She was in an unfamiliar place, having been kidnapped by an unfamiliar man who did not share his peculiarity with the rest of his family. Intelligence demanded that she understand her hosts before attempting the Machiavellian task of escaping lands men deemed too far to venture to.
They padded over flagstones that were bleached two shades, betraying the long presence of runners. Who could commit such an atrocity as the removal of the only thing that could have livened up the dull and wanting hallway?
Their footsteps seemed to echo louder, highlighting the dire state of the hallway.
She was of the mind to inquire about the runners’ absence, but had enough self-preservation to hold her tongue. It would be discourteous to complain about furnishings to a woman who was not only a new acquaintance but also not the lady of the castle.
“Mrs. Thomson?—”
“Please, call me Amber.”
“Amber.” She smiled. “What is the Laird usually like?”
Amber looked ahead, and silence fell as she considered the question. “He has always been serious.”
Talia sighed. That much she had suspected.
“But he is also quite polite and reasonable. Me husband kens him better.” Amber’s smile widened.
“How did ye meet yer husband? Ye seem very taken with him.”
“Of course, he is me husband after all.”
But that was not always the case. Talia had seen men and women give their spouses looks sharp enough to tear through the hidesof the toughest beasts. They came to her clinic, some better than others, some with no one but their spouses on their arms, some with a horde of villagers when the victim had been in an accident, their spouses in tow.
What they shared, the contempt with which they spoke…
She had watched a woman berate her husband for breaking his leg and insist that he work to pay the next month’s rent. She had seen a man berate his wife, who had come in with a headache, about how inferior she was to her peers. On occasions, their arguments would escalate to physical violence, and she would be forced to send one party away or treat a new patient in a separate room.
“We’ve only been married for a short time. It will be three years in a month.”
“How did ye meet him?”
“Ah, I’d rather nae say.”
“So, it’s one of those?” Talia teased.
“Me lips are sealed.”
“I will have to acquaint meself with one of the laundry maids then.” Talia untangled herself from her hold and walked ahead, arms behind her, miming a whistle.
“Damn ye, Jenson, and yer big mouth!”
Talia could not wait to feel the sun on her skin. Her bedroom window offered only a view of the moat and tree after tree. She greedily drank in every lancet window she passed.
She could not see beyond the walls, but the vast expanse of verdant land was breathtaking. It was so green and so well pruned. A little stream flowed towards the moat, with an imposing alder tree very much in bloom at the top of a hill in the distance. A little gazebo overlooked the vista. She could not wait to recline on its benches.
She could not wait to be out and about on such a fine day. Darragh had wasted so much of her time that the sun burned hotter than she would have liked it but no matter, she wouldn’t be deterred. Soon lunch would be served, and she would have spent the better part of the morning attending to suitors.
Outside, she was greeted by the smell of rich soil and dew. She closed her eyes as calm washed over her, the soft afternoon sun kissing her cheeks.
“I would have loved to show ye the garden, but it is in a quite pitiful state.”
What need was there for a garden when there was such a magnificent view?
They followed the flagstone path that soon disappeared into the earth, then her velvet slippers met the grass. They came out from behind a tower that stretched further than the rest of the castle, and her much-desired gazebo came into view.
But first, she made for the water.
