Chapter 13 #2
Philomena moved quietly across the tiny room. She sat on the far end of the stone bench without being invited; one of the few things Alba had always valued about the girl, and occasionally found deeply inconvenient.
“It sounds different,” Philomena said softly after a long moment.
“What does?”
“The castle.” Philomena looked out at the courtyard, her chin resting briefly on her palm. “All those MacGregor voices…” She paused, her eyes tracking the movement below. “It sounds different at night. Louder somehow, even when it’s quiet.”
Alba said nothing.
“Strange,” Philomena added, her voice dropping. “To hear so many people in MacLaren walls.”
Alba’s eyes tracked a single torch moving across the yard. A man she did not recognize crossed from the Gate to the South Passage without once looking up.
Five days ago, she had known every single step on those cobblestones by sound alone. She had known exactly who turned left toward the kitchens, who turned right toward the garrison, and what precise time of night each of the watch fires was relieved.
Now she knew almost none of it.
“I hate it,” she said.
The words came out quieter than she intended, completely stripped of the careful, fierce neutrality she kept in every room where someone might be watching. Here, in the small Solar with the dark outside and only Philomena beside her, they came out brutally honest.
“I hate the noise of it. The rearrangement of everythin’.
Wakin’ up and nae recognizin’ me own home.
” She pressed her palms flat against her thighs, her fingers digging into the fabric.
“I hate that I cannae walk from me chamber to the Study without calculatin’ who I might encounter, and what expression I need to be wearin’ when I do. ”
Philomena was quiet for a beat. “And him?”
Alba looked back out at the courtyard.
“I hate that the most,” she said. It was not an answer to the question asked, and they both knew it.
"Mm." Philomena tucked her feet up onto the bench, entirely unbothered by the lack of an actual answer. "Do ye ken, I still remember the day ye arrived. Ye came up that same road below, in a cart with yer whole life in two trunks, lookin' as ye'd rather face down a war party than yer own weddin'."
Alba glanced at her. "I was terrified."
"Ye dinnae look it." Philomena's mouth curved, somewhere between fond and rueful. "Ye walked into that Hall with yer chin up, met Old Laird MacLaren's eye without flinchin', and asked him within the hour why his horse had a docked tail. He laughed so hard he nearly fell off the beast."
"I did nae."
"Ye absolutely did. I was standin' right behind ye, and I'd only been in service here meself a year." Philomena's eyes glinted in the dark. "I thought, well, this one's either mad or made of iron. Turned out to be a bit of both."
Despite herself, something in Alba's chest loosened, just slightly. "I daenae remember being that brave."
"Ye wouldnae. Ye were far too busy being fearless to notice the rest of us shakin' in our shoes." Philomena's voice softened. "I always envied that about ye. Even then."
Alba said nothing for a moment, watching the torch below move out of sight, another instantly replacing it.
“I am nae fearless now,” she said quietly.
Philomena turned to look at her properly. “Nae?”
“I have spent three years makin’ meself into somethin’ that couldnae be moved.” Alba’s voice was low. “Powerful men sat across that table from me, thinkin’ widowhood made me manageable. I looked every one of them in the eye until they understood their mistake.”
Her fingers curled slightly against her thigh. “I ran this Clan on will and preparation and a flat refusal to let anyone see a single crack in the stone.”
“And now?”
“Now there’s a crack.” The admission cost her something visible. “Five days, Philomena. He’s been inside these walls five days, and I can feel the masonry comin’ apart.”
Philomena did not tease this time. She reached over and took Alba’s hand, simple and steady. “That’s nae weakness, ye ken. That’s just bein’ a person.”
“It feels like weakness.”
“It feels like fear,” Philomena corrected gently. “Which isnae the same thing, however much ye’d like it to be.”
Alba let out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost not. “When did ye get so wise?”
“I have always been wise. Ye were simply too busy runnin’ a Clan to notice.” Philomena squeezed her hand once before releasing it. “What is it ye’re truly afraid of?” Alba was quiet for a long moment.
“Ewan frightened me on our weddin’ night,” she finally said. “Nae through violence, but I sat on the edge of his bed and understood that whatever I’d been before, I was smaller now.”
“And Sebastian?”
“He doesnae frighten me that way.” Her voice had gone very quiet. “That’s the terrifyin’ part of it.”
Philomena waited, saying nothing.