“I’ve been yer perfect wee prisoner,” Amelia snarled, planting her feet firmly on the ground. “I’ve nae tried to escape nor turn yer guards against ye. I’ve sat right here, doin’ nothin’ but lookin’ out the window and eatin’ when I’m fed. Thank Heavens, I found a book in this chest because otherwise, there’s nae a thing to do here.”
“Amelia—”
“Ye ken, Laird Fraser,” she interrupted, her words dripping with sarcastic venom, “the keep reminds me an awful lot of the tower. The biggest difference is that the food is better.”
Darragh stared at her, his face a stone wall, though she thought she saw a flicker of something that looked almost like regret. He let out a long sigh when she didn’t continue her tirade and crossed the room to the side of her mattress, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. Then, he reached into his pocket and plucked a leather bag free. Carefully, he set it on the surface before turning around and leaving without another word.
Her fury still bubbled, though it felt different. He hadn’t fought back, had simply taken the brunt of her yelling without a single complaint. And, on her night table, he’d left her something.
Out of stubborn indignation, she ignored the pouch, grabbed the book, and settled herself in the chair. As she tried to focus on the stories once more, she found her mind wandering to whatever it was he had deposited on the table. It only took her another minute of distracted reading before she put the book aside and investigated.
The parcel was heavier than it looked, and when she lifted it, a sharp clink sounded from within. Her interest piqued, she untied the strings holding it closed. Her breath caught when she saw the contents.
Marbles.
In her blinding rage over the past few days, she hadn’t realized that Darragh had purchased these along with the handkerchief. They served no purpose to him, only a small joy that she’d admitted to loving them when she was small. And rather than giving them to someone else or getting rid of them, he’d brought the pouch to her.
She settled on the edge of her mattress, staring down at the tiny glass spheres. Plucking one from the confines, she held it up in the last dregs of sunlight. The colorful design inside seemed to ignite in a glow of reds and golds.
Her entire body tensed when another knock came at her door. She tucked away the marble as if she were caught looking at something not meant for her. Before she could speak, Jinny appeared holding a tray laden with food and a small pot of tea.
“Laird Fraser said ye may be hungry,” she explained as she carefully deposited the meal. “I will be back in a bit.”
“Jinny,” Amelia said before the maid could leave. When she turned to face her, Amelia continued, “I apologize for the way I spoke to ye earlier. I shouldnae have taken me frustrations out on ye.”
“Ye daenae have to worry. I dinnae take it personally,” Jinny replied, though she seemed noticeably lighter. “I hope ye enjoy yer meal.”
With that, she exited the room, leaving Amelia alone with her marbles and the knowledge that even after she lashed out at him, Darragh was still looking after her well-being.
I daenae ken what to do with a man like him.
* * *
As Darragh approached Amelia’s quarters the next day, the first thing he noticed was laughter that he didn’t recognize. The next was the open door. His guards were still standing at attention, blocking the opening, but they seemed to have given her some allowances.
“What is the meanin’ of this?” he demanded, keeping his voice low so as not to alert the girls inside.
He realized there were two distinct voices, one young and one more mature. It seemed as though the laughter he’d heard on his approach belonged to Amelia. The fact that it was so unbidden, so free, knocked something loose in his chest.
“Isla arrived to change the bandages on Amelia’s ribs,” the first reported. “I’m nae sure how they got to playin’ marbles, but Isla demanded we keep the door open for airflow. Said it’s good for healin’ bodies.”
Darragh nodded then said, “Ye two, it’s nearly time for changin’ of guards. I will cover the room until yer relief gets here.”
“Aye, me Laird,” they said in unison before peeling away and heading down the hallway.
Moving to stand at the threshold, Darragh was treated to the sight of Isla and Amelia sitting on the floor. They’d created a makeshift ring of ribbon and were engaged in what seemed to be a high-stakes game. Isla’s back was to him, but he could see the concentration in the girl’s small body, and on Amelia’s face, there was a playful, competitive edge.
He kept himself quiet, leaning against the doorframe as he watched the scene unfold. After Isla launched a marble, nearly knocking one of Amelia’s out of play, Amelia grinned. She leaned closer, her thumb on the edge of her marble. Then, she let it loose, the movement perfect, a testament to the love she’d shyly mentioned to him at the market.
This version of her was completely untouched by survival. She was soft, her face looking so much younger in the throes of joy. And remarkably, she looked truly alive. No longer was she a wee thing held together by stubbornness and spite, but she was a living, breathing woman who couldn’t resist her favorite childhood game.
After a few minutes, her head raised from the game. When her eyes locked onto Darragh’s, he didn’t look away. Her gaze was open, unguarded, and he felt an unfamiliar pang of regret at ordering that she be locked away.
Aye, I ken that look.
For a long moment, they simply watched each other. Isla deliberated her next move, muttering under her breath as she did, but Amelia seemed more concerned with cataloging the way he stood there. It was a relief that her face didn’t morph into an expression of disgust or vitriol. Instead, she looked thoughtful.
Finally, Darragh was the one to break the silence, the sound of the next guard shift approaching spurring him into action. “I’d like ye to dine in the great hall this evenin’.”
