Chapter 23 Rebels #2
Agatha dismounts and hands her reins to an appearing stable boy before patting his head and turning to us. “Shall we?”
Lachlan dismounts first and reaches up to grab my waist before hefting me off in one swift movement.
“I’m perfectly capable of getting off this horse on my own.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” He grins down at me, but leans in close to whisper in my ear, “I just wanted an excuse to touch ye.”
My cheeks heat immediately, but I’m saved from a retort as Agatha walks by and gently whacks him upside the back of his head. He whirls, his eyes dancing with mischief.
“That’s enough of that. She is the queen, and you are her guard,” she admonishes him.
It’s strange, for so long, I had wanted more out of our relationship, and now it suddenly feels like that might be coming true.
We follow her through the massive, arched wooden door clad in iron. Lachlan does not heed her warning very well as he clasps our hands together. The action brings a swarm of butterflies to my stomach, chasing away any lingering anxiety and replacing it with a newfound, bubbling excitement.
Chaos ensues, however, as we step into the foyer.
Servants briskly attend their tasks, some holding stacks of firewood or carrying trays of food, and warriors stride down halls and into various rooms. By the looks of it, some are coming and going from training, their weapons gleaming and their leathers coated in dirt.
The Great Hall had always felt empty, but this place is abuzz with activity and an undercurrent of excitement.
People smile and nod to us as we continue to follow Agatha, who points out various halls, rooms, and art adorning the walls.
My mind flits from one thing to the next as we walk quickly to keep pace behind her, winding our way through the halls and out the back of the castle.
“These are our training grounds.” She turns towards us, pride emanating from her.
The grounds are a mirror image of the training grounds from the Great Hall, but twice the size and packed with people.
There are groups sparring, running through an elaborate obstacle course, and several target stations with warriors practicing knife throwing, archery, and spear throwing.
My jaw drops as I take it all in. This is what training should look like.
They are all ferocious and shockingly organized as they flit from station to station, managing to work on several techniques in the same session without encroaching on each other’s space.
A similar archway stretches across the opening of the grounds, connecting the fence. Lachlan leans close, pointing to the words carved into the wood.
“Train with honor, and you will not die with shame.” His voice tickles my ear.
My muscles itch to join them and blow off the building steam. I take a few steps closer to the grounds, feeling drawn to it, before a gentle tug on my hand halts me.
Concern lights Lachlan’s eyes, and he, not too subtly, looks towards my injured side. “Maybe give it one more day, Key,” he says gently.
I know he would support my choice either way, but his concern is still comforting.
My body craves a physical challenge to dull the edge of anxiety, but if I accidentally stumble on my first day in the ring, it would be catastrophic to my already precarious reputation.
Slowly nodding my agreement to Lachlan, I turn to face Agatha.
“Do you mind showing me to my room? I think I’ll need some rest after our journey.”
She smiles kindly at me, not a hint of displeasure in my decision to rest instead of immediately training, “Of course, my dear, right this way.” She turns and heads back to the castle.
Agatha leads me to my room, which is located on the third floor of the south wing and overlooks the grounds. She swings open the door with a knowing smile and ushers me inside.
“This was your mother’s room,” she says with a nod to the fireplace. Just above the mantel hangs a large oil painting of my mother with the wings I never knew she had.
“My mother’s room?” I question, my brows furrowing.
Agatha nods. “This is your ancestral home, from the first of your line down all the way down to you.”
I turn back and take in the room with the new understanding. The door clicks shut behind me, leaving me all alone. I spend a few moments memorizing the painting of my mother and giving myself time to grieve this new version of her I never got to know, but lost all the same.
Tears spill down my cheeks when I think about all the things she’s missed so far. It hurts knowing she’ll never see me here. That she’ll never walk these islands with me or see me fly.
She’s the reason I’m here, and now she’s gone.
I wish more than anything that she could be here. I wish she had told me about all of this. But above all, I wish she were here to give me advice.
I know in my bones what she would say, “You have to keep going, keep fighting, and listen to your heart. See this through.” But there’s a difference between knowing what she would say and actually hearing the words come from her lips.
Seeing her mean the words with her expression and making me believe them, too.
The clashes and thuds of the warriors training outside break through my grief, and my chest rises and falls with elation, chasing away the sadness. This is the right path. I can feel it deep down in my heart that this is what we’re supposed to be doing. I have finally found my purpose.
I take a look around at the high-ceilinged room decorated with rich mahogany furniture. Dark-burgundy curtains frame the bay windows, and an elaborate rug takes up much of the floor space between my bed and the sitting area surrounding the fireplace.
It smells of cinnamon and vanilla, the scent reminding me of my mom.
A small knock on the door draws my attention away, and I open it to find Lachlan leaning on the doorframe. His smile drops as he takes in my tear-streaked face.
“Are ye okay?” he asks, assessing the room behind me for any threats.
I step out of the way and point to the painting. Relief washes over his rigid posture, and he comes to stand in front of me, cupping my face in his hands.
“She would ha’ been so proud of ye,” he whispers.
I force a smile onto my face. I’m so sick of always crying in front of him. He takes another step closer and brushes a quick kiss on my forehead.
My eyes flutter close, savoring the tenderness, before anger sparks, and I jerk out of his grip.
“Why do you always do that?”
Lachlan’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Do what?”
I glare at him. “The forehead kisses.”
He hangs his head briefly, clenching his hands into fists. He’s battling with himself, and I wonder if he’ll give me an honest answer.
But then his eyes flick up, meeting my own.
“Before,” he begins but sighs deeply, “I thought it would be easy to keep my distance from ye, to separate our friendship from my duty and just guard ye until I could come back here for good and leave ye behind.” He swallows.
“But then I started to ha’ feelings for ye.
Watching ye struggle to find your way after your parents’ death forced me to realize how I want to protect ye from every possible thing that could ever hurt ye.
Seeing ye come out the other side of your grief reminded me of your strength and that ye don’t need me to lead you through it.
Ye just need someone to stand at your side, and I wanted to be that person.
I wanted to walk this path with ye. Ye are strong and capable and breathtaking.
I wanted ye immensely. But had it become more between us before ye found everything out, ye would never—I would never—be able to forgive myself for deceiving ye in that way, too.
So the brief forehead kisses were, selfishly, all I would allow myself. ”
His revelation floors me.
He did have feelings for me, too? My face must not reveal my feelings on this matter for once, or he misreads me because sorrow weighs heavily in his gaze.
“I ken I was the villain in part of your story, but let me be the hero now.”
His honesty is refreshing, and his last words are a shock to my system.
I take a moment to collect myself and mull over his words before replying, “So, you did want to kiss me the whole time?”
His smile is broad and unrestrained. “Since we’ve been adults, aye.” He nods. “But when we were younger, nae. I dinna think ye remember what a wild, precocious thing you were, do ye?”
Feeling a little too vulnerable at his admission and not at all ready to forgive him completely. “But you lied to me?”
I cock my head to the side, narrowing my eyes.
He freezes, his smile turning into something deadly serious as he adjusts to my change in attitude.
“I canna go back and undo what I did. The choice that I made in trying to keep ye safe by hiding the truth, and then the poor tactic I used to get ye here, it was a mistake.” He takes a step closer to me, his hand reaching out to cup my face.
“And I am sorry more than you’ll ever ken.
The look of hurt on your face when ye saw me in the throne room has haunted me every day since.
I will always regret that. But I need ye to believe I would never do anything to intentionally hurt ye. ”
I remain quiet, trying to grapple with my feelings of betrayal and the feelings of longing that I’ve had since the moment I met him.
“If this is the end for us, that has to be your choice. Ye will ha’ to decide that there won’t ever be anything more between us because I canna.” He swallows before whispering, “I will be stuck here in this moment, forever, telling ye that I’m not giving up.”
Us.
My breathing halts before coming out in quick, rapid pants.
My eyes water and my throat burns. I forgive him, and I do understand.
But I can’t find the right words to portray that.
Tears begin flowing as I gaze into the depths of his green eyes, which are flooded with emotion as he holds his breath, awaiting my response.
I gently hold his hand to my face, barely managing to whisper, “This is not our end.”
He leans his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling together as we savor this moment. I angle my head up towards him, our lips just a hair’s breadth apart. I hunger for the touch of his lips on mine. To soothe the burning that has begun in my soul.
A loud knock echoes through the room, the moment crumbling around us.
“Lena! Did you want to get some lunch?” Mathilda’s voice calls through the closed door.
Lachlan rolls his eyes, and I chuckle. The tension between us melts away completely.
“Yes, I’m starving!” I call back loudly.
I look back at him. “I think it’ll take more than apologies to grant you kisses now, anyway. I need to see some actions, not just words,” I throw over my shoulder as I walk to the door.
He sighs before mockingly placing both hands on his heart. “I will absolutely endeavor to please ye, Your Majesty,” he bows low.
Lachlan’s breathy laugh causes a shiver to walk its way down my spine, and he throws a wink at me as I leave my room.
He follows behind but doesn’t go too far, just to his room across the hall.
I pause and follow him with my eyes the entire way, drinking in the saunter of his walk.
I turn to face Mathilda, who’s a few steps ahead. Her eyes ablaze with mischief.
“And what the hell was that about?”