T/W: Allusions to attempted rape. Tried to be as non graphic about it as I could, but I do believe it would happen in this setting.
Please Review/Favorite/Follow! Let me know that you like what you're reading, and if not what I could do better. Thanks!
Chapter 6: Winter, the Choices We Make
Addison didn't have many memories of her mother. The few she did have were fleeting. The flash of a smile, lined in bright red lipstick. The call of her name from somewhere behind her as she climbed the jungle gym at the park. Most distinctly, Addison remembered her mother singing —singing and dancing with her to old country songs when she was very small. She remembered distinctly, the cold wet strands of her mother's hair against her cheek, the smell of her shampoo. She remembered being held in her warm embrace as they twirled around the living room wrapped up in towels and robes. Her mother's breath against her forehead as she sang the lyrics to Forever and Ever, Amen loud and carefree while they danced. She remembered the feeling of rightness, that this would be the way forever. Her and her mama.
But other than that... well, the majority of Addison's memories of her mother came down to asking her grandmother when her mama was coming back. And her grandmother, giving the best answers she could give to a young, curious, heartbroken child. She remembered crying at night. She remembered crawling into bed with her grandmother, who she had affectionately called Lala since she first began to talk.
Lala had been her first word, which Addison realized upon looking back was more indicative of the way things would unfold than anything else, and that her mother had always had one foot out the door. By the time she hit fifteen, Addison had already passed through the stages of grief several times and circled quickly back to anger. She had hated her mother passionately all through her teen years, and when she graduated high school, alone in that giant auditorium with no mother to cheer her on and a grandmother sick in a nursing home with no memory of Addison to speak of, she had seethed. She had seethed and crossed the stage and shook the principal's hand, and when she walked off the stage she did not return to her seat she walked straight out of the emergency exit and got in her car. And when she got home she cried.
Addison had hated her mother. And it carried her through her first day of community college. It carried her through her scholarship applications and buying her first textbooks. It carried her, frankly, through a lot. And then one day, one stupid fall day, she had to up and get hijacked by the universe. She got dropped in the middle of some medieval hellscape and forgot her hatred. Forgot, for a time, her mother altogether.
She had thought of Lala, once or twice, in moments of stillness where she tried and failed to process the magnitude of her grief and the things that were happening to her. But, other than that, Addison had thought only of her survival since she'd landed in the village at the edge of the woods.
Addison was hauling her buckets of water up the spiral staircase toward the knights' chambers. She'd been at Castle Sween for a little over a week now. Had kept track, sort of, by scratching tally marks into the stone wall by her bed when Lorna wasn't around. She had a feeling her small form of graffiti would be frowned upon if anyone were to find out, but Addison took comfort in those small lines etched in stone. They kept her just this side of sane.
A little over a week and she didn't feel much like she'd gotten the hang of things, but Lorna had seen enough progress, she supposed, to let her go off on her own. Unlike the other girls, Addison kept her same chore rotation every day. Sorley, Lindon, Rupert, Allistor. She tended their chambers and their needs to the best of her ability but often got in trouble what with the way she adamantly refused to enter Rupert's chambers until she was sure he had vacated them and would not be returning.
She'd gotten smacked a couple of times for her insolence. Trapped once by Allistor in a foul mood. And knocked and pinched by the other girls for the special treatment she was receiving. Because she never had to rotate or do anything they perceived as unpleasant, it also meant that she often went without aid when collecting water from the well. Unless Lorna had time, no one came to her assistance.
And that meant — she huffed and set down her tenth bucket of water — Addison had been hauling buckets of water upstairs for at least an hour if not more. She measured her gradual progress by the way the light wavered out the window, trapped somewhere in all the fog. The gloom was darkening and that meant she had to hurry. She didn't want to be caught anywhere near Rupert's chambers when he decided to call it a night. Addison noticed on more than one occasion how some girls did not make it back to their beds when their chores were done, and she did not want to be one of those unlucky few.
Her back had a permanent twinge that, when she twisted, sucked all the air from her lungs. And her fingers had lost all feeling and color from the weight of the water and the cut of the handle she carried the buckets by. She leaned back against the wall for a brief moment, content to hunch over in the empty corridor and catch her breath. Then, after too short a reprieve, she hefted her bucket back up and carried it over to Sir Lindon's chambers. He was her second to last stop. And she'd already set a pot on to boil from the water that was already in his room. This would be his last bucket and then all that was left was Sorley.
She shoved in. Dropped her bucket. Pulled the boiling water off the fire and dumped it in the great tub that the errand boys had run up before their supper. Addison had taken to completing her chores during mealtimes when everyone in the castle was drawn away from the corridors to take their rest for the day. She found it was less intimidating to complete her assigned tasks without the watchful, judgmental, and sometimes dangerous eyes of the castle residents on her back. This way she could do what needed to be done without succumbing to her nerves and making dangerous mistakes.
When the final pot had boiled and been poured. She took her buckets and went back down for Sir Sorley's water. She flexed and relaxed her hands as she did and tried not to trip on her skirts.
Her grandmother had been a maid. Years before Addison was born. Back when she and mama had first moved stateside. When Addison had known her, Lala had long since retired. Had spent her days in the back garden and visiting with friends, maintaining the house, and most importantly, raising her only granddaughter.
Addison had always been sensitive. That's what Lala had called it at one point, sensitive. She had chalked it up to a lot of things. Not enough spankings, too many hugs, which was ironic because Lala had never once laid a hand on her and always coddled her. But still, Addison hadn't had her share of punishments. This was a bit of teasing and posturing on her grandmother's part — a reminder of the struggles that lead to Addison's comfortable life, mixed in with a bit of pride at how far their little family had come. Addison had always taken these comments on the chin. She had been perfectly content to be sensitive, and Lala, despite all her talk, had always nourished that in her. But still, Addison couldn't help but wonder now, if there had been an air of truth in what Lala had been saying all those years. That the soft way she had been raised had led to her less than durable skin, and her propensity to question authority like it was her right. She wondered if this had led to the abandonment of her mother, and later the abandonment of Ailios here too. Addison wondered if it was not related to the fact that she was not made from tougher stuff.
Lala had been a maid and hadn't told her much about those days except that there were moments when you scrubbed for so long your skin would crack and crack permanently. That there was a dryness and hurt from the labor that could not be soothed by tonic or lotion or baths. That your back and feet would kill you long before anything else did. Her grandmother had once said that it was a thankless job but one that she was eternally grateful for.
She would say all this to Addison while snapping her playfully with a dishrag or lecturing her about making her bed. She would wave her hand and say that she'd cleaned toilets for decades so that Addison wouldn't have to. And then she would go on to hand Addison a toilet brush and remind her that since she had cleaned toilets all those years, Addison could clean the bathroom today. And if Addison were to whine or moan about it then she'd get a kiss on the head and a lecture about being thankful for the sacrifices of her elders.
Addison had met these moments depending on her mood. Some days she would stomp in annoyance or cry for want of fairness, others she would laugh at her grandmother's melodrama or simply do as she was told without any muss or fuss at all.
Lala had told her to clean the dishes and be grateful that she'd had food to eat and dish to eat it off of. And she told her to make her bed and be grateful that she had a bed to crawl into at night. She reminded her to sweep the floors and give thanks that she had a home with wood floors instead of a floor of dirt. And reminded her that she had a roof over her head that was not made of cardboard. She tried to instill lessons in Addison about gratitude and the importance of caring for the things that cared for you just by existing. And she taught her to maintain and clean the things that brought her joy and comfort so that they could continue to bring her joy and comfort in the future.
Addison didn't know how much stock she put in all that nonsense around cleaning, at the time, but now, she thought, as she was cleaning other men's floors and emptying their waste into a ditch on the far side of the castle. Now, as she drew their baths — having not had one in so long she could cry about it — and lit their fires and made their beds up with soft, warm pelts, and furs that were free of lice and vermin. She thought she got it now.
What she wouldn't do to go back home and scrub her nice porcelain white bathtub and have a long soak. What she wouldn't do to fill the washer up with a nice load of laundry, and collapse in a pile of warm, fresh-smelling linens atop her soft, welcoming mattress. She would clean her house and be grateful for it forever, but here Addison was both unclean and hungry. Barely any of her needs were being met. Her feet hurt and her hands ached, and her skin was cracking and dry. Her hair had become brittle, and her teeth felt heavy and gritty in her mouth. She had very little to be grateful for and did not benefit from the joys of her labors. It was like some sick cosmic lesson from her past. Her grandmother's voice in the back of her mind echoed about floors of dirt and roofs of cardboard and not enough food to eat, and Addison felt her lip wobble. She tried desperately not to cry. This had not been in her control. Nothing about this could have been prevented, but why then... Why was she blaming herself?
What was the point of cleaning other people's rooms? Where was the lesson in being another man's maid? Hard work for the sake of hard work with no hope for a better future. Lala had been working toward something, and one day saw the fruits of her labor flourish with a house of her own and a meager but sufficient retirement, and a granddaughter who would live a better life than she had — or at least an easier one, or at least, an easier one for a time. Addison shook her head bitterly.
But you are alive , Lala's voice reminded her from that place in the back of her mind. Being a maid is keeping you alive. These are the labors that are keeping you alive. Be thankful for the thankless job. She felt the ghost of Lala's kiss on her forehead and for a brief moment thought she could smell her perfume, but the moment passed, and Addison ached for its return. Do this and one day you will not have to.
Addison didn't know how much she believed her subconscious mind on that one, but it had carried her up and down the stairs a few more times, and before she knew it, she was stood by Sorley's hearth, boiling the water for his bath, and nearly done with her chores for the evening. Her hard work had paid off at least in part and she would be able to snag some food in the kitchens before the scraps from the evening meal were stored away.
Addison didn't remember her mother, but she was beginning to understand her in the way that, she thinks, Lala had always hoped she would. Once, when Addison was in middle school, she had woken from another dream of dancing with her mama, and just as the song filtered out of her mind she'd succumbed to another wave of violent, resentful tears. Lala had ears like a bat and near-supernatural instincts when it came to her granddaughter. She appeared at her bedside despite Addison's best attempts to stay quiet. Lala had pulled her in, cuddled her close, and waited patiently until her tears died down. And when they finally did she spoke to Addison in the best way she could, to try once again and make her understand.
"Addison," she said, "your mother grew up in a place where... well... she was a stranger in a strange land. She grew up poor and she grew up in a place that was very mean. And I — I didn't know what — what I mean to say is, sometimes even a mother's love cannot save her child from hurting. I tried my best, and I made my mistakes. And your mother..." Lala shook her head. "Your mother learned the lessons life taught her in the best way she could. And when she came out of those lessons, baby girl, she had you. And she loved you, mija. She loved you so much. But..." Lala pressed a kiss to Addison's hair then. "Babies aren't meant to have babies no matter how much love they have inside of them. So, she gave you to me. She gave you to me so I could love you and raise you. And while we are here, doing our best together, she had to go somewhere else and figure out how to do that for herself."
Addison didn't know what her mother had gone through in life. She sniffed and poured another pot of boiling water into the tub, closing her eyes against the wave of steam that rose up at her and curled the loose ends of her hair. She doubted her mother had spent much time in feudal Europe, but she felt closer to her now than she ever felt in her past life. Addison felt old here, old, and tired, but also impossibly young. She was a stranger in a strange land, and somehow it had made her both jaded and naïve. Guarded and vulnerable. She trusted no one and was at the mercy of everyone. She didn't speak the language and she could barely keep down the food. She was cleaning up after people that treated her like the scum on the bottom of their shoes.
She didn't know if gratitude was the word for what she was feeling, but she conceded that Lala may have a point about her still being alive. And she would just have to continue on that way for as long as she could. One bucket at a time.
She sighed and cleaned up her mess, opened the chamber door, and stepped quietly back into the corridor. So caught up in her thoughts she failed to notice the telltale sounds of boots climbing the stairs and stopping just short of her door. She'd been looking down at her feet when she exited the room, so she hadn't yet noticed that she was not alone.
Someone cleared their throat. Addison jumped. She threw herself back. Body pressed tight against the door she'd just closed. Addison willed the room behind her to swallow her up, to consume her whole. To save her from her fate. Her head snapped up in terror. And then, in relief, she deflated. Fear edged out of her and as it left her body it permeated the air between them with nowhere to go. It was the man who had saved her in the courtyard, the giant knight with the wild hair. The one from the great hall. The one from the boar. The one from the mud outside the drunkard's hut. There was another term that Lorna had called him a couple of times, but she couldn't remember it now. All that she knew was that this was Sorley. The man in front of her looked one part sympathetic, and two parts amused. Whatever else lingered behind his gaze was a mystery she didn't care much to unfold.
Addison twisted her hand nervously against the door handle, and he watched the motion with a small flick of his gaze. He glanced between her face and the nervous twist of her hand and stepped to the side with practiced ease, allowing her a clear path to the stairwell. The blonde knight behind him, Lindon, she'd learned his name was, watched the exchange with a look of casual dismay. His expression did nothing but become more exasperated when he noticed her attention was on him.
Sorley said something quietly to her and drew her attention back where he wanted it. Addison looked at him, unsure of what he was trying to say to her. She tried to smile politely, but it came out as a grimace. His lips twitched into a small smile beneath his beard, but it didn't last. He forced his smile away and relaxed his face back into his usual mask of calm. She narrowed her eyes. He gestured up to his jaw and pointed at her. Then he repeated his question, studying her intently as he waited for her response.
She opened her mouth, brought her hand up to her own jaw. Was there something on her face? She looked confused between him and his friend, and the friend let out a noise of annoyance, throwing his hands up at them. He directed his words at Sorley, but she flinched at his tone, nonetheless, shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away from the exchange. The knight in front of her, for his part, kept his kind eyes on her through the entirety of his friend's heated tirade. He recognized her discomfort and backed away further. He swept his hand toward the stairs in a universal sign that she may take her leave.
She could not hide the relief that flooded her body. She dropped down into a sloppy curtsy, ignoring the scoff of the blonde knight and the fond smile of her rescuer. Just stay alive, she thought to herself as she descended the stairs to the servants' quarters. Stay alive. One bucket at a time.
Sorley and Lindon had returned from the evening meal early. His young lordship had been in a right state, and frankly, Sorley hadn't felt the need to see to him when his father was in the room. If the laird was content to allow his son to make a fool of his house in plain view, who was Sorley to step in and try to recover it? So, when Lindon had knocked back the rest of his ale and stood, announcing he needed to take a piss, Sorley didn't waste any time taking his leave as well.
Bróccin had eyed them with an envious glare but was too caught up in talk of the castle's weapons stores with the steward and one of the armory guards to make an escape of his own. Sorley had patted him sympathetically on the shoulder, but the man had cursed him and his mother so vehemently that he shot him a rude gesture before disappearing through the doors.
They'd ascended the stairs in silence, content to make their way to their chambers and seek a moment's peace in solitude. They'd just said their goodnights and gone their separate ways when the door to Sorley's chambers opened and the little dark-haired lass that had haunted his mind for weeks emerged. Eyes downcast in the candlelight of the corridor, shadows floated behind her like a dark halo cast straight from the underworld. His heart kicked painfully in his chest, and he wondered very briefly if he was not suffering in hell itself for his want to know her in more ways than he thought possible.
She gently closed his door behind her, lost in her thoughts, and unaware that she was not, in fact, alone.
He did not want to startle her, especially with her rough introduction to life here at Castle Sween, so he gave a slight cough, and cleared his throat. She jumped like a cat in fear of a serpent, straight into the air and back, hackles raised, eyes fierce and suspicious. He had to bite back a laugh, fully aware that her fear was no joking matter, and regretful that he had inspired it, unavoidable as it was.
She met his eyes and he felt he was drowning in her. Engulfed in the many mysteries she carried. Malvina, the simpleton. Malvina, the mute. No, he shook his head to himself. Malvina, the muse. Malvina, the fury.
"Are you well lass?" He asked her.
Her eyes twisted into a mix of annoyance and confusion. She couldn't understand him. That much he knew and had learned the further extent of it from Macphearson and the widow Ailios. She was a foreigner. Moreso than he was. She knew it and the world knew it too. They treated her accordingly. Sorley had been born and raised in the highlands, but with a Viking father, he had been treated as someone who was other. Not of this place and not of the place his ancestors came from. He wondered that she must be lonely, Malvina. What could be lonelier than not sharing a common tongue with another? What could be lonelier than having words that no one could hear and understand as sense and reason?
He brought his hand up to his jaw, indicating to the places on himself where she carried bruises on her face still. He repeated his question.
"Are you well?"
She continued to look lost and confused and a small part of him grieved for her. Where was she from, he wondered. What of her family? Surely one such as she came from a loving home. Ailios had told him in no uncertain terms that no serf girl could have survived with softness such as Malvina's, and he was inclined to believe it. She was not weak — he could see that from the metal in her eyes, but her strength lay somewhere deeper. It was cloaked in a softness that this world could pick at and disappear quicker than you could blink if you did not keep your wits about you.
"Christ man, leave the sickly girl be. She's a simpleton and she cannae speak. Let her go before you get her killed," Lindon snapped, raking an agitated hand through his hair.
Sorley snapped back at him to mind his own, and Lindon shot off a retort that Sorley would not have repeated in Malvina's presence. Even a servant lass deserved more respect than that. He'd said so to Lindon who scoffed and looked away.
Malvina had shifted once again under the weight of Lindon's agitation. She was afeared, he thought, dismayed. He wanted to know her not cause her distress. He wondered if she had spent their entire exchange in his presence willingly or as a hostage. With a sigh, Sorley stepped further back and away and motioned toward the stairs.
"You're free to take your leave, lass. There is no need to fear me."
She took his gesture at face value and bolted. He watched her disappear through the doorway and down the stairs. Shook his head and cast Lindon an annoyed glance.
"Your interest will only make this worse," Lindon said stubbornly.
Sorley's gut twisted in an uncomfortable knot. His brother knight was not wrong, but, well, he was drawn to her in a way he'd never thought possible. He'd known his share of lasses, ladies, and women of questionable morals. He'd lived a hard life and was a young lad once with an abundance of freedom and time on his side. He'd thought himself in love once or twice before. Had his heart broken and broken plenty of hearts in return, but never had he felt this way. Never.
It was not love, he thought to himself.
Not yet, a voice said to him from somewhere further back in his mind.
It was the voice that had kept him alive through the trials and tribulations of his adult life. The voice that spoke to him in his darkest moments, that accompanied him when he prayed. The voice that spoke now was that which guided him in all things. It was the thing that told him Malvina was the one he ought to be knowing if she would only allow him the opportunity.
He left Lindon in the corridor, entered his chambers, and sighed at the sight of the warm bath she'd left waiting for him.
He stripped his armor from his body. His tunic and breeches too. Folded his belongings carefully and piled them on the stool beside his bed. He let out a groan when his sore muscles sunk down into the tub, submerged and grateful for the relief they found there.
It was not love, he thought again. It was... Well, he wanted to care for the lass was all. And maybe one day, he hoped, maybe one day she could find a way to care for him too. If not care, he conceded to himself and closed his eyes, then perhaps she could trust him, and he could content himself with the absence of her fear.
A few days later, Malvina and Lorna were on chamber pot duty together. Malvina, with her regular rotation of knights. Lorna with the ones further down the corridor. The hall itself housed eight knights in totality. Other halls held similar numbers though Malvina had little experience in those spaces. Well not yet, at least, she reminded herself that her duties would not remain so limited for long. Not with the growing hostility among the other maids. Pretty soon, Mrs. McCleod would have to either give Addison more work to do or risk having her take an unfortunate tumble down the stairs during her chores. Or so she feared that would be her fate with the whisperings of the other girls around her at mealtimes.
They'd worked their way in tandem from the rooms farthest down the corridor toward those nearest the stairs when it happened. Malvina, having accustomed herself to the monotony of routine, had overlooked one of her own very strict rules, always make sure Rupert had vacated his chambers before shoving in.
She had been listening to Lorna tell her a story she couldn't understand, carefully reading her facial cues for signs of when she should laugh and nod along.
They'd made a bit of a game of it over the past couple of weeks, and it had left Addison feeling a bit more accomplished than she maybe deserved to feel. Either way, despite having decided to maintain her carefully mute façade, she was glad to go through the motions of laughter, delighting in the way her breath moved through her body and her chest rose and fell. She felt the release of it up and down her spine as she pushed the door open to the next set of chambers, turning just in time to stop before a massive, heaving chest. She sucked in a breath and choked, coughing out her surprise at the sight of the giant, angry knight. The last she'd seen of him was in the courtyard when he'd assaulted her and in return been confronted by Sorley. Since then, it had only been glimpses of his back from around doorways and corners, carefully observed from a distance so she could tell when it was safe to see to her chores.
And now, here he was. The unavoidable moment that had haunted her at night while she lay in bed dreading the morning. His eyes flashed at the sight of her. With a feral grin, Rupert brought an unforgiving hand up to her arm and dragged her further into his chambers. She cried out and looked back at Lorna who had frozen, eyes wide in shock at their grave mistake. The door slammed between them while the girls stared at each other in horror. Rupert had finally gotten her alone.
Lorna turned at the sound of Malvina's gasp and froze at the sight of Sir Rupert holding her tight in his grip. She'd completely forgotten to watch out for his and Allistor's presence. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sick grin that spread across the knight's face.
She'd seen the look before.
Had been on the receiving end of it many times. And she knew what the look preceded. She could not find her voice when Malvina jerked her head back toward her in fear. No, Lorna thought to herself. No, no, no. Not another one.
The door slammed between them. Lorna dropped the empty chamber pot in her hands, setting off at a sprint down the stairwell. Her breath caught in her throat as she tore through the castle. She ran and shoved past other servants and knights alike in a way that would surely earn her a beating before the day was through, but she had to risk it. She'd take all the beatings in the world. She shook her head to herself, hands shaking.
Not another one.
She didn't know where to look truly, but her feet carried her to the stables, and when she could not find who she was looking for she turned and searched the training pells and the quintain, ignoring the angry shouts of the knights and squires that worked there. Finally, out of breath and shaking with nervous energy, she found Sir Sorley in the armory with Sirs Bróccin and Lindon.
"Sir," She gasped rushing forward and grabbing his arm, pulling him toward the door before even gathering the words to explain. He kept his feet, held fast to his ground, and looked down at her in concern. "Sir Sorley, please. You must —" She heaved and doubled over to catch her breath. "Please sir, it's Malvina."
His look of confused concern turned dark, and she knew he knew that she would not act this way unless there was danger. Lindon and Bróccin had straightened at the exchange, and at the mention of Malvina's name, traded grave looks of their own. They'd known this was coming. Everyone had known this was coming. But there was still time, Lorna thought desperately and gave another tug.
"Where is she?" Sorley asked, hand coming to rest on the hilt of his blade.
"Sir Rupert's chambers," she said and couldn't help the small well of tears that collected in her eyes. "Please."
He ripped his arm from her grasp, strode past her and out the door. She made to follow him but could not stop her hands and legs from shaking. Her limbs had taken on the consistency of falling water. She bit back a sob and brought a hand up to her mouth in embarrassment. Turning her head away from the remaining knights. Bróccin cleared his throat and moved past them out the door, to follow Sorley into battle, no doubt. Lindon, though, well, Sir Lindon brought a gentle hand to her elbow and ducked his head into her line of sight. His eyes were of soft concern.
"Calm yourself, Lorna," he said. "All will be well."
She let out a small noise of disbelief and gave way to another nervous wave of tears. She felt responsible somehow.
"I should have protected her," she choked out. "I should have — she was my responsibility —" She sniffed rather unattractively, and he looked away, eyes hard.
"You cannot save someone from a fate that you yourself are not safe from," he said and provided a clean cloth from his pocket. "Dry your eyes, lass."
He allowed her a moment to collect herself before standing back to his full height and studying her. "You do not have to go back up there."
"She will need a friend," she said defiantly. His lips quirked sadly in return, and he studied her a moment.
"I suppose she will," he said and gestured toward the door.
Addison was not fully of herself in the moment between the door closing on Lorna and the moment she ended up on the floor. She could not recount the time that passed or fully even recall what had occurred. But she could say that one moment Rupert was there, and the next he was not.
The door burst open, it splintered on impact with the cold stone walls of the Castle Sween. The figure that filled the space between her and freedom was familiar, and not unwelcome, but she could not move.
Rupert had turned at the sound, shouted at the intrusion. But he could barely get a word out, let alone adjust himself, before the tawny-haired knight's hands were on him in a cold kind of calculated rage. There was only one person in control here, and it was neither the girl on the floor nor the man whose breeches were hung down around his thighs.
"I don't hold with rape," Sorely said. And his hands were like shackles on the man's wrists, keeping his arms pinned behind his back.
Sorley turned from his spitting comrade to check on Malvina. She stared up at him still frozen from the shock of the events that had transpired here and he wondered if he had not been too late. He shook his head in shame. Her legs were bare. He averted her gaze, not wishing to distress her any further by his presence. He'd seen this before on the battlefield and among maids in similar situations. Her body had not yet registered that the danger was gone.
His lips pressed further into a scowl. He made to pull Rupert from his chambers, but the man put up a fight. Tiring of the struggle, Sorley drew his blade and pressed it to the other man's throat. Rupert growled out a warning that Sorley cared not to heed, pressing the dagger further into Rupert's skin and gritting his teeth in satisfaction at the line of blood that welled there. Rupert stilled at the threat, and Sorley dragged him out and into the corridor. A quick glance over his shoulder saw Bróccin, Lindon, and Lorna. He jerked his head at Lorna to collect her charge, and the other maid rushed in, pausing in the doorway before approaching Malvina with caring and gentle hands. She whispered soft reassurances and gathered her up and off the ground.
Satisfied that the lass was in caring hands, he sheathed his blade, preferring instead to keep one hand around the other man's wrists and the other clamped at the back of his neck in an unforgiving fist, in the way one would handle a feral dog caught by the scruff of his pitiful neck. Sorley spit and bared his teeth down at his fellow knight who had fallen silent in the presence of his rage. He pushed him down the corridor past Bróccin and Lindon and a small collection of servants and knights who had come running at the commotion. The knights eyed each other wearily, some in agreement with Sorley, others in a defense of Rupert. Sorley could care little for the pissing matches of his fellow men, shoving past them all and parading Rupert down the spiral staircase toward the dungeons. He knew not if the prison master would heed his orders, but he felt it was either try his hand at a night in a cell for Rupert or kill him with his bare hands in the light of day. He contemplated this as he marched the other knight down the stairs and through the better part of the castle with his breeches still caught low, down around his thighs.
Addison stayed in bed for days. Mrs. McCleod had allowed it with a stern and sympathetic glance. She checked in on her twice a day. And when she did, she said nothing, just set down a meager serving of bread or stew, and the occasional brew of tea. Malvina had left it untouched for all of a day before she remembered how terrible it was to starve, and then she scarfed down everything like she was dying. She kept tally of the days in lines marked on the wall by her bed. She no longer cared if Lorna saw her. Lorna said nothing of it. And the world moved on.
Lorna had tried asking, but even if Addison knew the language, she didn't know that she would have answered her. No, he had not done... that. Addison shook her head at the memory. But it had been close. Another line on the wall. Another bout of restless sleep. She could count her tally and say how many days had passed that she'd spent holed up in her room, but she hadn't paid active attention and she'd lost all sense of time.
And then, one morning, Lorna rose. Addison had been awake for hours, but it mattered little. This time though, instead of Lorna dressing and carrying on with her day, she perched herself on the edge of Addison's bed. She reached out a hand, and let it hover over Addison's back before bringing it to rest gently there, apologetically.
Addison started at the touch and drew her blanket more tightly over her shoulders. But Lorna kept her hand where it was. She said something, softly, and waited. When Addison didn't respond, she said it again. After a moment, Addison rolled over onto her back and looked the other girl in the eye. She felt defiant and teary and stubborn and hopeless all at once, and Lorna's face said it all.
It was time to return to the world.
Mrs. McCleod had called her up. No more rest. No more hiding. She was a maid in the Castle Sween, and she was meant to work, or she'd be cast out in the unforgiving snow which had fallen for the first time this winter while Addison hid away under the covers in her room. It was as though the world had iced over in sympathy for the ice that now lived in her veins. She'd been cold before, in a way that she would never recover from, but now... it was like something deeper had gone cold. Something more permanent than bones or skin or blood. Everything was just... ice, now.
She sucked in a painful breath and sat up at Lorna's urging. She reached for her wool dress and tugged it over her head before untangling her legs from the blankets. Then she turned and pressed her bare feet to the stone floor. She did not hiss at the burn the cold left on her skin; her eyes may have watered a bit, but she pressed into the sensation. She gritted her teeth through it until both of her feet went numb. Lorna scolded her and shoved a pair of wool socks in her direction, along with her boots.
Addison dressed slowly and mournfully. Her grandmother's voice was faint in the back of her mind. Stay alive, one bucket at a time. One bucket, Addison exhaled through her nose. One bucket was heavy. She'd have to start with a step. A song from her childhood popped into her head, and the sight of snow through the windows only served to further embed it there. She hummed it to herself as she left her chambers and made her way to the kitchens for breakfast. Just put one foot in front of the other, she mouthed the words to herself, maintaining her vow of silence, and soon you'll be walking cross the floor. One of the maids laughed viciously and shoved past her, shooting a mocking glance in her direction as her friends clustered around her and giggled. Addison gathered her composure and kept moving, careful to keep her footing lest she get shoved down the stairs. Just put one foot in front of the other, she hummed, and soon you'll be walking out the door.
She wondered if they celebrated Christmas here. Her heart lurched. She missed Lala and wondered if her grandmother had noticed her absence at all. Probably not, she thought to herself and bit back a fresh wave of tears. It was better this way, truly. There would be less pain for her grandmother if she could not remember that there was a granddaughter out there that required missing. It was better this way. Someone laced their fingers in hers and Addison drew back in alarm. Turning to face yet another attacker, she was surprised to see the weary eyes of the young maid she'd met by the well on her first day at the castle. Clary, her name was. The girl made a sign of peace and smiled apologetically before reaching for her hand and giving it another gentle squeeze. Then, as though the exchange had never happened, she moved past her toward the table where most of the servants had gathered for breakfast.
Addison felt heavy as she took her seat beside Lorna. She wanted to go home.
After breakfast, Addison climbed the stairs to the knights' chambers slowly. Her mind had detached from her body at some point while she climbed, and she froze when she was met with the same stretch of hallway that she always saw. It was unchanged. Just a stone corridor with a long stretch of doors on each side.
She stared down the length of it. Studied the rows of innocent-seeming doors and wondered at the secrets they kept the horrors they concealed. Her hands trembled and she clenched them into defiant fists. Willed them to stop their shaking. Her stomach clenched and her back straightened. She felt like she was walking on stilts rather than her own two legs.
Addison started with Sir Lindon's chambers which were blessedly empty as always. She moved quickly and efficiently and finished before she could even fully register that she had started cleaning. Then, stubbornly, she decided she would do Sir Rupert's rooms next. She would get it over and done with, so it was not hanging over her like a black cloud for the next few hours.
She'd just raised her hand nervously to knock — stomach lurching at the thought of drawing his attention — when someone shoved past her and moved her out of the way. Startled, Addison drew back. She wrapped her arms around herself as though to protect her precious insides and looked up to face yet another attacker. Lips forming a surprised little 'oh' when she found, not another knight, but one of the vicious little maids.
Glenna, she thought her name was. The girl was young. Most of the maids were if she was being honest with herself. Younger than Addison, and she was eighteen. If she had to guess, Glenna was fourteen or fifteen. She had a catty look in her light blue eyes, and her red hair was immaculately braided despite the rigors of her work. She said something to Addison and shook her head, standing between her and the door to Rupert's chambers. When Addison nervously tried to move past her, Glenna held up both hands and told her to stop.
She pointed very sternly to the door of a room that Addison had only been in once or twice, the chambers for a knight she did not know the name of. She looked back at Glenna who jutted out an impatient hip and shooed her toward the other door before turning and entering Sir Rupert's chambers. The knight had, in fact, been inside and she giggled and offered him a flirtatious smile before shooting a glare at Addison and closing the door behind her. Addison felt sick, backed away, and rubbed a nervous hand on her apron. She'd backed herself against the opposite wall and watched the door in horror. Not even seconds later, Glenna emerged with a chamber pot. She carried it with ease, and she had not a mark on her.
She shot Addison another impatient look and said something that Addison likened to "get a move on." Satisfied that Glenna had not been brutalized by the knight that had terrorized her so, she did as the other girl bade her, quickly so as to not get caught in the corridor by the man who haunted her memories.
She did her work quickly in the next room. And was just moving on to Sir Allistor's chambers when she heard the latch on Rupert's door start to turn. Her stomach bottomed out at the thought of running into the man who had attacked her just days ago. Adrenaline surged at the thought she'd have to survive yet another vicious encounter with him. That Glenna's presence had all been for nothing. Panicked, she did the first thing she could think. Addison sprinted down the hall, threw open the door to Sir Sorley's chambers, and slammed it closed behind her. She leaned her forehead against the rough wood, hand clasped firmly around the latch, and closed her eyes tight. She desperately tried to catch her breath.
Eventually, her heart began to slow, and her lungs stopped burning for want of air. She released the latch and flexed her hand. She'd gripped the door handle so hard, there were marks pressed firmly into the skin of her palm.
Turning with a sigh, she leaned back against the door and opened her eyes to take stock of the room she was in. And was startled to see she was not alone. She let out a yelp that she tried to cover up, embarrassed at the scene she'd made, but judging by the grin on his face he'd heard it nonetheless. Sitting on a stool at the far end of his chambers, with one boot on and the other one raised to his sock-clad foot, was the knight they called Sorley.
He was watching her carefully, looking between her and the door as though he knew there was a story there but he knew not how to ask for it. And his eyes, she noticed absently, they danced while he took her in. She pushed off the door and opened her mouth to apologize before she remembered that, not only was she supposed to be mute, but she did not know how to apologize to him in any way he would understand.
In all the weeks she'd worked at Castle Sween, and in all the ways she had encountered this man who she owed her life to now several times over, she had never once seen him in his chambers. Even Lindon had been around once or twice, but Sorley was always gone.
If she were being honest with herself, she'd come to think of his chambers as her own space rather than his. A place where she could be fully alone with her thoughts. A place that was safe from all the glances and pains of the harsh world that existed just beyond his door. If she were being honest with herself, she blushed and looked away from him, she had claimed his chambers as sanctuary. It had genuinely not occurred to her that an actual person lived here. No matter how mythical he was becoming to her, in his many acts of kindness and bravery, she had not equated this man with this room. But a small, quiet part of her told Addison that this all made perfect sense.
She owed him several debts, and no matter how nervous it made her to think this, she did not believe he would ever collect on them. She was beginning to believe that the act of doing the right thing was gratification enough for him. She did not want to trust him, but she did not necessarily want to leave his presence immediately either.
He said nothing, but he was not unpleasant toward her, leaning down and pulling on his remaining boot. Then he turned, still seated, picked up his sheathed dagger, and attached it at his hip. Then, turning back to her, he cocked his head to the side in quiet askance.
She could hear the rumble of his deep brogue without him even opening his mouth to ask his questions. She believed he was asking if she was okay. She grimaced and tilted her head back toward the corridor, rubbing a nervous hand against her jaw where she still felt the shadow of Rupert's grip on her skin from his attentions all those weeks ago.
His face settled into a grim expression. She heard him take a deep breath which he breathed out deeply through his nose. And then he stood. She backed away from the door to let him pass. He smiled softly down at her and turned the latch, ducking half his body out. He glanced both ways and upon finding the corridor empty once again he held the door wide open and offered her a teasing bow, his hair falling wildly between them before he snapped back up and shot her a wide grin.
She couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up in her chest and clasped a hand over her mouth to keep it in. But he'd caught it all the same and his whole face lit up at the sound.
She held up her bucket and brush and gestured to his floor. He studied her for a minute longer before tilting his head in silent acknowledgment.
Then he walked out, left the door open as he made his way into the corridor. She hovered in the doorway as she watched him go. And he turned to glance at her when he felt her eyes on him still. He shot her a knowing look and made his way over to Rupert's chambers. He brought a heavy fist up to pound on the door and when he received no answer, he shoved in.
The room was empty.
He came back out and indicated as much to Addison who could not hide the relief that flooded her at this knowledge. Then he crossed over to Allistor's chambers. The other knight had never attacked her outright, she knew, but that Sorley was aware of his less than pleasant interactions with her sent a shiver of satisfaction down her spine. That he could see what was happening here, and that he actively sought to prevent it, well... Addison wouldn't say she trusted any of the knights or men that lived and worked around these parts, and she'd learned enough in history classes and the past few months to know that she best always be on her guard, but she saw Sorley and his actions and thought, maybe, that she felt safe with him for now.
That he was, maybe not perfect, but that he was okay. She nodded nervously to herself, running it over in her head a few times. Watching with quiet gratitude as the gentle berserker shoved into Allistor's rooms and came out with a disgruntled, half-asleep knight who was kicking and cursing up a storm. Sorley shot her a grin before dragging his less-than-pleasant comrade down the stairs and off to do whatever it was that the men at arms did in a day.
Addison turned back to Sorley's chambers, content to complete her chores for the day with the knowledge that two of the most volatile knights in the corridor were not around to accost her while she did. And if she smiled to herself while she worked, well, no one was around to see it. And if the tawny-haired knight lingered on her mind, well, she would never admit that to herself or anyone else either. It was only that he was excessively kind. That was all. It was rare here, his brand of kindness. His presence in her thoughts had nothing to do with anything else but that.
