“And ye lived there?At the tavern?” Erica asked.
“Aye.The old owner, Fergus MacKay, let me have the small room above the kitchen.” Gabriella’s expression softened at the memory. “He was kind. Treated me like the daughter he never had. When he died last year, the tavern passed to his nephew in Inverness, who sold it soon after.” Her hands stilled on her embroidery, clearly not wanting to speak more about the topic.
The solar fell silent.Even Erica seemed to sense this wasn’t a topic to ask further about.
“Did ye have friends there?”Andrea asked gently, breaking the heavy silence. “Other lasses yer age?”
“A few.”Gabriella resumed her stitching, grateful for the distraction. “The baker’s daughter would sometimes bring fresh bread and stay to gossip. And there was an old woman—Morag—who taught me about herbs and healing. Said I had the knack for it.”
“Perhaps ye can helpMistress Agnes in the surgery sometime,” Andrea suggested. “She’s always complainin’ about nae havin’ an apprentice with a steady hand.”
“I’d like that,”Gabriella admitted.
The thoughtof learning something useful, something that might serve her well in France, was appealing.
“And what of music and dancin’?”Erica pressed, leaning forward eagerly. “Did ye ever join in the festivals when the fiddlers came through?”
Gabriella’s cheeks colored.“I’ve never learned to dance properly,” she confessed. “There was music at the tavern sometimes, but I was always too busy servin’ to join in.”
“Never danced?”Erica’s expression was scandalized. “Maither, we must remedy this terrible situation at once! Especially with the harvest festival approachin’.”
Andrea seemedto consider the idea. “It would be fittin’ for Gabriella to join in the celebrations as a member of this household.”
“I’m hardly family,”Gabriella murmured.
“But ye’re our guest,”Andrea said firmly. “And while ye’re under this roof, ye’ll be treated as family.” Her eyes softened slightly. “It would do the clan good to see some joy in these halls again.”
The unspoken griefhung between them—the shadow of the former Laird’s death that still haunted this family. Gabriella felt a sudden kinship with their loss, having known such pain herself.
“I’d be honored to learn,”she said quietly, her fingers tracing the clan pattern she’d been practicing. “Though I fear I’ll prove as clumsy with me feet as I am with this needle.”
Erica laughed,the sound bright in the sunlit room. “That’s what practice is for! And ye’re already improvin’ at yer stitches. See how even that last row is?”
Gabriella examinedher work with surprise. Indeed, the last several stitches showed a marked improvement—neat and consistent, where her earlier attempts had been uneven.
“Ye see?”Andrea nodded with satisfaction. “Ye need only patience and proper instruction. Skills will come in time.”
For a moment,Gabriella allowed herself to imagine the feeling. Learning to dance in these grand halls, wearing a fine dress instead of tavern rags, being part of something whole and unbroken. But she quickly reminded herself that this was temporary. France was her destination, her true chance at a fresh start.
Still,as the conversation flowed around her, easier now, she couldn’t help wondering what it might be like to truly belong somewhere again.
The afternoon lightwas beginning to soften as they continued embroidering, the atmosphere in the solar growing warmer with each passing hour.
“What brought ye joy, lass?”Andrea asked, reaching for another oatcake. “In those quiet moments ye had to yerself.”
Gabriella considered the question,needle paused mid-stitch. No one had asked about her pleasures before. At the tavern, survival had consumed her thoughts.
“I likedto walk by the creek near the village at dawn,” she admitted. “When the mist still clung to the heather and nae a soul had stirred. There was a spot beneath an old rowan tree where ye could see right across the glen.” Her expression lightened at the memory. “And sometimes, if I finished me chores early, I’d sing the old ballads me faither taught me. Songs of heroes and battles long past.”
“Ye sing?”Erica’s eyes lit up with interest. “Ye must join us for the evenin’ music. Some of the men play the fiddle most nights in the Great Hall.”
“Oh, I couldnae,”Gabriella demurred, her cheeks flushing. “I only ken simple tunes.”
“Nonsense,”Andrea said firmly. “Music brings joy to weary hearts. The castle has heard too little of it these past years.”
Gabriella smiled tentatively,touched by their enthusiasm. For a moment, she felt like the girl she might have been without the shadow of Lewis and his men hanging over her.
“Perhaps someday,”she conceded softly. “When I feel more at home.”
