Chapter 6
The Great Hall had just settled. Kristen had just caught her breath. Her heart ached for Finn’s disappointment, but at least he was excited for the game now.
They were falling back into their morning habits until a young groom hurried through the doors, his face red, a cap crushed in his fist. He skidded to a halt halfway down the aisle and bowed in the wrong direction, then tried again, his eyes darting from table to table as if the hall itself might answer him.
“Me Lady,” he blurted, finding Kristen instead of the man at the high seat. “The stable roof—there beam broke, and the mare is in a fright, and—”
Kristen’s hands rose, calm and small. “Nay, lad. The Laird is here now. Ye can take yer complaints to him.”
The groom froze mid-breath. His gaze snapped to Neil, his terror plain as daylight. Around them, spoons paused again. A few heads turned, waiting to see whether the Laird would scream or bite his head off.
Neil clenched his jaw. He could picture a dozen kinds of beam and none at all. The groom’s chest rose and fell like a ship above troubled waters, while eyes all around the hall waited.
“Speak, then,” he ordered, harsher than he had intended.
The groom flinched. Kristen had already turned slightly, as if to stand between him and the table.
Neil chafed at the ease of it, the shield she wore without thinking.
He laid his palms flat on the table and steadied his voice. “I am still adjusting. The lady will handle the matter for now.”
Kristen did not look at him to check whether he meant it. She stepped forward at once, her voice even. “Which stall?”
“The east side,” the groom answered. “Second from the end. Brown mare with the white blaze.”
“All right,” Kristen said. “Prop the east tie with the spare bamboo stick from the tool shed. Do not hammer a nail near her. Send Giles to fetch Ewan the wright from the lower yard, and find me braither as well so he can help ye.”
“Aye, me Lady.”
“Slowly lead the mare to the small path by the courtyard,” she continued. “Keep some oats in yer hand as well, in case ye need to calm her down. This is very important, Troy. Daenae shout. If she startles, let her settle, then try again.”
The groom nodded quickly, relief loosening his shoulders. “Aye. Aye.” He remembered himself and bowed, almost straight this time. “Thank ye.”
He turned on his heel and ran out of the hall.
Kristen looked back at Davina. “Will ye mind the bairns for a moment?”
She did not wait for an answer; Davina’s hand was already on Finn’s shoulder.
She crossed herself out of habit, then lifted her skirts just enough to walk quickly, narrowly dodging a maid with a wide tray in hand.
Neil watched her go, the hall bending with her without protest. Irritation climbed his back like a snake with a harsh shell.
How could she be so effortless? Had he truly been gone that long?
Later in the afternoon, as the light poured through the windows in his study, Neil sat behind his desk with his back straight. He laid his hands flat on the surface, breathing slowly.
Lachlan stood across from the desk, a page in hand. Neil had requested his presence an hour after breakfast so he could get on top of things. And to get on top of things, he needed to know everything that had happened in his absence.
“Five years in a breath,” Lachlan began, his tone a bit too cheery given the circumstances. “Do ye want the tidy version or the real one?”
“The tidy one will do,” Neil said.
“All right.” Lachlan nodded once. “After a month with no word, we assumed ye died. After three, we prayed for a sign. Bandits denied that ye were in their hands. Some men swore they saw ye north of the river, some south. All smoke.”
“Go on.”
“The keep needed a leader,” Lachlan continued. “Folks tried to take the helm. Nay one held, but yer wife did. She kept the books with Giles, set fair weights at the stores, took over the hiring, and settled small fights before they snowballed. More politely than anyone expected.”
A muscle ticked in Neil’s jaw. “Politely.”
“She never turned down hard work,” Lachlan reported. “She had help. Her braither, Murdock, kept the yard whenever he was around. Me wife watched the maids and the parts of the castle Kristen couldnae reach. Maggie—the dog—watched the bairns.”
“The bairns.”
“Aye. Trust me, we ken as much about them as ye do,” Lachlan said. “They came a few winters ago with nay one to claim them.”
Neil looked down at the compass beside the inkpot.
“We sent men to ask quiet questions,” Lachlan added. “Nay one responded. We got nay note or anything. The lady took them in, and they immediately belonged.”
“To whom?” Neil asked.
“To her, of course. To the castle,” Lachlan answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I see.” Neil let out a short breath.
“That is the tidy version.”
“It is enough.”
Lachlan let the quiet hold for ten seconds before muttering, “Alex is almost certainly dead.”
Neil did not move. “I daenae believe it. They’re still looking for him, which means there is still hope.”
“Maybe they are just as ignorant as ye are,” Lachlan said. “I am done holding out hope that gives nothing back.”
“Careful.”
Neil warned, as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. Was their brother truly dead? He couldn’t imagine it, no matter how hard he tried. If he were, all these years he missed were for nothing.
“What did they do to ye, Neil?” Lachlan asked, his voice low. “Ye left for a few hours, and we thought ye would come back. Then ye were just… gone.”
“What happened isnae important,” Neil replied. “Me plan failed. Keepin’ meself captive did naught but waste years.”
“Ye kept yerself captive?” Lachlan’s mouth fell open. “Why?”
“To make them think they had what they wanted.” Neil rubbed his brow. “To draw eyes from the keep. To buy ye time to look for Alex.”
“Well, we tried for years. Then we gave up.”
He pressed his thumb to a ridge of wood on the desk until the edge bit. “I am here now. I will do whatever it takes to find me braither. I will need yer help as well, Lachlan. Ye are the only one who understands what I am going through.”
“I will help however I can,” Lachlan assured, his voice soft. “He is me braither, too.”
Neil turned his gaze to the map he had laid out on the table at the corner. “He isnae dead,” he murmured. “We would have ken if he was.”
Lachlan’s throat worked. “I cannae share yer hope, Braither. But I’ll support ye.”
“We’ll find him,” Neil insisted.
Lachlan stepped around the desk, the way a brother would do when there was nothing good to offer but warmth, and rested a hand on Neil’s shoulder. His fingers found the fresh wound almost immediately.
Pain rippled through Neil like lightning. He flinched before he could stop himself, and a low, harsh sound escaped his lips. He jerked away from the touch as if it were a hot brand.
Lachlan dropped his hand at once. “Christ, I didnae ken. I am sorry.”
“We can talk another time,” Neil snapped.
He saw the grimace on Lachlan’s face. Still, he could not take back the words.
“Aye.” Lachlan bowed his head, polite as ever, though worry flickered in his eyes. “I will go check on the training grounds.”
“Please do,” Neil said.
The door closed while he set his palm on the wound and pressed, as if he could put the fire out with a steady hand.
He looked out the window. The sky beyond was clear blue, and the sun shone rather brightly on the lawn, spilling a green hue all over the grass.
Neil stood up. He snatched his swordbelt from the back of the chair and slung it, then took it off again because steel felt comforting against his skin, especially in a castle that seemed to close in on him.
Everything could change, but he could always count on steel to remain the exact same.
Evening settled over the castle, and little stars spread across the dark sky like a bar of diamonds.
Kristen had always loved watching the night sky. Since childhood, she had found the endless stars and how they blinked above to be rather soothing.
The stairs curled tight and steep as she climbed with one palm on the cold stone, her breathing slow so it would not betray her trepidation. She should have turned back. She should have let the night keep him and his rules. Instead, she kept going, each step a small argument she meant to win.
The air grew colder near the top. She reached the landing and pressed her fingers to her throat to settle the pulse there.
Part of her had expected Neil to ignore her rule entirely, and another part had expected him to burst out and catch her running from it. Neither had happened, so she opened the door and slipped into his room.
A single candle burned near the bed. The bed itself was neatly made, too neatly for a man who slept hard. The room smelled of smoke, steel, and a man who had lived too long outside.
She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge.
The mattress had the wrong give, unfamiliar to her body.
She folded her hands and unfolded them, then twisted her fingers in her skirt to stop the tremors.
Her eyes flitted to the fireplace, before landing on the old clothes lying on the side, a few inches from the low fire.
Why hadnae he burned them yet?
She rehearsed the words she would say if he told her to go. She thought of Finn’s snores and Anna’s thumb tucked in her mouth, of Maggie sprawled like a guard who never slept.
If she let her husband keep the tower, folks would whisper that nothing had changed. They would count nights and pin them to her name.
She would not have it. A marriage could be cold, but not invisible.
Not again. Not now that they had children watching their every step. They needed to show their people that they could return to the couple they had almost been once upon a time.
She was still studying the room when booted steps came up the stairs outside the room. She knew they belonged to him because they were not hurried. Only Neil would walk around the castle with the urgency of a man who knew the world would wait for him, no matter how late he was.
She stood up, then sat back, stubborn as a child who had stolen a chair.
The lock turned, and the door opened sharply. Neil froze when the candlelight met him.
Kristen lifted her chin. “I thought ye might break me rule.”
His eyes narrowed. “So ye thought it wiser to break mine?”
“I came to remind ye of it,” she said. “If ye forget it, I will come here and tell ye again.”
“This room is forbidden to ye,” he gritted out.
“Yer rule is foolish,” she scoffed. “Mine isnae.”
Neil stepped inside and shut the door. The sound sat low in her stomach. He looked at the bed, then at her hands, where they curled into her skirt.
“Off,” he grunted, with a flick of two fingers. “It doesnae suit ye.”
“It suits me well enough,” she declared, not moving an inch. “Ye told me to set rules. These are mine.”
“I told ye nay such thing,” he countered.
“Then I told me own self.” She shrugged. “It amounts to the same.”
Neil drew a breath that pulled at his shirt. He crossed to the table and braced both hands on it, leaning just enough to make the wood take his weight.
Kristen itched to hear him say that her rule pleased him. She did not like it.
“Go to bed, Kristen,” he ordered, his voice weary. “I will join ye once I am done here.”
She rose and smoothed her dress, but did not take a step. “What do ye do up here?” she asked quietly.
“Think,” he uttered.
“About what?”
A smirk touched his mouth, sharper than humor. “Ye ken, I liked ye better when ye were too afraid to look at me for more than a second at the altar.”
Her back stiffened. “If ye had stayed, ye would ken this is the real me.”
He looked at her differently then. Not as the girl he had married, but as a woman who might stand in his way and not move.
The candle threw warm light onto his cheeks, accentuating the hollows under his eyes. His gaze softened for a breath and then steadied.
“I will come,” he said. “When I am ready.”
“Daenae make me drag ye,” she warned.
He tilted his head a fraction, the nearest thing he had shown to grace. “I would like to see ye try.”
She meant to answer. Indeed, the words hung on the tip of her tongue. But a dark mark at his shoulder had drawn her eye and would not let it go. The fabric there was wet, and the wet patch seemed to grow.
“What is that?” she asked.
He did not look. “Nothing ye need to worry about.”
“Stand still.” She stepped close without thinking.
The scent of soap fought with a coppery tang that knocked the air from her lungs. She reached and touched the fabric with two fingers, and heat bled into her skin.
Her blood ran cold and hot at once, the way a sea could turn under a boat. She lifted her hand to the candlelight and saw the color on it.
“’Tis blood,” she gasped. “Christ… ’tis blood.”