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Chapter 5: Winter, The Servants of Castle Sween
The kitchens buzzed with a frenetic kind of energy. The cook shouted orders left and right over the clamor and the din. An undercook was lording over the spit-boys, urging them to turn the night's roast more quickly lest it burn on all sides, while the other undercooks and servers scrambled to prepare the rest of the evening's meal. Lorna pulled herself tight against the wall as the butler and a series of cupboys ushered past carrying flagons of wine and ale through the corridor and up the stairs. They moved quickly toward the Great Hall. His lordship must have been in a fine mood this evening, she surmised, what with the harried look on the butler's face. The steward shouted something through the opening at the top of the stairwell, and she thought it best to keep out of the way until dinner had been served in the Great Hall and the laird's needs had been fully tended.
She picked through the chaos as quickly and efficiently as possible. Snatching up one of the leftover luncheon rolls to munch on, she considered her options. Another dizzying swarm of servers, cupboys, and cooks, and Lorna decided it was best to hide in the laundry for the time being. At least then she'd be able to finish up a bit of mending while she waited. She'd missed the midday meal, having taken advantage of Sir Lindon's absence from his chambers to remove the lucky tunic he kept beneath his pillow and mend the tears. By the time he returned he'd have his tunic back, good as new, and he would be none the wiser as to which maid had done it. Thus, she thought smugly to herself, he would have no way of expressing his ire.
Lorna smiled a bit at the thought of the fair-haired knight who, for all his nagging and complaining, was never short of a smile to spare for the fairer sex. He was a bit loose in morals, she supposed, what with the way he was known to favor married women, but he liked his women willing and that was enough in Lorna's book. He'd surely never laid a hand on her. And she knew some of the other girls had sought his company in the night so as to avoid other, less favorable companions. This alone earned him better care than some of the other more brutal knights. And sometimes — Lorna huffed and took a bite of her stale piece of bread — sometimes that care came in the form of mended tunics he refused to let any of them touch for fear their luck would rub off. And that was that she nodded to herself and swallowed her bite, before plopping down onto a stool and picking up one of the furs she'd dragged off Sir Allistor's bed that morning.
Sir Allistor, she grimaced, he was a bit of a different story, that one. She shook the memory of his closed fist out of her mind and set to work inspecting the fur. It had been replaced with one of the spares kept in the laundry, but it would need a thorough beating in the morning by the looks of it, as well as a full treatment to rid it of the lice. She sighed and pushed the offending garment off her lap and to the floor, taking care to brush any stray vermin from her skirts as she did so.
Glenna and Abigall, her fellow chambermaids who, like every other maid at Castle Sween, served as laundry girls as well, were also working diligently away at their chores. She assumed that they two were trying to avoid the kitchens.
There were seven of them in total. Chambermaids, laundry girls, it didn't matter what they were hired as, for they were now both. There had been more of them. And the jobs had once been two separate entities. But a few years ago, just after Lorna had arrived here to work, half of the lower staff had been dismissed and labor had doubled for those who remained. There had been whispers that this was the result of his young lordship's fondness for gambling and drink. That he had taken things too far and that the castle's finances had paid the price, but there had been other whispers that the yields had not been so plentiful these last few years. Those whispers said that Lairdhe Suidhne had tried to cheat the Crown out of its due, that the King had pulled the strings tight on his lordship's purse, and now the staff was to suffer the losses.
Lorna didn't know which story to believe — it was fairly likely that both held an air of truth. To be honest, she cared little for the affairs of powerful men. She had a bed to sleep in and food in her belly, and that was more than she had when her father took ill and passed away. With no brothers or male cousins to her name, Lorna's family had lost their farm. Her sisters were taken in by another local farmer, but his wife liked little that Lorna was of a certain age and that her husband had been known to have a wandering hand. Castle Sween had been the only place she could go.
So, the chambermaids were also laundry girls, and they answered to Mrs. McCleod, head of housekeeping and interim laundress until such time the castle stopped scraping the ground for spare coin. And Lorna kept her head down and her hands busy with furs and linens, floors to scrub, and chamber pots to empty. And that was all that mattered to her in this world.
"Girls! Girls gather around. Gather round now," Mrs. McCleod called out sternly, watching as her little group of maids ceased their chatter and drew themselves to attention, all in a neat line and awaiting her words. She knew of course, that through the corners of their eyes, their gaze's strayed to her odd little companion. She knew they noted the girl's smooth skin, with its foreign coloring and radiant complexion, and that they would hate her for it. She knew they would notice her dark hair and unbroken ends and treat her with a cruel kind of envy. She knew that they would take the girl's muteness as a sign of her complacency, and they would treat her with no small amount of cruelty. And worst of all, Mrs. McCleod knew that there was little she could do. It was but the way of things and the odd little Malvina would have to find her way on her own.
Once they were silent and still, completely, she cleared her throat and gestured to their new addition.
"This is Malvina," she said. The girl beside her fidgeted in place, and Mrs. McCleod shot a stern look in her direction. She too was expected to keep still.
"She will be joining our staff."
Lorna, for her part, found it a bit odd that they would acquire a new maid, now, in the winter when there was less food and fewer guests who needed tending. The last maid they'd acquired was Abigall in the summer and her transition had been a right terror among the staff. She'd flirted and raked her way through half the men at arms, stolen her ladyship's favored silver amulet and gotten another girl dismissed for the crime, and then befriended the already vile maid, Glenna. The two had formed a rather formidable alliance in the lower ranks of the staff and the rest of the girls simply did their best to keep up and stay out of the way.
Lorna too had been targeted on occasion, though she had Mrs. McCleod's favor and rarely suffered serious repercussions as a result. She'd been told on numerous occasions that her steadfast work ethic and dedicated dismissal of all members of the more masculine sex had proven her worth as a servant. It had earned Mrs. McCleod's trust in her. She'd been granted chambers of her own. The other girls were forced to share. Now, however, Lorna did her best to keep still and not roll her eyes at her luck. Now, she was likely to be saddled with the exotic little mute girl who looked to not have a callus or a clue.
Mrs. McCleod was speaking still but she couldn't hear much over the loudness of her own miserable thoughts. She felt a pinch on her forearm and shot a small glance out the corner of her eye to see Abigall staring straight ahead and suppressing a smirk. Vile creature, Lorna suppressed a scowl. It appeared her fellow maids were all aware that her lucky streak had officially come to an end.
Mrs. McCleod turned then to the new girl, grabbing her by the arm and bringing her further into the room, toward the group.
"You will be shadowing Lorna," she said. Her voice was stern. She snapped a finger. "Lorna, dear, step forward."
Lorna did as the head of housekeeping bade her, stepping forward from the line. Her back remained straight, her face remained blank as she had been trained to do.
"This is Lorna," Mrs. McCleod said to Malvina who took all of this in with a dazed look in her eye. If Lorna didn't know any better, she'd say the girl had not a lick of Gaelic to her name.
Mrs. McCleod turned her exasperated face to the rest of the girls. All of whom appeared as meek and composed as they were expected to appear. The girl seemed a bit...daft...if they were being honest. Lorna wondered if it would be any fun for the other girls to torment a girl who actually was simple for a change, or if it would take some of the joy out of it.
"Mistress," Lorna said quietly. "Is she— is she well?"
Mrs. McCleod pursed her lips at the question, studying first Lorna and then Malvina.
"Well...she's mute..." Mrs. McCleod said. "But his lordship brought her on personally so we shall simply have to make do."
There was a murmur among the girls at the fact that Malvina was mute. A wave of laughter washed through them, someone grunted as one girl elbowed another to keep her quiet and in line.
"Mistress," Glenna intoned. "How is she mute? Has someone taken her tongue?"
She had stepped forward a bit in morbid fascination, thinking for a brief moment that the castle had acquired some foreign hag cloaked in false beauty. She held tightly to Abigall's hand as she did so though, so whatever courage she had, Lorna thought to herself, was a falsity.
"She is mute because she is mute, girl. Some things are for God to know alone. And yes, not that it is any of your concern, she is still in possession of her tongue."
"Well, with all due respect mistress, how could you know she has her tongue if she cannae talk," Abigall cut in, ever the loyal and curious friend, to Glenna.
Mrs. McCleod scowled at her insolence. "I know it Abigall because I've seen her tongue myself, and shall I be calling you mistress now with that cheek?" She snapped.
Abigall's eyes widened, and she stepped back into line, dropping her gaze down to her shoes.
"Now, as I said. Malvina will be shadowing Lorna until such time Lorna sees she can handle her chores on her own. I will be working on a new rotation of chamber assignments for the group of you to manage and will inform you of your new rotations in the morning before you begin. If there are no more questions, you may all make haste to your beds. Go now."
The girls turned and scurried quickly from Mrs. McCleod's sight, except for Lorna who lingered awkwardly in the doorway of the laundry, waiting for Malvina to join her. The new girl, though, seemed at a loss for what had been said or what she was supposed to do. Lorna traded a nervous glance with Mrs. McCleod who returned it, if reluctantly.
The head of housekeeping gave the girl a gentle shove in Lorna's direction. Lorna held out a hand for Malvina, who took it somewhat nervously. The girl looked haunted. She gave an unbecoming sniff, and Lorna noticed that her nose was red, and her eyes were watery.
Malvina had either been crying, or she'd caught her death out in the elements. Either way, it was a dangerous way to be in the servant's quarters. It was an unforgiving place to live. Finally, the new girl listened to their cues and followed along behind Lorna.
She led her new roommate through the labyrinth of hallways that made up the servant's quarters of the castle. And thought quietly to herself that the mute girl would certainly end up lost if they let her off on her own too soon. When they finally reached her humble chambers, Lorna threw the door open and gestured for her new ward to enter.
With no small amount of hesitancy, Malvina did as she was instructed, entering quickly, and crawling unceremoniously into the bed Lorna pointed to. She turned her back to Lorna and curled up under the linen blanket she'd been provided. Lorna prodded at the fire in the hearth, double-checking the vent, before completing her nightly ablutions. Malvina, the mute, lay on her bed and did not move an inch. When Lorna finally did fall asleep for the night, she wondered a bit idly if, when she woke, she would find the girl had died, either of hopelessness or illness. Either option seemed a possibility at this point.
The widow Ailios had lied, Sorley cursed to himself once again as he descended the steps toward the servant's quarters at a rapid pace. The widow Ailios had lied, and had she been caught, it would have meant the noose for her and her odd little charge.
He hit the bottom step with force and imagined that the sound of it echoed through the lower halls of the Castle Sween. Walking purposefully over to Mrs. McCleod's office at the far end of the corridor, he took a deep breath and tried to calm his ire. He had no rightful claim to either Ailios or Malvina, but he felt responsible for the former and drawn to the latter all the same. He was not husband nor father nor kin of any kind, but he felt the weight of their burden heavy on his shoulders, nonetheless. She should not have lied to the laird. Ailios should have come to him, as he had always insisted, if she had need. But what was done was done, and there would be a price to pay if any of them were caught in this lie.
Laird Suidhne had held counsel for the other nobles, tenants, and fighting men who lived on his lands. This happened every day before the evening meal and all were welcome to come before Suidhne with either complaint, offering, or praise. This was the way of the highlands.
The last of the tenants had cleared and petty squabbles over fence lines, cattle, daughters, and sons had been resolved as seamlessly as usual. The feast was soon to come, and Sorley had been more than ready to tuck in when one of the guardsmen from the gate entered, announcing that there was one more issue if it please the laird to hear it. It did not, in fact, please his lordship but the law was the law, and even the most careless of nobles would not so blatantly disregard it. He waved them in.
Sorley had been preoccupied with his goblet of wine, so he did not look up until he heard Lindon's muttered curse and Broccin's quiet sound of confusion. He set his wine down and looked to the center of the Great Hall, where the widow Ailios ducked down into a nervous curtsy and looked around at the gathered lords, ladies, knights, and gall óglaigh.
"By Christ, what does the woman think she's doing?" Lindon hissed at Sorley, waving off a server who offered him a tray of bread.
Sorley didn't respond though, watching with no small amount of apprehension as Ailios began her tale.
Broccin leaned back in his seat, frozen too and unable to look his brothers in the eye, at the lie she began to weave. She introduced her charge as Malvina. But made no mention of the girl's foreign status or the fact that she was simple. Sorley gripped his goblet, troubled by the weight of her offense. She told Laird Suidhne that Malvina was her sister. That she was mute, but she was useful and a good hand at mending and cleaning. She offered Malvina as a show of her loyalty to Clan Suidhne, and her continued support of the family through the coming winter months.
Laird Suidhne had been bothered, of course, by the burden of having to counsel with a serf. And in Gaelic, no less, rather than his preferred language of French. He eventually deigned to direct a handful of questions to the girl who was being offered up as another servant. Malvina stared dumbly back up at him, holding her tongue. The crowd watched the two serf girls, but Sorley knew it was far more important to watch his lordship, and gauge which way this controversial offering would go. The man's face ticked, his lips pursed, and he opened his mouth to send them both back out into the dirt when Sorley determined it was now or never.
He stood.
Every eye in the room shifted to him. Lindon hissed quietly at his friend's antics and snatched up his ale to take a long pull and hide his face from view. They were all likely to be hanged if Sorley made them complicit in the widow's lie.
"My lord," Sorley said.
Laird Suidhne turned to him, and Sorley noted his aggrieved look that he had spoken up when he did.
Laird Suidhne had been in a right state the night before over the state of his wife's affections for him, and Sorley had once again talked him down over a long game of chess. By the end of it, the laird had been happy to best the knight at the game and send him on his way, content that all had been righted in the universe and his sense of power had been restored.
This was their way.
Something drove the man to aggravation; the man lost his temper at some perceived slight from either his wife or another noble and then Sorley talked him back down over a carefully lost game of chess — always providing a challenge and then gracefully losing just as the hour called for sleep.
Then Sorley would rein in the laird's son, or talk his lordship back into his wife's favor, or assure him that he was a strong and capable steward of his lands. This would incur the laird's reluctant goodwill, and Sorley inevitably would call in a favor.
Favors often rankled at his lordship, but he relied on this carefully choreographed song and dance as much as Sorley did. It was often a tedious, careful dance that Sorley participated in, and he was sure Suidhne had an idea of what he was doing, but so far it had not incurred his wrath. So, Sorley continued to push, and Lindon, ever the pragmatist, continued to plan their rapid retreat back to the Hebrides should his brother knight take the game too far.
Sorley then reminded his lordship in front of fighting men, nobles and serfs alike, right there in the Great Hall, that the maids were overworked. He reminded Laird Suidhne that they hadn't ever replaced the lass who had been dismissed in the summer. He mentioned that his own chambers were in need of better care and his tunics in need of more consistent mending.
At his lordship's silent permittance to continue, he turned to Ailios and asked if the girl required compensation in coin. Ailios had stared up at him with wide, grateful eyes. She shook her head no. She turned to Malvina, pulled her close in her embrace, and told the laird that food and shelter would more than suffice. She told them that Malvina was coming of her own volition to the castle to demonstrate her loyalty to the family by way of service.
Sorley raised his eyebrows at Ailios as though he were impressed. With an appropriate amount of exuberance, he turned to Laird Suidhne as though to say, 'who could refuse such a generous offer.' His lordship grumbled, waved a dismissive hand, and nodded. It was done. Malvina would join the servants of Castle Sween as a chambermaid and laundry girl. She would not earn a single coin, but she would have a roof over her head and food in her belly. Ailios had given a grateful curtsy, tugging her charge down with her into a clumsy curtsy of her own. She shot Sorley one more look of gratitude before the guard came and led them away from the Great Hall as quickly as they had come.
Sorley had barely been able to choke down his meal after that. Lindon, sat beside him, angrily consuming what was left on his own plate, and staring deep into his tankard of ale with no small amount of angst. He grumbled quietly, under the din of their feasting comrades, that this would end poorly — that it would end very poorly indeed. Broccin, on his other side, was lost in his own thoughts. Once his lordship had finished eating and retreated for the night to his chambers, Broccin stood and turned to his comrades.
"I'll be heading home for the night," he said quietly. "Best check in on things in the village tomorrow, don't you think?"
"Aye. I'll be there." Sorley murmured, lifting his goblet back up to his lips.
Now stood outside Mrs. McCleod's office, he knew not what he would say without drawing undue attention to the girl. He brought a heavy fist up to knock and waited. When the door opened, the head of housekeeping looked at him as though she'd been expecting him. She waved him in and closed the door.
"How can I help you, sir knight?"
"I'll not keep tellin' you, Mrs. McCleod," he said genially. "Call me Sorley."
She gave him an affectionate pat on the arm and brought her hands to her hips.
"This doesn't have anything to do with the pretty lass that got dragged in here tonight?"
Sorley spared her a guilty look then. "Afraid it does."
She pursed her lips.
"I see," she said. "I'll not be having relations between my maids and the lot of ye beasts. I cannae condone it. It's not right, ye ken. The girl is in my charge now."
"I'm not here to ask anything untoward of you," Sorley said. His voice was earnest, and he spread his hands out peaceably in front of him.
"Then why, pray tell, are you here?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
The problem was, Sorley wasn't entirely sure himself, but for the fact that he wanted to make sure Malvina was treated well. He wanted to make sure that she had food to eat and clothes to keep her warm and safe. He wanted, Sorley sighed to himself and shook his head. Exasperated. He could hear Lindon grumbling at him even now. Mrs. McCleod studied him with equal parts suspicion and sympathy.
"I only—" he paused and dug into a pocket, pulling out a bag of his earnings and emptying it of half its coin. "I only wish to see that the lass is well cared for." He held out the coin for Mrs. McCleod to take but she shook her head and backed away.
"You'll not be giving away your earnings for some maid, sir knight. I couldn't accept it. Neither for myself nor the young lass. You earned that coin for yourself and your kin. Not her."
"It is my coin to do with as I please. And I'll be giving it to her care. See to it that she has a proper pair of boots and slippers. I know the castle supplies the maids with dresses but she'll not have good shoes."
"And how do you know the state of the lass's footwear? Hmm?" She asked as though he'd been caught.
"I couldna say for certain, mistress, only that I've heard the serfs are without much these days, ye ken. And the widow Ailios being without her husband these past months..." He trailed off and let Mrs. McCleod fill in the rest for herself. She sighed and gave him a motherly look.
"I'll see to it that she is fed and clothed and cared for. As I do with all my girls, your coin is not needed."
"Take it anyway," he insisted and when she refused to accept it into her hands, he placed it carefully on her desk. "See to it that she is assigned to my chambers, please."
"I do not take requests," Mrs. McCleod sniffed. "And you have no claim to the lass. She serves the castle. She serves his lordship and all of his knights."
Sorley fixed her with his own unimpressed look at that.
"I ken very well who she serves, mistress," he said, his voice grave and stern and Mrs. McCleod was reminded very briefly that for all the authority she had over the lesser servants of the castle, she was included on the list of people that were not to cross the knights — not even ones such as Sorley.
She blushed, and he eased off at the sight of her discomfort.
"I'd have her assigned to work for me just the same. She's a good lass. A bit simple, but she is good. She saved Broccin's daughter Beatie from a boar just days ago. Nearly died. Please, mistress, I have no claim to the girl, but I bear no ill intentions toward her either. I only wish to see that she is as safe as she can be here. You ken better than most how it is for the maids. I would spare her what I can."
Mrs. McCleod studied him before letting out a long sigh. "You're a good lad, Sorley," She brought her hands up to his cheeks and gave them an affectionate pat. "But you cannae spare her from the horrors of the world all on your lonesome, ye ken."
He opened his mouth to continue pleading his case, but she silenced him with a look.
"I'll do what I can. And I'll do my best to assign her to yourself and Sir Lindon. But she cannae only work for you."
"Thank you," he said. "I understand."
"Now off," she shooed him back out the door. "Away with ye and your great bleeding heart."
He let her shove him back out of her office with a small laugh at that. He took no offense when she slammed the door behind him. Glancing carefully down the corridor to see if, by some small miracle, he could catch a glimpse of the lass that had taken up so much space in his mind of late. But the corridor was dark. The maids had already gone to bed.
Addison woke with a startled gasp as someone grabbed her and shook her awake roughly. She shot up and looked dazedly around her unfamiliar setting, trying to remember where she was and why. It took only a beat before she remembered the long walk to the castle, Ailios's face, and her desperate struggle to stay by her guardian's side.
She was in the castle. She was sharing a room with another girl. Lorna, the girl's name was, according to the stern-looking woman in charge. The girl in question was currently looking at her in utter exasperation, chattering away at her a mile a minute and gesturing for her to put on the dress that she'd tossed at her feet.
It was brown and thick. Wool. Addison stumbled out of bed, hissing as her bare feet hit the ice stone floor. At the quelling look from her new roommate, she kept them pressed firmly to the floor until they grew numb and acclimated to the sensation. She gathered the fabric of her dress and quickly pulled it over her head, sighing a bit into its warmth and rankling a bit at the way it made her skin itch. She was likely to scratch her skin off completely before winter ended if this was what she was meant to wear.
With another stern word from Lorna, Addison hurried to keep up. She was handed a frayed ribbon and scarf. She studied both in confusion until finally her roommate let out a completely aggrieved sound and snatched the items from her hands. She was forcibly turned around to face the wall, and her hair was roughly yanked and pulled into a loose braid. The scarf was thrown over the top of her head and secured at the base, its knot hidden from view by the braid that hung down her back. Then she was whipped back around, and Lorna made a series of hand gestures to accompany her stern words.
Addison understood. Well, she guessed. Follow Lorna. Listen to Lorna. Do as Lorna does. Sure. Easy enough. She'd been doing a variation of this for months with Ailios and the women of the village.
Then the other girl turned, marched out the door, and did not look back to make sure she followed. Addison hurried to keep up, tripping and stumbling over the bottom of her skirts as she went. The dress was too long. Her stomach was in knots as she and Lorna joined the larger group of girls who were making their way from their chambers to the kitchens.
Lorna made snagged a chair quickly, snapping back at Addison to sit down next to her. Her tone or her words or a combination of the two sent the rest of the girls into a fit of vicious giggles. And the gathered cupboys and servants looked on at the exchange with varying degrees of amusement, pity, and annoyance.
The butler and Mrs. McCleod came into view, and everyone stood, Addison being the last of course to do so. A fact which was noticed by all. She received a scolding look from the butler and couldn't stop herself from wringing her hands in front of her. She felt utterly exposed here.
Her skin itched under the heavy wool dress she wore. Her head felt odd wrapped up in the scarf, though the braid was admittedly nice. The girls seemed cruel, and while Lorna had not yet treated her badly, Addison resented that she was not Ailios. Had come to realize how much she hadn't learned the language, so much as she had learned Ailios. Her body language and her tone. She was not any more adept at communicating here, except with her former guardian.
This world was a different one from the one down in the village. And Addison also had the startling realization that she'd become something of a recluse. She was antisocial now in a way she'd never naturally been in her old life. And the sheer magnitude of people here at the castle threatened to overwhelm her into madness.
When the butler and Mrs. McCleod finally took their seats, the rest of the servants followed suit. Hands, plates, and utensils all reached and grabbed over different dishes and foods in an intricate and practiced dance that was breakfast. Addison didn't know the moves and didn't know what she'd be able to keep down.
So overwhelmed by the noise and chaos of the kitchens, she hadn't even realized she'd frozen until a roll and some cheese plopped down on the dish in front of her. Her eyes snapped from the bread to Lorna who was already looking back at her own meal and paying Addison no mind at all.
This was fine, Addison thought, there was no need for Lorna to like her. But she was grateful for the girl's helping hand, nonetheless. She wanted to say thank you, but she didn't know the word in the language here. And she had a hunch that her odd way of speaking would not go over here as seamlessly as it had done in the village.
The village, she was beginning to believe, operated under its own unofficial set of rules, and that the castle was its own special kind of hellscape she couldn't have imagined until now. The last definitive thing Ailios had told her before bringing her here and abandoning her was to hold her tongue. And Addison decided that she was going to do that, no matter what. She decided that here, at least, her stupid alter ego Malvina would be known as Malvina, the mute.
Addison nibbled at the bread and cheese reluctantly, biting back a moan at how normal they tasted, but still worried that she'd throw it all up later. Her toes curled a bit in her new servant's boots, and she wondered how many meals the servants were given in a day. Not wanting to get her hopes up about it, she shut down that train of thought and snuck an extra roll in her pocket when she realized no one was looking. Well, Lorna shot her a disbelieving look, but other than that no one saw.
When breakfast had ended, Lorna led Malvina up to their assignments for the day. They had the unfortunate privilege of hearth and chamber pot duty for Sirs Allistor, Rupert, Lindon, and Sorley. She supposed at least that two of the four of them would be gone by the time they got upstairs. Sorley and Lindon often started their days in the dark with the rest of the servants.
They started with Sir Lindon's chambers which were empty as Lorna had rightly predicted. She turned to Malvina, to make sure the girl was keeping up. Once they had both entered and the door closed behind them, Lorna began. She pointed at the corner.
"Put your bucket and brush over there," she said.
Malvina stared at her and then at the corner but did not move to do as was commanded. Lorna huffed.
"Honestly, girl, how have you survived this long without so much as a beating? If I were slow as you, my face would be marred beyond repair by now."
She grabbed Malvina's bucket and brush from her hands and let them clatter to the floor in the corner of the room. Then she wiped her hands on her skirts and turned back to Malvina who seemed to have registered the instruction and filed it away. Her eyes were a bit clearer, and she nodded tersely at Lorna in understanding. Good, Lorna thought. Something stuck at the very least.
"Now, you're going to want to start the fire in the hearth. Sometimes the knights will have already done that, but if it's not lit then the job falls on you. Sometimes they leave in a hurry, especially if there's an attack on the village or the castle and you don't want them coming back from battle only to freeze to death from an unlit chamber."
Lorna pointed at the fire and when Malvina didn't jump into action she rolled her eyes, once again grabbing the girl and bodily dragging her over to the task at hand. Malvina started the fire in the hearth with clumsy hands but did not open the vent. Lorna slapped her wrist at her negligence and opened the vent for her before the smoke could collect in Lindon's chambers. That would be a beating for the both of them for sure.
Mrs. McCleod did not appreciate it when the maids smoked out the knight's chambers — it often led to bed without supper for the lot of them, and a right mess in the laundry the next day as the girls tried to get the smoke out of the damaged linens and furs.
Satisfied that the fire had been lit and the smoke properly vented, she turned matter of factly to the chamber pot.
Not even bothering to wait for Malvina to take the hint, she dragged the girl over, picked up the full pot, and shoved it in her hands. Malvina registered what she was holding a bit too late, started at the sight and smell, and almost sloshed it all over the floor.
Lorna shouted at the girl, alarmed, but holding little hope it would stick. Then, with Malvina's hands full, she gestured for the girl to follow her. And follow her, Malvina did, back into the hallway with some random man's waste cradled nervously in her hands.
Lorna knocked and listened at a door across the hall, and when no answer came, she shoved in. When she reemerged with another chamber pot, she tilted her head in the direction of the stairs. Malvina got the message and followed her. They clambered down the steep spiral staircase. Lorna, swiftly and efficiently. Malvina was on the verge of tears and trying desperately not to trip on her too-long skirts.
After too long, they dumped both chamber pots and replaced them in their rightful rooms. Lorna watched Malvina wave her hands about in disgust, and shook her head in dismay. It was like the girl had never seen shit before. She was soft.
Addison, for her part, was in the middle of one of the many new crises her life had become.
Germs.
Germs were everywhere and no one was the wiser. But Addison had just dumped someone's chamber pot out in a smelly ditch, and she couldn't find anything to clean her hands with. There was nothing. She was trying not to heave at the memory, and she didn't know what to do with her hands. Lorna watched her with no small amount of annoyance. Addison knew she was slowing the other girl down, and she knew her repulsion made her look weak, but her mind was slowly cataloguing all of the gross things that came from human waste and how many of them she didn't want to ingest from her contaminated hands. For a brief moment, she eyed the fire in the hearth and wondered how long she could hold her hands in it before it did irreparable damage.
Then her head snapped back, and her face bloomed sharp with pain. Addison stumbled and looked around wildly in shock from the blow. Lorna was standing in front of her, eyes fierce, chest heaving, hands on her hips in reproach.
Lorna had enough of Malvina's whining. If she couldn't handle a chamber pot, she best leave before everyone gets punished for her incompetence. The girl was obviously in a simpleton's daze, and Lorna, resentful and at her wit's end decided enough was enough. One sharp smack should snap her out of it. She watched with no satisfaction as the girl reared back and looked around in alarm. She hadn't expected the blow. Who didn't expect to be smacked when they were being as nonsensical as she? Lorna was incredulous, but she did not wait for Malvina to respond. She turned away and sternly commanded her to help her with the floors before the day got away from them and they missed luncheon.
Something in her tactic must have worked because the next thing she knew Malvina was on the floor next to her, hands in her bucket and scrubbing them viciously in the soapy water. After a minute of scrubbing her hands, Malvina took a deep breath and smiled at Lorna.
Lorna, for her part, was a bit taken aback at the girl's sudden change in demeanor but shrugged it off and kept at the floors. There was no point in trying to make sense of the mind of a simpleton. She was just happy the girl had finally, if briefly, gotten the hang of things. Malvina helped her scrub the floor spotless. When they were done with the floors of Lindon's chambers they moved onto Sorley's and did the same. His hearth was already lit so they needed not tend it. They repeated the process for Sirs Allistor and Rupert.
Allistor had still been sleeping and Lorna had nervously hoped Malvina would get the hint to move quickly and quietly so they could leave him in peace as soon as possible. Luck was in her favor this morning, for even the simpleton looked a bit nervous to be in the fearsome knight's presence for very long.
On the way out of Allistor's chambers, Lorna grabbed his half-burnt candles so that they need not return, or encounter him, until after luncheon. Once all the hearths were lit, the floors scrubbed, and chamber pots emptied, Malvina and Lorna went back through each room to gather the used candles and linens.
By the time they were finished and had descended the long stairwell back into the servants' halls, the sun was near high enough in the sky to mark midday, and Malvina's stomach was rumbling. Lorna raised her eyebrows at the sound, but couldn't help but eye the other girl respectfully when Malvina reached into her pocket and bit into a breakfast roll she had snagged that morning.
Malvina sighed into the bite of bread and then opened her eyes awkwardly when she remembered Lorna. A brief flash of regret passed through her eyes, Malvina eyed her roll a bit childishly, before huffing and breaking off a piece. She passed it to Lorna with a grimace that tried to be a smile, and Lorna couldn't help but laugh.
At least Malvina was normal in her hunger. She could relate. Still, she accepted the bread for the peace offering it was and popped it into her mouth with a real smile of her own. Encouraged, Malvina's grimace became a shadow of the real thing, and her eyes got a little brighter for a moment. They would not be fast friends these two girls, but they had proven they could work together if they really tried, and that was a far more valuable thing to have in a place like this.
They entered the laundry together, dropping the linens in a heap by the washbasins for later scrubbing. And then they went into the pantry and tossed the candles in the basket to be melted down and refashioned into new ones. They set aside the new candles they would need to take back upstairs after luncheon, along with the other odds and ends Lorna had been taking care of for some of the knights that needed returning. Once their post luncheon items were gathered and ready for later, Lorna grabbed two buckets into her hands and gestured for Malvina to take two of her own. Once the girl had done as she was instructed, Lorna turned and led her out the side door of the laundry. Together, they made their way toward the well.
Addison followed Lorna into a large courtyard. The sun was bright today — which was both odd and deceiving — as there had been nothing but clouds and fog for weeks. She squinted as it assaulted her eyes and shined off the wet stone pavement aggressively. It did nothing to lessen the cold sting of winter wind on her cheeks though, but Addison bit her tongue and pushed through, doing her best to keep up with Lorna's quick step.
The courtyard was crowded. More crowded than Addison had seen in all her weeks stuck in the past. She'd genuinely had no idea so many people existed here in the castle. The village had seemed so small and isolated. To know that this whole other microcosm had existed, just a few paces away and behind a large stone wall was near impossible to wrap her mind around.
There were guards up on parapets of the gatehouse and the castle, looking down at the comings and goings of all the people who lived and worked there. Horses trotted by and more than once Lorna had to yank her back and out of the way lest she get run over by a knight or knocked by a stableboy. There was a group of men rolling a barrel through a doorway and a gaggle of young boys jumping over each other to grab their preferred rakes and brooms for the day. A minor fight broke out over it and an old man, bent over from some undiagnosed bone disease, Addison was sure, came out of the building they were fighting in front of, and used a cane to beat them apart. Two maids, she recognized from breakfast, ushered past her carrying large sacks of something, though she couldn't tell what. They spared a frustrated glance at herself and Lorna, and Addison got the feeling they were unhappy with their rotation for the day. There were knights as well, scattered throughout the courtyard. A section at the far end had been unofficially cordoned off. She only glimpsed it briefly through all of the chaos. There, the knights were most highly concentrated. They milled about and sparred with each other in various states of dress. Some were hacking away at a line of wooden posts. They did so skillfully, from what she could see and what little she knew. Each one moved with lethal purpose. They were training.
She didn't let her gaze linger long though. Soon enough they had traversed the chaos of the courtyard and made it to the well. Another maid was there and waiting, and she spared a small polite smile for Lorna and a suspicious look for Malvina. She too had her hands full of buckets.
They exchanged awkward greetings and then the three young women set to work. One bucket was hooked, lowered, and raised. Then another. Then another. Until all six were full. And then they turned and carefully traversed the busy courtyard once again. Addison's hand cramped about two seconds in. The buckets were large, and the water was heavy. The thin metal wire that counted as a handle these days was malleable and just about as useless as she was if she were being honest with herself. If this was how the maids felt when they dealt with her, she thought, it was no wonder everyone was pissed off.
This was also how she learned that niceties were not a thing here. She'd always had a hunch about it, but again, the village operated under its own rules, and Ailios was special to people there for some reason. But here in the heart of some castle in the middle of nowhere, the other servants and men at arms confirmed what Addison had suspected for months.
People in her position were no more worthy of compassion or kindness than a stray dog. It didn't matter that they carried heavy burdens that could easily spill. They were cut off by other, more important servants. Yelled at by the Steward for getting in his way. Knocked a couple of times by stable boys and their horses and jostled by large groups of knights that seemed to travel in packs like rowdy, athletic teenage boys.
Addison shuddered and looked around at that realization. They were, in fact, a bunch of rowdy athletic teenage boys. It didn't even matter that some were fully grown men, she thought. Their age changed nothing. Their behavior said it all. Jocks were jocks. She closed her eyes and groaned miserably at her terrible, terrible luck. She was no better with these types in her own century. And now they were everywhere, and they were in charge.
She opened her eyes again to watch where she was going but despite her best intentions, opened them a second too late. Just in time to run face-first into a broad, metal-plated chest. Her head bounced off the armor of the man who stood in front of her and she hissed at the flare of pain that shot up her nose. Squinting through the pain, she looked up and her body quaked. Terror flooded her senses at the sight of the tall, angry-looking man she'd run into. He had planted himself in front of her when her eyes were still closed and drew himself tall like an angry bull in the face of their inevitable collision. When she deigned to look up at him, the scowl he already wore, deepened significantly.
The water in her buckets sloshed all around her feet and his. She flinched at the displeased sound he made, and watched in horror as the offending liquid spilled out and covered his boots. Addison felt her stomach give a small trial heave and swallowed it back desperately. Please, for the love of God, she thought to herself, do not vomit on this man. He growled something down at her and she felt her eyes water with the effort it took to keep her body from throwing up her breakfast. Her eyes watered. She whimpered. He raised his voice louder. Lifted his hand as though to strike her down.
Sorley had just turned from training at the pell. He swung his dominant arm a couple times to ease the burn of the morning's exertions and tried to make sense of his mind. The events of the evening prior had done nothing but lose him sleep and his carefully maintained sense of peace. Something was in the air at Castle Sween, and whatever it was did not sit right with him.
He'd woke that morning early and restless and gone down to the village handled the usual business as he always did. He understood the explanations given of course, by Ailios and Wallace MacPhearson, for Malvina's move to the castle, but he still disagreed. The village had become his unofficial domain and the people there were safer for it. Few of the knights cared for what happened there, and Laird Suidhne had washed his hands of the place years ago, but for how he could use it to his benefit.
Sorley had returned to the castle in the late morning hours and resolved to take his frustrations out in training. By the time the midday sun beat down on him, he had whittled the training pell down to nothing with the brutal and heavy-handed strokes of his blade. Now, with the bulk of his anxieties quelled, if only briefly, he lowered his sword and wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. He'd just switched arms with the intent of turning back to his training when he noticed a scene playing out over by the well. At the very center of it, his heart sank, were Rupert and Malvina.
Rupert had spent the better part of the morning spoiling for a fight. He'd already kicked over a barrel of wine. Thrown a dagger over the steward's head while they broke their fast. And clobbered two of the footmen for mild, if not completely imagined, slights.
He'd assumed the man would take it out on another knight during training, as was typically the way, but it seemed Malvina had gone and spilled a bucket of water on his shoes instead. And the other knight, having not had yet taken the opportunity to properly vent his anger, decided that she would serve well enough as the next target for his rage.
"Best stay out of it," Lindon murmured next to him, having noticed his friend's distraction. "That maid's got to learn her place just like the rest of them."
"He'll take it too far," Sorley said back.
"Aye, most likely, but you'll do her no favors downstairs if you step in," Lindon argued.
Sorley turned his head to look at Lindon but could not argue his point. If he spared her his fellow knight's ire, the girls downstairs would finish Rupert's work out of resentment. If he did not step in, the girl was likely to get a beating.
It did not sit well with Sorley, for many reasons. But the primary reason that played out in his mind was naturally the most graphic. He had fought beside Rupert in battle many times. And those hands that he'd raised against Malvina? Sorley bit the inside of his cheek. He'd seen those hands commit truly unimaginable acts against enemy and friend alike. He'd seen those hands crush men's skulls. He'd seen those hands break necks. And those boots she'd spilled her water all over? He'd seen those boots break men's ribs, bust men's jaws. He didn't so much as want anyone to breathe in Malvina's direction here, the tether in his chest gave a small, aggrieved tug, but he especially didn't want Rupert to. He shook his head. The girl was nothing to him.
He had no claim, he reminded himself. He had no reason to feel this way. But even thinking such a thing to himself didn't sit right with him. Nothing sat right with him these days. He didn't know why.
It's not as though he hadn't seen this before with other maids. It's not as though he hadn't stood by on one occasion and stepped in on another. Sorley had always just done as his instincts commanded, but Malvina... Malvina was making him question everything. His instincts drove him in every direction.
Lindon clapped him on the back and turned to continue his maneuvers at the pell, thinking the case had been sufficiently discussed and closed, but that didn't sit right with Sorley either.
Lorna turned to see what had held Malvina back from their little group and frozen in horror at what she saw.
Sir Rupert.
He'd been gone this morning, and it seemed wherever he had been left him in a dour mood. He stood tall and threatening over her sickly little ward, and Malvina stared up at him with watery eyes and a face full of shock.
Rupert said something too low for Lorna to hear, and she felt the other maid, Clary, press close to her back in fear. Both held their breath as they waited to witness Malvina's fate. As a unit, the two maids had pressed themselves against a post to keep out of the way of traffic, but otherwise stayed where they were. Neither could not move on without Malvina.
She would be punished for her carelessness. Though they took no pleasure in watching it happen, it was the way of things here. Afterward, they would tend to her wounds as a unit. That was how the maids bonded. Even Glenna and Abigall would pause in their malice to care for the new girl after she was initiated into the violence of Castle Sween.
Rupert growled again — something Lorna could not hear — and Malvina shrunk back. The girl's face wracked with fear.
"Have you nothing to say for your insolence girl?" he raised his voice louder. Lorna watched Malvina jump at his volune. And Lorna winced when his hand came down to rest on the hilt of his sword.
It was a threat.
Lorna knew this. Everyone knew this. A knight's hand on his blade promised action would be taken. Even if the blade was not drawn, Malvina was sure to be backhanded next. Lorna hissed when she noticed he was wearing his gauntlets. The metal would surely leave a scar on her face then. She almost regretted her resentful thoughts toward the girl's unmarked skin earlier. The first cut was always the worst one, and if Rupert used enough force, chances were, Malvina wouldn't even remember where she got it when he was done.
For some reason — some unknown stupid reason — Lorna felt obligated to step in. This was... Well it was a bit of a daft thing to do. It was not the way she operated here. It was not the way anyone operated at Castle Sween. She had always kept to herself. Lorna looked after Lorna and no one else. Every other man, woman and child did the same. But Malvina could not apologize to the knight she'd offended. She was mute. And Sir Rupert did not know this. Most likely he would not care, but if Lorna could tell him the girl was incapable of apology because she could not speak...well...maybe other reparations could be made.
He was bellowing now, and Lorna felt a shiver down her spine as she stepped forward. She would regret this.
"Sir."
He swung around. Hand raised with the promise of violence at the sound of her voice. Lorna flinched but held fast.
"Sir Rupert, please, she is mute, sir."
"Mute?" He asked her, hovering over her in silent threat.
"She cannot speak, sir."
"Oh aye?"
His eyes flashed, and he turned back to Malvina, snatching her by the collar of her dress and dragging her forward.
"You cannae speak or you will not speak? I wonder if we can drag any other sounds out of ye instead."
He said this and brought a strong hand up to grab her jaw, squeezing in a way Lorna was sure would leave marks. She slowly stepped back unwilling to draw more attention to herself. She was almost back to her fellow maid when she collided with another person, rather than her intended post. Lorna gasped in horror. She whipped around to apologize to whomever she had collided with, and just as quickly felt her fear leave her.
Sir Sorley steadied her with gentle hands. He fixed her with a knowing look, and allowed her a moment to collect herself despite the tension rising in the air. She took a shaky breath, and he nodded over to the post.
"Go on," he urged her. "Go join your friend."
Not even bothering to curtsy, she rushed into Clary's waiting embrace. They clung to each other, pressed tight against the post. Their buckets sat forgotten at their feet.
Rupert still had Malvina raised up in the air with the strength of his grip. The girl was trembling, and Lorna would not blame her if, beneath her wool skirts, she had wet herself from fear. She watched with equal parts horror and relief as Sorley strode over to his brother knight and brought a steady hand down on his shoulder.
"Let her go, Rupert," Sorley said.
His voice was even, and a hush had fallen over the courtyard. The men-at-arms and servants alike had come to a halt. Buzzing with pent up energy at the mounting altercation. Knights everywhere sized each other up and silently chose their sides. Lindon was only a handful of steps behind Sorley. His face was fixed in aggravation, but he had ceased his complaining about his friend's incessant need to meddle. Now, he stood loyal and silent, calm and ready despite the tension.
Rupert growled and tossed Malvina to the ground as though she weighed nothing more than a child's doll. Her body fell hard, and she smacked against the pavement. Her impact against the wet stone ground reverberated through the courtyard. She trembled harder, and Lorna noticed her biting back her cry of pain. A glimpse at her face... Lorna had been right. A deep purple handprint bloomed on her jaw. The mark cupped her face as though she were still caught in the grip of the man who sought to punish her.
"Her first trophy," Clary muttered grimly into her ear.
Aye, Lorna thought, and it will not be her last once the other girls hear that Sorley saved her from worse.
"The little hedge-born bitch needs to learn her place," Rupert spit at Sorley's feet and drew himself to his full height in challenge.
"She's new," Sorley said. "She's learned. Now leave her be and on with your day, man."
"Oh-ho! Look at you, big man," Rupert surged forward, chesting up to Sorley, taking his measure. His breath was hot, and rank, and his eyes flashed with the need for blood.
Sorley kept his face carefully blank, straightening up a bit at Rupert's posturing but refusing to back down.
"You've made your point," Sorley said, voice carefully calm.
"I've made my point, have I?" Rupert mocked.
"Aye, ye have," Sorley growled a bit at that, turning his head a roughly to look the other man in the eye. "You've made your point, big man." Sorley spit.
"You've beat up a little girl. Your enemies are right to fear you, you crooked-nosed bastard. Oh, aye," Sorley scoffed. "If I'd met you in battle and saw what you did to some defenseless little maid, I'd lay my blade down right there at your feet and surrender. Big man, like you. I'd never stand a bloody chance against someone so fearsome as that. Look at her," He threw out his hand at the quivering maid with her teary eyes and ruined face.
Rupert shook his head and grinned fiercely at his fellow knight. His eyes were mocking. His smile incredulous. That Sorley would question him in such a way, he scoffed and shook his head. All over a dirty little servant. Rupert turned to his fellow knights, gesturing as though to say, 'can you believe him?' but Sorley wasn't quite finished with him yet. Seeing that his fellow knight was not, in fact, understanding his meaning, Sorley surged forward and twisted Rupert in an unforgiving grip.
"No really," Sorley said. He brought one hand up to turn the other man's face. Feeling Rupert's jaw pop in his palm as he forced him to look down at the victim of his ire.
Rupert struggled against him, but Sorley held fast, his fingers digging into his comrade's jawline forcing him to look and keep looking.
"Look at her," he said again. "You're a right victor, you are. Look down at the mute little lass you've bested in battle. Tell me, brother, tell me. Do ye feel strong, now?" He hissed and jerked his hand away watching with no satisfaction as Rupert stumbled.
The silence in the courtyard was deafening. Sorley spit again. Lindon hovered nervously.
The maids in the corner and serving wenches down the way watched on with wide eyes. Even for the tawny-haired knight, this was new. None had ever spoken so plain over such a commonplace thing. It was unnerving for them all.
Rupert turned and came at Sorley swinging. Sorley ducked his blow. Coming up behind him, he grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back. He restrained his comrade, wrapping one arm around his throat in a chokehold. Sorley looked at Malvina and spoke in a low voice then, just into Rupert's ear. Even those closest to them had to strain to hear it.
"Now listen. Listen, brother," Sorley said. "Are you listening?"
He paused as though he was waiting for Rupert to nod, which he couldn't do without cutting off his airflow completely.
"The next time you go looking to prove you're tough," he growled out, grunting as Rupert brought a desperate elbow to dig into his ribs. "Next time you're spoilin, hmm? You come find me, ye ken. I'll show you tough better than any little lassie can. I'll make ye wish you could go crawling back home to your father like a wee little lad. Understand?" Rupert grunted and struggled, so Sorley jostled him a bit. "Do you understand?"
Rupert grunted and gagged in the chokehold before finally spitting out that he understood. Sorley released him with a shove, standing tall under the weight of everyone's stares. Even Lindon was unable to hide his shock.
But Sorley didn't care.
No one would challenge him on this, but he did spare a regretful glance at Malvina. He'd gotten carried away, and he feared she would live with the consequences of his actions instead.
Allistor appeared and grabbed Rupert up, shooting Sorley a glare of his own. He led the other knight away from the courtyard so he could lick his wounds in private.
Sorley cared not for the enemies he'd just made. They'd barely passed as allies over the years as it was. He gestured for Lorna to help Malvina off the ground, and she curtsied quickly at him and rushed over to her ward. Malvina let her haul her up, still shaking. Unsure what to do with her hands, or where to look, she glanced around at the staring faces, at her hands, and then at Sorley himself.
Once again, he was convinced that there was more going on in that mind of hers than anyone gave her credit for. Her eyes, for as teary and uncertain as they were, were sharper than any other simpleton's eyes he'd seen. She was odd and quiet, but she was observant. He was certain of it. He resisted the urge to go to her. He'd already done plenty of damage, and there would be plenty of whispers around her name as a result.
He settled for a nod, and felt his chest expand a bit when she gave a hesitant one of her own.
"Back to work, you sick fucks!" Lindon shouted out, turning to glare at his fellow knights and servants who all watched on in morbid fascination. "Off with the lot of you!"
Slowly the crowd retreated, trickling back to their midday activities and chores. The sounds of swords clanging against the pells across the way picked up once again. Horses were transferred between the pasture and the stables. Servers and cupboys, brewmasters, cobblers, carpenters and the like all set back about their business.
The servants of Castle Sween resumed. They resumed as though nothing had happened at all, as though that was all they had left to do.
Sorley watched as the maids gathered up their buckets and retreated from the courtyard, hurrying toward the servants' quarters, desperate to avoid any more attention. They would store their buckets of water until the knights required them for bathing later that evening, he knew, and he felt the pit in his stomach grow at the thought of Malvina being sent to the wrong knight's chambers before the day was through.
He shouldn't have handled things the way he had. Sorley shook his head and rubbed an aggravated hand down his face. Lindon clapped him on the back and pulled him away toward the stables, glowering at anybody that so much as breathed in their direction as he did.
Sorley took a breath, let his friend lead him away. The stablemaster and his boys cleared out quickly. They closed the doors behind them. Sorley finally felt some of the tension leave him. He rolled his neck. Hung his head. Let out a long sigh.
Light filtered down from the windows in the loft, but otherwise the stable was dark and cool. A good place for calming one's temper. Sorley let his feet lead him over to his horse.
Lindon left him to it. Perched at the far end of the stable, on a bale of hay, the fair-haired knight drew his sword and settled in. The methodical snick of whet stone on metal broke the quiet of the stable. Lindon carefully sharpened his blade, content to wait while his brother came down from the heat of whatever personal battle was raging inside him.
Sorley, lulled by the sound the blade in the darkness, ran a hand down his steed's strong neck. He smiled a small smile and patted her nose affectionately when she bumped him. Her usual greeting. Sorley whispered soft words of reassurance to her as though she needed them more than he did, and she nickered back at him softly. He pressed his forehead to hers when she lowered it down to him. Then he clicked his tongue at her, grounded himself in her presence, and did as he'd always done.
Sorley moved on. Forward. This was the path he'd chosen. And now he had no choice but to follow it right down to the bitter end.
