She glanced down at herself now. Not only was she taller than most women, but she had an abundance of flesh that she greatly disliked. When she’d first been introduced to Edinburgh society, she’d quickly learned that the women who garnered all the attention were smallish, slender, and delicately made.

“I felt like an ungainly, ill-dressed bull in a china shop,” she told Merriweather. Her brother, Malcolm, had done what he could. He had not stinted on her clothing or anything else. He’d purchased the best the modistes had to offer. The problem was that fashion itself pandered to the slender and delicate and left healthy, normal women like Kat looking and feeling uncomfortable and less than attractive.

She smoothed a hand over her gown. Of plain worsted, it was not at all fashionable. Instead, she’d had it cut to fit her form, with a waistline at her waist and not tied directly beneath her breasts, a style that made her chest and hips appear twice their normal size. Really, did the fashion mongers think that all women were like Fiona, as tiny and delicate as a doll?

Kat snorted. “They need to look around. Most women are like me, a little too wide here and a little too wide there to be able to wear such nonsense.”

Merriweather pranced a bit.

Kat chuckled. “My thoughts exactly.” She was fortunate that she’d left society’s frivolous expectations behind and now had complete freedom to be and wear what she wanted. She took a deep breath, the cool, fresh air sending a grin all the way to her feet.

They rounded a sharp turn in the pathway and came out into a clearing. The trees and foliage had been cut back, then kept at bay with a meticulous hand so that the sun shone freely here, bright and warm, bathing all in a golden light.

The cottage, if one could call a twelve room structure thusly, sat in the heart of the forest. It was a tall, two-story house with a steep roof and large, square windows. The building was of hand-thrown brick, covered with mud wattle, the walls a foot thick to protect the inhabitants from the extreme weather that graced this portion of the country.

But despite a severity of design, the house was ringed with welcome. The thickly thatched roof was braided into an intricate, cheery design. Every window sported a window box filled with lavender and St. John’s wort, while a bright red door beckoned one to enter. Most days, the shutters were thrown wide and singing could be heard, often a set of deep baritones, though more likely than not, Kat’s own fine feminine alto.