The Damaged Bride

Chapter 5

Unaware of how much time had passed, Bridgett was pulled out of her tortuous thoughts by a gentle touch on her shoulder.

“Miss,” said a firm female voice.

“Miss,” it repeated when she didn’t answer the first time, adding a shake to the touch.

Suddenly alert, Bridgett was on her feet, ready to do as ordered.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you ma'am,” said the elderly woman standing in front of her. “My name is Moira. I am the housekeeper here at O’Connor Lodge. I came to see if you have everything you need.”

Shivering, Bridgett shook her head.

“No ma’am,” Bridgette replied meekly, trying to hide her shivering. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not, you’re frozen,” Moira said, looking Bridgette up and down seeing how cold she was.

With a grim set on her face, she moved and retrieved a blanket from a nearby chest. Wrapping it around Bridgett before moving away, she went to the door and called for other servants.

With numb and trembling fingers, Bridgette pulled the blanket tightly around herself still clutching her dress, marveling at the speed at which the housekeeper moved. By the time the two serving girls arrived, Moira had already it the fire, and was looking through Bridgett’s trunk for her night dress.

“Christine,” Moira said over her shoulder at the entering servants, “change the bedding and make sure there are coals for the warming pan.

"Erica," she said to the other girl, "have the mistresses’ dinner brought up at once.”

"Yes ma'am," they both replied with curtsys.

“Now girl,” Moira said firmly, handing Bridgette her night shift. “Go dress yourself. You are to get straight into bed as soon as Christy finishes. Erica will be back with your dinner. I want you to eat quickly and then right to sleep. We’ve all had a long day.”

When the girl was finally changed, Moira combed the knots and tangles out of Bridgette’s hair and plaited it into a simple braid. Too sad and tired to resist the older woman’s dominating presence, she was soon bustled into the warm bed taking the gown out of Bridgette’s hands.

Erica returned bearing a tray of cold lamb, cheese, bread and a flagon of mead. Bridgett picked at her meal, trying to fill the void in the pit of her stomach, but finding she had no appetite, pushed it away.

She watched as Moira examined the mangled edges of her wedding gown, shaking her head at the damage done to it. Tucking it under her arm, the older woman approached the bed.

“Are you done then?” she asked.

Bridgette nodded silently, her eyes on the fabric sticking out of the crook if Moira’s arm.

Picking up the almost untouched tray and handing it to Erica, the older woman turned back to her young mistress. Seeing the direction of Bridgette’s gaze, she pulled the garment out.

“Did you wish to keep this?” she asked the girl. “I do not think it can be repaired.”

“It was my wedding dress,” Bridgette replied tearfully, so emotionally exhausted she was making little to no sense. “I made it for Marcus. I wanted to be beautiful for him, but he didn’t care. He doesn’t want me. No one wants me.”

It seemed to Moira that Bridgette was lost in her own world, not knowing what she was saying. Unable to think of anything to do for her, Moira simply shook her head.

“Good night,” she said, turning back and walking to the door. “Christy will come up in the morning and help you dress.”

As the door closed, Bridgett was left alone with nothing but the crackling of the banked fire, a churning stomach and an aching heart to keep her company. So this was to be her life. Loneliness, only waiting to become a breeding mare for her husband. Was there nothing she could do to make him love her?

Perhaps she should give him her wedding gift sooner rather than later. Maybe he’d see she was a good person, someone worth loving.