Chapter 12
The path to the water was smooth, and Kristen let it ease her steps. Finn’s small fingers wrapped tightly around her hand. Anna clutched the fabric of her dress with fierce purpose, while Maggie trotted ahead with her tail high, nose busy in the grass.
“Mind the stones,” Kristen advised. “The ground is kind here, but it still likes to trip brave folk.”
“Aye,” Finn said solemnly.
Anna echoed her brother and lifted her chin as if she had agreed to a great task.
They reached their usual spot beneath a tall willow tree. Sunlight scattered across the lake like coins, and the low shrubs seemed to whisper in the breeze.
Kristen spread the blanket and settled the children on it, Maggie flopping down at once with a groan that said she had done hard work guarding everyone.
“Shall we read first?” Kristen asked.
“Aye,” Anna breathed, nodding her head.
Kristen took out a small book and opened it.
She let the thin pages rest against her knee.
“Oh, this is a lovely story. I ken ye will enjoy it. Once, there was a lass who met a dragon in the woods,” she began.
“He didnae steal treasure. He kept it safe for folks who had none. He was old, and wise, and kind.”
Finn leaned against her side with a little sigh. Anna patted the picture as if she could stroke the dragon’s nose. Maggie laid her head on Kristen’s foot and huffed, content.
Kristen read for the better half of an hour. She read to the children about brave girls and kind beasts, about knights who learned courtesy, about small villages that grew gentle because someone large chose to be gentle first.
With each line, the tight knot in her chest loosened a fraction. This was what she knew how to do best. It wasn’t surprising because she had been doing it for the past few years.
This was the family she knew how to hold together. The situation she knew how to control.
A streak of blue fluttered and settled on Finn’s sleeve. “Look,” he whispered. “A dragon.”
“A dragonfly,” Kristen corrected. “He has come to hear the story.”
Anna pressed a soft kiss to the page. “He likes it,” she declared.
“I believe he does,” Kristen agreed, smiling despite herself.
Warmth rose and lingered under her breastbone, small and stubborn.
Suddenly, a shadow stretched across the page, and the warmth of the sun vanished. She stiffened, before twisting around and looking up.
Neil stood over them with the usual unreadable expression. He was wearing a clean shirt, and his hair was tied back. .
“Ye came,” Kristen said coolly.
“We agreed to spend an hour with the bairns,” he reminded her.
Her gaze flicked to his shoulder. “I hope ye didnae open yer wound again with all yer showing off this afternoon.”
His eyebrow rose. “Are ye worried about me, lass? Is that what is happening?”
“Oh, please, daenae flatter yerself. I barely ken ye,” she scoffed, jutting her chin. “I only mind because the children daenae need to see ye fall apart.”
He snorted, half annoyed and half amused.
She ignored him and pointed at the blanket. “Sit. The hour’s starting.”
He nodded and lowered himself onto the edge, careful of the sword at his hip and of Maggie, who watched him like a steward counting coins.
Finn eyed him with interest. “We are reading about the dragon,” he revealed. “He keeps the treasure safe.”
“Does he now?” Neil asked drily.
“Aye,” Finn said. “He is kind.”
Neil’s mouth almost twitched. Almost.
Kristen touched the page. “The lass learned that a guard can still be gentle and strong,” she read, feeling the words touch something inside her.
Anna tried to say “dragon” and managed a brave “dran,” which earned her a kiss on the crown of her head.
Neil listened. Each time the tale turned tender, his brow creased, as if softness made a poor blade. He said nothing until the last page, when the village lit candles for the dragon and the lass grew up surrounded by laughter.
Kristen closed the book and let her thumb rest on the worn leather. For a moment, the only sound was the rustle of reeds and the ripple of small waves.
“Stories should teach the truth, do ye nae think?” Neil muttered. “The world is cruel, Kristen. Children should be prepared for it.”
Kristen looked at the closed book as if it were something she must lay down. “Finn is only five years old, and Anna is little over two” she said. “I would rather tell them of dragons.”
“Best ye tell them of men,” he countered. “So the first blow doesnae take their legs.”
She swallowed, biting back the words that had gathered at the tip of her tongue.
Like it took their faither’s?
Her gaze fell to Finn’s hand, now curled into her dress. “I would rather someone had spoken to me of dragons,” she said, her voice low.
Neil went very still, and the air around them thinned. Finn glanced between them, sensing the shift, then leaned harder into Kristen’s side as if to anchor her.
“What did ye get instead?” Neil asked. His voice had lost its edge.
“Orders,” Kristen replied. “And silence.”
Anna tapped the book. “Another story, please?” she begged.
“In a moment,” Kristen said, brushing a curl from the girl’s forehead. She kept her eyes on the small task because looking at Neil would make the words spill too fast.
“How did orders keep ye safe?” he asked.
“They didnae,” she said. “They kept me small. And I promised meself to never feel that way again.”
Maggie shifted and set a paw on Kristen’s leg as if to cast a vote.
Finn extended his free hand toward Neil in solemn invitation. “Ye can read us a story as well,” he offered. “If ye want.”
Neil hesitated as if the book might bite. He put two fingers on the leather binding, taking in the drawing.
“A fierce beast,” he murmured, almost a question.
“A kind one,” Kristen corrected. “That is the point of the stories.”
“There are nay kind beasts, lass. Kindness gets folks killed,” he grunted.
“Cruelty does, too,” she said. “And abandonment.”
He shifted his gaze to the lake. “It is very clear that we were taught different things.”
“On the contrary, we were taught the exact same thing,” she insisted. “The only difference is that I didnae emulate what I was taught.”
A silence so sharp it could cut through glass settled between them.
Neil’s jaw clenched, and Kristen could tell he had things he wanted to say. Finn, on the other hand, shifted so his back rested against Neil’s knee, as if he had placed himself there on purpose.
Neil froze for a beat, then relaxed. The boy’s slight weight did not hurt his body, but Kristen could see from the look in his eyes that it hurt his soul.
Good.
Perhaps this was the first step towards mending their broken relationship.
Could a relationship even break if it never existed in the first place?
“Read,” Anna urged, pressing the book into Kristen’s palm to end a conversation she did not understand.
Kristen opened the book to the first page and read again, slower. Neil, on the other hand, said nothing. His hand moved of its own accord to scratch behind Maggie’s ears. The dog sighed in deep contentment and flopped heavily on Kristen’s foot.
Finn leaned back further against Neil’s knee. Anna curled into Kristen’s side with the book half on her lap, as if she were reading it by touch alone.
When Kristen finished reading the story the second time, Finn clapped his hands. “I will be a dragon.”
“Ye already are,” Kristen said, tapping his small sternum. “Ye guard treasure every day.”
“What treasure?” he asked.
“Why, me and yer sister, of course,” she chuckled, stroking his cheek.
Neil looked at her, judgment plain on his face. He looked away when she refused to acknowledge it.
“The world willnae praise ye for sweet lies; I hope ye ken that,” he said softly.
“I am nae lying,” she muttered, her hand still on Finn’s cheek. “I am only showing them a way the world could be, so they ken what to do.”
“And if it refuses them?” Neil asked.
“Then they will have the practice of trying at the very least,” she said. “Which is more than I had.”
The next few minutes stretched easily and tightly all at once.
Finn hunted for stones that looked like coins and piled them on Maggie’s back. Anna turned one of the shrubs into a sword and knighted a beetle.
Kristen let the silence sit between them, basking in the afternoon sun and the rustle of the leaves overhead.
Neil watched her mouth when she spoke of gentleness and looked away when she caught him.
He listened for the sound of approaching boots even here, and every time the breeze shifted, he squared his shoulders as if he bore a weight no one else could see.
The habit lived in him as deep as the bones in his body.
Once, Kristen caught him looking over his shoulder and exhaled. “Ye have nothing to worry about,” she murmured. “This is a place of rest, nae vigilance.”
He shook his head once. “I daenae rest.”
“Ye could learn. It is surprisingly easy to do,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.
His eyes flicked to the water. The light there was blinding. “Ye could tell them the truth,” he said, but the words lacked bite.
“That is where ye decided to go?” she scoffed.
He shrugged. “I am only saying that we both have a lot to learn.”
Kristen opened her mouth to snipe at him when a maid crossed toward them with careful steps, her apron twisted in her hands. “Me Lady, it’s time for the bairns’ nap.”
Finn saw them from afar and ran back to Kristen, pouting. “I am nae tired.”
Kristen kissed his hair. “Ye will be soon. Come now, lad.”
Anna came back from battle, having let the beetle win, and wrapped her arms around Kristen’s neck. She held on with surprising strength. “Nay nap,” she protested, fierce as a soldier.
“We will hunt berries later,” Kristen offered. “Sweet ones. I swear it.”
“Berries,” Anna breathed, defeated by hope, after which she let herself be passed into the maid’s arms.
Finn dragged his feet for effect, then sighed and followed. Maggie hesitated with a low whine, her eyes darting between Kristen and the children.
“Go with them, good girl,” Kristen cooed, gesturing towards Finn and Anna. “Guard them. I’ll be fine.”
Maggie wagged her tail once, then trotted after the maid like a small constable. Kristen lifted a hand and waved until the three of them vanished behind the birches.
Their little spot fell quiet at once. Noticeably quiet.
The wind played with the leaves, and the water lapped at the shore. She had been left with Neil under the tree, nothing but the air to keep them company.
She turned back to him, ready to ask him a question, and froze when she saw the red stain on his shirt.
God.
Irritation snapped through the worry before she could stop it.
“Ye are bleeding again,” she huffed. “Honestly, ye will tear yerself apart at this rate.”
He glanced down, his mouth a hard line. “It will wash.”
Without ceremony, he caught the hem of his shirt and dragged it over his head. He tossed the linen beside the blanket, and her breath hitched.
The sun kissed his skin and traced the planes of his chest and shoulders, his scars pale and jagged. The line of his back cut clean to his belt.
Kristen tore her gaze away. She had never wished so hard that she was made of stone than at that moment.
Neil stepped into the water as if the lake belonged to him.
I suppose it does belong to him.
The water climbed to his shins, his thighs, and then his waist. He dove under and came back up, his dark hair clinging to his neck, water streaming down his body. The bandage bled a faint ribbon that the lake absorbed at once.
Kristen turned her eyes to the willow leaves and made herself count them. One. Two. Three. But her heart started its own count.
A bark carried faintly from the castle. Maggie, wanting to circle back. Kristen swallowed and silently willed the dog to stay with the children. She could not bear a witness with such plain judgment.
She reached for the blanket and the book, her fingers clumsy. “Well,” she said, “I suppose now that the children are gone, I can go do something else. We will see ye at supper.”
“Ye cannae leave yet,” Neil called from the water, his voice deep.
She froze with the blanket half-folded. “Why?” she managed.
He met her eyes across the glittering water, his chest half-lit by the afternoon sun. “The bairns may be gone, but the hour isnae over yet.”
She swallowed, and her fingers tightened around the wool. The wind stirred and blew a cool line along her neck. The air between them shifted again, charged with tension.
And danger.