Chapter 7
He left, and she watched him disappear at the end of the passageway.
She remained standing with her heart still high and her mind running its count.
The room smelled of lye and fresh straw. The fire would take light with a spark. Her mother lay back and drew a neat breath, as if she had chosen sleep like any task.
This castle ran on order. It ran on the small rules that kept big trouble out. Erica removed her cloak, folded it, and set it on the chest.
She would learn the rules fast. And then she would decide which ones she could afford to break.
Later that evening, after a proper bath and fresh clothes, she stepped into the gardens as dusk settled over the inner courtyard. The air held damp earth and green leaves, cooler now, easy to breathe. Beds ran in neat lines. Low flowers edged the paths.
Taller stems stood behind them, staked with thin twine. At the borders, growth went a little wild where no heavy foot touched it. She slowed down to look. Color softened as the light went. Nothing grand, yet everything looked as orderly as if nature itself had grown the leaves.
A maid walked with her, a slight girl with steady hands and a woven basket on her arm. “Leah,” she had said when Erica asked her name.
She knew the beds well. When Erica bent to a pale bloom, Leah named it and said it took cold better than folks thought. When Erica pointed to a blue spire, Leah said it sulked without sun and would need moving before the first frost.
“What about those?” Erica asked, nodding toward a clump by the wall.
“Sweet rocket,” Leah answered. “They seed where they please. We thin them, or they choke the next bed.”
Erica smiled. “Me maid back home would complain that the lilies arenae lined straight enough.”
Leah did not laugh. Her gaze dropped to the path. Her fingers tightened on the basket handle. “Aye, me Lady.”
It was small as a breath, yet Erica felt it. She filed it away. This house listened for different things. Jokes about order did not land well here.
They walked on. A kitchen boy crossed the far side of the courtyard with a tray and did not cut across the grass. Two guards passed by the postern, counted the garden, then vanished toward the wall walk.
The rhythm was clear. Work first. Talk that served work. No wasted steps.
“Ye like the garden?” Leah asked.
“Aye,” Erica said. “It reminds me that things can be kept if ye tend them.”
Leah glanced at her once, brief as a blink. “Aye.”
A bell sounded from inside the keep, low and round. The note rolled along the stone and settled.
Leah straightened. “That will be dinner, me Lady.”
Erica looked toward the arch. “Aye.”
“Would ye like help choosing a dress?” Leah asked. “I can fetch Anna from the linen room.”
Erica waved her off with a small smile. “Daenae trouble yerself. I’m sure ye have better things to do with yer time.”
Leah hesitated, then dipped into a curtsy. “Aye, me Lady.” She turned toward the door with her basket held tight to her hip.
Left alone, Erica stood one more moment in the cooling light. The silence she had asked for settled more heavily than she liked. She had wanted a breath to think. Now, thought came like a weight. She drew in air slowly, then followed the path back to the arch.
Her chamber had been put in order while she walked. The fireplace held kindling, ready to take flame, and a small jug of water sat on the washstand.
Her eyes eventually shifted to the two dresses lying across the bed.
The first was soft and modest. Grey-blue wool, fine enough for a laird’s hall, plain enough to read as careful.
The bodice sat high, and the sleeves fell straight.
It felt like Bryden in quiet months, when her mother kept feast days simple and no one came to count the silver.
The second held more color. Deep green, cut clean at the waist, the skirt set to fall well when she moved. No show. No glitter. The fit would mark her figure without pressing it. It looked, for some reason, like something Alex would expect her to wear.
She stood with both in view and set her palms flat on the bed rail. Not vanity, but calculation.
What did she want to say? That she was grateful? Cautious? That she belonged? Or that she would not disappear?
She lifted the grey-blue dress first. Wearing this would make her smaller. It would not offend by making any statement she wasn’t ready to make. However, it would not help her hold ground either.
She set it down and took the green dress. It felt steady in her hands. Not too bright or too bold simply for the sake of it. If she wore it, she could meet Alex’s eye and not feel as if she had stepped aside in her own life.
She set it down again.
She crossed to the small table by the window. A pin dish sat there, the heads set out in even rows. Someone had counted them. She liked that.
She poured a little water into the basin and rinsed her hands. Her skin smelled faintly of soap. It came back to her then, Hilda’s quick voice at the gate.
Keep yer face plain and yer words plainer.
Take nay cup ye didnae watch poured.
If ye must sleep there, sleep near the lights.
Erica dried her hands and folded the cloth. She went back to the bed and stood between the dresses again.
If she wore the grey-blue one, she would be hard to fault. If she wore the green one, she would be harder to move. The line between those two felt thin and important.
She thought of Leah in the garden, the way her fingers had tightened when Erica joked about straight lilies. This place watched for order. It wanted proof that a person could hold to the line without being asked twice.
A knock sounded at the door at that moment, breaking into her thoughts. She turned and heard the second bell ring.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened, and Grandmamma stepped in with her cane and a small smile. Her eyes took in the room in one sweep. The green dress on the bed. The grey-blue one beside it. The pins set out in two neat groups. Erica’s hands on the rail, steady but tight.
“Ye are settled,” Grandmamma noted. “Good. I thought I would look in before ye come out to dinner.”
“Ye are kind,” Erica said.
“Keen, lass,” Grandmamma said, and the smile held. “Kind if it suits me. May I sit?”
“Aye.”
Erica pulled the small chair from the fireplace. Grandmamma sat down and set the cane near her knee. She looked around again, slower this time. She noted the clean basin, the folded cloth, the way Lady Bryden’s shawl lay on the chest in a careful square.
“Ye had a bath,” Grandmamma said. “That helps after a road.”
“It does,” Erica agreed.
“Did ye walk through the garden?”
“Aye.”
“Good,” Grandmamma said. “Folks who look at what grows tend to be easier on a house.”
She left the line there, light enough to miss. Erica heard it. She stood easier by a hair.
“Tell me of the festival,” Grandmamma said. “I havenae attended in years. Me knees daenae love a field, and I have had enough songs to last.” Her tone was easy. “How did ye and me grandson find each other in that crowd?”
Erica kept her voice calm as she explained what had happened. How Alex protected her from someone who meant harm, and they both decided in that spot to get married. She described it as she would describe her dream encounter: love at first sight.
“Ah, I see,” Grandmamma murmured.
“It was quick,” Erica said. “I counted as I could. I had nay better road.”
“So it was a rescue.”
“Aye,” Erica said. “I owe him me life. It felt right to repay that debt.”
Grandmamma hummed, soft in her throat. Not convinced. Not unconvinced. She poured from the small jug on the table into the cup by her hand and took a sip.
“Ye speak plain,” she said. “That helps.”
“I mean to,” Erica said. “If I can.”
Grandmamma’s gaze shifted, sharper under the warmth. “So ye’re afraid of him.”
“Nay,” Erica said too quickly.
One grey brow flew up. Grandmamma waited.
Erica let out a breath. “He does inspire fear,” she said. “But nae the kind that makes ye small. It is the kind that makes ye stand straight. I admire him. I wish I were as strong. I wish I hadnae needed his help.”
The words came clean and left her sore. She did not look at the floor. She let the cost sit where Grandmamma could see it.
“Good,” Grandmamma said. “Truth does the most work with the fewest words. The rest is noise.” She paused. “Needing help is the fate of every person, lass. Nay one survives alone.”
Erica nodded once. “Aye.”
“How is yer maither?” Grandmamma asked.
“Resting,” Erica replied. “She is tired from the road but steady.”
“Does she eat when she should?”
“Aye,” Erica said. “If I put the trencher by her hand.”
“Good,” Grandmamma said. “We will keep her so.”
She set her cup down. The cane’s head clicked once under her palm.
“Now, the true question,” she said. “Does yer faither’s trouble sit under this betrothal?”
Erica did not dress it. “Aye,” she said.
“Do ye ken where he went?” Grandmamma pressed.
“Nay,” Erica said. “Nae yet.”
Grandmamma watched her for another beat, the lines at the corners of her eyes drawn by the years, not weariness.
“Good,” she said. “Ye have some pride in ye. That will come in handy when navigating this castle. There are two kinds of pride. One that holds a house together, and one that burns it. Learn which is which and keep the first.”
“I will try,” Erica said.
“Try is a fair word on yer first day,” Grandmamma said. “Soon, I will ask for do.”
“Aye,” Erica said.
“Ye have the talk of a steward,” Grandmamma said, almost to herself. “I like that. Men who love noise hate a steward.”
“I kept the books at Bryden,” Erica said. “I will keep them here if ye ask.”
“We have Fergus,” Grandmamma said dryly. “He would faint if I brought him a lady with a ledger, then wake and chain ye to his table. We will ease him into it.” She gave Erica a small look that weighed how she took the tease.
Erica let a hint of a smile show. “Chain me with ink, and I willnae fight.”
“Good,” Grandmamma said. “Now, Alex is a plain man. He likes order, but daenae forget to stand yer ground. Ye daenae have to agree with everything he says.”
“I can say nay,” Erica said.
“Ye must,” Grandmamma insisted. “But pick yer times. In public, ye help him keep order. In private, ye argue yer part. That keeps his captains loyal and keeps ye from becoming a shadow. The girls will watch how ye do both. They are sharp. Daenae lie to them. They forgive slowly.”
“I willnae lie,” Erica promised.
“Good,” Grandmamma said.
Erica leaned forward a little. Something about the way the older woman spoke to her made her feel even more at ease. “Can ye tell me about the council? Is there anything I need to ken before meeting them?”
Grandmamma laughed. “The council writes and thinks it rules a house it doesnae live in. They will see ye as a use or a nuisance. Be a use until ye can afford to be a wall.”
“I ken,” Erica said.
Grandmamma leaned back and let the chair take her weight. “What do ye admire in Alex?” she asked, mild again.
“His certainty,” Erica answered without pause. “He didnae chatter when he moved. He read the ring. He cut only when the other man made it law. He didnae ask for praise.”
“He gets that from his faither. He was also a principled man.”
“Did his faither also marry a woman he met at a festival?” Erica asked.
Grandmamma laughed. “I suppose that part is all him.”
Erica responded with a brief laugh as well and watched as the older woman pushed herself up with one hand and took her cane. Then she walked to the bed and looked at the dresses. After studying them for a while, she reached out and touched the green one with two fingers.
“This one,” she said. “’Tis his favorite color.”
Erica looked at the dress. “I see.”
Grandmamma moved to the door. She paused with her hand on the knob. “Welcome to MacMillan Castle.”
She tapped her cane once on the floor and left.
The room fell quiet again. Erica stood there for a beat, then looked at the two dresses. This time, she knew which one she would wear.