Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Come!” Elspeth’s small hand caught Sorcha’s sleeve, tugging with more determination than strength. “We’ll miss the best spot.”
Sorcha’s lips curled into a gentle smile as she followed her, cradling her morning harvest of rosemary sprigs, lavender blossoms, and mint stems against her chest.
Two days had passed since Rowan had ridden eastward, and in his absence, her afternoons had folded into a familiar ritual.
Morag would fuss over Elspeth until midday, then wink at Sorcha and slip away for her own rest. Sorcha suspected the older woman welcomed the respite as much as she did.
But even in her peaceful distractions, it was in the quiet moments that memories of Rowan resurfaced against her will.
“The loch looks like glass when the sky is clear,” Elspeth chirped without warning, glancing back over her shoulder. “Da says if ye stand just right, ye can see every stone on the bottom.”
Sorcha’s gaze softened. “Does he now?”
“Aye.” Elspeth slowed her pace, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “He promised he’d show me when the clouds went away.”
Suddenly, she lurched forward until Sorcha’s steady hand caught her elbow.
Her brow furrowed in frustration. “He works too much,” she declared, kicking at a loose pebble.
Sorcha pressed the fragrant bundle closer. The herbs’ roots brushed her fingertips, grounding her. “A laird has duties,” she replied softly. “When the land calls, he must answer.”
“I daenae like it.” Elspeth’s small face puckered, hurt and stubborn all at once.
“He’ll come back,” Sorcha promised.
He willnae come back for me. But he will never leave Elspeth or the keep for too long.
Elspeth met her gaze for a heartbeat, as if weighing her promise. Then she turned, hopping over a tuft of grass.
“Do ye think the herbs will sprout soon?” she asked, her eyes on the fragrant bundle.
Sorcha let out a small breath, something in her easing despite herself. “Nae so fast as ye’d like, I think.”
Elspeth groaned dramatically, throwing her head back. “Everythin’ takes too long.”
“Aye,” Sorcha murmured, feeling a faint throb of longing.
Ahead, the moorland narrowed into reeds, and the distant lapping of water became clear. Elspeth bounded forward, reaching the loch’s edge in a few strides. Sorcha trailed behind, the wind tugging loose strands of hair across her face.
Elspeth dropped to her knees on the bank. Sorcha followed more slowly, letting the calm of the place settle over her. She knelt beside the girl, setting the bundle of herbs between them.
She took a moment to breathe. Just breathe. Letting the quiet take hold, she closed her eyes.
“Like this?”
She glanced over, hiding a smile. Elspeth had already started without her, burying a poor plant nearly to its leaves. She reached over and brushed some of the soil away.
“Nae quite so deep,” she said gently. “Plants are delicate things.”
Elspeth planted another, patting the soil carefully this time. She leaned back on her heels to inspect her work.
Sorcha welcomed the quiet rhythm. The motion of planting each sprig steadied her thoughts whenever they threatened to wander. Because when they did, they returned to the same moment.
Rowan’s lips on hers. The heat of his hand on her waist.
She could practically feel his presence, even though he was miles away.
“When will they grow?” Elspeth’s sweet voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
“In time.”
Elspeth scrunched up her nose. “How much time?”
Sorcha reached out to tap Elspeth’s necklace. The carved turtle bobbed gently against the fabric of her dress. “And what does Mr. Turtle teach us?”
Elspeth groaned dramatically. “That slow is good.”
“And…?”
“Patience,” she muttered.
Sorcha nodded. “If the earth is kind and the season is gentle, flowers follow in their own time.”
“Grow faster, Mr. Plant!”
Sorcha laughed softly. “Most things worth having take time.”
Her breath caught, short and unsteady, as she realized what she had just said.
“Are ye alright, Lady Sorcha? Are ye sick? Ye’re turnin’ red!”
Sorcha looked down quickly to hide her flush, patting the soil around an herb she’d already finished planting. “Aye, the sun is hot.”
Elspeth looked at her strangely. “But the clouds are coverin’ it.”
Sorcha burst out laughing. “Aye, ye’re right.”
Elspeth frowned in confusion, but was distracted easily as a butterfly landed on one of her plants. She let out a dramatic sigh. “I hate waitin’.”
Sorcha looked up at the sky, closing her eyes as a breeze ruffled her hair.
“Aye,” she murmured. “Most people do.”