Chapter 4 #2
Rose forced herself to meet the woman’s eyes. There was no malice in the look, only a raw, open interest.
“Christina, this is Lady Rose Algernon,” Logan said, his voice carrying just enough to quiet the murmurs nearby. “She’ll be staying here fer a time.”
Christina’s attention returned to Rose.
“I’m Christina,” she said with a warm, genuine smile. “His sister.”
Rose inclined her head. “A pleasure.”
And she meant it. There was something unguarded in Christina’s manner that made the tightness in her chest ease, just a little.
A man stepped forward then, dragging his right leg slower than the left.
He seemed to be Logan’s age, though there was a severity to his green eyes that made him appear older. He eyed her with measured scrutiny, and Rose instinctively straightened beneath his stare.
“Conn,” Logan said simply.
The man inclined his head in acknowledgment to Rose, the movement restrained, almost formal in its precision.
Rose answered it in kind, dipping her chin with the same careful composure that had been drilled into her since childhood.
Logan’s gaze moved over the gathered men then. “That’s enough.”
His tone was calm, but its effect was immediate. The murmurs that had lingered at the edges of the courtyard faded at once, like a tide pulling back. Men turned away, returning to their work.
“Christina,” Logan added, turning slightly.
The woman stepped forward at once, her expression unchanged. The shift in the courtyard had not unsettled her in the slightest.
“See tae it that she’s settled.”
“Aye,” Christina said easily.
There was a silent readiness, as though this—welcoming a stranger into their home—was something she would not think twice about. She moved closer, and with each step, something in the air around Rose seemed to soften.
“Come,” she said gently.
Rose hesitated. Her eyes flickered briefly toward Logan, though she was not entirely certain why.
Then she drew in a breath, gathering herself once more, and stepped forward to follow.
Christina moved at an easy pace, guiding her across the courtyard and toward the keep, as though she had all the time in the world.
Up close, the walls were thick, worn smooth in places. The chill of the open courtyard gave way to something warmer, the faint scent of smoke and herbs lingering in the passage, mingling with the muted sounds of voices echoing from deeper within.
“Ye must be exhausted,” Christina said as they walked, glancing at her with concern. “Have ye been… travelling long?”
Rose inclined her head, her hands folding together more neatly before her as she adjusted her pace to match Christina’s.
“It has been… some time on the road,” she admitted, her voice soft, measured.
Christina made a small sound, something between sympathy and disapproval.
“Aye, I can see that.” Her gaze flicked briefly to the hem of Rose’s dress, then back to her face, though there was no judgment in it. “Ye’ll feel better once ye’ve had proper rest and a bath. And food,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “God kens when ye last had any.”
Rose felt an unknown warmth rise in her chest. She didn’t expect to be spoken to so openly. So… kindly, without expectation or restraint.
“I thank you,” she said, more quietly now.
They turned down a narrower corridor, the light dimmer here, though candles burned steadily along the walls. The passage curved, the sounds of the hall fading behind them until only the soft echo of their steps remained.
Christina glanced back at her once more.
“Are ye all right?” she asked, her tone gentler now, more careful. “Truly?”
The question caught Rose off guard. No one had asked her that since she had left home.
She felt the words rise instinctively—of course, I am well—but they lingered at the edge of her tongue, thinner than they should have been.
“I am… well enough,” she said at last.
Christina studied her for a brief moment longer, then nodded, accepting it without pressing further.
“That will dae fer now,” she said lightly. “We’ll see ye better before long.”
There was a surprising certainty in the words that made something shift somewhere deep within Rose’s chest.
They reached a door at the end of the passage. Christina pushed it open with an easy motion and stepped aside, allowing Rose to enter first.
The chamber was perfect.
The air held a gentle heat, the faint crackle of a fire sounding softly from the hearth. The space itself was modest, yet carefully kept—the bed neatly made, thick blankets folded at its foot and a small table set near the window.
“I thought ye might like this one,” Christina said as she stepped in behind her, closing the door with a soft click. “It’s one o’ the warmest rooms we have. The walls keep the cold out well enough, and the fire draws properly.”
Rose moved a step further inside, taking the room in slowly.
“It looks… quite comfortable,” she said.
Christina smiled. “Aye, that it is. And close enough tae the hall that ye’ll nae feel too far from things, if ye’ve a mind fer company. Though,” she added, tilting her head, “ye look as though rest might suit ye better just now.”
Rose felt the corner of her lips soften.
“You’re right,” she said.
Christina crossed the room, adjusting one of the blankets with a small, absent motion before turning back to her.
“Ye’ve naething tae worry about here,” she said, quieter now. “Ye’re safe wi’in these walls.”
Safe. She had told herself that already, but hearing it spoken aloud, so simply, made it feel… different. Real.
Rose turned to her.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“I’ll bring ye something tae change intae,” Christina said, her voice bright. “Ye’ll feel better fer it”.
Rose could only nod as the girl vanished in a blur of efficient motion, returning a short while later with a heavy weight of wool and linen draped over her arm. She laid the garments out, her movements light and unhurried.
Rose stepped closer, her fingers brushing over the unfamiliar textures. The fabric was thick and lacked the restrictive stiffness of the gowns she had left behind at Briar Hall.
“They are… different,” she murmured, the word catching in her throat as she compared them to the armor-like silk she was used to.
Christina smiled, a small, knowing expression that held no mockery, only fact.
“Aye,” she said. “We dinnae dress like the English”.
Rose found herself smiling faintly in return, a genuine warmth reaching her eyes for the first time.
“They are beautiful,” she admitted, and she saw Christina’s expression soften.
“Is this yer first time here?” Christina asked, her curiosity finally breaking through.
Rose nodded, her attention drifting toward the window where the Scottish sky seemed vast and somehow inviting.
"It seems... free," Rose murmured, as she held the soft wool of the Scottish gown.
"It is," Christina said simply with pride in her voice. "As bairns, we’d run the crags until the sun dipped—just the wind and the heather".
Rose felt a sharp, unfamiliar ache in her chest at the image. "My sisters and I were taught to move like clockwork, measuring our steps through manicured gardens as if the grass might judge us for a hurried pace".
Christina laughed, a sound like a low, bright bell. "Logan and I once stole a skiff just to see if the loch had an end, coming home soaked and shivering. One o’ the best days o’ me life."
"I cannot imagine this," Rose admitted, her voice falling into a low, thoughtful register. "The only thing I ever stole was a candle and a book of poetry."
"There’s always the possibility of freedom, Lady Rose," Christina said, her expression softening as she turned toward the door. "Rest now; the hills will still be waitin' when the sun finds ye".