Chapter 5
The next morning, Ava walked down the garden path between her father and Isobel with the sting of the night before still fresh.
Her father had arrived late last night after her attempted escape, and now, she wondered if she needed to tell him about it.
The sky was pale and clear above the walls, and the morning mist still clung to the grass beyond the gravel paths. The air also smelled of damp leaves, wet soil, and the faint sweetness of late flowers. Somewhere further down the slope, she could hear a gardener call to another in a low voice.
The way everything felt so casual helped more than she would have expected.
She had not slept much. What little sleep came had been broken and thin, and she still felt rubbed raw by memory.
The loch.
The fence.
Ciaran’s hand on her waist.
His voice, steady as a rock, telling her he wanted neither fear nor love.
Her own foolish hope each time she asked a question that might have freed her, and the way each answer tightened the trap a little further.
Yet here, in the gardens, something in her could breathe again.
Her father did not press her at once. That was part of why she loved him so fiercely.
Rory Fraser, Laird MacKenna, could be loud when he chose to, and protective enough to flatten other men with words alone.
Yet with her, he often knew when gentleness would do more.
He only kept pace beside her with one hand tucked behind his back and the other occasionally brushing her arm as if to make certain she was truly there.
Isobel, for her part, had been quieter than usual all morning.
Ava noticed everything, especially the guilt in Isobel’s voice anytime she spoke and the fact that she seemed to be waiting for her to grow even angrier than she already was.
At last, Rory exhaled lightly enough to leave her room to refuse. “If ye look any paler, I might start to worry ye are a ghost.”
Ava let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I should have preferred being a ghost. They are at least nae in the habit of arranging weddings.”
His mouth twitched. “A fair point.”
Isobel looked pained. “Again, Ava, I deeply apologize.”
Ava turned to her friend. “I am nae saying it to wound ye.”
“I ken.” Isobel wrung her hands for a moment, then let them fall again. “But I would mend it if I could.”
That softened something in Ava despite herself. “I ken that too.”
Her father glanced between them and wisely did not step into the middle of it. He only nodded before he spoke again. “Then perhaps we can manage a modicum of decorum before breakfast?”
Ava smiled properly at that, small though it was.
They walked on.
The path curved through a stand of green shrubs and opened onto a lower stretch where the morning light lay warm across the soil.
Ava listened as Isobel began speaking. Isobel did not pretend the last days had been fair or ask Ava to be noble about it. That helped more than an apology alone would have.
“I hate that ye feel cornered,” Isobel said quietly.
“I am cornered,” Ava answered.
“Aye,” Isobel sighed. “Ye are.”
Rory made a low sound in his throat, displeased with the fact, even if he could not sweep it away by force of irritation. “And I dislike any matter that leaves me daughter speaking as though she has been boxed into a wall.”
That touched Ava more deeply than she let show. It meant her father’s love for her was so immediate and without question. He did not need her to argue perfectly or suffer prettily before he took her hurt seriously.
She looked down the path, her eyes settling on the pebbles that shifted beneath her slippers. The garden moved quietly around them, leaves stirring, birds fussing somewhere beyond sight.
It dawned on her then with a strange clarity that what steadied her was not comfort alone. It was the reminder of what she was made of when she was not being pushed from crisis to crisis.
She came from warmth. From affection freely given. From a father who noticed when her voice changed and a friend who, for all her foolishness, loved her enough to grieve the harm she had helped cause.
She was not powerless unless she chose to behave as though she were. While she could not exactly undo the engagement neatly or make Ciaran into a different man by sheer force of offense, she could control how she reacted to the situation.
Nay.
She didn’t have to vanish just because she was getting married to a man known for being the practical devil of the Highlands. She was not going to be fitted into some kind of emotional emptiness as if she ought to thank him for the neatness of it.
She slowed down a little and looked at the two people beside her. The ease of being with them, of being known by them, made the truth impossible to ignore.
By the time they turned back toward the upper terrace, something in her had changed. Her shoulders no longer felt drawn tight toward her ears. The frantic inward spinning of the night before had settled, and her words were a bit steadier.
Rory noticed first. “There ye are,” he said softly.
Ava raised an eyebrow. “Where else should I be?”
“Hidden under that temper and lack of sleep.”
“That is still a possibility,” she replied. “But I believe I have a clearer use for both.”
Isobel looked at her closely. “What are ye thinking?”
Ava stopped walking. She drew one breath, then another, and felt no tremor in it.
“I am thinking that yer brother shouldnae be the only one to control this situation,” she began. “If he told me I may set the terms of the wedding, then I am going to do exactly that.”
Isobel blinked. Rory’s expression sharpened with interest, then something like pride.
Ava continued before either could interrupt. “I may nae be able to stop this cleanly. I see that now. But I can refuse to walk into it as though I daenae have control over what I do and where I get to stay in this castle.”
Her father’s mouth curved. “That sounds more like me daughter.”
Ava glanced at him and felt her own answering smile come easier. “I should hope so.”
Isobel searched her face. “Ye mean to speak to him?”
“I do.”
“Today?”
Ava turned toward the path that would lead to the training grounds. The thought of going there sent a wave of unease through her, but it no longer ruled her.
“Today,” she confirmed.
Isobel nodded. “Would ye like me to come with ye? I can just—”
“Nay,” Ava interrupted, raising her hand.
Isobel frowned. “Ava, ’tis the least I can do before—”
“Nay, ’tis nae about that,” Ava insisted, her voice sharp. “I will need to talk to him alone at some point, one way or the other. I might as well start getting used to it by now.”
Isobel nodded. “I see. That is wise.”
“Plus, he may nae have enough time to look through the rules before agreeing, since he is training with his men,” Ava pointed out.
Rory and Isobel both nodded at the same time, almost as if what she had just said was the most sensible thing in the world. As if she had gotten the entire situation under control and nothing else could go wrong.
Ava, on the other hand, exhaled and turned around, her eyes landing on the training grounds. And this time, when she started walking, it was with purpose.