Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Despite the late hour, Fraser Keep was bustling with activity. As Darragh led Amelia through the kitchen, cooks were working hard, prepping ingredients for the morning meal. When they stepped into the corridor, there were several maids gathered.
“Mrs. Rowan,” Darragh said, approaching the oldest woman in the throng of women, his hand still firmly around Amelia’s wrist. “I was hopin’ to find ye.”
“Ach, did ye bring me more work? I was hopin’ to get to bed,” she complained, though her tone wasn’t unkind.
It threw Amelia a bit. She’d been expecting pity or more of the overbearing, controlling behavior that the Laird had exhibited. Mrs. Rowan didn’t seem like the type to coddle or make unreasonable demands. Instead, she stared at Amelia with her hands on her hips, assessing the situation.
“She’ll need to be seen in me room, then,” the woman observed. “And we’ll need to get her a proper chamber. Looks as if she hasnae slept properly in months.”
“Ye’re right about that,” Darragh agreed, releasing her only when Mrs. Rowan looped her arm with Amelia’s.
“One of ye prepare a room for our guest,” the woman said as she began to walk down the hallway. “And another of ye fetch Hazel and have her meet me there.”
Darragh followed the two of them, acting as Amelia’s shadow. She felt his gaze prickling along her spine, but these walls, the clear hierarchy of this place, felt like a prison, and the thought of bolting fluttered through her mind again.
Ach, I shouldnae try to leave now. I should wait until the healer’s treated me. I’ll have a better chance at makin’ it out.
Her steps faltered as they approached a heavy wooden door.
Doors like this opened for her, and she hated that it felt familiar.
The memory shattered the second the room was revealed.
This place wasn’t just a space for the healer to work but a place filled with practical comforts.
Along with vials of tinctures on the walls, there was a generous pile of blankets next to the linens.
“Sit,” Mrs. Rowan instructed, lighting a few more candles and casting the room in a warm orange glow.
As Amelia perched herself on the edge of the table in the center of the room, Darragh stationed himself at the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes locked onto her. His presence was a physical thing. It was imposing. Suffocating.
Just before she began to choke on the thickness of the air, the door creaked open once more. Another woman, much younger than Mrs. Rowan, walked in. On her heels was a very severe-looking young girl who couldn’t have been more than twelve years old.
“I hope it’s nae a problem that Isla joins us,” the woman said, addressing Mrs. Rowan first. Then, she shifted her attention to Amelia. “Me name is Hazel. I’m Mrs. Rowan’s apprentice. And this is me daughter, Isla.”
“I’m me maither’s apprentice,” the girl said with complete seriousness.
Amelia couldn’t help but smile. In all of her years, she didn’t think she’d ever met a child who held herself so much like an adult. The situation felt absurd.
Saints, perhaps the child’s in charge.
“We’ll be gettin’ started now,” Mrs. Rowan said, prompting Hazel to step closer and Isla to slip into place between the women and the vials of herbs and tinctures.
* * *
Darragh was both relieved and surprised that the woman was allowing herself to be looked over by the healer. Though judging by the way she watched Isla with amusement, the child may have played a vital role in her cooperation.
As Mrs. Rowan and Hazel examined each part of her, he kept himself out of the way.
They maintained their professional demeanor, but when they pressed on the woman’s ribs, he caught the concern that flashed over their faces.
In his time as laird, they hadn’t examined someone so malnourished, nor had they encountered someone who seemed quite so keen on keeping her injuries to herself.
“I’m goin’ to leave the rest of this to Hazel and Isla,” Mrs. Rowan said after a few minutes. “Ye’re in capable hands, lass.” When her eyes met Darragh’s, she stepped toward him, saying, “A word, Me Laird.”
His eyes lingered on Amelia for a long moment before he nodded, following Mrs. Rowan into the corridor. When the door closed behind them, she stepped in closer. She dropped her voice, clearly not wanting to be overheard by anyone passing by, nor anyone in the room they just vacated.
“Did she tell ye where she was from?”
“Nay,” Darragh replied, his jaw clenching. “She hasnae even told me her name. The only information she’s given me about herself is that she was raised in an orphanage.”
Mrs. Rowan’s lips pressed together, her brow furrowing. “I see.”
“Is there somethin’ wrong?” he demanded, the guilt of not finding her sooner beginning to creep in and morphing into anger with nowhere to be directed. “Are there injuries she’s hidin’?”
“Of course, there are injuries she’s hidin’,” she replied, shaking her head at the woman’s stubbornness.
“And they will heal. The bruises, the broken ribs, those just need time. She’s starved near to the bone.
Still, she’s a strong wee thing. But I will tell ye this, Me Laird, that lass wasnae raised to live small.
Perhaps she spent some time in an orphanage, but that wasnae where she was raised. ”
Darragh looked toward the door, weighing the woman’s professional assessment, then he said, “Aye, I’ve had me suspicions. I daenae ken what she’s runnin’ from, but it’s somethin’ frightenin’ enough that she doesnae want any help.”
“Well,” Mrs. Rowan said after a beat, “we cannae do anythin’ if we daenae ken what she’s scared of, but I’m happy to report that nae of her injuries are life-threatenin’. I’ll send a maid to bring her to her quarters. Hazel should be finishin’ up shortly.”
When she turned and began to walk down the corridor at a brisk pace, Darragh reentered the room. Hazel was smoothing down the woman’s gown while Isla returned the tinctures to their proper places with intense focus. He stayed back, waiting for the two to depart.
“I assume they’ve informed ye that ye need to rest while ye heal,” he said, stepping closer to her, examining the faint remains of bruising and the angry marks around her wrists.
“Aye,” she said, meeting his gaze with a challenging expression of her own.
For a moment, the silence stretched between them. Finally, Darragh broke it, asking, “What is yer name?”
Her fingers tightened at her sides, her face paling. The fear that coursed through her was so sharp that he felt it as if it were his own. She seemed to relive something in that moment, something that went deeper than the hunt.
“Very well,” he said, keeping his voice controlled, though frustration leaked through. “Ye willnae tell me yer name. How do I call ye then, lass?”
“Ye just did,” she said, her eyes still locked onto his. Even through her fear, she refused to bend.
“I did?” he responded, frowning slightly.
“Aye,” she answered coolly. “Lass.”
He huffed, nearly smiling at her wit. If this display was directed at anyone but him, he might have found humor in it. As it stood, she was hindering his mission.
“I daenae ken why ye cannae tell me yer name,” he pressed, stepping in closer. She tensed, her jaw tightening as she stayed stubbornly silent. “Or perhaps ye could tell me who yer kin are.”
He heard the sharp intake of her breath, saw the way her eyes widened slightly. Now, he was close enough to see the shimmering flecks in her eyes that reminded him of sea glass. He didn’t move away.
“Nay,” she said, her voice deadly quiet. “I willnae. Ye daenae need to ken any of that.”
“Ye willnae even tell me where ye’re from?” he asked, drawing even closer to her, barely a breath away.
His questioning, his insistence, only seemed to make her dig her heels in harder. He realized then that even if she wasn’t pulling away or backing down, she thought he was asserting his control over her. He supposed that, in a way, he was.
“I see,” he said before turning and walking toward the door. If he continued to push and let his irritation bleed through, he’d never get her to speak. “Ye will speak, lass. Just not tonight.”
As his hand landed on the latch, however, she spoke, the single word coming out in a breathless rush.
“Amelia.”
He stopped, his fingers still resting against the cool metal. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, but he quickly schooled it into place. Then, slowly, he turned back toward her.
She was rigid, her eyes wide as if she realized that she’d just betrayed herself. But she hadn’t shrunk a bit. Her back was still straight, her shoulders still squared.
“Welcome to Castle Fraser, Amelia,” he said after a pause. “A maid will come and get ye shortly.”
As he walked away, her name played over and over in his head. This should be something settled. With each step, though, Darragh couldn’t help but feel like this was only the beginning.