Sophia looked at him. ‘Are we then married?’
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘We are.’ She heard the pride, and a faint challenge, in his words. ‘And ye can tell that to the countess when she comes to try to marry ye to someone else.’ His kiss was warm, and deep, and too soon ended. ‘That’s for now. The rest will have to keep, else we’ll be late to Erroll’s table.’
So then, thought Sophia, it was done. A touch of hands, words over water, and a kiss, and everything was changed. It was a little thing, and yet she felt the change within herself so very keenly she was sure the Earl of Erroll or the countess would be quick to see it also, and remark upon it. But the evening passed without an incident.
At supper, Moray and Sophia sat in their accustomed chairs, across from one another, and behaved for all the world as if things were the same as they had been that morning, though Sophia feared that, in her effort not to stare and so betray her feelings, she had erred too far the other way, and hardly looked at him at all.
The only person who had taken note was Kirsty. After supper, in the corridor, she caught Sophia passing. ‘Have ye quarreled?’
‘What?’ Sophia asked.
‘Yourself and Mr Moray. Ye were quiet all the meal. Has he upset ye, in some way?’
‘Oh. No,’ she said. ‘He has done nothing to upset me.’
Kirsty, unconvinced, looked closely at Sophia’s flushing face. ‘What is it, then? And I’ll not have ye say ’tis naethin,’ was her warning, as Sophia made to speak.
She wanted desperately to tell, to share some measure of her happiness with Kirsty, but her fear of putting Moray into danger bound her tongue. She summoned up a weary smile and said, ‘’Tis only that my head aches.’
‘And nae wonder, with the walks that ye’ve been taking in all weathers. Ye’ll be bringing on a fever,’ Kirsty chided her. ‘No matter what the bards may say, there’s no romance in dying for a man.’
It was pure instinct made Sophia lift her head. ‘What do you know about my walks with Mr Moray?’
‘Ye can put the blame on Rory. He’s aye seeing things, he is, though he’ll not speak of them to any soul but me, and that but rarely.’
Glancing up and down the corridor for reassurance that they were alone, Sophia asked, ‘And what does Rory tell you?’
‘That yourself and Mr Moray were this evening on the bridge down by the burn, and holding hands, and talking serious. ’Tis why I thought ye must have quarreled after, for ye did not seem, tonight, as if—’ She broke off, as though something had just suddenly occurred to her, and as her eyes were widening, Sophia pleaded,
‘Kirsty, you must promise me you’ll never say what you’ve just said, to anyone. Not anyone.’
‘Ye’ve married him!’ The words came in a whisper, half accusing, half delighted. ‘Ye’ve married him by handfast, have ye not?’
‘Oh, Kirsty, please.’
‘I’ll never tell. Ye needn’t fear I’ll tell, nor Rory, either. But Sophia,’ she said, in a whisper still, ‘what will ye do?’
Sophia did not know what she would do. She had not planned this. It had happened of its own accord, and she’d had little time to think about the future.
Kirsty looked at her with sympathy, and envy, and then, breaking forth a smile, reached out to grab her hand. ‘Come now, I’ve something I would give ye for a wedding present.’
‘Kirsty…’
‘Come, his lordship and her ladyship do have your Mr Moray deep in conference in the drawing room. Ye’ll nae be missed. And anyway, ye have an aching head,’ she nudged Sophia’s memory, ‘do ye not?’
The servants’ rooms were at the far end of the castle. Kirsty’s window overlooked the stables, where she nightly would see Rory tending to the stalls and horses. Underneath the window stood a simple box, and from this Kirsty drew a length of fine white fabric. When she held it up, Sophia saw it was a nightgown, delicately broidered with pale vines and flowers intertwined, and edged at neck and sleeves with bits of lace.
‘’Tis my own work,’ said Kirsty proudly. ‘I’ve not yet finished all the flowers, but I’d thought I’d have more time afore the countess planned a marriage for ye. I didna ken that ye would be arranging one yerself.’
The holland fabric ran like silk between Sophia’s fingers. ‘Kirsty, it is beautiful,’ she said, so touched that she could feel the spring of tears behind her eyes. ‘Wherever did you find the time, with all your duties?’