1
FAIRY RINGS AND FORBIDDEN BOWS
Three Years Ago
The sharp tipof the needle stabbed the pad of Taryn’s finger for the fourth time in the last half hour, eliciting a few drops of blood and a curse that barely managed to stay silent on her lips. She hated embroidery. It seemed so pointless to her. Every day, her mother insisted that she spent hours on her needlework, adding little flowers and vines to handkerchiefs and pillows unnecessarily.
“It is what we do,” her mother, Rowena, had responded, exasperated at Taryn’s repeated line of questioning. “As the Lady of the castle, we are expected to make things bonny, to add wee touches that let the clan ken we are here.”
“But why can I nae put my skills to better use than this? I could be helping with the mending, or we could turn those old linens into clothes for the villagers. Ye ken that one of the houses burned last week. I am sure they could use?—”
“That is out of the question,” her mother said coldly, her blue eyes glazing over in passivity.
Never one to raise her voice for fear of being unseemly, her mother used silence as her weapon of choice. After a lifetime of feeling its icy blows, Taryn had come to resent the controlled quiet of her mother’s rebukes.
“Those linens will be done away with, as is the custom. It would nae do to have villagers running around in our used blankets and curtains. Furthermore,” Rowena continued, stopping Taryn’s argument before she could start. “It is the duty of the servants to see to the mending and the hemming. Dinnae lower yerself to their level.”
Taryn’s mouth snapped shut. She knew well enough when to stop pushing a subject. As soon as her mother had turned her attention back to her own embroidery, Taryn shot the young kitchen maid a regretful look.
Her mother might have considered the life that the servants lead beneath their status as the family of the Laird, but Taryn thought just the opposite. The maids had the freedom to leave the castle walls and walk through the town without an escort. They were allowed to marry as they pleased and do the jobs that interested them. They had simple freedoms, such as choosing a meal they enjoy for dinner, that Taryn had never known.
She struck the stretched fabric in front of her again, doing her best to make the neat, tidy lines her mother pushed for. Without looking up, Taryn could feel her mother’s watchful, critical gaze across her skin.
She knew it would only be a matter of seconds before the next instruction came. Something about the way her fair hair was fixed, or the impossible straightness of her spine. Taryn grit her teeth as she waited for the words to land.
“How can ye ever expect a man to want ye for a wife when ye sit like an old hunchback?”
Sucking in through her nose, Taryn straightened even more, pulling her shoulders back until they ached. Pacified, Rowenalet her eyes focus on her own work, giving Taryn a precious few minutes to think to herself.
As she wove the colorful embroidery floss in and out of the fabric, Taryn’s mind wandered. It was a habit her parents were always reprimanding her for, but no matter how much they hemmed and hawed over it, she never managed to stop the daydreams.
Today, her thoughts drifted to the world that lay beyond the window. Her eyes scanned the trees, their leaves the same colors as her embroidery—red, yellow, orange, and gold. The wind blew, knocking more than a handful of the leaves from their limbs, sending them drifting to the green grass below. Peeking through the tree trunks were the thatched roofs of the villager’s houses and shops that made up the majority of the McGregor Clan.
Despite living here her entire life, the village was as unfamiliar to her as the mountains that sat proudly behind it. It had been many years since she had begged her parents to let her go explore the McGregor lands. Their answer was always a resounding “no” and a week in her room. Unwilling to part with the little freedom she had, Taryn made herself content with staring out of the window.
The clock on the mantle ticked, providing the only sound in the room. With every passing minute, Taryn’s legs ached to be stretched, to walk beyond the castle walls. It had been some weeks since she had made a new dress. Perhaps soon her parents would allow her a trip to the village, escorted by more than half a dozen guards of course, to shop for some new fabric. The only thing they cared about more than keeping her out of reach from the villagers was showing her off, the same way an impudent child liked to boast about their new doll.
“Taryn!” Rowena’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts. “Look at what a mess ye have made. What is that supposed tobe? Cut it all out and start again. This time, dinnae let yer head wander and steal yer focus.”
Before her mouth could snap open and spout off whatever bitter retort might come to mind, the doors to her mother’s sitting room swung open. With his nose buried in a stack of letters, as it typically was, Taryn could only roll her eyes at her father’s harried appearance.
His thick brown hair was sticking out at all ends, having been pulled from the leather cord at the nape of his neck. A rough hand ran over it again, in a distracted attempt to smooth it, but he only made things worse. Combined with the wrinkled state of his shirt and the letter he clutched all too tightly in his other hand, he looked nearly frantic.
Her mother, however, immediately set aside her project and rushed to her father’s side, her brow creasing with worry, drawing lines across her face that emphasized her aged beauty.
“What is it, Jonah? What has happened?”
Taryn bit the inside of her cheek to keep from commenting on her mother’s hysterics. It was Rowena’s stout belief that a woman’s only purpose in life was to serve her husband, be it fixing his tea or fussing over his business or bearing him children. Her parents had tried their very best to instill the same ideals in their only child, but Taryn had no interest in married life. It was the biggest point of contention in her relationship with her parents, though there were many.
“The Baron,” her father answered, his eyes still on the parchment in front of his face. “He continues to send his men farther and farther north. There is nay end of troubles in the south.”
“What are ye to do?” Rowena asked, her voice the perfected demure tone that she always took when speaking to her husband.
“The Laird has sent guards to block off two of the main roads that lead through our lands and directly to the estate. But I fear that will nae be enough to stop this.”
Trying her best to disappear into the background, Taryn sat very still and kept her eyes on the ground. Her parents hardly ever spoke so freely of clan matters in front of her. Their reasoning she could not understand as she was being bred to one day sit alongside a Laird and rule as a Lady, but they insisted on not sharing any clan news with her.
“He has written to me, thinking that I am more sensible than my brother.”
