Free A Promise of Love by Karen Ranney

in Louise’s dressing room as any other section of Tynan. Sophie recalled the thousands of schillins that had been used to purchase the embroidered curtains with their heavy gilt thread, the chaise upholstered in scarlet and gold. Now the furniture was ash and the draperies hung tattered, soot filled, upon the windows. Yet even the looters who had defiled Tynan could not manage the great feat of stealing all of Louise's many gowns.
    "Sophie, I do not require a new dress," Judith insisted this morning, clutching the skirt of her blue wool with two determined hands. Ever since she was a child growing up in tight-fisted Squire Cuthbertson's house, Judith’s clothes had been crafted of the coarsest and most sturdy materials, always of a serviceable brown or dark blue so as not to show either wear or soil. Marriage had not varied her wardrobe. Peter's mother grudged any extra coin for her son's bride and what funds could be spared for luxuries from Anthony's pay were more often than not used for his drink or gambling, not his wife's apparel.
    Judith had long since given up the notion of pretty dresses, or perky bonnets, or other accessories which would enhance her appearance. Those frivolities were for other women with petite, rounded curves and heart shaped, winsome faces. Nothing would change the shape of her face, or make her less tall and gangly, or transform the color of her hair. Clothing served only a utilitarian purpose - to hide her nakedness, not enhance fictional charms.
    A point which Sophie calmly, and stubbornly, refuted.
    "It is one thing for me to wear dark colors, dear child," Sophie said calmly, marking a line on the cloth. "I am old, my life is behind me. But you should wear vibrant colors to enhance your looks. Did you know," she asked, with a twinkle in her eye, "that you have the coloring of a lovely Scottish lass?"
    Judith's look was a mixture of incredulity over Sophie's statement and tenderness towards the frail woman who was kind enough to utter such a falsehood. She’d learned how generous Sophie’s nature had been these past weeks. The older woman had turned over the keys of the castle to her, had taught her the workings of the massive fireplace, praised her efforts at cooking. At no time did she scold or criticize, and Judith treasured their many conversations, but for the constant references to the MacLeod’s innumerable virtues.
    "Another man might be measured by his words, Judith. Alisdair should be judged by his deeds. He does not speak of duty, yet the weight of responsibility hangs heavy on his shoulders. He does not speak of fairness, but he strives, above all, to be just. You could do worse for a husband,” she finished, reasoning that she had rambled on long enough. She squinted down at the garment in her hands. The hem would need to be let down, but that minor chore was less difficult than obtaining a length of cloth for a new dress.
    “While I salute your efforts at Tynan, my dear, there are not that many days of sunshine in the Highlands that you can afford to shun them. There’s a storm brewing, Judith, see the sun while you may.” Such had been her banishment from Tynan - gentle words spoken with a soft smile and an implacable nature.
    Now, Judith stood at the crest of the hill, her hair brushed until it shone, lifted by the wind riffling from the west. Her dress, one found in Louise’s wardrobe, had been altered with tiny stitches, her cheeks had been touched with red flannel dipped in hot water.
    Judith watched the horizon and the clouds boiling black and dangerous a few miles away. Did it rain forever in the Highlands? The air was heavy with the hint of storm, the wind combed through the moor grasses and soughed through the pines.
    Beside the sheltered cove was a narrow footpath curling up to the top of the moor, its serpentine trail finally culminating in a flat grassy site about five feet wide. From here, Judith could see the blue finger of the cove stretching out to the