Chapter thirteen

Glenlyon ,Roro ,perthshire, The Highlands.

This time when Maxwell came home, Carissa was going to be ready . She could no longer be patient.

As she'd done everyday for the past week since Sam had sent the letter ,she dressed with particular care . As she normally didn't take any care,this was quite an extraordinary undertaking. The " boyishly" short ,just past her shoulder, a dark brown hair that she usually kept tied back with string,a piece of leather,or whatever else she happened have on her hand had been brushed and brushed until it was as glossy and shiny as polished piece of mahogany to hang loose around her shoulders.

A simple circlet made out of gold , given to her by Lady Mariam before she succumbed to the fever , rested on her head , securing the gossamer thin pink veil that covered but did not hide the brown tresses. Her hair was one of her best features, and she had to take advantage of whatever she could .

Carissa didn't need to pinch her cheeks as some of the girls did , hers were already as rosy enough from all the time she spent outdoors. Her lips , too didn't need any color as they were naturally crimson red.

She wrinkled her nose. Unfortunately, the feckless she couldn't do anything about. Carissa told herself they added character, but she'd never convinced her mother or Lady Miriam to agree.

She stepped back from the looking Glass procured from the bottom of one of lady Miriam's trunks, held out the deep rose velvet skirts of her cotehardie, and chewed anxiously on her lips , not knowing quite what to make of her attempts.

She hadn't been sure of what to make of the color—she'd never liked pink—but Lady Mariam had insisted it would be" beautiful"on her . That was an exaggeration, but it did seem to flatter her coloring . The gown was one of the three that Lady Miriam had insisted on buying her three years ago on Carissa's eighteenth saint's day. " you're now a lady , sweeting,"

The older woman said with a fond smile. "you need at least a few fine gowns"

It had been so important to her , Cate hadn't had the heart to argue, but she'd never seemed to find the occasion to wear them. Frankly, dressing in such fine things made her feel a little silly . Like she was pretending to be someone she was not.

Her father had given her a beautiful dress once . It had made her feel like a princess. When he left she'd shoved it under her bed and never looked at it again.

Her chest squeezed with a longing she refused to acknowledge . She wasn't a lady no matter who her father happened to be.

Her attention returned to the strange woman in the looking Glass.

"Men want a woman to act like a woman,my love ." Her mother's voice mingled with lady Miriam's in her memory—in so many ways they'd been one in the same. Both gentle ,sweet ladies. Nothing like Carissa.

Her chin set determination. She would be soft and feminine if it killed her . But goodness gracious,did being a lady have to be so blasted uncomfortable?

She tugged at the fabric around her bodice ,trying to pull it up. Three years had had added a certain dimension to parts of her body that she was not quite used to making the gown a bit tighter in the bodice. But as that was the fashion,she supposed no one would notice.

Carissa had given up the breeches under the skirts when Lady Mariam nearly passed out the first time she'd seen them,but she'd made a few other concessions. She would wear shoes in the winter but not in the summer . And no matter how plain,the simple " peasant lad's" clothes were what she felt comfortable in while training.

She'd just finished her critical appraisal when the door burst open behind her. Assuming it was Helen,who was supposed to have helped her with her hair and veil but was called away when Maggy started crying (screeching, actually), Carissa didn't turn right away. It was only when the silence became noticeable that she looked and realized that it wasn't the maid but Sam.

He was staring at her slack- jawed, with a slightly dazed look on his face.

Carissa wrinkled her nose. Whatever was the matter with him?

Suddenly,the blood slid from her face and her heart started to pound—gallop,more accurately." is he here?"

Sam didn't seem to hear her." you look. . . you look beautiful."

Despite the unflattering level of surprise in his voice ,a warm blush spread up her cheeks and she grinned with delight. Carissa didn't have any real pretensions toward beauty but she could not doubt the admiration in Sam's eyes. And it gave her the confidence that until that moment she realized how much she'd needed.

She never doubted her appeal to men—they liked her . Indeed ,she had more male friends than she did female. But they treated her like a little sister they were fond of ,which was not the way she wanted Maxwell to think of her .

She was determined that this time he would notice her as a desirable woman. Of course, she'd told herself the same thing last year,but she was confident that it would be different this time . This time she had more than herself to consider. This time she was going to act and look like a lady.

From the first moment he'd looked down at her in that well, Maxwell MacGregor had stolen her heart. When he'd taken her to his home,he'd stolen more . As the year passed by,each time he came home of which there had been precious few—he claimed more and more until he eventually had it all. Her love had matured from that of a young girl's to a woman's,but it was the one constant in her life since that horrible day,and she held to it like a lifeline.( That and the resolve to discover the identity of the man who killed her mother. But after Seven years, Maxwell had been unable to find out anything about the Welsh Captain.)

A less determined person might have given up on the face of Maxwell's obvious disinterest . Well ,not disinterest really,more a lack of awareness. He still thought of her as the "little child" he'd rescued,or the young girl he was forced to acknowledge when some kind of trouble arose (which ,to be clear , wasn't her fault always),and not the strong woman she'd become.

The woman who was perfect for him.

It was that certainty that kept Carissa going when she became discouraged. And with Maxwell MacGregor it was very easy to get discouraged. She'd knew he was perfect but sometimes he certainly seemed that way. Not for the first time ,she wished he weren't so handsome. Or so attractive. Or so good at every single thing he did. It made him feel out of reach . Elusive. Like trying to catch Quicksilver.

It wasn't arrogant , exactly. Or superiority. More a separation. He would laugh,flirt and joke with everything (except for her),but there was always an arm's length between him and the world. An air of caution....