I have so many more questions I want to ask her, but she’s got a job to do. She lifts my bound hands and unties the bounds with matter-of-fact efficiency.
“Now, pretty girl,” she says. “Off with this tattered clothing.”
“May I go to the bathroom and—”
“No,” she orders, her voice harder now. “You’re going to be put to the test, Caitlin,” she says. “You’ve been taken prisoner by some of the most powerful men in all of Ireland. It’s absolutely crucial you learn to endure whatever trial they put you through. You’ll have to learn to swallow that pride.” Her final words come as a blow, sharp as a whip. “Now off with your clothes.”
She’d have to be fierce to be married to the likes of Seamus, to have raised a man like Keenan. Still, I’m a little taken aback.
I swallow hard but do what she says. My hands tremble, and I want to die, but she’s my ally in this. I have to trust her.
She looks politely away while I undress, turning her back to me. “Now, on with your bra,” she says. “And your knickers.” She hands me pretty lace white things. I put them on, fumbling with the clasp on the bra, and she turns. “Holy Mother, have you never seen a bra before, lass?”
“Not one like this.”
She purses her lips but asks no questions, and quickly helps me dress.
“Aye, I’ve still got a good eye,” she says with a smile. “They fit you like a glove, they do,” she says. She lays out several dresses on the bed, but points to the blue one on the far right. “That one,” she says. “It’ll go with your eyes, and he’ll love it.”
I don’t really care which one. I just want her to pick one out and I want to be dressed. I lift my arms when she gestures for me to prepare, then the pretty, silky fabric glides over my body. I sigh involuntarily. I’ve never felt anything so soft and luxurious.
I spin with my arms outstretched.
I wonder at how much I’ve missed. I’ve never worn new clothes, never felt the soft luxury of silky fabric. And clothing is the simplest of luxuries. How much more does the world have to offer? “It’s beautiful,” I say in awe.
“As are you,” she replies. “Now let’s freshen you up.” She leads me to the bathroom and lays all kinds of things I don’t recognize on the counter. I imagine they’re beauty products, cosmetics and the like.
“Something tells me you’re not familiar?” she asks, looking my way.
I shake my head and speak the truth. “I’ve never left the lighthouse. I—I’ve not been around people, much less used or owned things like that.”
If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it, and I realize she’s likely learned the skill of schooling her features, living with men like these and being married to Seamus.
“Aye, he’ll never let her go, then,” she whispers to herself, then shakes her head when I give her a quizzical look. “Right, then,” she says, as if what I told her was the most natural thing in the world. She gives me a lesson on washing up properly and taking good care of my skin, “though your skin’s got a natural glow that’d be the envy of any woman,” she admits. When I’m done, she spins me around to look at myself. I blink in surprise. I hardly look familiar. My eyes are brighter, my skin glows. My hair’s piled onto my head, and a delicate silver necklace graces my neck.
Maeve’s eyes grow a little wistful, and she speaks as if to herself. “You remind me so of someone I once knew. The resemblance is uncanny. But it’s not possible.”
I hear footsteps in the hall and look to the door just as Keenan enters. He looks more handsome than I even remembered, his hair tousled, his sleeves rolled up, revealing corded forearms. His eyes come immediately to me. He freezes.
“Holy Mother of God,” he mutters.
Maeve smiles, gives me a quick hug, then turns to Keenan.
“I guess I did a right job of it, then, didn’t I?” she asks. “See you at dinner, you two.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Stay brave, sweet Cait.”
I like that. Sweet Cait.
Stay brave?
And then she’s gone.
I never knew my mother, and for one brief moment, I’m filled with a sort of desperate longing. But I can’t decipher the meaning of it. As soon as she’s left the room, Keenan’s crossing the room to me. I take a step back, afraid of what he’ll do when he reaches me. He stands in front of me, tall and stern, his beautiful green eyes cloudy, before he takes my chin in his hand and holds my eyes to his.
“None of them will touch you,” he whispers. “None of them.”