Houseguest

It turns out the "three for one special" Ned has found for me. . . is a sugar house.

"Murtagh. . ." I sigh, and lean my forehead on his shoulder for a moment, "Why have you brought me to a brothel?"

He shrugs, looking around the reception room very awkwardly. It is a flamboyant, very. . . pink and red place, and Murtagh fits in here about as well as a carrot in bouquet of roses.

I don't feel much better. . .

He checks his com, "Dinnae ken. Says i' s'the right place. . ."

"That et is!" says Ned, coming in from the next room, "Come an' meet th' ladies." He gestures us to go back with him.

This room is all emerald green, turquoise, and black, even more flamboyant than the last, and utilizes much, much more. . . interesting. . . decorations. Explicit would probably be a better term, but there are so many. . . items. . . and not just pictures or sculpture that the word feels. . . inadequate. The place is almost a museum to the art of professional pleasure.

I am impressed, but not any more comfortable, and yet oddly, Murtagh seems much less awkward here, stepping forward to be the first of us introduced to the women.

"Avota, Morag, an' Edina," says Ned, with almost an artist's pride in his voice, "An' at first they were onlay going to give ye houseroom for the night, lass. Apparently there's a whole back suite that clients nevar see. . ."

"There's an' extra bed an' evarythin'," says Morag, smiling at me, "Evar since Tannis got wed an' moved out – we'er sure ye'd be comfortable."

"But then Neddie said ye'er getting wed yerself taemorrow," says Avota, "An' look a' this!" She rolls out a dress stand, and on it is a gorgeous pale grey dress, almost entirely covered with white lace and silver embroidery, with a low neckline, ruffled bell sleeves, and mermaid skirt. There is even an accompanying satin corset. Not only is it beautiful, it even looks like it might fit me reasonably well, too. . . "A Chieftain's son paid me with it last year – an' I've been waitin' tae wear it until another gentleman came along – but Ned's shown us some pictures of yer young man, and he's worth a dress like this, an' no' mistakin'!"

"An' I'm a licensed beautician, dearie," says Edina, "Any spa treatments or hair doin's ye happen tae want, t'would be much bettar tae have 'em done all i' the one place, aye?"

"And that's a three for one special!" Ned winds up, proudly, "Ye cannae say fairer than that, can ye?"

I look at all of them smiling at me, and suddenly all my discomfort falls away, and I am just me, in the presence of ordinary people who wish me well. No dressmaker's shop could be more welcoming, no shopkeepers more eager, no facilities more accommodating.

"You certainly can't."

Murtagh nods, solemnly, "I'll go bring in yer stuff."

The three women escort me to their private suite, fussing at each other over details the whole way.

"Nae, nae, the sapphire earrings - for somethin' blue – the wee lad's colours are blue an' red-"

"Aye, bu' those are set in gold, an' the dress is silver-"

"Ne'er ye mind that' – there's nae'un cares about matchin' metals that much, how about the-"

"I think I ha' a real sixpence somewheres – what's yer shoo size, Sorcha, pet?"

For answer, I sit down on the cozy beige couch in the simple, homey back room, remove a boot and hold it out, "Ladies eight by forty slim in the new sizing method, but just line whatever shoes you want up against this, it fits me pretty perfectly."

Morag takes my boot, and she and Edina go over to their combined closet spaces, still arguing over minutia.

Avota smiles at them, then goes over to her bed, and pulls a long, flat box from underneath it.

"Ye'el still need somthin' auld, an' somethin' new, but I'd be honoured if ye took this tae be yer "somthin' borrowed"." She smiles a sly, private smile, "Tho' I dinna really expect it back – no' whole, ken?"

The logo on the box is of a very famous, and very expensive lingerie brand.

I put a hand on hers, "This is entirely too much, Avota-"

"Nae, nae, I want ye tae-"

"No, that's not what I mean. . ." I lean over and whisper as much of an explanation as I can.

She's quiet a second, but then she practically shouts.

"He's a virgin?"

All the petty squabbling in the room stops, abruptly.

Very quickly, I have a pair of stockings for my "something new", and three extremely avid listeners to any "stories" I feel like sharing. . .

I am saved by Murtagh, re-entering with my frugal luggage.

"I'll jus'. . . go settle up wi' Ned, shall I?" says Morag, and Edina and Avota refocus on getting the dress just right.

Murtagh follows me over to where I'll be sleeping, and I readjust a foldable screen to give us a little privacy to talk.

"Are they being properly paid for all this, Murtagh?" I ask, making sure my voice is too low to be overheard from across the room.

"Oh, aye. Dougal's really splashin' out – nevar fear."

For his own reasons, and in his own way. . .

"Have they been invited to the wedding and reception?"

Murtagh jolts a bit, taken aback, "Oh. No, dinnae think so."

"Well, I'm inviting them."

Several dozen emotions and thoughts cross his face, "Lass, ye ken that means havin' hoors on your side during the wed-"

I sigh, "It's a Pagan ceremony, Murtagh. There are no sides. They're just workers. Just women. There are no sides."

He nods, slowly, shrugs, then hesitates. I haven't noticed the sporran in his hand until now, but now he opens it, and pulls out a long, lacy bit of ivory ribbon. He holds it in his hands, touching it reverently.

"I've nevar been a man ov passion. No' evan when I was young. Nevar evan looked at a woman, 'cept tae acknowledge she was verrah pretty." He gives a soft, faraway smile, "All that changed the first day I saw Ellen MacKenzie." He looks up at me a moment, "Wee Jamie's mam."

I nod, and let him continue.

"Weel, she wasnae the sort tae settle for a man like me. She fell for auld Brian in a big way – an' nae blame tae her – he was the brightest an' best ov us. They eloped, did ye ken?"

"Yes."

"Aye, t'was quite the family drama."

"You mean MacKenzies have family drama?"

He chuckles, "Aye, evan back then," he hefts the ribbon, "She sent me this from her wedding gown. I've carried it evar since." With a slow, almost worshipful gesture, he lays the ribbon on my knee, "Take it. For yer somethin' auld."

I put a hand over his, quite overwhelmed at the level of fealty he's giving me with this.

"I'll. . . take great care with it. . . godfather."

He smiles at me, eyes shining, "Aye. I ken ye will."

After he goes, it is at least a quarter of an hour before I can bring myself to care about stockings and earrings and hair clips. . .