Chapter 20
Dougal was working when his mother found him in the study. He realized he was humming and stopped the second she walked in.
Stephen had accused him of whistling, which he had denied. And now he braced himself for his mother’s remark about his humming. He would deny it until his last breath.
“Stephen was right. Ye are in a fine mood this morning!” Kenna chirped.
He paused. “Ye spoke to Stephen?”
“Aye. He claimed ye were whistling a happy little tune. I didnae believe it when he told me, so I thought, Kenna, why didnae ye see it yerself?”
“And what is the conclusion ye have come to, Maither? I would love to hear yer thoughts.”
Kenna’s smile never wavered. “Stephen was wrong.”
“He was?”
“Aye. Ye arenae whistling. Ye are humming.”
Apparently, Dougal hadn’t stopped humming quickly enough. If he had, he would have been able to avoid this conversation.
“I wasnae humming.”
Kenna crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that the excuse ye have decided to go with?”
“It isnae an excuse. I wasnae humming.”
“Perhaps ye didnae realize ye were humming.”
Dougal leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps ye are imagining things. Ye are growing older, after all.”
“Dougal Grant, I’ll have ye ken that I am as sharp as I was thirty years ago!”
He chuckled. “Aye, I believe ye, Maither, but I believe chasing after Lily for the past seven years has aged us more than we realize.”
“That is true. Lily is a treasure, but she is a handful, especially with that goat she takes with her wherever she goes.”
Dougal pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s brought the goat inside the castle?”
“Dougal, surely ye expected her to sneak the goat in at least once or twice.”
“Aye, but I didnae expect it so soon.”
“She’s seven, Dougal, nae a fool. Ye ken well enough that she’ll test every boundary ye set, same as ye did at her age.” Kenna’s eyes glinted with something between amusement and fond exasperation. “Do ye nae remember sneaking that half-wild pony into yer chambers when ye were little?”
“That was different.”
“Was it?”
“I was older.”
“Ye were six.” Kenna snorted a laugh. “Yer faither nearly had an apoplexy finding hoof marks on the good rug.”
Dougal groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Where is she now?”
“Last time I saw, she and the goat were headed toward the kitchens. Something about introducing it properly to Cook.” Kenna’s mouth twitched, fighting another laugh.
“I believe Skye was meant to be supervising her, though I suspect supervising has become something of a loose term where those two are concerned.”
Skye always found a way to make an adventure with Lily. Dougal didn’t know whether to be cross with her or not.
Then he thought of how Lily had been lately. She had been giggling more, excited to greet the day. She had always been a happy child, but more so now.
Skye was a breath of fresh air, filling the entire castle with her warmth in a way he had never expected when he had proposed the arrangement.
“Would ye go to the kitchens and check on them, Maither?”
Kenna smiled. “Of course. Though a goat in the kitchens isnae the worst thing that could happen.”
“Nay, but last I checked, Cook doesnae care for surprises before midday. He tolerates Lily running through only in the mornings, and a goat is a surprise he willnae like.”
“She does keep us on our toes.”
“That she does.”
His mother bid him farewell, closing the door behind her.
At some point, Lily’s giggles drifted into the study, followed by the sound of a goat’s hooves chasing behind. The kitten’s faint meows of protest were difficult to make out over the goat’s bleats, but Dougal had sharp hearing.
It was for his daughter’s sake.
Everything he did was for his daughter’s sake.
When he emerged from his study, he found Lily near the kitchens, the goat nowhere to be seen.
“Da!” she squealed, throwing her arms around him.
He lifted her and tossed her gently into the air. “Afternoon, lassie. Have ye behaved yerself today?”
Cook muttered something under his breath about a goat needing to stay out of the kitchens unless it was dinner.
Dougal shot him a look, and the man bowed his head apologetically. The last thing he wanted was for Lily to hear about her goat being cooked. Which would not happen, of course.
“Aye,” Lily said.
“Really?”
She pouted. “All right, Da, I did bring the goat into the castle, but he wanted to play chase with Blossom and me. He’s outside now!”
“Did yer grandmaither take him outside?”
“Aye, Grandmaither and Skye said it was time for him to go outside. Blossom was sad.”
The kitten mewled in protest.
Dougal had a feeling that little Blossom was not as fond of the goat as Lily thought.
“The goat needs to stay outside, Lily.”
“All the time?” Lily pouted again.
He was well familiar with that pout. His little girl had perfected it over the past year, especially after finding Blossom and talking him into keeping her. It had been difficult to refuse her when she begged him to let her new friend remain in the castle during the day.
He could already feel his resolve faltering. When it came to Lily, he only had so much strength.
“I’ll allow the goat in once a day, but only once,” he warned in the gentlest tone he could muster.
Lily nodded, throwing her arms around his neck. “Aye, Da. I’ll only allow the goat in once a day.”
“With supervision. And Blossom doesnae count. She’s a cat.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Alright, I’ll ask Grandmaither or Skye. They like the goat!”
Dougal wasn’t sure they felt as strongly about the goat as she did, but they would be willing to supervise them. He didn’t even have to ask.
“Aye, I think they are fond of the goat.”
Lily laughed. “Are ye fond of the goat, Da?”
“I am happy ye found a new friend.”
Skye’s words about how Lily’s only friends were animals came back to him. All he wanted to do was protect his little girl. It had been the only thing on his mind since he took her home.
Was he stifling her?
He did not want to believe he was, but it was difficult when his protectiveness took over. With Lily, it was instinct. But that same instinct was extending to Skye in a different way.
It wasn’t until the next day that he had a chance to talk with Skye.
He found her at the breakfast table, pages tucked beside her plate, a shy tentativeness about her that he hadn’t seen since her first night under his roof.
“Ye look as though ye’ve something to confess.”
Her cheeks colored instantly. “I wrote more last night and the night before. I think I’ve overcome me writer’s block and now I can finish writing the story.”
Dougal should be happy about that. He should be happy that Skye was finally able to finish her story. It was the point of her coming here. He helped her finish the story, and in return, she helped restore his reputation.
He had thought it would take the entire month. There was no reason to think she was going to leave before the month was up, but he knew there was always a chance.
“Did ye, now?” He reached for the pages before she could stop him, though she made only a halfhearted attempt to pull them back. “May I?”
Skye looked reluctant at first. He waited for her permission, not wanting to snatch the papers out of her hands. She would get angry with him if he did that, and if there was one thing he wanted, it was to remain in her favor.
“Ye may,” she allowed.
She busied herself with her tea, refusing to watch him read, though he could feel her attention on him regardless, every line of her tense with anticipation.
He read in silence, the words settling strangely in his chest. This Lion knelt before children.
This Lion was gentle with a captive he had no right to touch so carefully.
It was nothing like the Lion people had feared for seven long years, nothing like the Lion she had first written, cold and unapproachable.
“This isnae the story ye started with.”
The story had taken a turn he had not expected. Dougal wasn’t a man of many words, and he chose his words carefully, but he was rarely speechless. And of course, it was Skye who did that.
How did she manage to keep surprising him again and again?
“Nay.” She finally looked up, her expression vulnerable. “The Lion changed. I suppose I couldnae keep writing him the way I first imagined, nae after…” she trailed off.
“Nae after what, lass?”
“Ye ken well enough what.”
He set the pages down carefully, studying her carefully. “How do ye think yer sister will react? I imagine she willnae be thrilled about it.”
Skye’s fingers tightened around her own cup. “I daenae ken how she’ll feel, truthfully. But I ken that she will tell me her opinion. She’s never been shy about telling me the truth.”
He was likely the first person to read what she had written. It satisfied something in him that he didn’t understand.
“Ye’re frightened of what she’ll say.” It was a statement and not a question.
Freya was important to Skye, and her opinion could change everything. But Dougal wasn’t going to let it bother him.
“I’m frightened of what it means that I wrote it at all.” The admission seemed to cost her something, the words coming slower than usual. “That I couldnae help but write him kind, when kindness was never meant to be part of the bargain.”
Dougal said nothing for a long moment, turning the confession over in his mind, unable to decide if he was pleased or unsettled by it.
“Ye ken the bargain still stands. A month, and then ye leave.”
“I ken,” she murmured. “I remind meself of it every night.”
“And does it help?”
She met his eyes then, something raw and honest passing between them that neither seemed prepared to name aloud. “Nae as much as it used to.”
He reached across the table, covering her hand with his own, and for once said nothing clever or cutting, only held her gaze until she looked away, her cheeks flushing, the pages resting between them like evidence neither of them was ready to examine too closely—the story neither of them could quite bring themselves to end nor find the courage to write toward its close.
Not tonight. Perhaps not for many nights yet to come.
She turned her hand beneath his, palm to palm, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Until Dougal broke the silence.
“Skye.”
“Aye?”
“Whatever ye decide for the ending,” he said quietly, “write it true. Nae for the readers, nae for yer sister, nae even for me. Only for yerself.”
She studied him, searching for the trick, the way she always did, and found none. “That’s nae the advice I expected from ye.”
“I’m full of surprises, lass.”
A small, reluctant smile curved her lips. “That ye are.”
Lily’s voice carried faintly from the corridor, calling for Blossom, and the moment shifted, softened, neither of them quite ready to release the other’s hand just yet, breakfast growing cold and forgotten between them.
Dougal pulled away before Lily and his mother came in. But he was, once again, in a good mood.
Everyone was aware of his good mood, apparently. Lily was the one to point it out this time, earning a small smile from Kenna, but he did shoot his mother a look to drop it. Thankfully, she did.
His thoughts drifted back to Skye's hand beneath his, to the way she'd looked at him as though searching for a trick and finding none. Whatever this was between them, it was growing harder to name it only an arrangement.
A month. Well, less than a month.
In a few weeks, Skye would finish writing her story, and his reputation would be restored. Some people would stubbornly cling to their opinions of him, but he had learned long ago that he could not change everyone’s opinion.
All he could do was keep moving forward.