The Marshal and the Heiress by Patricia Potter

Author:Patricia Potter
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: West
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Ben warily eyed the formal wear of the past Marquesses of Calholm.

Barbara’s ceilidh was in four days, and he had no appropriate clothes to wear, nor any desire to spend a fortune for clothes he might wear once or twice. Lisbeth had suggested that he investigate the wardrobes still containing clothes from the past masters of Calholm.

There were linen shirts and formal jackets, wide belts, and kilts made of Hamilton plaid. There were no trousers.

He took a kilt out of the wardrobe and studied the infernal thing. The butler stood by watching him. Worry that nothing would please tugged at the old man’s lips. Ben knew Duncan remained puzzled by his habits, especially his refusal of a personal servant.

“How do you wear one of these?” he asked, not sure at all he wanted to know. What he did know was that kilts were honored possessions. Barred after the ’45 by the English but revived in the early 1800’s, in part because of Walter Scott’s romantic novels, they were now part of Scottish national heritage. To wear American clothes would only make him more of an outsider. He didn’t want that for Sarah Ann.

So he eyed what seemed to be rolls of worsted like a Texan eyed a rattlesnake: with extreme and respectful caution.

“Lord Jamie wa’ not quite as tall as ye,” Duncan said, “but closer than the others.” He reached in and brought out another roll of red and blue plaid, handling it almost reverently as he unrolled all six yards of it.

“Ye must undress before I can fit it, sir.”

Ben was not a modest man. Modesty didn’t survive long in a war, nor on long days on the trail with other lawmen. Yet, something about trying on a damned skirt in sight of a stiff, formally dressed butler was uniquely humiliating.

But hell, if he was staying in Scotland, he’d damned well better get used to it.

The thought stopped him. He hadn’t realized it, but he really was considering staying.

Stunned, Ben dropped his trousers and underdrawers and submitted to the fitting. The butler showed him how the straps were fastened. The pleats went in the back, the “apron” in the front. Duncan eyed him from every possible angle and nodded. “It will suffice.”

Ben wasn’t at all sure. He felt naked. “What do you wear under it?” Clearly his longjohns would not do.

The man looked at him as if he’d just committed sacrilege. “Why, naught,” he said.

“Naught?” Ben hoped he hadn’t heard correctly.

“Naught,” the man insisted.

“Doesn’t it get cold?”

Duncan cracked a thin smile. “Scots do no’ get cold. They used to go into battle stark naked.”

“Must have disconcerted the hell out of their enemies,” Ben muttered.

Duncan’s smile grew a little wider. “Aye.”

Ben grinned. “I’ll remember that.” Then, moving to the nearby mirror, he looked at his reflection. He wondered whether he looked as ridiculous as he felt, whether he could ever parade in front of a hundred guests in this … skirt. But he had little choice.

He walked around the room several times, trying to gain some measure of comfort.

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