Page 2 of Home Unchaperoned

Not everyone in the room was happy to see Morrigan. “Get that beast away from me!” Meaghan cried, raising her hands in front of her face.

Rolling her eyes, Catriona pulled a hazelnut from her pocket and presented it to Morrigan. She stroked the bird’s back while she took the treat. “Ignore her, my darling.”

Meaghan’s pert nose was wrinkled. “Tell me you’re not taking that hideous creature with us to Paris.”

Catriona sighed. “Alas, I’m not. Morrigan would be miserable in Paris.”

It was true. A raven needed freedom to roam, and Morrigan spent more time outside the castle than in it. Understanding her pet’s needs, Catriona left a handful of windows open around the castle so Morrigan could come and go as she pleased.

In this way, Catriona envied her pet. Would that she had half as much freedom…

Morrigan nuzzled Catriona’s neck, then flew over to the open window. Spreading her wings, she launched herself from the sill and was gone.

Catriona returned her attention to her sister, who was still fussing with Catriona’s trunk. “Ye can stop that. I already packed.” Catriona scooped a practical dress of olive wool off the floor and tried to place it back in the trunk.

Meaghan slammed the lid shut. She rounded on Catriona, her blonde ringlets trembling with rage. “You don’t know how to pack a trunk! It’s a good thing I checked to see what you put in there. Can you imagine if you’d arrived in Paris with nothing to wear but these hideous, unfashionable⁠—”

“I don’t care two figs if my dresses are fashionable!”

Meaghan lifted her chin, regarding Catriona down her nose. “Believe me, I know. You’re what the French call passé.”

This heated Catriona’s blood. Her sister had always taken after their lowlander mother, and after spending four years at an English boarding school, she had managed to eliminate even a trace of a Scottish accent from her speech. “And ye’re what the Scots call an òinseach!”

“Hmpf!” Meaghan turned back to the trunk, reaching for a red silk gown Catriona had never worn. “That’s a fine thing to say to your own sister!”

“And a fine thing it is ye’re doing,” Catriona shot back, her voice shaking, “throwing yer sister’s most prized possessions on the ground like they’re rubbish!”

“They are rubbish!” Snatching the olive wool dress from Catriona’s hands, she unfolded it with a snap of her wrists. “Just look at it—stained all around the hem and fraying at the cuffs. To say nothing of the fact that this style, if one can call it that, has never been in fashion.”

“I dinnae care about being in fashion!” Catriona protested. “I only want something practical for being outside. For protecting me from the weather⁠—”

“Don’t you dare ruin this for me, Catriona! For the first time, I’m getting off this godforsaken island⁠—”

“Godforsaken?” Catriona blinked at her sister. “’Tis yer home! I love this island⁠—”

“Do you have any idea how embarrassed I will be if you turn up to a ball or dinner in this?” Meaghan blinked rapidly, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I’m going to have a hard enough time as it is. They’re already going to assume I’m the worst kind of provincial. But if you turn up dressed like a peasant, the entire family will be shunned!”

Catriona paused. Her sister had a point. “In that case, I simply won’t attend any balls or parties. It won’t be any great loss. You know I despise such affairs.”

Meaghan rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, it will be so much better for everyone to be gossiping about the mysterious missing McCallister sister. Are they hiding her away because she’s uncouth? Hideously ugly? Or is there a streak of madness running through the family?”

Catriona sighed. So far as she could tell, a love of gossip was one of those rare constants that united everyone, whether they were a duke or a dustman. There was no reason to expect that the French would be any different.

She had to admit that her sister had a point. For all that they hadn’t a thing in common, Catriona loved Meaghan and didn’t want to embarrass her.

For her sister’s sake, she could suffer through an event or two. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to pack one or two of those fancy gowns⁠—”

Meaghan had already whirled to face the trunk once more. “You’ll need more than one or two.”

Catriona blanched when she saw how little room there was in her trunk. She leaned forward, stuffing her flannel petticoats inside. “Leave some room for my things. I won’t be attending nearly as many parties as you.”

Meaghan wrinkled her nose as Catriona laid her plain wool cloak atop a dress of pink satin. “I don’t know why you’re bothering to bring all those plain things. It’s not as if there’s any Viking treasure to search for in Paris.”

“Not Viking, perhaps. But Paris is an old city. I hear it has a fascinating network of catacombs running beneath it.”

“Catacombs?” Meaghan shuddered as she pressed a blue velvet spencer into the trunk.

“There’s also the Seine,” Catriona noted. “I wonder if it’s possible to go mudlarking, as I’ve heard you can in London.”