Tangled Hearts by Heather McCollum Page B

her maid bring. With all the hooks and tapes, she had no idea how she would cinch it up. “I need help to get into this.”
    Ewan thankfully threw on a dry linen shirt. “I know enough about getting a lady out of her garments, I’m sure I can get ye into them.”
    She snapped around, her tongue ready to call him the rogue he must be. The man stared, one eyebrow raised, waiting with a mischievous half grin. What a devil!
    Was he trying to infuriate her? Instead of taking the bait, she matched his grin. “How fortunate.”
    Dory padded toward the tub where the screen still lay flat. “If you would be so kind…”
    “So shy, my bride.” He tsked and set the screen upright again. “Don’t slip on the drippings. Ye seem to have a penchant for finding yourself in dangerous positions.”
    Dory let her forced smile drop as soon as she was behind the screen. She laid the gown over a tapestry-covered chair and swooped the cambric linen chemise over her head and let it slide down to her ankles. For a moment she wiggled in the soft material, finer than any undergarment she’d ever worn. Next came the quilted bodice and the stiff canvas stays. She combed through her curling hair with her fingers before emerging.
    “Oh, dear husband.” She turned. “Could you please cinch me?”
    His fingers were warm against the bare skin below her nape as he moved her heavy hair to one side. Nimble and strong, they laced and tightened as quickly as any maid.
    “There.” His hands fell on her waist. “So small, lass. We need to see ye fed.”
    She turned. Being the weakest had always been an annoyance of hers when she couldn’t lift nearly as much as the men on board. And the thinner she looked, the more her hips and breasts revealed her sex. “There is nothing wrong with my girth. On board we don’t eat sweets and candies, and as part of the crew, I carry my share of the work.”
    “’Twas a compliment, lass.”
    Lips pursed, she withdrew to the screen to pull on the forepart underskirt of a blue-green fustian. A damask, blue kirtle settled over the underskirt with an opening to show off the forepart’s needle-stitched design of flowers.
    Bloody hell! There were too many layers to women’s costumes—just another trap to hinder women in a man’s world. She yanked up the sleeves and fastened them at the shoulder where a small roll of fustian hid the hooks. The waistband Jane had sent was made of a darker silk to match the threads in the forepart, where a little knife for stabbing food was linked to the band. It was only a few inches long, not lethal enough to be hidden in her dress. A cross, a small thimble, and a scented silver pomander of cloves clinked against it. She stepped out from the screen to look in the polished glass.
    Her hair was still a mess of riotous curls, but the costume was beautiful. She could almost pass as a lady in it. She felt the hint of a stroke on her hair a moment before Ewan’s face came into view in the mirror. The grin was gone, replaced with something darker.
    “Ye’ve lived with seamen yer whole life. How is it that ye haven’t been sold or taken?”
    Not the flattering remark she deserved. Granted, Dory didn’t appreciate flowery talk and fake promises of love that the whores in port seemed to crave, but the man certainly didn’t know a thing about telling a girl she looked nice.
    “If that was your attempt at complimenting a lady, you are bloody awful at it, Scotsman.”
    “Ye look… lovelier than any lass I’ve seen,” Ewan said slowly. “Too lovely for an unprotected lass to be surrounded by pirates and not be taken or compromised.”
    Compromised? Dory’s cheeks burned. “I have a very strong and protective family,” she said low. “And I’d slice anyone stem to stern if they touched me.” Compromised, indeed!
    Rap! Rap!
    Ewan pivoted toward the door. “Aye.”
    “Supper will be served in the main hall in half an hour,” rang a servant’s voice through the door.
    “We