of weddings she had attended in London what was involved there, but handfasting was new to her. She moved to the wardrobe and opened it, trying to decide which of her five gowns she would wear.

A knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” she said, welcoming the distraction.

Gwendolyn appeared, followed by a man carrying a copper hip bath, and three others carrying pails of steaming water. “Keiran asked to have a bath sent up to you. And I am here to help you prepare for this evening.” It was then that Rosalyn noticed the length of tartan in Gwendolyn’s hands, along with a bath sheet. She set the items on the bed.

“Place the bath near the fire,” Gwendolyn directed the men. As soon as they finished filling the bath, they departed the chamber, closing the door behind them. “Quickly now,” Gwendolyn said, coming to help unlace Rosalyn’s gown. “Let us remove your riding clothes and get you in that water before it cools. We have plenty of work to do and little time to do it in to prepare you for joining your life to Keiran’s.”

She paused in working the laces and placed a hand on Rosalyn’s arm. “We are all so pleased to have you become a part of our family.”

“Only for a short time.” Rosalyn swallowed roughly. “We have made no more commitment to each other than that.”

Gwendolyn squeezed Rosalyn’s arm. “Give it time. You will have lots of that in the next year.”

Rosalyn soon found herself in the bath while Gwendolyn gathered garments for Rosalyn to dress in afterwards. It felt good to wash the travel dirt from her skin and hair in the heather-scented water. Weary from travel, she leaned back against the copper tub, wanting to forget about Lieutenant Long and even Oberon. The appearance of the fairy king had seemed to startle Keiran. Was it because the fairy had come into the human realm or was there something more that he had yet to tell her about his time in Fairyland?

As she relaxed, her thoughts turned to Keiran. When she had died on the day they met and she had hovered over her body, God had shown her that he was a good man. But all the years of being told that he was her enemy had made her look for further proof. Over the last six days, he had shown her in so many ways that her first impression of him was correct. Soon, she would bind her life to his, and find either immense happiness or deep sorrow. Only time would reveal that outcome.

“The water has chilled. Come, let us get you dressed,” Gwendolyn said, approaching the tub with a bath sheet for Rosalyn to wrap herself in.

After Rosalyn dried herself and her hair, Gwendolyn held out a fresh white chemise with lace at the edge of the sleeves. She slipped it over Rosalyn’s head, then set to positioning the stays. When they were in place and tight against her chest and waist, Gwendolyn lifted Rosalyn’s hem, handing her a pair of stockings and slippers. “Put these on.”

Completing that task, Rosalyn then reached for the sheath that contained her dagger, fastening it at her thigh.

Gwendolyn’s eyes went wide. “You will not need that tonight.”

Rosalyn frowned. “Isolde said I should keep this on me no matter what.” She tightened the fasteners before shifting her skirts down.

Gwendolyn shook her head as she turned to pick up a beautiful dark brown damask dress. “Now, for one of your new gowns.” She tossed it over Rosalyn’s head. After it floated down to her hips, the young woman tied the gown at the back, cinching Rosalyn’s waist.

“You look lovely,” Gwendolyn said with a smile. “Now we must do something with your hair.” She guided Rosalyn to a chair in front of the fire, then set to brushing out her still-damp hair until it was sufficiently dry. She gathered Rosalyn’s hair up high and coiled it into a knot, and secured it with pins, before pulling some curls loose to cascade down from the top. When she was done, she came around to study Rosalyn and said, “I almost forgot the most important part.” She hurried back to the bed and returned with the length of tartan. Encouraging Rosalyn to stand, she fastened the tartan about her waist. “Perfect. Come look at yourself in the polished glass.”

Rosalyn moved to the long mirror in the corner of the chamber. The skirts of her dress belled out, making Rosalyn’s waist look small. The tight stays lifted her breasts high so that the swell of them breached the neckline of her dress. The tartan that flowed over her hips made her feel somehow connected to the clan she was about to join, however temporarily. “Thank you, Gwendolyn. Please thank your seamstress for me. This gown is simple, yet stunning.”

“I would argue that the woman makes the gown stunning, not the other way around. Keiran is a lucky man.” Gwendolyn moved to the window and looked outside. “Everyone has gathered in the rear courtyard and the sun is setting. We had best be on our way down.”

Gwendolyn walked down the stairs before Rosalyn, looking back over her shoulder with an encouraging smile. As they made their way to the back courtyard, the hum of voices sounded. “We should wait here at the doorway until the piper begins.”

Rosalyn reached for Gwendolyn’s hand, squeezing it. “I truly appreciate all you have done to help me. I never expected such kindness from anyone after the death of my parents.”

Gwendolyn’s face softened as she leaned in and kissed Rosalyn’s cheek. “I learned from my own unfortunate experiences that where there is life, there is hope. Stay hopeful and trust Keiran, Rosalyn. That is all I ask of you.”

Rosalyn felt her throat tighten as she turned her gaze towards those gathered outside. She could see Keiran standing near the crenellated wall with his brothers. Behind him the last rays of the sun lingered on the horizon, staining the loch a golden orange that bled into a dusky rose and smoky plum. Dusk was upon them, a pause before the moon would dominate the night sky. A moment later, the skirl of a bagpipe drifted upon the night air in a seductive serenade.

“’Tis time,” Gwendolyn said, leading Rosalyn to the doorway where Keiran had come forward to wait for her.

Her heartbeat thudded wildly at the sight of Keiran, tall and handsome in a fresh white shirt and green and blue tartan with thin lines of yellow and red. At the sight of her, a look of appreciation entered his eyes. He held out his hand and she slipped her trembling right hand into his. The piper’s song died down, leaving only the silence of the near-night as Keiran wrapped his strong fingers around her own. Standing so close, she could smell the hint of fresh, clean soap lingering on his skin, and feel the warmth radiating from his nearness.

With his free hand, he reached into his sporran and withdrew a length of red cord. “I wish to bind myself to you, Rosalyn, for a year and a day.” He placed the red cord over their entwined hands.

A shiver moved through Rosalyn at the feel of the cord as Keiran wrapped the length around their joined hands three times. “To keep you safe and protect you from harm.”

Even though she bristled at the word “protect”, she realised that as a warrior, that was who he was, who he had been born to become in this clan. He would protect her as he did the rest of his family. There was nothing more to his words than that. At her hesitation, a spark of uncertainty entered his gaze. “Will you also pledge yourself to me?”

At that small hint of vulnerability, all her reservations faded. That brief glimpse into his soul reminded her of why they were here in this moment. They were so alike, the two of them. She might have less control over her life as a female than he did as a male. But when the fairies had stolen him from his cradle, he’d also had little control over his life. In the last few days, they had been both working hard to regain what they had lost.

She tightened her hand on his, hoping to say without words that she recognised his sacrifice for her benefit. “I wish to bind myself to you, to be the helpmate you deserve, for a year and a day.” Rosalyn stared down at the red cord between them. Red. The colour of courage, strength, and passion. The last thought sent a surge of heat through her body that culminated in her belly.