A Hellion at the Highland Court: A Rags to Riches Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 9) Read online

  Laurel discovered early on that to stand out at court in any way invited ridicule and gossip. Even though she and Madeline had struck up a friendship of sorts, Laurel wasn’t free from Madeline’s judgement and scathing comments. Madeline learned that Laurel’s tongue was just as sharp as her mind, so they rarely crossed swords. But when they did, the other ladies were quick to repeat all that they heard. The price of peace and her family’s reputation meant Laurel did what she could to blend in. It only added to the bitterness she clung to as a buoy against the consuming sadness she’d experienced when she left home. The court knew Laurel for her shrewishness; ironically, many considered her shallow for her style and what appeared to be an ever-new rotation of gowns. Only Madeline and Cairren knew the lengths she went to for her clothing.

  At five shillings a yard, that was forty shillings, or two pounds. That’s a far sight better than spending ten pounds or more on a gown. I have plenty of thread to last me at least three kirtles, nae considering what I have for the embellishments. If I can have the gown made within the next sennight, then I can cut down ma old one. I can make what’s salvageable into smocks for the children at the almshouse, and the rest can be rags for ma courses. I’ll need to add fur cuffs and a hem to the new gown to keep the wool from fraying. At least it’s sturdy.

  Laurel examined her work as the late morning sun flooded her chamber. She sat beside the window embrasure to see her stitches, but she’d sewn the same pattern so many times, she was positive she could do it while she was half asleep. She was fairly certain she had done so more than once. She needed the income she would earn from the three gowns she had stashed away at the bottom of her wardrobe and the embroidery she’d finished the night before. The money would pay for the gowns she needed for Christmas and Hogmanay. She still had several months, but she knew the merchants would increase their prices.

  I shall look for Simon to sell the cuffs to this time. Samuel’s got a loose tongue that he flaps far too often. He nearly told Sarah Anne that the handkerchief she was buying came from me. The smarmy bitch is worse than Madeline ever was. Who could have known? How am I going to get the three kirtles to the haberdasher without crumpling them horribly? Why do I keep doing this? Two fit in ma satchel without too much concern, but three has it bulging at the seams. After all this time, ye’d think I would learn. That’s how Cairren found out in the first place.

  Let me finish this before the midday meal, then I’ll join the other ladies in the queen’s solar until she retires during the prince’s midafternoon sleep. I can slip out to the market then and be back before dusk. Monty is likely with the men anyway, so I willna need to avoid ma guards. I can be back in time to dress for the evening meal. Right then, lass.

  Laurel may have ridden herself of her Highland burr when she spoke aloud, but in her mind, she would forever be a Highlander.

  I’m going to bluidy well murder this wretch. I swear, if he tries to haggle me down one more penny, I shall reach across the counter, snatch him by his scruffy collar, and shake him till his teeth fall loose.

  Laurel gritted her teeth as she listened to the condescending prattle the haberdasher spewed as he spoke to Laurel as though she were a peasant. She wore her plainest kirtle and covered her hair as though she were a matron, a veil hanging to her chin to disguise her face. She was careful not to sound like a lady, but not so much that she might accidentally sound like a Highlander. Like courtiers, the residents and merchants of Stirling would perceive being a Highlander as worse than a being Lowland peasant. For all that the non-Highlanders claimed Stirling was the gateway to the Highlands, it was far more like the Lowlands. And that included believing all Highlanders were savages. She knew her brother’s arrival that morning had sparked the merchant’s acquiescence as much from the plaid he sported as his towering height and brawny arms. The massive two-handed broadsword he carried only fueled the notion that Highlanders were savages bent on running men through.

  Drawing herself back to the present, Laurel nodded as the man droned on and on about how he could only accept the best-quality craftsmanship since ladies from court frequented his shop. It was the same monotonous routine each time she came. Drawing herself up to her full height, she raised her hand and shook her head.

  “Enough. I haven’t the time nor the patience to continue listening to the same prattle you repeat every time I come to sell a gown. You know I am an expert seamstress, and you know the ladies who purchase these gowns pay ridiculous prices for them. You don’t need to examine every stitch as though I intend to cheat you. Pay me the fair price, and we can be done.” Laurel drew in a breath and looked down, waiting for the real negotiations to begin. The haberdasher would offer an insultingly low price, and she would counter with an absurdly high one. They would go back and forth, Laurel collecting the gowns and pretending to leave, and finally the man would relent to the price Laurel always wanted.

  “I don’t think I shall buy any more from you.”

  Laurel slowly raised her eyes to meet the man’s face, completely unprepared for this turn of events. She swallowed as she reined in her temper. Taller than the average woman, Laurel stood nose-to-nose with this merchant, unlike the one she’d towered over that morning. The veil obscured her expression, but her tone was quite clear. “You shall regret that. My sister is a maid to a fine lady at court. I shall tell Mary aboot this, and she shall tell her lady, and her lady will tell everyone. You shall be out of business before the sun sets.”

  “No, I won’t,” the man sniffed. “I don’t believe you have a sister who is a maid. If you did, then why aren’t you employed in the castle as well? Why not be a seamstress for one of those high-and-mighty ladies you boast aboot?”

  “Because I don’t need to wait on anyone else. I sew and sell as I please. And right now, it pleases me to leave and take my gowns with me.” Laurel folded the kirtles and moved to place them in her satchel before she paused. “By the by, my sister’s employer is Lady Laurel Ross. Are you familiar with her?”

  “The Shrew of Stirling?” The merchant took a step back as he alternated nodding and shaking his head. Laurel stifled her grimace, hating the moniker. She knew she’d earned it, but she’d dulled her sniping and criticizing over the past five years, and she wished she could redeem herself enough that no one continued to call her the Shrew of Stirling. But she wouldn’t hold her breath.

  “Aye, that be the one,” Laurel nodded. If she had to live with the infamy, she would use it to her advantage.

  “You wished for sixty pounds.” The shop owner nodded several times before pulling forth a chest that rattled with coins inside. “You shall rob me blind, but it’s better than Lady Laurel showing up on my stoop or ruining my business.”

  “That it is, mercer. And it’s hardly a plight to cry aboot when you ken you’ll make twice, if not thrice, that when you sell them. It is I who should bemoan being swindled. In fact, I think this shall be the last time we do business. I prefer Duncan four shops down. He barely speaks and pays without question. Aye, that is who I shall take my gowns to henceforth.”

  “Nay!” The man’s already-ruddy face turned scarlet, and Laurel knew she was now in the sole position of power to negotiate. No merchant who traded with her could afford to lose her business; all realized that she never tossed out empty threats. “I—I—will give you eighty pounds for the gowns, if you will return.”

  “One hundred, and I will consider it,” Laurel closed the satchel, then crossed her arms. It was an obscene amount for a seamstress, but Laurel knew from experience that the man would sell her gowns for forty pounds apiece. She frequented the stores dressed befitting her status to keep an eye on the patrons and the prices the salesmen requested. This would leave the shop owner with a profit, but it was far less than he desired. But one hundred pounds would ensure Laurel wouldn’t have to sew quite so much or quite so quickly to prepare for the upcoming Christmas, Hogmanay, and Epiphany expenses. As the man trembled, she lifted the satchel from the counter, but the haber
dasher’s hand shot out.

  “Very well.”

  Laurel watched as the man opened the lid of the chest. When he attempted to use the lid to shield the coins he counted, Laurel shifted to see. She kept a running count in her head as the man stacked the coins, having given up trying to hide them from her.

  “Ah-ah,” Laurel shook her head as he made to close the lid. “You’re no dalcop, so don’t be an eejit. That’s eighty pounds, six shillings that you’ve counted out.” Laurel made a gesture for him to reopen the chest. “I made an offer, and you accepted it. Do you intend to renege? Are you little more than a gillie-wet-foot?”

  “I am no swindler!”

  “Then pay me the agreed-upon amount,” Laurel insisted. The door opened behind her, and several feminine voices carried to her. Laurel’s stomach tightened into a knot, recognizing them as belonging to a handful of ladies-in-waiting. She wondered why they were in town so close to the evening meal, when most of the merchants would be packing up their shops in the market. She needed to hurry if she was to make it to the other merchant.

  “I have customers,” the haberdasher hissed. “Give me the gowns and take what I offer. Then be gone with you.”

  Laurel didn’t budge. She knew the ladies wouldn’t recognize her, since they would never imagine Laurel would dress so plainly. Laurel waited, but the man didn’t intend to pull out more coins. When he made to step around her, Laurel flipped open her satchel and turned to the young women.

  “Ma ladies,” Laurel greeted them, infusing her natural burr back into her accent. “Ye must be from the castle,” Laurel gushed.

  When the women turned toward her, their disgust at the Highlander brogue plain on their faces, she pulled the first gown from her bag. She held it up beside her, twisting it from side to side to catch the sunlight on the embellishments. She took a tentative step forward and lowered her chin.

  “I canna say the three kirtles I have are so fine as what ye wear,” Laurel demurred, despite recognizing two of her own creations in the group. “But I am newly a widow, and I must sell ma wares to feed ma weans.”

  Laurel didn’t flinch when the haberdasher released a stream of curses that made the young women titter. She felt no remorse for her scheme. If the man hadn’t attempted to shortchange her, assuming she didn’t know how to count as high as one hundred pounds, she wouldn’t have taken such delight in the tale she was spinning.

  “The mon here quoted me a price, then tried to fool me by nae paying what we agreed upon. Is that how they be here in Stirling?”

  “Nay,” Lady Sarah Anne Hay stepped forward, wearing one of Laurel’s designs. As the leader of the younger ladies-in-waiting, Laurel had known she would insist upon being the first one to inspect the gown. “The stitching is quite fine.”

  Laurel bobbed a shallow curtsy, “Thank ye, ma lady.”

  “Such a gown would easily sell for fifty pounds,” Lady Sarah Anne said as she fingered the material. “How many did you say you have?”

  “Three, ma lady.” Laurel laid the gown over her forearm as she pulled out the next one to several oohs and ahhs. The gown was finer than the first one she’d shown the group. She watched as several women ran their fingers over the velvet and whispered to one another. When she felt the excitement crescendo, she presented her pièce de résistance. The satin and velvet gown was a deep amethyst hue with Opus Anglicanum along the hem and train of the skirts, and embroidery covered the bodice. This was the gown that merited the price she’d demanded.

  “This is exquisite,” Lady Margaret Hay, Sarah Anne’s older sister, murmured. “Even Lady Laurel doesn’t have something so fine.”

  Of course she doesnae. She sells any gown this extravagant. To this day, I dinna understand how nay one realizes that they see me in the same five kirtles season after season, year after year. All I do is change out the ribbons and laces. I suppose the different embroidered patterns helps. But still. Daft lot they are.

  “I shall take them,” Sarah Anne announced.

  “Them, ma lady?” Laurel infused surprise and uncertainty into her voice.

  “Aye. One hundred and sixty pounds is what I’m willing to pay for the three,” Sarah Anne announced. Laurel’s stomach flipped in excitement. She knew the amount was more than most serfs saw in a lifetime, and it was more than any of her clansmen were used to seeing. But the Hays had a long-standing reputation at court, and it was rarely for the better. Sarah Anne and Margaret’s uncle had once tried to abduct Deirdre Fraser to carry out a proposed betrothal. Deirdre’s husband, Magnus Sinclair, had ridden to her rescue, and Archibald Hay died for his scheming. It had been a scandal that rocked the court not long after Laurel arrived.

  Sarah Anne loosened a pouch of coins from her girdle and handed it over to Laurel, who shook it and weighed it in her palm. She pulled the strings apart and peered into the small sack. Just as she suspected, there was far more than the amount Sarah Anne offered.

  “Are ye certain, ma lady? That is a small fortune ye’re offering me,” Laurel said.

  Ignoring Laurel’s questions, Sarah Anne squinted at Laurel, as though she would try to see through Laurel’s veil. The material was so thick that it was difficult for Laurel to see through it at times, but it completely obscured her features. “Have you more such as these?” Sarah Anne asked.

  “Nae at the moment, ma lady. But I can,” Laurel hedged.

  Sarah Anne nodded twice before reaching for the gowns, which she dumped in her sister’s outstretched arms. Laurel couldn’t help but think how similar Sarah Anne and Margaret’s relationship was to how Myrna had once treated Laurel herself. But Laurel wasn’t interested in observing the sisters or continuing a conversation. She dropped into a deep but purposely wobbly curtsy and slipped from the shop without looking back.

  This will last me through autumn. It’ll last me through winter and into the new year if I’m frugal.

  The relief that washed over Laurel was nearly palpable. She’d been growing desperate as of late. She’d had plenty of trade, but many of the merchants who frequented Stirling only came in the summer months. The leaves were beginning to change, and Laurel feared she wouldn’t have enough stashed away before she was forced to rely on merchants such as the haberdasher, a Stirling resident. Just as she had that morning, she hurried back to her chamber where her maid, Ina, helped her prepare for the evening meal. Laurel knew that Ina was aware of Laurel’s sewing, since the woman had seen Laurel’s handiwork appear on her own gowns countless times, but they agreed via mutual silence never to discuss it.

  Ina Ross had known Laurel since she was a babe and chose to remain her maid, even after Laird Ross offered Ina the chance to return to Balnagown. Laurel tried to show Ina her gratitude, but it still surprised Laurel that she had remained after the way Laurel treated everyone upon her arrival at court. While she supposed Ina’s loyalty was grounded in pity, Laurel accepted the only reliable link she had to the Highlands. With a last glance in the looking glass, Laurel squeezed Ina’s hand before making her way to the Great Hall.

  Three

  Laurel smiled warmly at Donnan, the man who sat across from her and beside Monty. Donnan and Monty had been inseparable since they were children, so it surprised no one when Monty named his fellow warrior as his second-in-command. Laurel’s gaze shifted to Monty before returning to Donnan, then gave both men a warning glance when their shoulders brushed against one another. As the meal progressed, Laurel enjoyed the banter between Monty and Donnan, and she recognized the ease with which they teased. But when they both reached for the same chalice, and their hands overlapped for a moment too long, Laurel shot them a speaking glare before her eyes darted to the other men at the table.

  Laurel had discovered Monty and Donnan together when she was thirteen, and they were eighteen. She’d been out for a ride, telling her guards that she would easily catch up to her brother, who she’d seen leave with Donnan. To this day, she counted her blessings that she’d ridden into the woods on her own. She’d spie
d them in a passionate kiss that made her yank her horse to a stop. The animal reared and threw her. The couple broke apart and raced to help Laurel, but all she could do was stare at them until air finally filled her lungs again. They helped her to her feet before exchanging a private glance. Laurel still remembered the conversation they’d had.

  “Dinna act surprised,” Laurel tsked. Monty and Donnan stared down at the young Laurel, who shook her head and patted both young men on the chest. “We have three married sisters, Monty. I’ve walked through the Great Hall at night. I ken what happens between couples.”

  “Laurel,” Monty gasped.

  “Dinna fash, Monty. Though I would recommend ye each pay a little more attention to the lasses if ye wish to keep everyone else fooled. I only reined in Teine because I thought to leave without interrupting. I suppose he didna appreciate that,” Laurel said as she patted her chestnut gelding, aptly name Fire for his coat.

  “Ye ken?” Donnan asked, his face ashen, and his voice trembling.

  “I figured out there was something different between ye years ago, but I didna understand it until Sorcha married. She actually likes her husband, so I’ve seen how they look at one another. I’ve seen ye two looking at each other the same way when ye think nay one is watching,” Laurel explained. “This just confirmed it.”

  “And ye arenae running for the hills?” Donnan pressed.

  Laurel shrugged. “At least two of ma siblings are happy. Morag and Sileas despise their husbands.” Laurel shrugged again. “Mayhap one day I’ll be as lucky as ye two.” She nudged her chin in the men’s direction.