Chapter 25 #2
The door flew open and her three blonde sisters fell into the room along with a large dog.
Cat opened her mouth as though she meant to offer a witty remark. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears and she merely shook her head.
“Papa.” Ella's gaze cast to the ground in solemnity. “Just like Mother.”
“What news of the other soldiers?” Anice asked in a trembling voice. “Have you heard news of Lord Clarion?”
The man grimaced at the name. “Forgive me, my lady. I fear I bring grave news of him as well.”
Anice curled her fingers around the base of her throat, as if she could no longer draw breath. The small ruby ring on her finger caught the light. “You do not mean…”
The man lowered his head with sorrow. “Aye, my lady. He is dead.”
“Geordie.” Cat fell to her knees in front of the messenger’s chair, peering up at him. “Did he fall in battle?”
The man regarded her and shook his head. “Nay, young Geordie has survived.”
Anice staggered back on legs that did not appear to hold her. “My father…and my betrothed…” Piquette whimpered and edged nervously around her.
“Forgive me, my lady.” The man's voice had gone gravelly. “There were so many dead.” His eyes went distant, haunted. “So very many.”
Anice sagged against the doorway and the color drained from her face. Drake was there in a moment, sweeping her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.
Anice turned her face to Drake’s chest and sobbed, deep, wracking tears that tore at Marin's heart. Piquette watched his mistress anxiously.
“Was Berwick such a loss?” Marin asked, incredulous.
“Nay, we won Berwick with nearly no casualties on our side.” The messenger scrubbed a hand over his weary face. “It was reivers. They attacked us as we headed home. We overpowered them, but not without our own losses.”
Tears burned hot in Marin’s eyes, tears she could not stop even if she tried. “Drake, please take Anice to the girls’ chambers. We must tell Leila.”
She cleared the grief from her throat, for the moment at least. “Thank you for bringing this news to us,” she said to the soldier.
“You did so at great danger to yourself and we appreciate your risk. Please go to the kitchen for food. I will have Isla see to you and ensure you have a bath and bed waiting for you when you have finished.”
He lowered his head, more in a hang of defeat than a nod of compliance. “Aye, my lady. Thank you.”
No sooner had she finished speaking, the tightness in her throat welled once more with the threat of tears. But she was not a girl. She was the lady of Werrick Castle. She was her father's daughter. Determined and strong.
She would not let others see her tears as she straightened and led the way to the room all the sisters shared.
She would be their support now as she'd been when their mother had died. Drake lay Anice into the bed, concern etched deep on his face. Piquette leapt up onto the mattress by Anice’s side and Drake departed with apparent hesitation.
Ella and Cat cuddled beside her, their own sorrow leaving their eyes and noses red.
Leila sat in the chair by the fire, her legs tucked up on the seat, hugged against her chest. Her eyes were large in her small face as she regarded Anice’s heartbreak.
Sweet Leila, who they all cherished in their own precious way.
In the depths of their minds, buried so deep none would ever admit it, they realized Leila had been the byproduct of their mother's brutal rape.
The knowledge lodged like a stone within them all.
Affection masked guilt, and their father had been the most affectionate of all to this final gift from the woman he had loved with all his heart.
Leila had been his favorite daughter.
Marin blinked against the unforgiving grip of grief around her heart and went to her youngest sister. “Leila.”
She shook her dark head and turned toward the fire.
“I must speak with you.” Marin knelt beside the chair and peered up at the girl, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face beyond the curtain of dark hair.
There is great sadness on the horizon.
“You already know though, don't you?” she asked.
Leila nodded and slowly lifted her head. Her hair parted to reveal her face as she did so. Her eyes, while large with emotion, were dry.
Marin reached out and stroked her youngest sister's cheek.
Leila looked away and pursed her small lips.
“What is it?” Marin asked.
Leila did not answer.
“Leila.”
The large blue eyes shifted back to Marin once more. “I…do not believe all is as it appears.”
Marin's heart lurched in her chest. “What do you mean? Is it Father? Is it Timothy? The reivers who attacked them?”
Leila's hands fisted and she kept her mouth closed, obviously not intending to say more.
Desperation raked over Marin's raw nerves. Was this hope? Was this another warning? A pent-up sob ached in her throat.
But then Leila was hurting too. They all were.
“I am here if you need to talk,” Marin offered patiently. She leaned over her sister and pressed a kiss to her brow. Leila slid from her seat and joined her sisters on the bed where they all held one another in their grief.
Marin ought to join them, to comfort them. Except that it was too similar to when their mother had died. The pain in Marin’s chest was exquisite. It choked her and made the room spin. In the end, she knew she could not stay. She pushed from the room and out into the hallway.
Bran was leaning against the wall but straightened as soon as he saw her.
Torrents of emotion whipped at her, lashing in deep, gouging bites.
Part of her wanted to run into his strong arms and let him comfort her, to take advantage of his offer to be the man she could need to need.
And yet another part of her was appalled at the life he had led, at the simple fact he had been a reiver.
In her life, reivers had destroyed the safety of her home, raped her mother, killed her people, waged a siege against the castle and now they had murdered her father.
How could she love a man who had led a life which had brought her such sorrow?