Chapter 25
Daisy clung to Amara’s waist like a stubborn burr, her little fingers curled in tight fists, face mashed against the folds of Amara’s skirt.
“Please daenae go,” Daisy hiccupped, her voice already thick with tears. “I daenae want ye to go.”
Amara had crouched down moments ago, both knees aching from the cold stone beneath her, but she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around the girl tightly, one hand rubbing small circles into her back. “Mo chridhe,” she murmured into Daisy’s dark curls, “we’ll see each other again. I swear it.”
Daisy shook her head hard, fists clenching tighter. “But what if ye daenae come back? What if Da keeps ye gone forever?”
A sharp ache bloomed behind Amara’s ribs. “Nay one’s keeping me anywhere, love. I’ll come back, or I’ll send for ye, if ye wish it. I’d never disappear on ye without sayin’ goodbye for good.”
The child was trembling. Her round cheeks were flushed with frustration and sadness. All of it was too much for a little girl to carry.
Amara looked up just as Mabel stepped into the room, arms crossed lightly over her chest, lips pressed in a thoughtful line.
“Daisy,” the older woman said gently, “why daenae ye fetch that scarf ye stitched for Lady Amara, hmm? Ye said ye wanted her to take it with her.”
The child hesitated, one hand still clutching Amara’s gown, but then gave a reluctant nod and ran off down the hallway, boots scuffing the stone.
Amara stood slowly, pressing a hand to her back. Her body was stiff from the intensity of Daisy’s embrace, but her heart felt even more bruised.
“She’ll be fine,” Mabel said after a long beat, stepping fully into the room and shutting the door behind her. “She’s stronger than she looks. Takes after her da.”
Amara offered a weary smile. “So I’ve noticed.”
Mabel tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she studied Amara. “And ye? How are ye holdin’ up?”
“I’m fine,” Amara said automatically, but even she didn’t believe it.
“Aye, and I’m the bloody queen of France,” Mabel muttered, shaking her head. “Ye look pale. Pale and torn, like someone’s stitched ye up wrong.”
Amara blinked, unsure how to answer.
Mabel crossed to her, quick as a whip, and suddenly pulled her into a hug. It was firm. Not the sort of careful embrace Amara had grown used to from noblewomen and tight-laced ladies of court. This was the kind of hug she would remember.
“Ye’re loved and wanted here,” Mabel murmured, “though I ken it’s hard to see.”
Amara’s throat burned, but she managed to keep herself steady. “Thank ye.”
When Mabel stepped back, she was already untying something from her apron. Amara watched as she knelt and reached under Amara’s cloak, fastening a leather strap tight against her upper thigh.
“What in heaven’s name are ye doing?” Amara asked, alarmed.
“Giving ye a bit of insurance,” Mabel muttered. “Small dagger. Light. But it’ll do if needed. Ye’ll feel it when ye walk, but that’s half the point.”
Amara stared at her, stunned. “I — I cannae take a weapon from ye.”
“Aye, ye can. And ye will.”
“But Mabel, why would ye trust me with —?”
“Because I trust ye nae to be a fool,” she interrupted, standing again with a grunt. “Because I like ye. And because ye’re walkin’ back into a place that never saw ye right. Someone ought to care enough that ye make it back out.”
The air thickened. Amara felt a well of emotion rise, tight and sharp in her chest.
“I’ve never had someone give me a blade before,” she said, blinking fast. “Let alone trust me with it.”
Mabel arched a brow. “Well, now ye have. Keep it sheathed, god willing. But if it comes down to it — daenae hesitate.”
A knock interrupted them. Daisy stood in the doorway again, clutching a pale yellow scarf, the edges stitched with uneven little flowers.
“It’s for ye,” she said softly, eyes cast downward.
Amara took it reverently, fingers brushing the frayed threads. “It’s beautiful.”
“Swear ye’ll wear it?”
Amara wrapped it gently around her shoulders and nodded. “Swear it.”
Only after Daisy threw her arms around her one more time and Mabel ushered her away did Amara allow herself a breath. The weight of the scarf around her neck, the press of the dagger against her leg, and the ache in her heart all pulled in different directions.
She left the room slowly, moving as though gravity had grown heavier. Down the narrow staircase, her boots echoing against the stone. With each step, her body remembered what was coming next.
She was going back to the place she never thought she’d see again.
Back to the father who gave her away.
The entrance hall was full of movement, but her gaze went directly to him and her heart ached.
Rhys stood straight-backed near the open doors, speaking quietly with Finn, William, and Myles. The early light from the open keep doors spilled across the floor, throwing golden edges on the fur at Rhys’s collar. He was dressed for travel, sword belted, his expression unreadable.
William saw her first. “Well, there she is,” he called, grinning. “Radiant as ever. Can we come too, or has our laird decided to ride off with all the beauty in the keep?”
Myles raised a hand, a piece of bannock dangling from his fingers. “I can ride backward, sideways — whatever ye need. I’ve got naught but time and charm.”
Rhys gave them both a dark look.
“Stay. Watch the keep. That’s an order.”
William held up both hands. “Aye, aye. Nay arguments.”
Myles gave a tragic sigh and bit into his bannock. “And here I thought I was due for a heroic adventure.”
“Ye’re due for a bath,” William muttered.
Amara smiled, but her eyes drifted to Finn. He hadn’t said anything. Just stood with his arms crossed, face half in shadow. She opened her mouth to greet him, but he only gave a slight nod and looked away.
Something pulled in her chest. They hadn’t interacted much, but had he been feeling some kind of way about her departure too? Did her walking back into the lion’s den of Murdoch Castle make him anxious or even start to relive whatever tortures her father put him through?
She was about to walk over to him. Something inside her pulled her toward him, and told her she should try to put his mind at ease. Then Rhys stepped beside her, his hand settling briefly against the small of her back.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice low.
She nodded, though her insides warred with the answer.
The gates creaked open with a groan, and she stepped into the cold air beside him, the scarf warm at her neck and the weight of a dagger pressing lightly at her thigh.
The hooves of their horses echoed in soft rhythm against the dirt path, muffled by the hush of the forest canopy above. Sunlight filtered through pine branches like gold-dusted lace, and birdsong filled the quiet between them.
But Amara felt none of it.
She sat straight-backed on her mare, the reins loose in her gloved fingers, her gaze fixed ahead.
Every step took her closer to her home.
And yet, it didn’t feel like home anymore.
“Ye’ve gone quiet,” Rhys said after a long silence. His voice was low, soft with curiosity. Not pressing, just… noticing.
Amara’s throat tightened. She took a long breath before answering. “Just thinkin’.”
He glanced at her, eyebrows slightly raised but didn’t interrupt.
She stared at the trail ahead a moment longer, then forced herself to say it.
“I’m afraid.”
That stopped him. His horse slowed, falling into pace with hers again. “Of what?”
“Of seein’ me faither again. Of what I’ll feel when I do.” Her lips parted, and the words spilled out more easily now. “He wasnae always like this, ye ken. Cruel and angry, like.”
Rhys said nothing, so she kept talking. If she stopped, she might lose the courage to start again.
“When I was little, he used to lift me onto his shoulders and march through the halls like I was a princess. He’d let me pull his beard and call him ‘the bear king.’ He was… warm. Loud. He loved me maither like the sun would never set on her face.”
Rhys’s brow furrowed, but he kept his silence.
“The day she died,” Amara whispered, “he changed.”
The world felt heavy, and as if it was threatening to crash down upon her.
“He wasnae even there when it happened,” she went on. “I guess I wasnae either.”
Rhys let out a quiet breath. His hand twitched against his reins like he wanted to reach for her.
“He dinnae cry. Nae once… When I asked where she was, he was so cold. He went outside that night after supper, and burned every dress she ever wore. Told the servants nae to speak her name again.”
Rhys’s jaw tightened. “And ye?”
“He looked at me like I was the ghost of her… as if I killed her.” Her voice cracked. “After that, he sent me to live in the west wing. I barely saw him. He was always in the war room, or drinkin’, or shoutin’ at someone.”
Amara’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It was as if he hated me for survivin’.”
They rode for a long while without speaking. The wind moved gently through the leaves.
Then Rhys said, “Ye dinnae deserve that.”
Amara looked over at him. His expression was unreadable, his dark brows drawn, mouth set hard. But his voice was calm. Grounded. Steady.
“None of that was yer fault,” he added.
“I was with her last,” she said, “And I kept tryin’ to earn his love back, like it had been a thing I dropped and lost in the woods. It was pathetic.”
Rhys made a low sound in his throat, something close to a growl. “There’s nothin’ a lassie should do to earn a faither’s love. It should be freely given.”
Amara blinked fast. Her chest hurt in a way that surprised her. The kind of pain that comes from being seen too clearly.
They continued riding, and after a time, she asked, “Did ye ken yer parents long?”
Rhys’s features shifted. The grief that flickered across his face was raw and real, but he didn’t shy away.
“Me maither died when I was young. Three or four, maybe. I daenae remember anythin’ about her, unfortunately.”
Amara smiled faintly. “And yer faither… before…?”
His jaw worked for a moment. “Me faither raised me alone. He was… hard. But fair. And he loved her so much, and he never married again. I miss him.”
“Is that why ye’ve never —?” she stopped herself.
Rhys looked over at her. “Married?”
She nodded.
He shrugged a shoulder. “Nay, I wed for duty, and then I was… busy.”
Something passed between them then, unspoken and charged.
“Ye’re nae what I expected,” she said softly.
Rhys arched a brow. “Is that so?”
“I thought I’d be terrified of ye forever. The brooding, ruthless laird who kidnapped me.” She smiled a little, teasing. “But ye’ve surprised me.”
His mouth curved. “Well, good. I hope I continue to surprise ye, lass.”
They rounded a bend in the path, and the trees began to thin. The road started to widen.
Amara looked at him and thought, I daenae want to leave him...
Rhys must’ve sensed something. He cleared his throat. “We’ll stop soon for a rest. Let the horses breathe.”
She nodded, but didn’t answer. The silence between them now was comfortable, not heavy. Her fear of returning to her father hadn’t vanished, but somehow, it felt less suffocating with Rhys beside her.
She thought of Mabel’s dagger strapped to her thigh, the warmth of Daisy’s scarf around her neck, and the look on Rhys’s face when she’d stepped into the hall that morning.
Amara took a deep breath and tried to hold it all inside her.
Because no matter what waited at Murdoch Castle, she wasn’t that frightened, abandoned girl anymore.
And she wasn’t alone.