I received your gift. In turn, ken that your friends are safe. I hope you are as well.
Thank you.
That was it. Just two vague lines that could mean anything. Neala's eyes remained dry, but her throat itched, and something pinched at the back of her nose as she took a few deep breaths to try to gather her emotions.
Why had he written to her? Neala read the words over and over again. Her heart relaxed a little as she realized that this meant he must have received her antidote and that it must have worked. She had been horrified when she heard the plan, and even Cailean had seemed discomfited when it had been suggested, but the rebels as a whole had voted to go ahead with it. Neala had been desperate when she'd found and sent the antidote.
Your friends are safe,he'd written. He must mean Elspeth and the Sparrows. He'd keep their secret, then? Neala had hoped so, but having it confirmed was an enormous solace.
Folding the paper neatly, she tucked it away in her bodice. She felt the paper crinkling there against her skin, and she had to stop and let out a steadying breath.
This was good, but it was an exchange. That was all. Ansel was alive, and Neala had to be content with that. They'd likely never see each other again. It was only right.
But she knew that when night came, and she closed her eyes, he'd be waiting in her dreams.
Chapter Twelve
Nessa opened her eyes,her heart racing from a panicked dream she had already forgotten. For a moment, she couldn't understand where she was. She sat up, confused, and then her eyes fell on the painting of the bluebell woods. Breana's painting.
She remembered all at once. The kidnapping. The long journey with Darren. Reuniting with her sisters. And… and that strange moment the night before. She glanced down at the spot on her bed where Darren had sat next to her the night before, and her heart gave a strange little stutter. He'd been so intense. So close. If she'd have asked him to stay with her, would he have done it? Nessa didn't know if she even wanted to know the answer.
Disturbed by her thoughts, she slid out of bed and into a pair of slippers that someone had placed next to her. She moved to the washbasin, which someone had freshly filled overnight, and used the chilly water to quickly wash her face. After a moment, she slipped out of her borrowed nightdress and washed her body as best she could. Nessa longed for a soak in a hot bath, but she wasn't sure that was something that would be granted to her—and who would she even ask were she brave enough to do so? Asmile flickered across her face as she pictured the awkwardness of asking Darren.
"Why would ye need a whole fresh bath?" she said out loud in a silly imitation of Darren's voice. "Come tae me rooms, and we can share mine instead."
Nessa giggled at her own joke, but her mind raced ahead with the thought. She could picture it so clearly in her head. Darren would take her by the hand and lead her through the castle, teasing her as she would no doubt blush along the way. They'd enter his rooms and close the door behind them. The steaming hot bath would be waiting enticingly in the middle of the room, and Darren would turn to her, his hazel eyes burning with the same heat as Nessa had felt the night before. He'd draw her close, reaching for the ties of her bodice, and…
A loud knock thudded at the door, and Nessa yelped in surprise as she was torn out of her fantasy. She gasped, glancing down and seeing her own hand splayed on her belly, and she felt her cheeks burning with pure embarrassment. She sent a thankful prayer to whoever might be listening that the door was locked.
"A moment!" she shouted, trying not to let the panic sound in her voice. She raced to the wardrobe and flung it open, grabbing the first simple dress she saw and throwing it on. It was a little big for her, but she tied the belt as best she could and ran her fingers nervously through her hair.
The knock came again.
Nessa took a moment to collect herself. She glanced down at her feet and realized she was still wearing her slippers. She hesitated, wondering if she should find shoes or fix her hair before answering, but there was no time. Swallowing her pride, she made her way toward the door and called through, "Come in."
A key turned in the lock, and the door swung open. Nessa prepared herself to see Darren and endure his teasing for her haphazard appearance, but was surprised when instead two female figures stood framed in the doorway. Her sisters peered into the room, both with matching uncertain expressions on their faces.
Nessa blinked in shock, so surprised she couldn't bring herself to speak.
Breana was the first one to speak. "Can we come in? Is that all right?"
It took a moment to collect herself, but Nessa eventually nodded. "Aye, if ye wish. I'm yer prisoner, after all."
She stepped to the side and waited until Maeve and Breana had entered before she closed the door behind them. Both of Nessa's sisters settled down on the edge of the bed. Hesitating for a second, Nessa moved toward the desk chair instead, turning it around so that she was facing Maeve and Breana.
"Ye're nae our prisoner," Maeve told her after an awkward pause. "I told ye as much last night, and I had expected Darren tae explain more last night."
Nessa bristled. It wasn't that Maeve had said anything particularly wrong, but she'd spent her whole childhood being contradicted by her brave older sister. She barely had any control of the petty irritation that flooded out of her with her response. "If I'm nae a prisoner, why am I bein' kept in this room under lock and key?"
Maeve and Breana exchanged glances, and Nessa felt a grim satisfaction in seeing how neither of them had an easy answer. It had always been those two…and her. Maeve and Breana had always had each other, while Nessa, who their parents had shaped to be perfect, had only ever had herself. Even when they had tried to reach out to her—especially Breana—Nessa had known in her heart that she'd never be able to be like them.
It looked like nothing had changed.
"For yer safety, Nessa," Breana finally said in her usual soft voice. "Ye're the last O'Sullivan, and Ansel Ashkirk's betrothed as well. The rebels are for the most part good people, but we can never be sure how much anger is left over from the pain Edric Ashkirk and even our own father have caused."
Nessa shivered. The last O'Sullivan. It felt cold and lonely to hear it put to her in that way. Maeve was obviously a McNair now; that much was clear from everything from the way she held herself to the deep purple of her dress. And Breana…
She let out a little sound that wasn't quite a laugh at the conclusion she'd reached. "Ye're still a Darach," she said. "Ye remarried, and ye didnae even need tae change yer name."
