All characters and material from the Patriot are not mine.
"Mama…Mama! Why is it so cold?"
Little insistent hands pushed impatiently at my arm and I turned over in bed with a groan.
"My dear, it would not be so if you stayed under your blankets for another hour."
"It would be cold anyway." My daughter, Bryleigh pouted.
"Bryleigh!" My husband awoke next to me, admonishing my daughter with stern reproach. "Be nice to your mother; it's hardly morning. Can you not go back to bed?" He finished wearily.
"No!" My daughter answered with unmoving stubbornness.
"Hey!" Another young voice pulled me to alertness; my son, James, stood in the doorway of the master bedchamber, glowering at his older sister. "You took my blankets!"
"Bryleigh Elizabeth-" I lowered my tone.
"He didn't need them!" My daughter replied hotly. "Jaime slept through the whole thing!"
I sighed and glanced over at my husband, who wore a disapproving look upon his face.
"Charles," I gripped his arm lightly before turning my attention to my son, James. "Jaime, go get your blankets from your sister's bed. "Yes Mama," Jaime turned and left the room, simpering at his sister who attempted to slink out after him.
"Not just yet, Bryleigh," Charles called after her. "Over here, please."
Thought she knew better than to fight her father further, Bryleigh still managed a look of utmost dislike, her green eyes bright against her white sleeping gown.
"Now, where have I seen that expression?" My husband murmured in my ear. I smirked and pecked his cheek.
"And she's only eight."
"Papa," Bryleigh grated impatiently.
"Yes, up here," Charles tapped the side of the bed so Bryleigh could follow the sound to him. My daughter complied begrudgingly.
"I don't care for your attitude," Charles frowned, lifting her up onto the bed beside us. "Do you understand, Bryleigh? I am not pleased." He finished, taking her hands and pressing them to the frown on his mouth.
"He didn't need them!" Bryleigh protested. "Jaime didn't even wake when I took them!"
My husband's firm demeanor began to give way.
"Next time, my little elf, get some from the hallway closet. They are stacked in the same place where they have always been."
"He wasn't using them," Bryleigh continued, turning away from her father.
"Bryleigh…" Charles squeezed her shoulders. "That is quite enough."
My daughter only pursed her lips, planting herself resolutely in disagreement while her father tightened his jaw, inhaling before he continued, "Bryleigh, enough."
For a moment, Bryleigh screwed up her face and it appeared she would continue on once more, but then, thinking better of it, she recanted.
"Fine." She mumbled.
"Indeed, young lady." Charles countered. "Now, off with you. Get dressed and take your brother downstairs. Since you're awake, you can both help Kezia with the meal preparations."
"But-"
"Not another word," Charles' voice hardened. "Go."
Wrinkling her nose, Bryleigh stalked out of the room, muttering angrily under her breath.