Chapter 14
Rhys stared at the empty goblet in his hand, the wine long gone and the fire in his hearth now burning low. Maps and scrolls lay unfurled across the desk in front of him, but none of the words held shape in his mind.
She hadnae come to dinner…
Not that he truly excepted her to. Not after the sorry way he left her.
Still, he had sent up a tray. He hadn’t meant for things to go the way they had. She infuriated him, yes, but god be good, she moved something in him he hadn’t felt, ever.
A knock. Light, polite, but firm.
He didn’t respond.
The door opened anyway, as he thought it might.
Nina stood in the threshold, her mouth a hard line, a linen apron still tied around her waist. She looked tired. Irritated. Determined.
“She dinnae touch the food,” she said without preamble.
Rhys looked back down at the map, pretending to study the inky curve of a river. “I assumed as much, Nina.”
“Assumed and accepted, did ye?”
He exhaled slowly. “Is that all?”
She tilted her head. “I came to tell ye what I saw this evenin'.”
“And what’s that?”
“The lass barely moved from her bed. And when she did, she was quiet and hollow-eyed like a ghost.”
Rhys didn’t answer.
“Ye left her there, dinnae ye?” Nina continued, voice sharper now. “Last night’s dinner. This mornin’. And again this afternoon.”
“She’s nae a prisoner,” he muttered. “She’s free to walk the keep.”
“But she’s nae welcome in it, and ye ken it well enough as ye have orchestrated and encouraged the inhospitality even yerself.”
He slammed the goblet down hard enough that it sputtered and rolled off the desk, clattering to the floor. “She was getting’ too close! A line had to be drawn.”
Nina stared at him for a long moment, unmoved by his temper. Then she stepped closer, slowly, until she reached the edge of the desk. “She’s nae a wild pony to be broken and tamed.”
Rhys’s jaw clenched. Who does she think she’s talkin’ to? How out of line —
His thoughts were caught in his throat before they could be spoken as Nina continued. “But ye’re treatin’ her like one. Like if ye push just hard enough, she’ll fall into line.”
“She’s dangerous.”
“She is nae dangerous. Ye are scared, me laird. It’s plain.”
Rhys stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Careful, Nina. I like ye, well enough, but I will have ye sacked ‘fore the morn’.”
But she didn’t flinch. Instead, she picked up a small carved ornament from the corner of the desk, a polished wooden stag that he had whittled himself.
With no hesitation whatsoever, she threw it with all her might and it smashed against the edge of the stone fireplace across the room.
Rhys watched the antler cracked clean off and the legs shatter.
Silence dropped over the room like a blanket.
Rhys stared at the fragments on the hearth.
“Last night, ye destroyed a chair in front of the entire hall because yer men were inhospitable to her. Tonight, ye did far worse than what any of those men did. Should this be me last moment workin’ in yer employ, tell me, me laird, was that ornament more deserving of protection that she is?”
Rhys didn’t speak. Or move.
Nina took a step back, letting her hands fall to her sides.
“I’ll bring her another tray in an hour,” she said gently. “But she willnae eat it. Nae until she believes she has a place here, as a guest in the very least. Alive and well.”
She walked to the door, but passed before opening it.
“Ye wish her gone, me laird? Then let it be so. But if ye mean to keep her here, then ye need to start showin’ her the O’Donnell hospitality that I ken ye remember from yer own parents.”
And with that, she left him alone.
Rhys stared at the broken stag. At the maps that no longer mattered. And then wondered when, exactly, he had started losing control of everything around him.
Night melted into day, and Rhys hadn’t slept a wink. And the tray that he balanced in one hand seemed heavier than it had any right to be.
Amara hadn’t come down to break her fast, and so he took it upon himself to bring the food to her. William and Myles remained downstairs, as did Nina.
The morning had already bled halfway through, and yet no word had come from her room. No sound. No movement. And the tray from last night stayed in the place where Nina had left it just outside the chamber door.
He lifted his free hand to knock. Twice.
Silence.
He cleared his throat. “It’s Rhys.”
Still nothing.
He tried the latch. Unlocked.
When he opened the door, the first thing that struck him was how dim the room was.
Curtains drawn, fire low. Amara stood by the window, arms crossed, her back to him.
Her long hair was tangled at the ends. The gown she wore was the same one that he saw her wearing the day before, only it was creased and half-fallen from one shoulder.
She didn’t turn.
“I brought food.”
He placed the tray on the table gently. The scent of the fresh bannocks, spiced parsnips, and sweet porridge filled the room.
Her voice came at last. “Is this some sick idea of an apology?”
Rhys didn’t answer right away. “It’s just food.”
“Aye, that’s clear.”
He watched her shoulders rise and fall.
“Ye havenae eaten since yesterday.”
She finally turned, slowly. Her face looked pale against the soft light filtering through the curtains. But her chin was high and defiant.
“Daenae have much of an appetite left after bein’ manhandled and left alone somewhere in this place.”
He sighed. “I dinnae manhandle ye.”
“Ye pinned me to the wall, Rhys.”
“Ye seemed to like it just fine,” he shot back, and immediately regretted the heat in his voice.
Her nostrils flared. “Even if I did, what difference would it make? I’m still clearly a burden to ye.”
Rhys ran a hand over his jaw. “Eat somethin’, Amara.”
She turned back toward the window. “I’m nae hungry.”
He stepped forward. “Ye need to eat.”
“I’m nae a hound ye can just toss food scraps to and hope I’ll heel and obey.”
“Ye think that’s what this is?” His temper flared. “Ye think I’d waste me time bringin' ye food if I dinnae care whether ye withered away behind this door?"
“Ye left me to fend for meself yesterday. It’s clear I’m nae welcome.”
“Ye are safe here.”
“I’m isolated. There’s a difference,” she said with venom in her tone.
Rhys stepped closer. “I daenae ken what ye want from me.”
Amara let out a humorless laugh. “Nothin’. I want nothin’ from ye, Rhys. Nae anymore. I’ll figure it all out.”
They stood in silence. The air between them thick with everything unspoken. The tray steamed quietly behind them, the scent of warm bread curling around them like bait neither of them would take.
Finally, Amara turned, their eyes connecting for a moment before she looked at the tray of food and then back up at him.
“I’ll be ready to move chambers whenever ye will it to be so.”
He blinked.
She wasn’t yelling now. She wasn’t barbed or biting. She was just tired, and it burned him hotter than any coals he could have been raked across. He took a step toward her, but she turned away from him once more. The conversation was over.
Without a word, Rhys walked to the door, opened it, and left.
The sound of the latch catching behind him echoed louder than it should have. And he couldn’t stop the thought that chased him down the hall. I should have stayed…
The latched clicked behind him like the closing of a cell.
Amara didn’t move.
She remained by the window, arms wrapped tight across her chest. The silence was louder now, somehow emptier. She could still feel the warmth of his body in the room, the ghost of his voice thick with frustration.
Her gaze drifted back over her shoulder to the tray.
Steam still curled from the bowl of porridge. The berries glistened. Her stomach let out a loud, agonizing growl. She doubled over slightly from the pang.
“I’m nae hungry,” she whispered again, but even that sounded like a lie now.
She turned from the window slowly and made her way to the table.
Her fingers trembled as she tore off a piece of bannock. It was still warm. She bit into it and immediately, something in her chest cracked wide open.
The flavors were so sweet and spiced.
She sat down in the chair and devoured the rest of it in three bites. Then the parsnips. Then she poured the oat porridge into her mouth with barely a thought for the spoon. She didn’t even care if she looked crazy.
The tears came then as she ate, though she made no sound.
He brought this. Himself. After everythin’ he said to me, after every rejection… Had this truly been his way of makin’ an apology?
Her eyes landed on the berries. She reached for them slowly, but before she could pop one into her mouth, a sharp cry pierced the air.
Amara froze. Unsure if she had heard it correctly, or dreamt it.
Another cry. It was muffled and panicked, and it came from somewhere beyond her window.
She flew to the sill, shoved the curtain back, and peered down.
A small figure writhed in the dirt below, clutching their knee. Red curls. A shrill sob.
Daisy.
Amara’s heart stopped, but she didn’t hesitate.
Throwing her door open, she sprinted down the corridor. Myles’s voice rang out from further down the hall. “Oi! What’s happened?”
But Amara didn’t stop.
She tore through the stairwell, slippers barely keeping up with her as she burst through the back doors of the keep.
“Daisy!” she called, dropping to her knees in the dirt.
The little girl looked up at her, cheeks streaked with tears. “I tripped — the stone —”
“Where does it hurt?” Amara asked, already wrapping her arms around the girl.
“Me leg, right here, and me head — here!” the girl wailed, and pointed to her bright red leg and then to her temple.
“All right, I’ve got ye now, lass. Let me see.”
She pulled Daisy into her lap and examined the leg first. A bruise had already bloomed beneath the skin near her shin.
Nay blood, nay break, thank Christ.
“We’re going to the healer,” Amara said, gathering the girl into her arms. “Hold on tight."
Daisy sniffled and wrapped her arms around Amara’s neck. “Daenae leave me.”
“Never, lass.”
Amara carried her through the keep, ignoring the startled looks from passing guards and maids. The healer’s chamber was just off the main hall, tucked behind a set of double doors that looked more decorative than functional.
She kicked them open.
The old healer looked up from his bench, unimpressed.
“She’s hurt,” Amara said.
He frowned. “Aye? Doesnae look too —”
“She is the laird’s daughter!”
That did it.
The man straightened, looking at the child once more, and then started to apologize profusely. His entire posture shifting into something far more useful. “Right. Let’s have a look.”
He blushed forward, checking Daisy’s leg while muttering about children and gravel and chaos. After a few moments, he looked up.
“Nay break. Just a deep bruise. Bit of pain to follow and a limp, to be sure, but it’ll mend on its own.”
“Right, and her head?”
“Och! Her head?” The healer shifted hurriedly around the table, and lifted Daisy’s curls to reveal a bright red spot forming on her temple. “Oh…”
His hands went to work, in his tincture cabinet. “Here —” he tossed an incredibly cold rag toward Amara. “Place it on the red spot there until half-past. I’ll make something here for the aches that are sure to follow.”
He handed Amara a vial of tincture. “Ye will rub this on the sore spot on her leg thrice daily. She will be right as rain in a few days,” he placed it into one of Amara’s hands. In the other hand he placed a jar.
“And this will need to be applied generously along the girl’s brow and behind her neck whenever ye arenae holdin' the cold press to her temple.”
“For how long?”
“Just tonight, and nae more than that.”
“Just one day?”
“Aye, a bairn’s head is more malleable than when they are grown. It can heal in a much quicker amount of time than ours. One night, and nay more. If the pain persists past breakin' fast tomorrow, bring her back to me straight away.”
Amara thanked him curly, scooped Daisy back up, and carried her out.
Halfway back to the family quarters, she heard it — boots thundering up the stairwell.
Rhys.
He rounded the corner fast, wild-eyed.
“Is she — What happened?”
“She’s well,” Amara said before he could finish. “Just a bruise on the leg and an ache on her head. She tripped over the low wall in the courtyard.”
Relief flooded his face. “God above.”
Daisy reached out for him without thinking, and Amara passed her into his arms. But to their surprise, the girl didn’t let go of her hand.
“Come with us?” Daisy asked, sleepily.
Rhys looked at Amara.
She nodded.
Together, they brought Daisy to her chamber. The girl was tired and clingy but smiled through the ache as she climbed under the covers. Rhys tucked her in while Amara knelt on the other side, brushing the curls from her damp cheeks.
“Will ye stay, miss?” Daisy asked, blinking up at them.
Amara looked at Rhys. He nodded once, silent.
They lay on either side of the child. Amara on her back, one hand resting lightly on the bed, and Rhys sitting sideways so he could face them both.
He cleared his throat. “Shall I tell ye both about the sheep who wish to fly, then?”
Daisy giggled faintly, “That’s nae real.”
“Nay? How can ye be so sure?”
Daisy giggled, wincing slightly from the pain as Amara started to rub the creams along her leg and brow and neck.
“All right, Da,” the young girl relented, and Rhys told them the tale of how Bartholet Butterfly the Black Sheep wished to fly.
His voice was low and gentle, wrapping around them like a blanket. Daisy’s eyes fluttered shut halfway through the story, and her breathing slowed.
Amara stayed still, watching her chest rise and fall.
On the other side of the bed, she felt Rhys’s eyes on her.
Neither said a thing.