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“We cannot keep the charade up any longer…”

*

H avilland had slept well past dawn.

Buried in the bed her parents used to share, her back pressed against Amaline’s back in an attempt to stay warm against the cold winter’s night, the two of them had slept relatively heavily given the burdens on their minds from the day’s events.

Havilland’s sleep had been full of dreams, however, dreams of attacks and rivers and redheaded Highlanders.

It had been a busy night of dreaming and towards morning, she slept dreamlessly, finally able to relax.

Oddly enough, however, she awoke to sunlight streaming in between the windowsill and a gap in the oiled cloth that covered it.

She hadn’t seen sunlight in the morning in months, for they were in the dead of winter and the mornings were almost always gloomy.

But not this morning; looking around the room, it seemed very bright and the fire had been stoked, which was odd considering she hadn’t heard a servant come in.

In fact, there were bathing things laid out, like soap and towels and combs.

Someone had been busy in this room and she hadn’t even been aware.

And then she saw it.

One of her mother’s gowns was carefully draped over a cushioned oak chair that her father used to sit on to ease his aching back.

It was a big chair, with a pillow on the seat, but she couldn’t see the pillow or much of the chair for that matter because of the dresses draped over it.

Puzzled, she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes.

When Havilland finished rubbing her eyes and looked again, the dresses were still there.

Her puzzlement grew and she climbed out of bed, careful not to wake her sister, and tiptoed over to the dresses.

She recognized them as garments she had seen in her mother’s trunks; one was a deep blue tiretaine , a very fine woolen fabric, with elaborate gold embroidery around the neckline and at the elbows, and the other one was a dark green brocade that had strips of green-dyed leather finely sewn into the skirt.

With the rounded neckline and angel’s wing-type sleeves, which were sleeves that draped elegantly from the wrists to the floor, the green dress was particularly lovely.

Baffled, Havilland fingered the dresses, wondering how in the world they had gotten into the room, when she glanced over at a second chair and saw a myriad of cloaks, scarves, and belts thrown onto it.

There were even a few pairs of shoes on the floor next to it.

Scratching her head, she went over to the second chair and fingered through everything that had been placed on it.

As she mulled over the miraculous appearance of the clothing, the chamber door creaked open and a serving woman appeared, the same serving woman who had tended those in the keep for years.

Burdened with a tray of food, she was an older woman who had once served Havilland’s mother.

When the woman looked up and saw that Havilland was awake, she grinned.

“So you are awake, m’lady,” she said. “Good. I was a-feared I was going to have to awaken you.”

Havilland eyed the woman strangely. “Why?” she asked. “And where did these clothes come from?”

The serving woman paused to look at the dresses, her expression almost loving.

“I remember when your mother wore those garments,” she said, her tone wistful.

“She was so beautiful in them. I think they should fit you because you are about her size, but Lady Amaline is smaller than you are. I fear I will have to alter the dress a bit to make it wearable for her.”

Havilland was still puzzled. “We will not be needing these,” she said, looking around. “Where is the clothing I left here last night?”

The serving woman went to set the tray down on the small table that was near the hearth. “I was told to take those breeches away from you,” she said. “You are to wear one of those dresses today and you are not to ask any questions. Sir Jamison told me to tell you that.”

Havilland’s eyebrows lifted. “He did?” she asked. Then, she shook her head firmly. “But… but I cannot wear one of these garments.”

“Why not?”

She looked at the dresses almost fearfully. “I… I have no need to,” she said. “Bethan, what nonsense is going on? Where is my clothing?”

The serving woman simply grinned and moved away from her, heading towards the door. “Pick which dress you wish to wear and I shall return with warmed water to help you bathe,” she said. “Sir Jamison will be coming for you shortly and you will want to be ready.”

Now, frustration was joining her puzzlement. Havilland put her hands on her hips. “Ready for what ?” she said. “Start making sense, woman.”

The serving woman giggled. “You will see, my lady,” she said as she went through the door. “You will see. Do as you are told and ask no questions. Pick a dress to wear!”

With that, she was gone, the door shutting behind her.

Annoyed, Havilland started to follow but quickly realized she was in her night shift and had no other clothing to wear since her breeches and tunic were missing.

She wasn’t about to go out with only her night shift on so she turned, again, with some fear, back to the dresses that were laid out on the chair.

So Jamison was behind this nonsense? Was he, in fact, forcing her to dress like a woman now?

He told her yesterday that he cared not what she wore but that was evidently a lie.

He must care very much, indeed, if he was sending dresses up to her chamber for her to wear and stealing her breeches in the meanwhile.

It was all greatly confusing and quite hurtful.

As she went to pick up the green dress, gingerly, Amaline stirred over on the bed.

“What is happening, Havi?” she questioned as she sat up, yawning. “I heard Bethan.”

Havilland looked at her sister, green dress in-hand and distress on her features.

She hadn’t told Amaline about Jamison’s proposal, or anything else about him, and now she was glad.

Now she wouldn’t be ashamed that the man had said one thing to her and obviously meant another.

Perhaps, he never even meant his marriage proposal.

Had he been sweet to her just to bend her to his will?

Not knowing him well, she couldn’t be sure.

All she knew was that she was hurt and confused.

“I… I am not sure,” she said, tossing the green dress back onto the chair and marching across the chamber. “Bethan brought some food. Eat and I shall return.”

Amaline rubbed her eyes sleepily. “But where are you going?”

“I shall return!”

Havilland tossed open the door and passed through, shutting it behind her as she emerged onto a landing.

On the second floor of the keep, her chamber was directly across the landing and she threw the door open, charging across the small chamber to the wardrobe on the other side.

It was messy, and full of breeches, torn and dirty and otherwise, and a few tunics hanging on pegs.

Havilland sifted through the pile of breeches, finding a woolen pair to wear, before reaching up and lifting a couple of tunics off their pegs.

One tunic was fine linen while the other was a heavy wool offering protection against the cold weather.

With these garments in hand, she turned around for the door and stopped dead in her tracks.

With a gasp, she lost hold of the breeches and they fell to the floor but she didn’t bend over to pick them up.

She was frozen at the sight of Jamison standing in the doorway.

Eyes riveted to a sleepy-looking but thoroughly delightful Havilland, Jamison smiled at the woman.

“The servant told me ye were awake,” he said. “Did ye sleep well?”

Havilland nodded hesitantly. “I think so,” she said. “I feel rested.”

“Excellent.”

“What are you doing here?”

His smile broadened. “Did ye see the clothing I had brought tae ye?”

Havilland struggled with her hurt feelings. “I did.”

“The green dress will be most becomin’ on ye.”

She was under the impression that he was insisting she wear the green dress, soft though that insistence might be. With a lingering glance at him, she bent over and picked up the breeches she had dropped. “I will not be wearing a dress today.”

His smile faded. “Ye dunna like that one?” he said. “I can go back to yer mother’s trunk and bring back a selection. I thought the green dress matched yer eyes.”

She held the tunics and breeches against her like a shield, protecting her against Jamison and the fact he really wanted a wife who dressed like a woman. Never one for great tact, she spoke her mind.

“I thought you said you said you did not care what I wore,” she pointed out. “You told me that you would be marrying me and not my wardrobe.”

He could sense irritation with her. Perhaps even hurt. It puzzled him. “It is the truth,” he said. “Why would ye say that?”

She frowned. “Because you had someone take my clothing from the chamber last night and replace it with those dresses,” she said. “Were you lying to me, Jamison? Do you really prefer to see me in dresses and all those words about not caring what I wore were just to soften me?”

Instantly, he could see that his gesture had been misconstrued. Havilland seemed genuinely upset and he quickly sought to ease her.

“Nay,” he said firmly. “I meant every word I said. But today… today I have a surprise for ye. Ye were denied a visit tae Alis de Lara’s party, so I thought ye might like tae wear a fine dress today because… well, I canna tell ye why. ’Tis a surprise.”