The silence stretched again, but it was a warm, comfortable one. Helena felt a sense of peace sitting there, sharing this quiet moment with Felicia. When they finally finished their sketches, they held them up to compare them.
Felicia’s drawing was delicate and precise, capturing the lilacs’ intricate details. Helena’s drawing, by contrast, was bold and fluid, the lines sweeping across the page confidently.
“Ye’re really good,” Felicia said, her tone almost envious.
Helena laughed—a light, joyful sound. “So are ye. We make quite the pair, do we nae?”
Felicia’s lips twitched into a rare smile. “Maybe.”
Before they could say more, a servant approached, bowing slightly as he addressed Helena. “Me Lady, ye have a visitor.”
Helena looked up, her brow furrowing. “A visitor? Who is it?”
The servant hesitated, his expression wary. “It’s yer faither, Me Lady.”
Helena’s breath caught, her body tensing instinctively. She stood up slowly, her mind racing.
Why would her father come here now? What could he possibly want?
“Thank ye,” she said, her voice steady despite her inner turmoil. “I’ll go to him shortly.”
The servant nodded and retreated, leaving her standing in the garden with her churning thoughts. She turned to Felicia, her smile strained. “Stay here and keep drawin’. I’ll be back later.”
Felicia nodded, sensing the shift in Helena’s mood but saying nothing.
Helena hurried back into the castle, her heart pounding. She knew she couldn’t face her father alone, not without Alexander’s counsel. She bolted up the stairs, her skirts swishing around her as she reached their chamber.
Bursting through the door, she found Alexander sitting at the table. His eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of her pale face and tense posture.
“Helena,” he said, his voice sharp with concern. “What’s wrong?”
She stopped in the center of the room, her hands clenched at her sides. “It’s me faither,” she uttered, her voice trembling slightly. “He’s here.”
Alexander’s expression darkened, a storm brewing in his hazel eyes. “What does he want?”
“I dinnae ken,” Helena replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I think we’re about to find out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Ye dinnae have to come with me,” Helena murmured, glancing up at him as they reached the grand staircase.
The steady rhythm of Alexander’s footsteps against the stone floor echoed through the castle as he and Helena made their way to the main hall. Though his movements were slow and deliberate, his posture was still proud and commanding, his hazel eyes sharp as they glanced at Helena beside him.
She was quieter than usual, her lips pressed into a thin line, but Alexander could see the tension in her shoulders.
“And let ye face him alone?” His voice was firm, though not unkind. “Nae a chance. If Chester Fraser wants to play the doting faither, I’ll be there to see it.”
Helena gave a small nod, though she didn’t look convinced.
Together, they entered the main hall, where Chester stood waiting.
His presence filled the room, his bulky frame dressed in fine, slightly ostentatious garments. His round face split into a wide smile as he saw them approach, his arms open wide in greeting. A servant stood nearby with a large chest, its polished surface gleaming in the light.
“Helena, me dear girl!” Chester exclaimed, stepping forward. “And Alexander! Look at ye, up and about. I was worried when I heard about yer injury, but it seems ye’re recoverin’ well.”
Alexander’s grip on his cane tightened, though his expression remained neutral. “Laird MacPherson,” he said coolly. “What brings ye here today?”
Chester’s smile didn’t falter, though his eyes flicked to Helena. “I’ve come to make amends,” he began, his tone dripping with practiced sincerity. “I admit, I’ve been stubborn—perhaps even unreasonable—about yer marriage. But time has a way of softenin’ a man’s heart.”
