Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marissa sighed contentedly, her eyes closed as she turned her face up toward the sun. The book she’d been reading just moments ago rested heavily on her lap.
She was sitting on a bench in the rose garden at the back of the castle grounds. Earlier that day, she’d been taken on a tour of everything the castle had to offer by one of her maids. But this part of it had been her favorite.
From the moment she’d seen the garden, she had wanted to go back to the massive library in the castle, pick a book, and come out here. So, after the tour had ended, that was precisely what she had done.
Birds chirped overhead, singing their merriment on the beautiful, warm day, until a voice fractured the small bubble of peace she had carved for herself.
“There ye are!”
She yipped in surprise. The book fell from her lap, tumbling and closing as it hit the ground with a thunk. Marissa looked down at it, sad to have lost her spot before turning in the direction the voice had come from.
Ayla, her soon-to-be sister-in-law, was walking towards her, her dark hair shining in the early afternoon sun.
Beside her was a young woman. She wore plain clothes, the apron draped over the front of her skirts marking her as one of the maids.
Marissa racked her brain, trying to think if she’d seen the girl since arriving at Castle Reid, but she could not recall.
“I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for ye!” Ayla exclaimed as she drew closer, her lovely face breaking out into a warm smile.
The moment she was close enough, she reached forward and pulled Marissa to her feet and into a hug. Marissa started at the sudden touch, her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides as she thought of how to respond.
She had never been an overly affectionate person. With her sisters, hugs and laughs came easily. But with anyone else? She often found that physical touch made her quite uncomfortable.
She’ll be me sister too, though. So that should count for somethin’.
The thought eased some of her discomfort, and she relaxed, returning Ayla’s hug before stepping out of it.
“I was just readin’ and enjoyin’ the sunny day,” Marissa explained, swiping the back of her hand across her forehead.
She had been so lost in her book and her thoughts that she hadn’t realized just how warm the day had gotten. And now, a thin sheen of sweat had broken out across her brow.
“Do ye mind if we join ye?” Ayla asked, not waiting for her to answer before ushering the maid over to the bench across from where Marissa had been sitting.
“Nae at all.” Marissa beamed at them.
Bending to pick up her book, she spared one final thought to the story she’d been reading and regretted that she hadn’t marked the page, before setting it down beside her. When she glanced back at the other women, she found them watching her with open interest.
“Are ye enjoyin’ yer time here so far?” Ayla asked, immediately diving into the conversation.
Marissa had gotten the sense that it was something she did often. Something that further set Ayla apart from her brothers.
“Aye.” Marissa nodded, giving her a brief smile. “The castle is quite bonnie. And the grounds? I’d nae admit this to me family, but it’s grander than where I was livin’ before.”
Ayla nodded. “Me braither takes a lot of pride in our lands. When our faither died, he employed a lot of people from the villages, gettin’ them work to fix the place and to get a little more coin flowin’ amongst them.”
Marissa’s eyebrows shot up, impressed by what Ayla had just revealed. But if her soon-to-be sister-in-law noticed, she didn’t say anything. Instead, Ayla’s grey eyes, which were identical to her brother’s, flicked to the maid seated beside her.
“Me sincerest apologies,” she said abruptly. “I just realized I havenae introduced ye. Marissa, this is Amara. She’s me maid—but that’s in name only. She’s actually me dearest friend.”
The two women beamed at each other, the affection they shared palpable.
“It’s a pleasure to meet ye, Amara,” Marissa said, giving the girl a friendly smile.
Color rose in Amara’s plump cheeks.
She’s rather bonnie, Marissa noted, appreciating the girl’s copper hair, rosy cheeks, and the smattering of freckles on her face.
“Thank ye, Me Lady,” Amara answered, dipping her head in a sign of respect.
Immediately, Marissa waved her off. “Call me Marissa, please,” she corrected, and Amara nodded.
Ayla clapped her hands excitedly. “This is all just grand,” she tittered, her eyes darting between Marissa and Amara.
“I just kenned we’d all be fast friends.
Now…” She leaned in closer, placing her elbows on her knees.
Her eyes were shining as she looked at Marissa.
“I heard that ye are a writer. Me braither told us all about it, since he kens I love to read. Please tell me more.”
Now, it was Marissa’s turn to blush. While she was proud of her ability to craft a story, it was something that had always made her feel a bit bashful whenever it was brought up. She did, however, appreciate Ayla’s attempt at flattery.
“I am a writer, aye,” she admitted, feeling suddenly sheepish.
She didn’t know what had gotten into her. In her entire life, she had never been this bashful. Especially not when it came to her writing.
In fact, her writing had always been something she had been proud of. She was a good writer. A great storyteller. She’d never felt nervous about her talent before.
Marissa guessed that being in a new place, where she knew no one, was getting the better of her.
“Can ye tell us a story?” Amara asked, her hazel eyes shimmering.
The moment the words left her mouth, Ayla perked up. She clapped her hands again, grinning madly.
“Aye! Tell us a story!” she exclaimed.
Her excitement was contagious, and before Marissa could give it too much consideration and talk herself out of it, she began to speak.
The tale that fell from her tongue was a familiar one. She’d first told it many years ago, back when she’d first arrived at Castle McEwan with Freya and Abigail to heal Cody.
“Many years ago,” she began, her voice taking on a mysterious note. “There was a young girl named Elspeth, but everyone called her Elsie. She grew up in a quaint village that had never experienced crime. Until one night, it was set upon by bandits.”
Elspeth’s story poured from her. She’d honed it over the years, from all the times she had told it to one person or another. She told them of how the bandits ransacked everything in Elsie’s village, stealing and killing to their hearts’ desire until the last person and animal were no longer living.
Everyone except for Elspeth, that is. Because she was cunning and smart, even though she was young. And she had been small enough to hide, perfectly tucked, beneath a rotting bale of hay that the bandits paid no mind to.
“When Elspeth came out of her hiding spot,” Marissa continued, finding both Amara and Ayla enraptured in her story, “her heart felt as if it would shatter.
Her entire village was nay more. Windows had been broken, barns had been burned.
Livestock and people alike lay slain in the streets.
And so Elspeth did the only thing a young girl in her predicament could do—she ran.
“Into the forest, as fast as her wee legs could carry her. She didnae stop until the sun had long since set. The shadows of the forest stretched around her, and it was only then that the wee lass realized she had gotten well and truly lost.”
Amara gasped. “What did she do?”
And Marissa told her. On and on she weaved the tale, telling them how Elspeth found a small cave. But the girl didn’t realize that it had been inhabited by wolves. She made friends with them, and the wolves, realizing that they quite liked her, took her into their pack.
Elspeth was raised by them until one day, a hunter came and tried to kill them. She fended him off, and in doing so, he became enamored with her.
Marissa continued recounting the story, one that she loved with all her being, telling them how slowly, over many many months, Elspeth and the hunter fell in love.
She watched the two women as she spoke, noting the parts they reacted to. It reminded her of Cody, who was the first person she’d ever told the story to.
He’d gasped at different parts, reacted to different things, and had almost no interest in the romance part. But he’d loved it just the same.
By the time Marissa was finished speaking, ending with the hunter and Elspeth’s wedding, telling them how the wolves, in their old age, had stood at the edge of the clearing where they’d wed and howled their love for the girl, Amara and Ayla’s eyes were wet.
“She’d never hear those howls again,” Marissa said as she wrapped up the tale.
“Nae from the wolves’ greyin’ muzzles, anyway.
Because she kenned that they had long since passed.
But sometimes, at night, when the wind was howlin’ somethin’ awful, Elspeth would pause, almost certain that she could hear them howlin’ at the moon and sendin’ their love to her from far within the heavens. ”
Amara sniffled, while Ayla swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Marissa, however, beamed at them.
As she’d been speaking, more of her confidence had returned. And, by the end of it, she was feeling more like herself than she had since departing from Castle McEwan.
“Ye truly are a lovely storyteller,” Amara sniffled, prompting Ayla to nod her head.
Marissa chuckled, giving them her thanks.
“Do ye have any more love stories?” Ayla asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “They’ve always been me favorite. It was always hard to get Arthur to purchase them. He thought they were a waste. But he’d been gone for quite some time, and I’d added to that library of his.”
She winked, and Marissa couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’ll have to tell Cody that at least someone appreciates me love stories,” Marissa said, not giving a second thought to her words.
However, the moment she spoke them, Ayla’s eyebrows knitted together, and she cocked her head to the side. “Who’s Cody?”
Her tone was difficult to read. It was a little harder than it had been a moment ago, the question hesitant in a way that Ayla had not yet been with her. No doubt, the girl thought that Cody was an ex-fiancé. So, Marissa was all too happy to clarify.
“He’s technically me nephew-in-law,” she began. “But I consider him more like a braither. He’s a few years younger than me, around me youngest sister’s age. But we’ve always been close since the day we met.”
“Cody, ye and yer sister?” Amara prompted.
Marissa nodded. “Aye. He was sick when we first met him,” she explained. “Me oldest sister, Freya, is the one who nursed him back to health. Abigail—that’s me youngest sister—and I tried to help. But sometimes I think we just got in the way. Cody swears it was me stories that saved him, though.”
Ayla’s head remained cocked to the side, but her expression had softened. She was just curious now, rather than suspicious.
“What was he sick with?” she asked.
Suddenly serious, Marissa responded, “Poison.”
Amara’s eyebrows shot up as Marissa nodded. She could tell by the looks on their faces that they wanted to hear the story, and it was one that she was more than happy to tell, but her mouth was dry from how much talking she had done already.
“I’d love to tell ye,” Marissa offered. “How about durin’ luncheon?”
“Is it that time already?” Ayla asked.
And, sure enough, when the ladies stood up and walked inside, their midday meal was being placed on the dining table. Much to Marissa’s surprise, two large bodies were already sitting around it.
Upon seeing his sister enter the room, Joseph grinned. Arthur, however, had his head leaning against one of his hands, massaging his temples.
I wonder if he’s as tired as I’ve been all day.
Even though Marissa had fallen asleep quickly the night before, and had slept hard during the few hours she’d actually been asleep, the amount of sleep she’d gotten still was not much.
Ayla rushed forward, tugging Amara along with her. She plopped down into a chair, allowing her maid and friend to sit next to her. Then, she turned and blinked at Marissa expectantly, before glancing at the chair directly beside her.
Marissa took it, pulling it out and easing herself into it, and then glanced up. Arthur sat directly across from her, and Joseph sat to his right, across from Ayla.
Immediately, Ayla’s face split into a grin. “Marissa was just about to tell us the story of her family!” she announced, before turning her attention to Marissa.
Marissa froze. She had been more than willing to tell the story to Ayla and Amara. She had started to feel comfortable around them while out in the garden. She hadn’t, however, been prepared to relate the story in front of both Arthur and Joseph.
However, everyone at the table, except for Arthur, was now looking at her expectantly, their eyes gleaming with interest.
Her soon-to-be husband, however, still sat with his eyes closed, rubbing his temples.
Seeing no way out of telling the story, Marissa began to speak.