“I must have been very small at the time, yet she insisted I learn the names of every plant we found. Lavender, yarrow, hawthorn… she treated them as if they were old friends.”
Duncan watched her closely.
“She sounds like a remarkable teacher.”
“Shewas.”
Elaina drew in a slow breath.
This is the moment.Now.
The lavender trembled slightly between her fingers as she lifted her gaze to Duncan again. He stood patiently a few paces away. The fading light softened the sharp lines of his face, leaving only the steady attentiveness in his eyes.
He was waiting.
Elaina could feel the words gathering behind her lips, fragile and dangerous all at once. If she spoke them, if she told him who she truly was, why she had gone there, what she had left behind… there would be no taking them back.
Her heart was beating in her throat now, making it difficult to breathe.
“Duncan…” she began, using his first name.
And then, the moment shattered. A distant bell rang sharply from the castle tower.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The sound carried across the courtyard and over the garden walls. Elaina closed her eyes for the briefest moment.
Of course.
Footsteps followed the bell a moment later.
“Laird Grant?”
A young servant appeared at the entrance to the garden, slightly breathless from running.
“Me laird, ye are expected in the hall. The Council has gathered already.”
The interruption lingered awkwardly in the air. Elaina lowered her eyes to the lavender still resting in her hand, carefully brushing the soil from the stems. The words she had been about to speak slipped quietly back into silence.
“Go,” she smiled at him. “I should return these tae the healer’s room,” she said, feeling composed again.
Duncan watched her as though he sensed something unfinished between them, but he did not press.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “We should both go.”
The servant waited politely near the gate as Duncan stepped aside, allowing Elaina to pass ahead of him along the path. They walked back toward the castle in silence.
Behind them, the garden grew still once more, and the truth she had nearly spoken remained unsaid.
The armory smelled of iron, oil, and old leather. Duncan found himself standing near the long wooden table in the center of the room, with his sleeves rolled back as he worked a cloth slowly along the edge of a broadsword. The blade caught the pale light streaming through the narrow windows, reflecting it in thin flashes as he turned it carefully in his hands.
Along with his study, the armory had always been one of the few places in the castle where his thoughts could settle.
Steel required attention. Neglect a blade and it dulled. Ignore rust and it crept slowly across the metal until the weapon weakened. A sword demanded care, patience, and a steady hand. Unlike people, it was honest work.
Duncan ran the cloth once more along the length of the blade before inspecting the edge with a critical eye. Beside him, several other weapons lay arranged neatly across the table: daggers, short swords, and a pair of pistols recently brought in for repair. A small pot of oil sat nearby, its sharp scent mingling with the heavier smell of iron that filled the chamber.
Duncan had just finished checking the edge of a dagger when the armory door opened again. He glanced up and to his surprise, it was not another guard. Elaina stepped into the room.
