Satisfied, Bess moved back to collect the chemise she'd taken from her, then searched for a gown suitable for the day ahead.
Averill ignored her as she rushed through her washing.
Bess was there waiting when she finished and helped her dress, her actions so slow Averill was hard-pressed not to natter at her to hurry. When the last lacing was done, she released a gusty sigh of relief and immediately made a run for the door.
"Yer hair," Bess barked, bringing her to a halt.
Sighing impatiently, Averill turned back and allowed the woman to fuss with her hair, thinking it all a terrible bother. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited.
"There," Bess said at last. "You can go down and break your fast now."
"I am going to look in on Kade," Averill said as she moved to the door.
"You may as well break your fast first," Bess said firmly. "Your brother and the three Scots are with him. They'll not welcome your presence at the moment."
"He's awake then?" Averill asked, pausing with her hand on the door to glance back.
"Aye. The lad woke up again at the break of dawn, and Mabs tended to him. He's been watered and fed and had a wash."
"What did Mabs feed him?" Averill asked worriedly.
"Broth, just as you instructed," Bess assured her, and added wryly, "though she says he was wanting something solid in his belly and made a fuss about it."
"His stomach will probably not accept solid food yet," Averill said with a frown.
"That's what Mabs told him. The man didn't believe her until the broth and mead tried to crawl back up his throat. He settled down then and stopped asking for proper food."
Averill nodded, not at all surprised to hear this. She had managed to get some fluids down Kade's throat since his arrival, but it was difficult to feed an unconscious man. After weeks with little more than a few mouthfuls of liquid, even a mug of broth or mead would weigh heavy on his stomach.
"So," Bess said, drawing her attention again, "take yourself down and break your fast while he finishes talking to his men. Then you can check on him."
"Aye." Averill sighed and opened the door.
She really wanted to see for herself that he was awake and well but knew Bess was right, and her presence wouldn't be welcomed. Doubtless, Kade had instructions for his men, messages to send to his kin to let them know he was alive and well, and so on. Will had told her that Kade had a sister named Merry as well as two brothers and a father, and she had no doubt they would all be fretting about his well-being. She had certainly been fretting about Will after hearing not a word from him in the more than three years since he'd ridden off to join Edward's Crusade, and had been overjoyed when he'd ridden into Mortagne's bailey two weeks ago.
The great hall was cluttered with people coming and going when Averill descended the stairs. The tables were almost full with people breaking their fast, servants were rushing around with food and drink, and the air was abuzz with conversation.
Averill settled in her seat next to her father, offering him a smile and quiet "Good morn" as a servant rushed forward to present her with mead and some bread and cheese.
"Good morn, girl," her father greeted cheerfully. "I hear the Scot's awake and well."
"Aye." Averill smiled faintly as she nodded. It had been late when Kade had finally awakened last night, and most had been abed or headed that way when she'd found a maid to take the news below to her brother. Presumably, her father had been one of those already retired.
"Fixed him up right and nursed him through it. You are a good girl, Averill. A man would be lucky to have you to wife," he said, then frowned. "I do not understand these foolish young men today. Any would be lucky to have you, and yet they turn from you as if you are plague-ridden."
Averill sighed at the bewilderment in his voice. He really did not understand, and she felt his disappointment keenly. She cleared her throat, and said quietly, "I have red hair, Father. Many believe that is the sign of the Devil, or of a fiery temper, or promiscuity, or--"
"Bah!" Lord Mortagne interrupted impatiently. "Foolish superstitions. Your mother had your same coloring and was ever a sweet and dutiful wife. She never even looked at another man, and she certainly was not evil or tempestuous or any of that other nonsense."
"And then there is the mark on my cheek," Averill forged on, determined to make him see what others saw. "Some believe it the mark of the Devil as well."
"'Tis a tiny birthmark," he protested in disgust. "No bigger than a pea. 'Tis hardly even noticeable."
Averill did not argue with him but merely pointed out her final flaw, at least the only other flaw she dared admit to him. "I stammer when nervous so that I sound a fool, and I am alway
s nervous when I meet these men you would wish me to marry."
"Aye, there is that," he agreed on a sigh, apparently having no argument to counter that point, then pointed out with vexation, "but you do not stammer around family and friends."
"Nay," she agreed. "I am not nervous or self-conscious around them."
"Then mayhap if you thought of these men as friends rather than suitors..." His voice faded as he saw her doubtful expression, but he gathered himself, and suggested, "Then perhaps we could make you more relaxed ere they arrived, so that you would not stammer."
"How?"
Her father considered the question briefly, his hand reaching unconsciously for his drink. He lifted it, but then suddenly paused and stared at the watered-down ale he favored. His eyes widened, eyebrows rising on his wrinkled forehead, then he gasped with certainty, "Through drink!"
"Drink?" She echoed the word with amazement.
"Aye. Drink always makes the men more talkative and gay. Why should it not work on you?"
"Oh, Father," she began with horror, but the idea had taken hold, and he would brook no argument. She did not even think he had heard her protest as he hurriedly continued speaking.
"We shall try it the very next time. I shall consider whom to approach next, then we shall have you drink down a glass or two of our best whiskey the moment he arrives, before he can meet you, then--" He stood suddenly. "I must go check that list Nathans sent me of the men who have lost or never been matched up with a betrothed and choose the best of the lot to try it on. Oh, this is a brilliant idea. I only wish I had thought of it before."
Averill stared after her father in horror as he hurried away to search out the letter from his friend Nathans. His excitement seemed about equal to her own dismay. This was the very worst idea he had ever had. Have her drink to soothe her nerves ere facing one of those snooty men? Stone-cold sober she was hard-pressed not to strike out at them when they treated her so shabbily on sight. With her inhibitions lessened by drink, she was likely to give in to the temper she took such great pains to hide and do something of that very sort.