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4: A FOOLISH WISH

CARRYING A HEAVY basket filled with firewood, Bonnie crossed the inner close.

It was a brisk morning outdoors, and the woodsmoke-laced wind that feathered across her cheeks held a sting.

Above her reared the dun-colored keep, its battlements edging the pale-blue sky.

She and the other chambermaids had even more rooms than usual to service at present.

It would be another exhausting day.

The keep was abuzz, full of laughter and excited voices, while the inner close was a flurry of activity.

Burly men carried barrels of mead, wine, and ale into the great hall.

Page boys rushed by, running errands for the various lairds in residence, and servants bustled around the fringes of the courtyard, hurrying to make preparations for the night’s ball.

A smile tugged at Bonnie’s mouth.

The excitement was contagious.

It made her forget the weight of the basket that caused her arms to ache, and the tongue-lashing Lorna had given her earlier before Ainslie interrupted—informing her that it was her who’d helped herself to oatcakes and cheese from the spence.

But when she caught sight of a tall, broad-shouldered figure standing before the steps of the great hall, her step faltered.

Deep in conversation with an older man with grizzled dark hair, the stranger stood at the bottom of the steps leading up into the hall.

The Lord forgive her, he was a sight.

Bonnie couldn’t help it—she gawked.

In daylight, the silver-blond of his hair gleamed, contrasting against the light tan of his skin and the dark leather gambeson and braies he wore.

The man held himself with the easy confidence of someone who understood his own worth.

Someone who’d never lived in the shadows.

Of course, Bonnie had seen a few lairds grace the courtyards and corridors of Stirling Castle over the years, yet there was something about this man that scattered her wits and made her heart pound.

Aye, he was handsome, but it was more than that.

He had presence .

Oblivious to Bonnie’s stare, he replied to something his companion had just said, the masculine rumble of his voice traveling across the cobbled space of the inner close.

His expression was stern this morning, yet it didn’t detract from his attractiveness.

Bonnie’s heart kicked hard against her ribs.

There was a maturity in his stance and in the low timbre of his voice; he was no callow youth.

It was likely he had a wife and brood of bairns.

Did some lucky woman get to listen to that rich, deep voice every day?

Heat flushed over her then.

Letting herself daydream when she lay abed in her attic was one thing.

Yet she couldn’t let fantasies take over while she was working.

It wouldn’t do to get caught staring at the king’s guests like a mooncalf.

Yet she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away.

An instant later, her toe caught on the edge of a cobblestone—and the next thing she knew, Bonnie sprawled, face-down, in the yard.

The basket flew from her hands, the wood spilling out.

Satan’s cods! She couldn’t believe she’d been so clumsy.

Knees stinging, for she’d surely skinned them, Bonnie pushed herself off the cobbles and scrambled forward, frantically retrieving the scattered wood.

Maybe if she kept her gaze fixed on the ground, no one would see her.

However, that wasn’t to be.

“Are ye hurt, lass?” The deep voice she had been listening to just moments earlier intruded then—and Bonnie knew without even raising her chin that the handsome stranger was looming over her.

“That was quite a tumble ye took.”

“Fine, thank ye,” Bonnie gasped, deliberately keeping her gaze downcast. Her cheeks were on fire now.

As much as she’d fantasized about speaking with the man, she hadn’t thought it would ever happen—especially in such embarrassing circumstances.

She couldn’t look his way.

Instead, she fervently wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“Here … let me help ye with those.” There was a smile in his voice, and her cheeks burned hotter still.

And then, to her horror, the man hunkered down before her and started retrieving the logs.

Shooting him a furtive glance, Bonnie saw that, indeed, his mouth was curved in an expression of wry amusement.

Fortunately, he’d looked away at that moment, and so she was spared meeting his eye.

Heart pounding, she jerked her own gaze downward and continued collecting the wood.

Time seemed to slow down then, and her hands fumbled with the task.

And when the last of the logs and sticks were tucked back in the basket, Bonnie's heart was beating so fast that she was starting to feel dizzy.

“There ye go, lass,” the stranger said finally. She could feel his gaze upon the crown of her head, yet Bonnie kept her face downcast. “Are ye sure ye haven’t skinned yer knees?”

“No,” she rasped. “Thank ye … again.”

With that, she grasped the basket and lurched to her feet. Then, clutching it to her breast, she fled across the inner close to the steps that led into the servant’s entrance to the keep as if Satan’s demons were at her heels.

It was nearing noon when Bonnie finished setting the last of the hearths in the bedchambers. Ash and flecks of wood dusted the bodice and skirt of her kirtle, and her hands were sticky with sap. Glancing down at herself, Bonnie’s lips thinned. She’d have to wash off at the well outdoors before going down to the kitchens for the noon meal. Lorna and Morag never missed an opportunity to deride her, and she didn’t want to give them an easy excuse.

Bonnie didn’t need any further humiliation today; she was still smarting from the incident earlier in the morning.

Indeed, both her knees were grazed. She’d had to sponge away the blood before continuing with her chores.

But her sore knees didn’t bother her as much as her bruised pride.

Coward . She’d fled like a frightened hare from the inner close. She hadn’t even dared to meet the man’s eye. The opportunity to meet him had been right there, yet she’d shied from it.

Did she believe herself so unworthy? Her daydreams were safe, of course. The reality of being in the proximity of the mysterious stranger had scattered her wits like the firewood strewn over the cobbles.

Her embarrassing reaction to the incident vexed her.

Inwardly berating herself, Bonnie exited the last of the chambers, empty wicker basket under one arm—and nearly collided with a group of ladies-in-waiting.

Clad in fine surcotes, jewels at their throats, with their hair swept into elaborate styles, the women resembled a flock of beautiful vividly-hued birds. Their voices were high and excited, their laughter tinkling like water from the fountains in the gardens encircling the keep.

“This will be a night to remember,” one of them trilled to her companions. She didn’t notice the chambermaid who flattened herself against the door to let them pass by. It was as if she were invisible. “The first masquerade ball ever to be held at Stirling Castle.”

Bonnie’s eyes widened. A masquerade ball? She’d never heard of such a thing.

The fact that the ladies ignored her wasn’t surprising. In the years Bonnie had serviced the chambers of this keep, few high-born female guests acknowledged her. In contrast, she’d had to deal with lusty gazes and unwanted groping from various male guests many a time.

She noted then that the women’s arms were full of baskets spilling over with colorful objects. Tassels and ribbons trailed behind them.

The ladies-in-waiting disappeared, leaving a cloud of expensive scent in their wake—and Bonnie was about to depart in the opposite direction toward the servants’ stairs when a flash of pink and purple on the floor caught her eye.

One of the ladies had dropped something.

Putting down her basket, Bonnie stepped forward and stooped to pick it up.

It was a mask, one fashioned to cover just the eyes and the top half of the face. Covered in a dark rose-colored satiny fabric, the mask was decorated with two large purple thistles.

Breath catching once more, she tentatively ran a fingertip across the intricate embroidery. The mask was lovely, and she was loath to get it dirty.

She hesitated then and glanced after the ladies.

I should go after them and return this.

But she didn’t. Instead, she stood there, her feet rooted to the spot.

Bonnie had never held something so fine before, and she didn’t want to let it go. Her clothing was dull brown, and she’d never owned a brooch or jewelry of any kind. This was too beautiful to give up.

Magpie, she chided herself. This isn’t yers … give it back.

Yet still she didn’t hurry after the ladies, didn’t call out to them. Moments passed before she tucked the mask carefully into her apron. Then she turned, picked up her basket, and made her way toward the servants’ stairs.

“The Virgin be praised, is this what folk wear to a masquerade ball?” Ainslie lowered the mask before giving a rueful shake of her head. “Angus has been telling me about the fuss the queen and her ladies have been making about tonight’s festivities.” The head laundress’s mouth quirked then. “It will be quite a sight, I’d say.”

Bonnie huffed a sigh. “If only I could attend … and see it for myself.”

Ainslie’s expression sobered at this admission, her blue eyes shadowing. “Is that what ye wish, lass?”

The two friends sat in the chamberlain’s quarters. It was shortly after the noon meal, and instead of retiring to her attic for a brief nap as she usually did, Bonnie had paid Ainslie a visit. They sat before the flickering fire enjoying a brief reprieve before the afternoon chores began.

Although Ainslie oversaw the team of laundresses and didn’t have to work as hard as they did, she wasn’t a woman to sit idle for long.

Bonnie had been relieved to find her here.

Favoring the older woman with an embarrassed smile, she shrugged. “Don’t mind me … it is a foolish wish, I know.”

“It’s not foolish,” Ainslie murmured, running a fingertip over the embroidered thistles as Bonnie had earlier. “Every woman desires to step out of her life sometimes … to be someone else for a short while. To be admired .”

Bonnie arched an eyebrow.

Anslie’s mouth curved. “Och, aye … even me.” She then glanced down at her plump body and sighed. “I was quite comely once, ye know … with a figure much like yer own. Angus couldn’t keep his hands off me.”

Bonnie’s cheeks warmed at this frank admission. Even now, after over three decades of marriage, Angus and Ainslie Boyd were a happy couple. Last Yule, the chamberlain had passionately kissed his wife before the Yule bonfire in Stirling town, for all to see.

Ainslie’s attention dropped once more to the mask. “The kirtle and surcote I got married in were the color of thistle. They would have matched this perfectly.”

“Really?”

“Aye, I still have the gowns too … would ye like to see them?”

Bonnie’s breathing hitched. “Ye still have yer wedding outfit?”

Ainslie flashed her a grin. “Of course.” Handing back the mask, the head laundress got up and made her way across the chamber, ducking behind a hanging that separated the living and sleeping spaces. Bonnie heard her rummaging around in trunks, and a few muttered curses, before she exclaimed. “Here they are!”

Moments later, Ainslie appeared, shaking out two long purple garments. She made a tutting sound. “Heavens, the moths have been at the surcote!”

Bonnie’s lips parted as she rose to her feet too and stepped forward to take a closer look. “Oh, Ainslie,” she breathed, taking hold of the surcote’s heavy damask skirt. Indeed, there were a few small holes there, yet they couldn’t detract from the gown’s beauty. “Ye must have looked like a princess wearing this.”

“I did,” Ainslie admitted, her blue eyes misting as she caressed the richly patterned silk that gleamed in the firelight. “I caused quite a stir wearing such a dress.” She gave a soft snort then. “Although the kirtle was a bit tight across the bodice … and I kept worrying my paps were going to burst free.”

Bonnie, who was examining the long flared sleeves of the surcote now, snorted a laugh. She shifted her attention to the kirtle’s bodice then. Indeed, it was low and daring and laced up at the front with rose-colored ribbons. “Did ye have these made in Stirling?”

“No, Angus used a seamstress in Edinburgh … cost him three months' wages, it did.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bonnie murmured. “How I would like to wear something so beautiful.”

A pause followed, and when Bonnie glanced up, she marked the way Ainslie watched her, intently now. “Ye can try them on, if ye like?”

Bonnie waved her away and withdrew her hand from where she’d been tracing her fingers over the patterning that covered the bodice. “I should get back to work.”

“Aye, and so should I. But not until I see what ye look like in these.” Ainslie held up the surcote in one hand and the kirtle that went under it in the other and shook them. She then jerked her chin toward the hanging. “Go on … the quicker ye humor me, the quicker we can get back to our chores.”

Inside the privacy of the chamberlain’s sleeping area, Bonnie smoothed her hands over the skirt of the purple surcote she’d just donned over the kirtle of the same hue. Then, drawing in a nervous breath, she pushed aside the hanging and returned to where Ainslie was waiting for her by the fire.

Her friend’s eyes snapped wide, her face slackening with surprise.

Bonnie halted, stiffening. Heat then flushed over her. “It doesn’t suit me, does it?”

Recovering, Ainslie flashed her a beaming smile. She then stepped forward and deftly laced the front of the kirtle for Bonnie. “They fit ye like a glove … better than they ever did me, I’d warrant.” She shook her head then. “I’m just taken aback, that’s all. I’ve always known ye were comely … but in that gown, ye shine like a jewel.” Ainslie recovered the mask from the chair next to the fire. “Here … put this on too, and I shall fetch a looking glass so ye can see what I mean.”

Bonnie did as bid, even if she was starting to feel a little uneasy. As exciting as this experience was, she was skiving. Chambers had to be swept out and linen changed. She shouldn’t be indulging in such frivolity.

Yet Ainslie seemed to have forgotten about the tasks that awaited them both. It was as if she were a lass again, preparing for her friend’s wedding day. She bustled off, in search of a looking glass. In the meantime, Bonnie put on the mask, fastening it in place with the pink ribbons provided.

And when Ainslie returned, she grinned. “Mother Mary, ye are a sight! Here, see for yerself.” She held up the looking glass before adding, “The gown looks as if it were made just for ye!”

Bonnie surveyed the woman staring back at her, and her breathing stilled.

She didn’t recognize herself.

Ainslie was right. The surcote and the kirtle visible beneath it fitted her perfectly. The bodice skimmed low, showing far more cleavage than she’d ever dared to before. The garments hugged her mid-section and waist before flaring out into full skirts that rustled around her legs when she moved. The embroidered hems of the surcote’s long sleeves brushed her knuckles.

And with the mask in place, she looked as if she were ready for the masquerade ball.

As if reading her thoughts, Ainslie gave a wistful sigh. “Looking as ye do, ye wouldn’t be out of place tonight, dancing with the lords and ladies.”

Bonnie’s pulse leaped, and she glanced the head laundress’s way. Ainslie wore a wistful expression.

Pulse fluttering, Bonnie looked back at her reflection. And then, just for a few moments, she imagined what it would be like to grace the interior of the great hall of Stirling Castle, to dance the evening away with the guests.

It had seemed like an impossibility just moments before—but now, dressed as she was, could she wish it into reality?

She tore her gaze away from the looking glass then and met Ainslie’s eye. “What if I did?”