Chapter 27 #2
"Nay," Molly agreed, kissing the top of Claire's head just as she had done when Claire was younger. "There isnae. We should get ye ready."
Together, they walked toward the bed where the thick traveling clothes waited. Molly picked up Claire's fresh chemise before turning back to her with a warm look.
"Arms up," Molly instructed.
Claire obeyed automatically, and a small laugh escaped the maid.
"Good." Molly smiled. "I was wondering if I would have to chase ye around the room."
"I have done that before," Claire managed the ghost of a smile.
"When ye were seven," Molly reminded her.
"I was convinced ribbons were instruments of torture," Claire argued lightly.
"They still are," Molly chuckled, earning the smallest, genuine laugh from Claire. "There she is."
"I fear I am making a dreadful mess of myself," Claire sighed, shaking her head.
"Me lady, I have seen ye with the pox," Molly stated flatly.
"Molly!" Claire gasped, her eyes widening.
"What?" Molly grinned as she helped settle the fresh linen chemise over Claire's shoulders. "Ye were covered head to toe in spots and insisted on telling everyone ye still looked beautiful."
"I did nae," Claire argued, laughing despite herself.
"Oh, ye most certainly did," Molly countered. "Ye were eight, and wonderfully dramatic."
The laughter slowly faded as Molly reached for Claire's stays, lacing them carefully and pausing every few pulls.
"Too tight?" Molly asked.
"Nay," Claire answered softly.
"Hm," Molly hummed, loosening them slightly anyway. "I have watched ye breathe since ye were in nappies. I ken when ye are pretending."
"I swear ye hear everything." Claire smiled softly.
"I do," Molly confirmed.
The heavy petticoats came next, followed by the thick wool traveling gown. Molly worked with practiced ease, smoothing each layer as though the simple act of dressing Claire could somehow mend her broken heart.
When she moved behind her with the hairbrush, Claire closed her eyes, letting the steady strokes through her dark waves comfort her. Her mother had brushed her hair exactly this way, and after she died, Molly had never stopped.
Neither of them spoke, as they simply did not need to. The quiet rhythm of the brush, the warmth of the fire, and Molly's gentle hands spoke far more than words ever could.
Finally, Molly gathered Claire's long hair into a neat, practical braid.
"There," Molly said softly.
Claire looked into the looking glass, noting her eyes were still slightly swollen from crying, yet she looked steadier. She was not healed, but she was steady enough to face the courtyard. Molly rested both warm hands on her shoulders.
"Yer mother would be proud of ye," Molly murmured.
"I miss her," Claire said, her throat tightening instantly. "So very much."
"I ken," Molly nodded. "I miss her too."
For a long moment, neither woman moved, until Molly squeezed her shoulders gently.
"Come now," Molly encouraged, reaching for Claire's cloak and draping it around her with the same care she had shown every winter for years. "Whatever waits beyond that door, ye will nae face it alone."
"I have never thanked ye," Claire whispered, covering Molly's hand with her own as the maid fastened the heavy clasp beneath her chin.
"There has never been any need," Molly assured her.
"There is," Claire insisted, her voice breaking slightly. "Ye stayed."
"I promised yer mother I would." Molly's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "And I intend to keep that promise for the rest of me days."
Molly opened the chamber door first, allowing the familiar sounds of Rosewood Castle to drift in immediately.
Voices echoed from somewhere below, heavy boots crossed the stone corridors, and a door opened and shut farther down the passage.
Life continued on, completely indifferent to the agonizing ache sitting heavily inside Claire's chest.
"Ready?" Molly asked quietly.
"Let us go." Claire drew a quiet breath.
Molly slipped Claire's heavy satchel over her own shoulder before wrapping the traveling cloak more securely around her mistress.
Together they stepped into the corridor, the ancient castle feeling different this morning.
Servants passing through the halls greeted her with warm smiles and wishes for safe travels, and Claire returned each greeting with quiet kindness.
Every heartfelt farewell settled a little deeper inside her heart, reminding her that they had made her feel welcome and as though she truly belonged here.
That simple kindness hurt almost as much as leaving Finn.
They descended the winding staircase at an unhurried pace, the bright sunlight streaming through the narrow arrow slits to paint golden ribbons across the stone walls.
Claire remembered climbing these very steps beside Finn only days before, teasing him for walking too quickly, and he had slowed without a single complaint.
At the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Campbell emerged from the kitchens carrying a woven basket of freshly baked bread.
"Oh, Lady Claire," Mrs. Campbell stopped short, immediately setting the basket onto a nearby wooden table. "I heard ye are leaving."
"I am." Claire nodded gently.
"We are going to miss ye terribly," the older housekeeper said, crossing the distance between them without hesitation to pull Claire into a warm, flour-dusted embrace.
"I shall miss all of ye too." Claire hugged her back tightly.
"There will always be a place for ye here," Mrs. Campbell promised, drawing back to study Claire's face.
"Thank ye," Claire whispered, emotion tightening her throat as the housekeeper reached up to straighten the edge of her cloak with practiced, caring hands.
"Travel safely," Mrs. Campbell instructed, pressing a small cloth parcel into Claire's hands. "A few oatcakes for the road."
"I will treasure them." Claire smiled down at the bundle.
"Ye had better eat them," Mrs. Campbell laughed softly, drawing another small laugh from Claire.
Claire slowly descended the stone steps, each footstep feeling impossibly heavy against the frozen mud. She reached the center of the courtyard and instinctively looked toward the keep.
Will he come?
She scolded herself instantly, telling her battered heart not to hope, as he had already said his goodbyes.
Still, her eyes wandered almost of their own accord toward the shadows. The stable doors creaked open loudly, and Claire's breath caught sharply in her throat.