When she glanced up and smiled at him, Henry felt a quickening in his pulse and a warming in his fingertips.
Her smile was so natural and so bright. It tilted her chin, lifted her cheeks, brightened her eyes, and unfurrowed her brow. It was a complete and all encapsulating smile that took over her whole face.
Since the loss of his family, Henry had very few people in his life that looked so entirely happy to see him. That this little creature should become one of them was bizarre to him.
Bizarre but not unwelcome.
Henry cleared his throat and tried to resettle his thoughts. He turned to one of the guardsmen at the door.
"I have been instructed to escort Lady Arabelle to the blue suite. Lead the way."
There was little need to enforce his orders. The laird had confirmed that Henry's words would be followed by his household as if they were from his own lips. The future of his province was Laird Henderson's primary concern. Arabelle and her tutorship, therefore, were of the highest importance. Not to mention urgency, given the laird's current state of health.
Arabelle, who had become distracted flipping her father's letter around and around between her hands, suddenly looked up.
"The blue sweet?" she asked. "Like a treat?"
"A what?" Confused, Henry glanced around to frown at her.
"We had toffee apples in the fall," Arabelle explained, stepping in behind the guard as he began to lead them down the darkened corridor. The torches were enough for him to see by, so he never removed one to take with them. "They were good, but ye had to gnash yer teeth a bit." She chomped her little white teeth. The clicking sound echoed off the stone. "'Cause they were sticky. But ah also had some hard-boil pebbles that were bright colors and tasted so good!"
Realizing the miscommunication, Henry sensed his lips rebelling. They were attempting to curl up on one side. Serious by nature, it was rare for Henry to be moved by naive ignorance. He struggled around children, and he had no time for stupid adults. Yet, Arabelle, who combined a childish way of looking at the world with a reasonable, grown intelligence, was actually managing to entertain him.
"Not a sweet like you eat," he explained. "A suite is a collection of rooms in which you might sleep."
A step or two ahead of him, Arabelle spun so that she might walk backward and continued speaking.
"I dinnae ken how you're supposed tuh sleep in more than one room at once."
"You shouldn't walk like that."
"Like what? Ah'm putting one foot in front of the other. How doyewalk?"
"I meant, backward," Henry explained. He could hear the guardsman ahead of them appearing to cough. Though the sound was half-hidden beneath the clanking of his bandoleer and buckles, Henry wondered if the man were smothering a laugh. "A lady always walks forwards."
Frowning, Arabelle did at least concede. She spun on her heel almost elegantly, and it was the work of a step for Henry to move up next to her. Turning the corner at the end of the corridor and moving down the western hallway from the laird's personal bedroom, Henry was unsurprised when they reached the girl's suite in short order. Laird Henderson did not appear to be the kind of man that wanted his kin far away. Not now that she was here. Not now, in his final days.
"Sir, my lady..." The guard opened the appropriate door and then bowed his head to each of them in turn before heading back to his duties. It was a credit to his professionalism that he didn't complain at walking them only thirty paces around a corner.
"Thanks!" Arabelle called after him.
The guard appeared to stumble, and Henry felt his own eyebrows disappear into his hairline.
"That's not—"
"Oh, don’tcha dare tell me that a lady don't say thank ye. Ma says manners don't cost anything, so rich or poor ye can still afford 'em."
Henry blinked. This was not inaccurate advice. Generally, however, a young lady of fine breeding would offer a gracious gesture of gratitude and an elegant nod of the head. They would not yell their thanks down a hallway with a farewell hand raised above their head.
Deciding to save that particular lesson for the future, Henry reached for the door.
The stone frame was raised, so he had to step up into the room, bowing his head to move comfortably through. Arabelle had no issues dancing in after him. The girl was tiny.
Henry took the room in with one sweeping glance. The polished wooden floors, the carved masonry around the walls, the large hearth, and a colossal four-poster bed. There was a large and gilded chest to one side of it and two sitting chairs before the fireplace. Within its pit were flames already crackling merrily.
There was a softpat-pat-patas Arabelle's feet hurried her across the room. She reached for the fire, then paused with the letter still in hand. Turning back, she placed the sealed parchment carefully onto the bedsheets and then hurried back to warm her fingers near the flames.
For a moment, Henry simply watched her. A hint of connection flickered in his chest. He remembered what it had been like to be cold. To be desperate for heat. It had only been for a week before Laird Anderson had seen him and his sister safe. But he knew what it was like to crave that kind of warmth. To be so used to reserving firewood or saving coin that fires were always the barest minimum, just taking away the chill.
