She excused herself from the company of her husband and Father Drummond and hurried away before her upset became evident.
She didn’t even flinch when she came face-to-face with Nora, who had more tasks for Eveline to complete. Being busy would take her mind from her current sadness. She missed the hugs of her brothers and the company of her mother when they’d sit sewing in the evenings. She hadn’t so much as picked up a needle since her arrival here, though she knew her mother had packed all her threads.
Ignoring the pain in her hands, she set about beating out the rugs that lined the hallways and corridors of the keep. She also made certain that the chamber the father would occupy was clean and aired out and a fresh fire lit to rid the room of its chill.
Graeme would be able to find no fault with her abilities to run the keep. She was ensuring their guest was taken care of and she’d already spoken to Mary about a special meal to welcome the priest.
But sadness plagued her the rest of the day and no matter how busy she kept herself, she wasn’t able to shake the ache in her heart. With every skeptical glance thrown her way, she felt even more woefully inadequate and out of place.
By the time the call for the evening meal was made, Eveline was near to dropping. She was so tired that she could barely manage to trudge the distance to the hall. And she truly needed to climb the stairs to her chamber so she could freshen her appearance. Father Drummond would occupy a place of honor at Graeme’s table this night and she was bedraggled, sweaty, and dirty.
With a groan, she mounted the steps and forced her way the remaining distance to her chamber.
Once there, she took special care to arrange her hair away from her face and to brush all the tangles from the tresses. She didn’t want to wear the underdress and tunic she’d worn so recently, so she chose another of the dresses her mother had sewn.
It was a beautiful dark blue, similar to the dress she’d worn for her wedding, but not quite as grand. It was more suitable for an honored guest than the gown she’d worn for her marriage to Graeme.
There was a white overtunic, like the one she’d worn with the green underdress, only this one had an embroidered hem all the way around and the cuffs of the sleeve were also embroidered with a rich blue thread to match the underdress.
The sleeves covered much of her hands, a fact she was grateful for, because they were red and angry looking from the blisters and the places where she’d torn and scraped the skin. She looked at them with a grimace, thinking how horrified her mother would be over their appearance. They were not the hands of a gently bred lady.
Being a gently bred lady did nothing to gain her acceptance by Graeme’s clan. Clearly they valued hard work over grace and elegance, and Eveline couldn’t entirely blame them. A mistress of the keep who could work side by side with the other women was far preferable to a lady who could stitch a straight seam.
When she was satisfied that no fault could be found with her appearance, she braved the stairs again, groaning inwardly with every step down. Forcing a smile to her lips, she turned the corner to enter the hall and focused on the table where Graeme sat with his brothers.
Graeme looked her way and she could swear she saw relief and then pleasure in his eyes. It warmed her heart and alleviated some of the aching sadness that had been with her much of the day.
Her step became lighter and she was able to forget the pain and stiffness that accompanied her every movement.
As she drew near, Graeme rose and offered his hand to assist her onto the dais. Instead of taking his hand, she placed her fingertips on his arm, allowing him to aid her. She smiled at Bowen and Teague and then at Rorie, who beamed from ear to ear as she sat across from the priest. Then she gave another welcoming smile to Father Drummond and bade him welcome to their table.
Graeme surprised her by brushing a kiss over her forehead as he settled her down beside him. He started to take her hand, but she slipped it away, reaching for her goblet as if she hadn’t noticed his gesture.
Rorie was animated through the meal, keeping up a lively stream of chatter that Eveline had to concentrate hard on to understand. She was sure she missed some of what was said, because she kept looking from person to person to see who responded and said what.
By the time most of the food had been consumed, Eveline was exhausted and her head ached from trying to keep up with the pace of the conversation.
All she wanted to do was go to bed and remain there for an entire sennight.
She sighed in relief when the meal was finished and Graeme suggested that the men retire to the fire at the other end of the hall to enjoy some of the clan’s “finer” ale reserved for special occasions.
She was positively gleeful over the idea of being able to go up to bed until Graeme turned and extended his hand as the others stood. Confused and thinking he only meant to assist her down, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her away from the table.
When they reached the other end of the room, she smiled at the others and then tried to slip her hand from Graeme’s arm so she could take her leave, but he tugged her back and she had to keep from wincing when his fingers pressed into one of the sore areas on her palm. Thankfully he didn’t notice her grimace or the abrasions.
“Join us, Eveline,” Graeme said. “I’d enjoy your company this eve.”
Eveline blinked in surprise, but he took a seat in one of the grander chairs reserved for resting in front of the fire and then to her further befuddlement, he pulled her down to sit on his lap instead of offering her one of the nearby chairs.
But then by the time his brothers and Father Drummond took their seats and Rorie perched on another and a few of Graeme’s senior men took their seats, all the chairs were filled.