Kyle looked at her for a moment, blinking in astonishment. “I suppose,” he finally muttered, shrinking back up against the wall a bit in embarrassment. He did not like being pulled apart so easily, least of all by Sophia. It was unsettling to think he did not know his own mind better than someone else and equally unsettling that she could pull all of that out of him without any sort of poking or prodding.
“Well, it’s aye, aye, and who bloody knows,” Sophia said dismissively, shrugging her shoulders a bit as she finished collecting the fruit into her bucket. She hoisted it up and carried it to a larger barrel in the corner. Once there, she popped open the seal, and the bitter, sharp aroma of fermenting fruits wafted up in strength as she poured the bucket in. “Not sure ye needed me tae tell ye that.”
“Ye say it so simply,” Kyle said, frowning. “How can it be that simple?”
“Life is simple, Kyle,” Sophia said, resealing the barrel and pounding her hand down upon the top just to be sure the seal had stuck. “The heart is not so difficult. It’s only we who make it so. Ye are head over heels for this lass, but ye won’t admit it tae yerself. Why? Well, because she’s an Englishwoman, but not truly, that’s just yer excuse. What does it matter anymore which side o’ the border ye hail from? We have peace, and life is well, so why must ye fret over such things?”
“Me excuse?” Kyle asked, cocking his head. He felt himself blushing, and he cast his eyes downward to his muddy toes.
“Aye,” Sophia said, finally finishing with her tasks and sitting gently on the bench across from him. She reached out and took hold of his hand, gently moving a finger across one of his knuckles to get him to look up and meet her eyes.
“Excuse fer what?” he asked, looking into her old, wise eyes.
“Excuses fer not growing up,” she said softly. “Ye have always been afraid tae step out o’ yer brither’s shadow.”
“Bah,” Kyle scoffed, drawing back his hand. “That isn’t so.”
“No?” Sophia asked, folding her hands together on the tabletop. “Ever since yer parents died, first one than the other, ye’ve been this way. Ye put on a good show, ye make bold statements, train with yer sword, ride out along the moors and trees, but ye always come back tae yer brither’s side. Ye always look back tae him tae see what ye should do next. Because deep down, ye’re lonely, and ye’re scared.”
“Scared o’ what?” Kyle gawked, pushing back the bench and hopping to his feet. He felt himself going even redder, and he felt flustered to be confronted so. “I’m nay frightened o’ nothing!”
“Yer brither is the only family ye have left,” Sophia said in a stern yet instructive tone. “But most o’ yer unhappiness comes from following him around, not knowing what ye can do on yer own. If ye continue tae sit in this castle fer the rest o’ yer life, swinging that training sword day in and day out, ye will drive yerself mad. Ye are restless, hungry fer more, but ye can’t reach out fer it.”
“Ye are awfully presumptuous,” Kyle muttered bitterly, turning away to hide his intensely blushed face.
“This lass scares ye because it means there is more tae the world than yer brither’s walls,” Sophia continued, not letting him off the hook so easily. “Don’t run from it. Run toward it.”
“I—” Kyle faltered, Sophia’s words spinning around his brain faster than he could process, and he slowly sunk back down onto the bench, sitting astride it like a saddle. “I dinnae what tae make o’ that.”
“Yes, ye do,” Sophia said. “Ye love this woman. That’s a good thing. Don’t just cling tae what little family ye have left. Make it bigger.”
“Love?” Kyle said in surprise. “How can ye know that?”
“How many dalliances have ye seen?” Sophia asked. “And ye have never come tae me tae ask about any o’ them. Ye have never carried so much thought around on yer shoulders, never blushed so fiercely. Stop running from yerself, Kyle. It’s a wide world.”
“Love,” Kyle said again, this time muttering it as he looked over his rough hands. He had never expected to be in love, but as her words sank in, he knew she was right. He had never known those feelings before, not like that, but the moment he began to accept it, those feelings seemed to take instant root and blossomed into an explosion of warmth and confidence in the center of his chest.
It was an all-encompassing feeling, shooting through his bones and sinking into his muscles, a feeling that had been there since first he had laid eyes on Laila, but that he had kept tampered down, only playing with the idea on the edges of his consciousness, but now, to accept it, to let it take hold all throughout his being, it was the most powerful thing he had ever felt, and it drove him to his feet.
“I think ye’re right,” Kyle said softly, looking down to Sophia, who met his eyes and smiled.
“O’ course, I am,” she said, her smile widening. “Isn’t that why ye’re here?”
“Thank ye,” Kyle said in a hurry, bending over to give her hand a quick kiss.
“Go and find her!” Sophia laughed back, waving him away with a playful slap.
Kyle turned and practically ran out of the door, nearly tripping over the bench between his feet as he went, barging out into the mid-morning air. He took it in with a deep breath, feeling the excitement of the moment taking hold of him. He had to find Laila, to hold her and tell her how he felt, and to whisk her away someplace spectacular.
He began a purposeful march through the orchard, stomping through the sloshes of mud beneath his boots, his eyes locked on the keep. He had nothing in his mind but Laila, and the more he thought of her, the more his heart raced, and the more excitement took hold. Then, a bitter voice shattered his trance.
“Ah! Kyle!” The Englishman called out, and Kyle turned slowly to see Sir Simon marching across the yard toward him. He was fully dressed in his mail and tabard, with his sword buckled tight to his waist. His hair looked slick as if he had just washed, and he had a grim gaze fixed upon his eyes. “How do you fare this fine morn?”
“Sir Simon,” Kyle said, stopping in his tracks. The Englishman irritated him normally, but now that he had interrupted such a pleasant train of thought and his march, he was particularly bitter. “I am well enough.”
“A fine enough day it’s shaping up to be,” Sir Simon said, a bit overly dramatic, as he adjusted his sword belt.
“Aye,” Kyle said, looking the man up and down, unsure of what he wanted. He seemed to just be exchanging pleasantries, but Kyle could not help but feel an uneasiness creeping into the edges of his newfound happiness. Something was sneaking and sinister about the Englishman, and though Kyle could not place it, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up.
