Two small girls burst into the hall, hair flying, voices tumbling over each other. They skidded to a stop when they saw Erica and her mother.
Alex turned. One look from him and they straightened, cheeks flushed, hands smoothing their dresses as if they had practiced the gesture a hundred times.
“Slow,” he said. “Ye ken the rule for the Great Hall.”
“Aye, Da,” the one with braided red hair said.
“Aye,” the other one, with loose hair, echoed, though her eyes still danced.
“Erica,” Alex called, looking straight at her. “These are me daughters, Bettie and Katie.”
“I see.”
Erica felt the tension in her shoulders ease a notch. Authority sat quiet on him, and the girls trusted it. She also noticed that they didn’t exactly fear him. Which meant he couldn’t be that bad, at the end of the day.
She shared a brief look with her mother, who remained standing in the corner, before the girl with the braids stepped forward first.
“I am Bettie,” she said, careful. “This is Katie.”
Katie clung to Bettie’s sleeve and peered up at Erica like a small hawk trying to see everything at once. “Are ye the lady from the festival?” she asked in a rush, then bit her lip.
Erica knelt without thinking, so she was at their eye level. “I am Erica,” she said. “Ye can call me Erica, unless ye wish otherwise.”
Katie’s fingers unhooked from Bettie’s sleeve. “Do ye like dogs?” she blurted.
“Aye,” Erica said, a smile growing on her face. “Most of them. I like the ones that come when ye call.”
“They never do,” Bettie said solemnly.
Erica smiled. “Then we will learn how to make them listen.”
Katie laughed at the notion. The sound was light and unguarded. Erica’s chest loosened another notch she had not noticed.
“Do ye like stories?” Katie asked. “Da says that numbers come first, but we think stories should come first.”
“Numbers help ye count buns,” Bettie said, as if that settled the case.
“I like both,” Erica said. “If ye finish numbers, I will tell ye a story tonight.”
Katie’s eyes widened. “Truly?”
“Aye.”
A cane tapped on stone, breaking the moment of connection she was having with the children. She looked up and caught an older woman stepping into view. She was dressed in a grey wool gownand held on to the can as firmly as she could. Her eyes were the same color as Alex’s, light green, and her hair shone bright silver in the gleaming light.
Erica could have sworn the older woman was trying to burn a hole in her dress.
“That is Grandmamma,” Katie whispered in her ear.
“I see,” Erica responded.
“We call her Grandmamma. So ye have to call her that too,” Bettie whispered in turn.
Alex’s grandmother drew closer, eyes bright, mouth curved in welcome that did not hide the sharpness behind it.
“What a bonny sight,” she said, and came forward with both hands out. “Lady Bryden. And Lady Erica, I assume. Ye are very welcome.”
Erica rose and curtsied with her mother’s steady presence beside her. “Thank ye.”
