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Chapter 7: Winter, Claiming Sanctuary

Every morning after that he was there. Not for long. Never to linger. She would climb the stairs before daylight crept in through the windows in the knights' corridor. She'd set her bucket and brush down at the top and carefully make her way to each of the rooms. Outside each door, Addison would set out whatever mending she'd completed the night before, or whichever furs she had de-liced. The memory of the vermin she'd found in Allistor's furs rolled over her against her will. Her skin tingled and prickled at the phantom sensation of the bugs still crawling on her dress to find a new home. She shivered and turned away from the offending pelt.

This place was disgusting.

When she returned to her bucket, she would hear the latch on his door turn, and rise up with her burdens just in time to see Sorley emerge.

He was never fully prepared for the day when she arrived. His breeches would be half laced and hanging low, as though he'd tugged them on in a hurry. And his tunic would be just slightly rumpled as though that too had been quickly pulled over his head. His hair, which was normally quite wild, often resembled a bird's nest after it fell from a tree. More specifically, a bird's nest that after falling from said tree had been trampled by a horse.

She had to admit that this was her favorite side of him. He looked almost boyish in the mornings when it was just the two of them in the corridor. If it weren't for the giant sword, she knew that rested beside his bed, or the axe behind his door, or, for that matter, the dagger that was always strapped loosely on his person, she would have believed him just as harmless as he seemed.

But even still, he'd rise when she arrived and greet her warmly from his doorway. It was company he offered her in the morning. Just a silent thing that sat between them and warmed her just a bit despite the winter's cold. He would loiter just inside his chambers, door wide open, working over some menial task. And while he did that, she set her supplies to rights. When she would enter her first room for the day usually belonging to Lindon Sorley would disappear back into his own room. She'd go about lighting the hearth and emptying the chamber pot and then set to work on the floors. And then, like clockwork, before she'd finished scrubbing Lindon's floor, she would hear the latch on Sorley's door turn. She'd pause in her scrubbing, listening to his boots thud down the corridor. She could picture it in her mind's eye as Sorley strode to Rupert's door. Every morning the air shook with the sound of his fist landing on wood.

At first, he'd been met with resistance. Rupert cursed and fought bitterly against the other man. But now... Addison tilted her head at the sound of Rupert and Allistor's doors opening. Had to stifle her laugh when she heard their muffled grumbling through the cold stone walls. She didn't fully understand why they had grown so complacent they did outnumber her self-appointed guardian two-to-one. Sorley didn't seem all too concerned about it though. At least, he always seemed to be in an easy mood despite the looming threats and conflict that hung over the corridor, and the castle as a whole. Whatever it was, Addison had to admit, she was grateful that it worked.

She would wait, frozen in silence, as he marched them past Lindon's door and shoved them down the stairs ahead of him. And once the echoes of their steps disappeared down the stairwell, Addison would release the breath she was holding and once again begin to scrub. Content, for a time, as the knights made their way to do whatever it was they did in a day. Comforted in the fact that they would not be wiling away their morning here while she desperately tried to keep her head down.

Addison wondered, not for the first time, at how small her world had become. When she'd arrived here in the past, her world had consisted of a small hut, the stretch of trees that went from the village to the river, and back, and only about a third of the village itself. Now here at the castle, well... her world now consisted of the servants' quarters which also included the kitchens and the laundry this corridor, and the pathway from the side door of the laundry to the well in the center of the courtyard. She lived in small concentric circles. She worked from waking until sleep.

It had to be halfway through January now, she surmised from the tally she'd kept on her bedroom wall, and she didn't know how long she'd be able to keep this up. How long could one's world truly stay so small and so well, she didn't want to say uneventful, but she had a hunch... If she never made it back home, these were bound to be the simple, easy years compared to whatever an extended life in the Middle Ages would bring her.

Addison felt her hands go numb at the thought. Her heart stuttered and her breath left her. She gasped, closed her eyes against her panic, and clutched the floor brush like it was her only lifeline in this place, digging her fingers into the rough wood until the splinters broke her skin and her bones began to hurt from the pressure. She forced herself to release her grip and take a deep breath. Tried to focus on something else. Anything else. To find something controllable and focus on that. She opened her eyes, and looked around Lindon's now tidy chambers.

This place wasn't, entirely, disgusting, she admitted to herself and took another deep breath. She'd lit a nice fire. She had remade his bed. She'd emptied his chamber pot and it now lay harmlessly in the corner. She had washed her hands in the soapy water in her bucket. She took another deep breath, and felt some of the tension leave her shoulders and back. She began to scrub again, gingerly, tiredly, like she'd just run a marathon. The fact that she'd dedicated all her waking hours to ensuring that this corridor was as clean as she could possibly make it, felt mentionable to say the least. She wouldn't downplay the hard work that went into it. The floors were spotless, and scrubbed every day, lest the dust and dirt, horse shit and blood that the knights tracked in on their boots start to collect and press permanently into the stone. She grimaced. No, with the way this lot existed in the world, it was best to scrub every day. She could do that. She had to do that. It was keeping her alive. More importantly, she let out a quiet if hysterical little laugh, it was keeping her from losing her mind.


She sat alone at luncheon, between a cupboy and one of the kitchen girls she did not know the name of. Lorna was off completing whatever tasks Mrs. McCleod had assigned her that day, and Addison missed her with a dull sort of feeling in her chest. The other maids sat in a group across from her and down just a couple seats. Clary was with them and shot her a sympathetic glance but was unwilling to leave the safety of the pack of girls who freely accepted her as one of their own. Addison couldn't blame her. It was a cold position to be in, on the outside of normal, and she wouldn't wish it on the other girl who had never done her any harm. She took a few careful bites of stew, knowing she desperately needed the protein and vegetables, but also knowing that if she ate too much her stomach would turn and she'd be miserable for the rest of her day of work. She gave up on the stew about as soon as she started it, once again turning to her tried and true bread and cheese. One of the cooks set out some leftover pears on the table the lord's rejects from last night's feast no doubt and Addison had caught one longing glance at them before the rest of the servant's dived for the fresh delicacy.

She'd not even had the chance to blink, and the pears were gone. Her hand itched to reach over and smack Abigall, who had smugly gotten her grubby hands on two of them, but she kept it clenched firmly in her lap instead. She didn't know what the punishment would be for blatantly attacking another servant but judging by the sly and sneaky ways the rest of the girls went about pinching and shoving each other, stealing each other's mending and ruining it in fitful bouts of sabotage, Addison had a feeling that blatant attacks would be swiftly and brutally punished.

She bit down on her ire and stuffed her face with bread. It was dry in her mouth, cakey and mostly flavorless this time around. One of the undercooks must have been assigned a new recipe they'd yet to master. The servants were obviously fed the scraps so that the lords and ladies, and men at arms could have the better tasting stuff. Honestly, Addison didn't care. She glanced around and waited until no one was looking before snatching up two more of the flavorless rolls and shoving them in her pocket. Food was food. She would kill for one of those pears though, she thought, and bit back her envy which stung at her eyes and nose like she was about to cry.

When she was done, she quickly pushed back from the table, wiped her hands on her apron, and skirted around the still eating members of the staff. She preened under Mrs. McCleod's approving look and the butler's hum of surprise. Stood taller at the hisses and whispers of the other girls, walked confidently into the laundry and collected her bath buckets to take to the well. She was in her element now. Despite the cracked skin, and her numb fingertips; despite the odd way her knees popped now whenever she stood; despite the way her back never seemed to be aligned anymore with her spine, she had come to rely quite heavily on the power of routine.

She was staying alive, now. One bucket at a time. She shoved the door open with her hip, hands full, and stepped out into the cold. Not for the first time since coming to the castle, Addison was eternally grateful that someone had supplied her with boots. Not even two steps out the door and her feet slid on the iced over dirt path.

After the first snowfall, the path from the laundry entrance to the well had been about knee deep with snow. But some helpful servant boys had shoveled it at behest of the steward. No one else ever seemed to slip, slide or fall, Addison thought begrudgingly as she carefully picked her way across the treacherous courtyard. In fact, she glanced over at the training pell, the knights seemed to revel in the challenge the inclement weather presented.

They were more boisterous and vicious than they'd been when she first arrived, and they had been plenty boisterous and vicious then too. She missed the early days of snow, when it was thick and fluffy and easy to pass through. Now it was hard, compact and mixed in with mud and piss and horse shit. It smelled a certain kind of way and looked even worse than it smelled. But the ice, Addison hissed as her foot slid out at an awkward angle, nearly bringing her down in a split in plain view. She threw out her arms to catch her balance and recovered less than gracefully but she was grateful enough for the result.

She was almost to the well when she heard a voice call her name. Well... not her name. She sighed. Her other name.

"Malvina."

She stopped and turned in the direction the voice was coming from. The stables. Or, more specifically, the group of knights gathered there. One very large, with a robust belly and meaty hands. Broccin, his name was. His daughter had kicked her in the head while she saved her from a boar. The other, blonde and lithe, with a permanent grimace on his face, she knew, of course, as Lindon. But it was the last man the man in the middle with his gentle eyes and immense frame who had called her name.

She turned to Sorley, hesitant. There was less than a yard between them. The stables had always been a place she knew in passing. The well was located just near them really and so she passed them routinely every day. But her small world consisted of routine, and her routine was the only thing keeping her alive. In her mind, deviating from the predetermined path that had kept her alive for so many weeks, just to speak to the knight by the stables, well that seemed like quite the risk to take.

She eyed them nervously.

But then again... she argued, a small part of her had the urge to go over and see what he wanted from her. That spool of invisible thread that resided somewhere deep in her belly unraveled a bit in his presence. That small part of her, right at the very center of her being, reminded her gently that this man was a very large part of the reason she was alive here in this world. The traitor voice in her head argued that he had done more for her than any silly routine she'd developed in an effort to keep her mind in one piece.

She hesitated only for a moment. Sucked in a nervous breath and crossed the invisible threshold that stood between them. Her and this gentle berserker. She still hated thinking of him in that way. She made her way closer and closer to him. Felt like she was inching along a tightrope rather than walking on solid ground. The space between them stretched as she moved, like the universe had other plans for them. Like the closer they got to each other, the more the space between them seemed to grow. But the spool in her belly wound tighter and tighter as the thread brought her closer to him. She watched as his body relaxed at her approach. All around him the air was infused with an odd mix of power and ease. Addison observed as he almost deliberately made himself smaller the closer she came.

His eyes were on her, and she felt her heart swelled in her chest and tried to force its way into her throat she felt seen. Seen by him. It warmed her, sent a flush through her body and thrill down her spine. She'd taken to comparing his hair to a lion's mane but watching him now... It wasn't just his hair. The man resembled a lion in every way.

He carried himself like some sort of powerful beast, at the very least. Visibly brought himself down in her company. Gentled himself under the weight of her measure. His corded muscles rested easy at his sides, but she could see how they never fully relaxed. Like he was always waiting to spring into action. His feet were steady, legs strong and balanced. And she knew nothing could knock them out from beneath him. The ground was his to command, and not even the strongest of winds nor the fiercest of enemies could move him without his permission.

Sorley was, in every way, a lion in his own domain here. She understood in a way she never thought she could understand before just why Rupert and Allistor inevitably did as he commanded. They bent to his will because even in their hatred, they could sense that there was something innate in his power. There was something second nature in his ability to be brutal. Something humbling in the way he denied himself that brutality.

He was the kind of man that did not have to fight to live. Addison stopped in front of him. He was the kind of man that would walk away from a fight when he knew he could win. Maybe even walk away because he would win.

She set down her buckets gently before him. She curtsied. It was clumsy. He smiled. Waved his hand at the formality. From the time she'd spent in his company, she learned that she did not need to curtsy for him. That he actually preferred if she didn't, but they were in public and she didn't know the rules. And everyone, everywhere had eyes on everything.

He was more than a knight. She heard the whispers. Knew what people called him even if she didn't know why. Berserker, or lion, he was a beast. A beast that had tamed himself. A man who had taken his own measure and decided what his strength would mean. Who wielded his brutality sparingly. Wielded it with grace. Sorley garnered respect instead of fear when he knew how easy fear could take.

All of this, Addison bit back a huff, and she could not trade more than a name with him.

It was a sad truth to her after all he had done to help her when she was at her lowest. She wanted to know him. Addison shivered at the ramifications of such a thought. She was in no position to trust anyone here. No position to want anything without getting seriously hurt in so many ways. She kept a steady face, but internally she was in a veritable free fall.

Addison was lonely.

She was scared. She was conflating his acts of kindness, his moments of exacting justice on her behalf, with something worth trusting. She was conflating her need for security with the idea that she was well that she was attracted to him.

The kindhearted bastard.

She took a breath and held it before blowing it slowly and bitterly out through her nose. She clenched her hands like fists around the skirts of her dress.


Sorley watched Malvina tread across the ice on unsteady feet, and held his breath as slipped once again.

"How many times do I have to tell you, brother? Leave it be." Lindon quipped and passed his horse's brush over to the nearest stableboy so he could come up and lean on the post of Sorley's stall.

Sorley's horse leaned away from Lindon and his mercurial moods, flicking her tail. She let out a curious snort over Sorley's ear, before leaning down to chew on his hair. He ducked away, still distracted by the lass across the way, and brought a hand up to pat the mare's nose.

Lindon groaned and let his forehead knock dramatically against the wooden post that supported her stall and rest there. Bróccin was at the far back of the stable with the blacksmith and his own steed, kneeling over one his horse's damaged shoes. They were muttering quietly to each other over what would need to be done to repair it when the horse gave an angry kick.

The blacksmith cursed and jolted back to avoid the blow and Bróccin stood and hopped just out of the way of an errant bite, growling at the beast, and bringing his hand up to catch its lead and tug its head down to look him in the eye.

"None of that now, you sodding cow," he growled and his steed huffed, obstinate at his tone. Raising its head once again, the horse presented the blacksmith with his offending hoof. Bróccin grumbled and left the blacksmith to his work, making his way over to Sorley and Lindon.

"What's got you staring moon eyed out into the snow like a wee lassie?" Bróccin asked Sorley, as he came to rest on the other side of Lindon. He clapped the miserable man on the back as he did, jostling him and sending him into another spiral of discontented mutterings.

Sorley shrugged and glanced over at Rupert and Allistor who had noticed Malvina as well. He watched them watch her with malice in their eyes and waited for the two to notice him. He held their eyes when their gazes ticked up to meet his. Allistor, nervous, pulled Rupert back toward their swordplay. Rupert held his look for a beat longer though, only turning away at Sorley's condescending nod. He turned his eye back to the girl who had nearly made it to the well by now, and called out too late, when he noticed her foot heading for yet another patch of barely visible ice.

"Watch your step, Malvina," he called just loud enough for her to hear. And winced as her foot hit the patch and slid. He stepped forward to help her if she went down but paused and let out a relieved sigh when she caught her balance and pulled herself back to her normal height.

Standing uncertainly on her own two feet. She turned, owl eyed and flustered, toward the stable at the sound of his voice. He wondered only briefly if he should turn away. If he had kept too close an eye on her while she traversed the courtyard and all its dangers. Would she think him a fool for acting as he had these past couple weeks? Perhaps think him a menace in his own right? She watched him, and even Lindon had straightened up under her gaze, recognizing as second nature by now when a woman was fixing to measure him up and see just what he was about. The moment drew out long and Sorley forced himself to relax. Make himself smaller as he had seen wolves do in the presence of other wolves.

He lived his life holding himself to height. He went to battle and became larger than his body. He went to the village and filled shoes larger than his tread. He trained with his fellow men and played tricks on their minds with the sweep of his arm, the length of his gait, somehow taller than them even when he ducked low to take them out at the knees. Size was an indomitable tool in the minds of men. But he would take it all away now if only to make Malvina gaze upon him without an ounce of fear in her eyes. He'd never wanted anything more than he wanted her trust. Not in all his 26 summers combined.

He breathed deep and forced himself to let go, to relax before her, and make himself small. He didn't know if it worked, per se, but she seemed to have made up her mind about something. She veered off her chosen path, took one step in his direction. And then another. When she reached him, she studied Sorley and his brothers more curiously than before. She looked him in the eye and her bronze eyes hardened in some sort of understanding.

Then she curtsied. It was shallow and clumsy and entirely beneath her. He smiled at her attempt to fit in. When she rose again, he waved his hand as though to brush the custom away.

"You need not do such things for me," he said with a shrug. "They are unnecessary."

He heard Lindon scoff quietly over his shoulder, and bit down on his scowl before it escaped him and gave the maid the wrong impression.

It had been a challenge, to say the least, trying to speak between each other. He had tried more than once in the corridor before she started her work for the day, and in his chambers when he tried to clear out of her hair quickly while still lingering long enough to tell himself he'd gotten to spend time in her company.

She hadn't spoken to him yet. But he knew she could. He knew that she was brimming with words just waiting to be used on him, on the other maids, on the knights, on Ailios and the villagers. He loved the spark there behind the metal in her eyes, the light that rose and fell each day when her gaze landed on him. Malvina had a story to tell. And she was more than capable of telling it. If only he could convince her to try.

After a long beat of silence between them. A long beat of her measuring him up and him scaling himself down Lindon and Broccin observing their silent exchange in exasperation and amusement Malvina transformed from who she was, truly at the heart of her, to who this world had made her into. Sorley watched the spark fade, the curiosity dim. He watched her hands unclench forcibly from her skirts. She shifted down. Stooped at their feet to retrieve her buckets and make her way to the well.

This displeased him for many reasons. One, he didn't want her to go. But two, most importantly, he hated witnessing this quiet form of defeat. It simply would not do.

She spared them not even one more glance, turning back the way she came, back to the treacherous path that led to the well. Her and her buckets that looked heavy in her hands, even when they were not yet full of water. He winced as he witnessed her trek. It was a jerky, reluctant endeavor like a baby horse taking its first steps across a paddock. She held the handles tight in her grip. Even from a distance he could see where her fingers had lost life's color, pale as death they were. Sorley itched to relieve her of her burdens. But he could see better the likes of her enemies from a distance, men who would have her as their own no matter how unwilling she was about their advances. He could see the turn of Rupert's head and sense the stares of the older stable boys who had learned the wrong lessons from the wrong men in the castle. He watched the cupboys and footmen loiter and place bets on one thing or another, and considered for a moment, that it had nothing to do with Malvina, but at a surreptitious look cast in her direction, he considered even more that it did.

He watched the courtyard. Friends and enemies. And he watched Malvina too. Lindon once again reminded him that distraction would get him killed. That they were not safe from battle just because it was winter and peace had come easy this year, for a short time, but it would hardly last. He reminded Sorley, quietly, just over his shoulder, that they had taken an oath in this bloody place to serve an ill befitted lord and fight alongside his mangy men. They had promised that, and Malvina by gaining his attention was already drawing him toward ill fated mistakes.

Lindon said all of this, and Sorley heard him, and took his words as sense, but he would not heed his advice in the end. He didn't believe it would do any good to sit silent and watch things unfold. He thought that Lindon, even in his reluctance to admit it, knew that too. He'd noticed his brother knight watching Malvina. Not out of desire or any particular care, but out of his own sense of right and wrong, and loyalty to Sorley. And he noticed that Bróccin watched the girl too. Maybe not for the reasons Lindon did, but because she had saved Beatie's life from a boar when others would have left the girl to die, and that meant something to Bróccin when the day was through.

Sorley stepped out of the stables, in full view of the other men of the courtyard, crossed his arms loose over his chest and watched the girl's progress. At the well, she stiffly attached the bucket to the hook, and with no small amount of effort turned the crank that would lower it down into the water. He couldn't help but tilt his head curiously as the girl peeked over the edge and eyed the depths of the well with no small amount of suspicion. Before cranking the bucket back up. When it was at a height she could safely grab it from, Malvina studied the contents of the bucket as though she was worried she had been cheated for the effort she'd put in.

Lindon marveled with a scoff at her slowness. Bróccin too nudged him and shook his head. Sorley had to admit, she was slowing with practice. She had to be. Before, early on, she had moved speedily in her efforts. Before the snow, at least. Even when the other maids had left her to her own devices to collect some forty buckets of water in a day. She moved quicker than this. But since she'd been here, and since the snow had come to stay and the ice had overtaken the land, Sorley had observed Malvina taking longer and longer to complete this task. Just barely pouring the last of his water into his bath in time for the knights to return to their chambers after the evening meal.

He would often see a flash of her hair, or the trail of her skirts disappearing around the corner to the servant's stairwell just as the doors to the great hall burst open with hordes of drunken and full bellied men.

He could have stopped to consider the ramifications of his next move. In fact, Lindon would have preferred it if he had. Sorley could have weighed his options, thought a bit about what it would signify to others if he were to do what he did next. What it would mean for Malvina. What it would mean for him. He could have, but he didn't.

Malvina was just hauling up her second bucket. Slow and suspicious and tired and weary was she when he sidled up next to her.

It took her a moment to realize she was no longer alone. But she reached down to pick up the first bucket and found it missing. And then the telltale clearing of a throat and she turned just as owl eyed and exasperated as she always seemed to be in his presence.

Sorley shot her a smile that he hoped would calm her panic, or he noted the look in her eye, her aggravation. She had frozen, pressed back against the well, sloshing the water of the second bucket around their feet and looking down at the mess with some sick sense of déjà vu. But Sorley eyed the spilled water with ease. Stooped down and lifted the second bucket and turned back toward the path that would lead to the laundry door. Belatedly she remembered to curtsy, and Sorley huffed, shooting her an exasperated glance. She blushed but met his eyes with her own, clear and sharp and studious and learning. She was learning something in every moment she existed here.

"Lead the way, Malvina," he said and nodded toward her path.

She cleared her throat, looked down between her hands and the buckets and reached for them, but he kept them away.

Then quietly, so quietly he could hardly believe it was real, she spoke. He didn't know what on earth she had said. It was an odd angry mix of sounds that reminded him vaguely of Angles and Saxons but there were other influences there as well. He heard her words, and he was reminded of his father, and his Viking kin, and of the English to the south. He was reminded of a great many things but nothing all at once. She spoke an anomaly and he did not know whether to rejoice or weep at this revelation.

Sorley knew that if he were a man more learned in texts and scrolls than the blade, he would have happily studied the noises and sounds that came from her forever until they formed words that made sense to him. And words they were, there was no doubt about it.

Even now, moments after speaking her first words to him, this fair lass had adopted a look of absolute consternation. Her brow furrowed at his inability to understand her. Or perhaps for having spoken to him at all. Her eyes were grave at her misstep. Lonely, he thought. She was lonely. He had to flex his hand at his side to keep from reaching out and smoothing the lines away, but gods how he wished he could be so forward.

Grave, and lonely and more observant than the villagers or the other servants gave her credit for. He glanced around the courtyard; she followed his gaze. No one else had heard her and for that he was grateful. She was Malvina, the mute, after all. And it would be death for her at the very least to be caught in such a lie.

Lindon and Bróccin had approached seeing her distressed look and his own look of shock, wonder, bewilderment. He knew not what his expression said to the world for it could never encompass the range of emotions he felt in his chest.

He opened his mouth and closed it and tried to think of how best to encourage her. He'd got what he wanted. He'd been graced by the sound of her voice. And now he had to ask her, somehow, to keep it to herself for her own sake.

She eyed him and the two men who flanked him with her arms crossed defensively over her abdomen as though to stem the flow of an invisible wound. She looked as though she was bleeding from somewhere deep inside of her. He opened his mouth to say something, anything but she held up a hand this time to silence him. To stop him. She looked away, studying the comings and goings of the courtyard, observing a group of maids who watched her with keen eyes as they walked by. When once again the small group of them were alone, she turned back to him. Locked her eyes on him. And with a hardness about her that he'd only briefly glimpsed in passing, she uttered the most beautifully jumbled bit of Gaelic he had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

"Gallowglass," she said. Obstinate. Like it proved something she didn't think he knew. She jutted her chin just a bit.

His face split wide into a grin. Lindon stuttered in surprise, elbowing Bróccin who had burst into gales of laughter. Malvina, the mute simpleton, had spoken Gaelic.

Sorely collected himself. Touched and confused and worried deeply for Malvina and her newfound bravery. But he couldn't help but want her to say it again. He pointed at himself and repeated her word properly back at her, hoping to help her along.

"Gall óglaigh."

That smooth forehead of hers wrinkled once again. This time in concentration as she tested the word once more on her lips.

"Gallowglass."

Her smile was a little more triumphant this time and a little self-deprecating too and he couldn't bear to let her down. So, he nodded solemnly and spared her a smile, and repeated it back to her in her own unique pronunciation.

"Aye, Gallowglass."


Addison wasn't stupid. She wasn't. Maybe she'd never particularly been a straight A student or anything, but she was sharp as a tack. She'd always prided herself on her ability to read a room. Lala had been the same.

She laid in bed that night. The last maid to make it back to her chambers after yet another hard day's work. But this night, sleep evaded her. She rolled over on her side to stare at the wall. The air was cold. Cold enough that her breath came out hot against the small patches of her skin that were exposed. It didn't stop her from reaching her chilled hands out from the safety of her blanket to trace her fingers against the lines she had drawn there marking the time that passed. Silently she counted the numbers, the days that she had spent at the castle. Counted at least until the count became so dismal, she gave up and focused instead on the rough sensation of stone against her cold, dry skin.

No, she wasn't stupid. Lala had taught her well. She knew that when Sorley came around, the whispers around his name were not a coincidence. And she didn't know what Gallowglass meant but she knew, in some form, that it meant... well... it meant him. And for some reason, for some stupid reason, she wanted him to know she knew things too. She wanted him to look at her and see that she wasn't some idiot foreigner that couldn't talk. It was stupid. She took a deep breath and held it in until her ribs began to ache under the strain. It was reckless, the way she was thinking.

But she needed something to be safe. She needed something to believe in. And in this brutal place... She tugged her hands back into the safety of the blanket, bunched the fabric up into cold fists and dragged the linen up tight to rest under her chin. She didn't want to think it. She didn't want to admit it to herself. She closed her eyes tight against it and felt her jaw pop as she ground her teeth together. She took a deep breath, deliberately relaxed her tired face. Safe had become synonymous with Sorley.

She had called him Gallowglass. Admitted in the only way she could that she saw things and noticed things and learned things too. She called him Gallowglass and hoped no one else would overhear. Well, no one other than his friends. She turned her head and pressed her face against her pillow to fight the tight panic that rose up her spine. She felt like she needed to release the pressure on a valve inside of her. What had she done? Had she just thrown it all away? Today at the well... could that have been the end of her? She'd taken a risk. She'd put her life in the hands of those three strange men.

A small voice in the back of her mind murmured that they'd been two steps behind every disaster she met since she'd arrived. Reminded her that every time she nearly died or got dragged into something terrible, that one of those three that Sorley was always there yanking her out of the fray. She told herself that the other two were always a step behind him anyway. If he knew, they would know too.

But this was different. This wasn't them inserting themselves in another altercation on her behalf. This wasn't them coming to the aid of a couple women being attacked by a wild animal. Or vouching for her on behalf of Ailios. No... she took her voice and put it in his hands. Put her life in his hands just by speaking to him. And now... now she just had to trust they knew what to do with that.

She had ignored the ugly laird of the castle on her very first night here. Had deliberately held her tongue when he questioned her in front of everyone. Sorley would know. Bróccin and Lindon would know. Everyday Mrs. McCleod looked on her as a simpleton, a mute girl, someone daft and malleable and under her charge. If the mistress were to find out that Addison could speak or rather, that Malvina could speak well Addison didn't know what she would do, but she had a feeling she didn't want to find out. That her selective mutism would be the highest form of insolence. Would be the highest offense for those in a life of servitude.

The risk she took was stupid, but Addison was tired. And Sorley... His eyes were warm, and his smile was easy, and he was well...

Well, he helped her with her fucking pronunciation.

She wanted to laugh but held back. He was correcting her pronunciation. She listened carefully, split between wanting to learn and being entirely amused by this wholesome display from frankly a terrifying man. She tried again but couldn't quite get over the ending.

"Gallowglass," she said.

His face looked just as shocked and pleased and bewildered as the first time she said it. A wave of triumph washed over her. She quietly hoped he wouldn't judge her too harshly for her accent.

But he didn't judge her at all. He was so open. He was actively encouraging. He seemed excited, Sorley did, because when he said it back, he said it just the way she said it. He was beaming, and for a brief moment she felt herself beaming back. But then Lindon coughed and Bróccin chuckled, and the sounds of the courtyard came back to her in a roar. They were turning into a bit of a display, even if — she checked over her shoulder — even if no one else was close enough to know that Malvina, the mute, had spoken.

Sorley, the errant knight, who had taken up her cause, and Malvina, the mute, who was soft and daft and had caught his attention, were openly engaging with each other in plain view of... well... everybody. She cringed.

Addison looked down at her buckets. Those heavy buckets that hurt her hands and sloshed at her already cold feet. And she eyed the ice path that led to the laundry. He wanted to carry them for her. She didn't know if she'd get in trouble for it, but to be honest, she didn't mind letting him. They were heavy and she was seriously afraid she was going to break a vital piece of herself falling on the ice one of these days.

So, when she noticed his hands tightening defiantly around the handles of her burdens, she sighed in resignation, offered him a nervous smile. She turned and led him back the way she came.

Addison didn't remember falling asleep but when she woke it was to the same old routine. Her and Lorna moving around each other quickly and easily. Once dresses had been righted, aprons tied, braids twisted and head scarves wrapped, the girls pulled on their boots with tired eyes and cracked hands and made their way to breakfast.

This morning was porridge and she thanked whatever merciful god was out there for this wonderful development. It was warm and largely flavorless though they had been graced with a bit of honey which she could have licked straight from the jar. She watched the small pat of butter and the light swirl of honey combine in her bowl and melt into the oats. Felt her stomach rumble and her mouth start to water. She loved porridge days.

She ate her meal in a manner that was just this side of feral. If people shot her looks because of it she neither noticed, nor cared. Her belly was warm and full and she felt almost sleepy from the sensation as she scraped her bowl.

Lorna cleared her throat to get her attention and Addison looked up at the other girl, fingers still clutched greedily around her now empty bowl. Lorna's eyes were a mix of amused and sympathetic. She held out her hand underneath the table and nudged her thigh. Addison looked around to see if anyone was looking but the people who remained at breakfast were largely occupied by each other and their own food. Addison looked down.

A pear.

She almost jumped at the sight of the tiny fruit, just large enough to rest easy in the palm of Lorna's hand. Addison's eyes snapped from the pear to Lorna in confusion. The other girl smiled smugly at her and held it out for Addison to take.

She did so with a shaky hand. Nervous, almost, as if she couldn't fully trust herself to handle something so precious. She felt a bubble of emotion she couldn't identify building in her chest, and shoved the pear quickly in her pocket, ducking her head away. She collected herself as quietly and subtly as she could, before shoving her chair back from the table. She stood, shot Lorna a meaningful look, and went to the laundry to gather her supplies for the morning rotation.

She didn't do anything with the pear all day except keep it safe in her pocket. Every once in a while, she would touch the fabric layer that protected the fruit from the rest of the world and let herself revel in the joy it brought her to have it there.


He found her in the servant's hall, tucked away in the nook just between the kitchens and the laundry. There, a small ledge jutted out from the window, providing a view of the little walkway that the maids took from the laundry to the well every day. She had one of Lindon's tunics in her lap, a needle between her teeth and a face set deep in concentration. She was methodically picking at a bad stitch. Didn't even look up at the sound of his approach. Now that he thought about it, she did have a serious lack of situational awareness. He'd lost count of how many times she'd gotten herself into trouble by not paying better attention to her surroundings. She'd nearly toppled him over a few times making her way in and out of his chambers while she completed her chores.

There was an empty barrel resting next to her perch. He leaned on the wall next to it and tapped the wood gently as though he were knocking on a door. Her head snapped up, eyes wide and alert too alert. She was like a little owl the way she watched the world with wide unblinking eyes. Aloof and distant one moment, and then alert and fixed on the subject of her interest in a matter of seconds.

He saw her shoulders relax a bit when she realized it was only him, but she still stared at him with wide eyes as though she didn't want to miss a single detail of their exchange.

"Peace, Malvina," he said.

Her face softened a bit more. And he smiled at that. He brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, feeling suddenly nervous. He held up the carefully folded tunic that he'd torn a hole in just that morning.

"I wonder if you could mend this for me? I would have set it out for you, but I well I hadna thought of it until now."

She accepted the tunic easily. Accustomed to this song and dance by now. She nodded at him in understanding and pressed it into the space between her and the window. She smiled softly at him and patted the tunic as though to confirm it was in good hands. Sorley smiled back. Looked around to make sure no one was prying where they didn't belong, and upon finding the small passage empty, he cleared his throat.

"I'll be heading out on patrol early in the morning," he said and grimaced. She wouldn't understand a word, but he felt like she deserved to hear it from him. He was heading out on patrol. Him and several others, including Rupert and Allistor conveniently enough for the fair lass in front of him. But without him to demonstrate the offending knights were not home, he worried she would spend the next day confused and afeared.

She cocked her head at him, hands finally pausing on the bad thread she had picked loose from the tunic she was working on. The offending thread was held gently in her hands and he studied it for a moment before looking back up to meet her eyes. "I've left something for you," he said and pointed to the tunic he folded. "I well it would make me feel better to know you had it. I hope it wasna too forward."

Her forehead wrinkled a bit when he pointed at the tunic. She looked between him and the pile of fabric she had by her side before dropping Lindon's thread to pick up the tunic in question. She shook it out and he watched her jump as a heavy object fell away from where he had carefully tucked it.

She stared down at the sheathed little dagger, no bigger than her palm, that had dropped into her lap. Tunic still suspended mid air, caught lightly in hands that had frozen. Her face had smoothed over in shock. That forehead of hers lost its wrinkles as liquid metal eyes took in the small weapon he'd gifted her.

Carefully she refolded his tunic and set it aside, shoving Lindon's tunic off her lap to land on the ledge, she picked up the small dagger and held it gingerly out in his direction, offering it back.

"No lass," he said. He held up his hands and nodded seriously at her. "I'd like for you to keep it. At the very least, keep it while I am away." He winced and brought a hand up to scratch at jaw.

He didn't know how to explain. She was becoming important to him. And he was aware that he barely knew the strange girl, but he Sorley wanted to know her. He wanted to keep her safe. He could not help that his loyalties were promised to an ill-suited place, not yet at the very least. He could not help that he was a fighter by trade and destined to be away more often than he was destined to be around. For a brief moment, he wondered if it would not be better to be a blacksmith or a tanner. Something stable. He could provide for her a good home and still keep fit and battle ready, if she chose him. He could keep her safe and keep her company. It was more than most knights could ask for the women they loved. If they ever found a woman to love that is. And, once again he reminded himself, what he felt for Malvina was not love. Not yet. It was something stronger, the tether right at the very heart of him relaxed in her presence. This thing he felt for Malvina was stronger. And it was more patient. It was too soon to give his heart, so gave her a dagger. Hoping in vain that it would suffice.

She stood from the ledge, not understanding his words. She held out the dagger by the handle, until the covered blade rested in his palm. He shook his head, accepted it back so that he could further explain in a way that would hopefully make sense.

"No, Malvina, I would have you keep it," he knelt down then. He looked up at her, and demonstrated how to hide it in his own boot, before removing it and holding it back out to her. He pointed from the dagger to her own boot clad feet and watched her lips pucker and form an understanding 'oh.' "Keep it in your boot. Tell no one you have it. Use it if you must. We should return in three days time, but the weather may turn and it may take longer, I'm afraid."

He shook his head regretfully at her, unable to convey his apology to her. Not for the first time, he wished he could learn her odd little language for himself, keep her company with it and tell her just how much he was preoccupied by her safety, driven to distraction by every captivating part of her. Wished he could understand just enough to know whether there was any chance she could feel the same.

He stood, pulled back from their exchange, feeling the urge to leave her company now lest he linger and make her think he had less than honorable intentions. Once she had done as he demonstrated and slipped the dagger into her boot, safe and out of sight, he let out a sigh of relief.

Malvina's lips quirked a bit at him, her eyes alight and learning. She was studying him. He relaxed under her gaze, ducked his head so she could not see his warring eyes. He let her drink her fill while he composed himself, and when he looked back she was perched once again on her ledge, Lindon's tunic in her lap. She didn't look up again from her work, but her eyes crinkled just a bit at the corners and a dimple had appeared on one olive toned cheek. Her lips were pursed and Sorley let out an relieved huff she was biting back a smile.

"Until next we meet again, Malvina," He said. Sorley turned to take his leave of her but froze when he heard something he feared he'd never hear again.

"Gallowglass," she said in her own, brief kind of farewell. Her voice was pitched low, like she knew that it would be dangerous if the wrong person heard her. Sorley stopped. Turned back to stare at her. He didn't think he'd ever tire of hearing that word come from those lips. He watched her smile break through at his shocked attention, but she quickly reined it in. Bit down on her look of smug satisfaction as though her life depended on it. Bloody hell, he didn't know what was happening to him. There was a warmth in him at their exchange. A warmth he'd never known. One he would never know again.

He couldn't help the disbelieving laughter that escaped him. Muttered to himself underneath his breath to collect himself, have some dignity, but he felt like a wee laddie for the first time in a long time, discovering something terrifying and new. He'd always enjoyed patrols. Always enjoyed the reprieve from life at the Castle Sween. Him and his horse and nature, traveling and fighting and helping out where they could. Had spent many weeks and months chomping at the bit for a reason to get back out into the world and see it without barriers of stone or glass. It was out there in the world in the highlands where he was who he was meant to be.

But as Sorley climbed the steps from the servants' quarters and made his way to prepare for the next day's journey, he had the overwhelming desire to carry out his duties as quickly as possible so that he may return to quiet mornings spent with Malvina in the small corridor outside of his chambers. So that he could return to the lass with eyes of metal, and bowlike lips, and a furrowed brow that never seemed to smooth. For the first time in his life, he wanted to return to the Castle Sween before he'd even left the blasted place, and it was all because of a lass he barely knew.


He'd given her a dagger. Addison opened the door to his chambers and felt the spool in her belly unwind into nothingness. She felt untethered. He'd given her a dagger. Had showed her how to hide it in her boot. And she hadn't known what to think, but for the first time in a long time she felt she felt good. It wasn't until later that she had punished herself by overthinking to the point of misery. Burying her face in her pillow and holding her breath until her lungs burned and her chest felt about to burst, Addison had played the scene over and over again in her mind. Had recalled intimately the warmth that had flooded her under the weight of his attention. She shouldn't have wanted anyone looking at her. She wanted to fly under the radar and hopefully die a peaceful, uneventful death sometime in the future. But Sorley looked at her and she felt like he saw something that other people didn't. She felt like he was trying piece her together, and she couldn't say she minded.

At some point over the course of their odd... acquaintanceship? Friendship? Alliance? She didn't know what to call it, but at some point Sorley had become, well, not scary. Addison gritted her teeth and shook her head, closing his door behind her and making her way over to his stool, sitting on it wearily. She let her head drop down into her hands, pressed her palms into her eyeballs until she saw spots, and then dropped them down into her lap. She blinked a couple times and looked around Sorley's chambers. She felt safe with the fearsome knight. She hated herself for it, but even that was starting to fade.

He'd become one of the only positive things on her mind these days. The list of things she thought about was long and often rather dismal, but he had surprisingly become a bit of a reprieve from that. In between thinking about starvation and cold temperatures, between all the chamber pots and blisters and back pain and knee pain; the bullying of the other maids, and the brutality of the men at arms, Sorley had become something of a distraction, an escape from her own misery. She noticed herself finding more and more excuses to linger in his chambers when her chores were done for the day, if only to stay in his company that much longer. She looked out for him in the courtyard when she made her way to the well, and though he rarely helped her with her buckets for fear, she thought, that he would continue to draw more negative attention to her he always caught her eye and sent her a nod. She'd even learned to appreciate his friends, when they were around. Maybe not as much as him, Addison didn't think it would be possible to feel for anyone else the things she felt around Sorley. But Lindon's angry rants had become less threatening and more endearing. She even found herself smiling through some of them once she realized they were rarely directed at her. That both Lorna and Sorley trusted the blonde knight had become enough for her.

But Lindon was gone. Sorley was gone too. His armor was not in the corner of his chambers. His giant sword was no longer resting by his bed. It was like the man had never been here at all. His chambers felt sterile and cold. Addison shivered and reached down to run her fingers over the dagger in her boot. He'd given her a dagger because he would not be here to protect her. She would be alone with the threats of the other knights and servant men until he returned. She tried not to think about the weapons he took with him. If he returned. She swallowed back a wave of bile at the thought and stood to collect his linens and candles to take down to the laundry. She shook her head to herself as she descended the stairs. Not if he returned. When. This was Sorley. And everything she'd learned about him over the course of one long and brutal winter told her that she'd be seeing him again. Easy and kind with his lion mane hair and his steadying hands, Sorley would return to the Castle Sween and it would be as though he never left at all. And then it would be her and him in their little corridor, quietly existing in each other's company for a time in the quiet hours of the morning.


She'd just lugged her last bucket of water from the fire to the tub and poured the boiling liquid in. The steam billowed up, curling around her invitingly as though to welcome her in. Setting the bucket at her feet, she wiped her damp hands on her apron, brushed a few strands of hair that had fallen from her braid back behind her ears and turned to set a neatly folded linen sheet on the stool next to the tub.

She fidgeted a bit more with her handiwork, checking and double checking that the soap was in reach and his mended tunic was just so. Unwilling to admit to herself that she was lingering on purpose, Addison found herself quite flustered really at the thought of his return.

She'd seen Lindon on her last trek from the well back to the laundry. His horse had thundered through the gates, he approached the stable at a rapid pace that he expertly slowed. The horse snorted but the blonde knight seemed unusually relaxed. She had only caught a quick glance before he dismounted and disappeared inside the stables with his steed and a stable boy. She had opened the laundry door and set her heavy buckets down with a groan.

If she'd learned anything at all in her time at the castle, it was that Sorley and Lindon were never without each other. If Lindon was back, and in a good mood, then that could only mean Sorley was back home and safe as well.

Her whole body was tight, abuzz with the anticipation of the giant knight's warm gaze resting solely on her. She could already hear the gentle rumble of his voice washing over her a warm greeting after his days-long journey away.

So fixated on arranging his belongings, attempting to settle her nerves, Addison failed to hear the latch on the door twist and creak open. But the air shifted, and after a moment, she felt the weight of his gaze settle on her back. Her hands fell still. Hesitant, the girl turned to meet gentle giant's eyes. He was unsurprised to see her. Or if he was surprised, he was a fair hand at hiding it, she thought bitterly knowing that she herself could not keep her relief from showing.

His lips tilted up at the sight of her and his eyes lingered over her frame before casually sweeping across the room. Not for the first time since coming here – since meeting him Addison felt herself overcome by a wave of shyness.

He rumbled something she'd come to associate with an expression of gratitude, before stepping further into the room. Addison stayed planted in place as he closed the door behind him and fully occupied his own space. She watched as his callused hands leaned a heavy sword against the wall near his bed, the corded muscles in his arms and back rippled as he reached back, deftly unclasping his armor and removing it from his torso. This left him in his brown leather under armor, tunic and breeches.

The knight made his way to the jug of mulled wine on the table and poured himself a glass. He said something to her as he poured, and she moved closer as though to help herself understand what he was saying. He took a sip and turned to face her, eyes full of hope that she would answer him. She looked blankly up at him before stuttering out a quick, ineffective response.

"I'm sorry, you know I can't understand what you said." She grimaced and shrugged.

He smiled at her and repeated himself, this time gesturing to a glass and the wine, and then pointed at her. His head tilted once more in askance. He was asking if she wanted any wine. Oh. She didn't know what the rules were for this. She knew what happened between other knights and the maids. Too well. And she doubted that was what Sorley was offering when he held out the glass, but she wasn't sure what came next. They were teetering on the edge of something new. And she was beginning to think she wouldn't hate whatever that new thing was. But...

He must have read something in her eyes for he pulled himself back just a bit from their interaction. Smiled easily and in a good nature. He took care to give her space when he handed over the damaged and torn fabrics from his journey. Gestured at his laundry apologetically before making his way to the door and holding it open for her to exit. She was free to go.

She did so awkwardly, not wanting to leave so soon but having no reason to stay, and unsure what to think about the shift that was happening between them. She brushed past him on the way out, her arm against his, and ducked her head so he could not catch her blush. Mortified at how she was acting and feeling, she rushed out and into the corridor, eager to forget the situation had ever happened at all. He rumbled out a quiet goodnight and she returned it in her own foreign tongue. He waited until she'd made it further down the hallway before closing the door behind her. It wasn't until she'd descended the first flight of stairs that Addison realized she was still holding his bar of soap. She groaned. Hiked up the bottom of her dress and sprinted back up the way she came.

The corridor was still blessedly void of any of the knights that occupied the chambers there, so no one was around to see her as she ran. Out of breath, she knocked nervously on Sorley's door, listening intently to see if he would answer. The slosh she heard on the other side sent a flood of horror washing through her.

She felt the burn of embarrassment heat her cheeks. Her heart thudded painfully in her throat. When the door cracked open, Sorley stood before her. He stared down at her curiously, with the linen wrapped loosely around his hips. His bulky frame dripped from the neck down with the steaming water from the bath she had filled only moments ago, the tips of his hair wet and curling around his neck and shoulders.

He asked her a question, something she'd taken to mean as "Are you alright, lass?" and he peeked his head out above her own to glance down both directions of the corridor to look for whatever had sent her running back. Addison took a shaky breath, before holding out the bar of soap still clenched in her hands.

"I forgot I was holding this. I'd meant to leave it on the stool with your linens," she said in a voice no louder than a whisper.

As she spoke, her voice cracked. She couldn't look him in the eye like this, which meant she was face to chest with the kind warrior whose body was currently demonstrating just what it meant to be battle worn. It wasn't that she'd never seen a man this way before – she was born ahead of the time here – but she'd never seen a man who'd earned a body like this through the act of war.

His muscles spoke to the power behind every step he took, and the assuredness behind every word he spoke. People had always tiptoed around Sorley, not out of fear or in servitude like they did with the entitled and grumpy laird of the castle, but because, in ways she couldn't even begin to understand, he had demonstrated his right to their respect both on and off the battlefield.

His body was simply an extension of that. And his skin, it was cut and lined and puckered in places and in ways she'd never imagined before. His entire body was a map of his life marked by battles won and battles lost, close calls and near misses too. It was miraculous and humbling to see him in this way, and she chose resolutely to ignore the way her body heated at the sight of him. She absolutely felt nothing more for him than respect and gratitude. And that was that.

His abdomen spasmed and flexed. His pecs twitched, and Addison suddenly realized that not only was he talking to her, but she had completely zoned out. She ripped her eyes from the mosaic of his body and glued them to his face.

Sorley's eyes twinkled with silent laughter. He was looking down at her, and she was suddenly aware of how close they were to each other, and that he was quite tall. She swallowed around the dryness in her throat, watching as his eyes shifted down. To her hands... their hands. She jerked, mortified to realize that he had reached out to take the soap back from her. That he'd reached out and she hadn't let go.

His large fingers had swallowed her own, their calluses were rough against her skin and sent chills up and down her arms and neck. After a long moment's pause, and a gentle squeeze of his hand, she released the soap. She clutched her hand to her abdomen with averted eyes. Glancing briefly up from the bar of soap to meet his warm gaze, and then away again. She hoped that by redirecting her gaze down the corridor he would not be able to sense how deep her mortification went.

He rumbled out that same expression of gratitude that he'd used earlier, but this time he added something. Something she knew was meant only for her. "Malvina."

Her name. He'd said her name before, and each time had sent a jolt of satisfaction up and down her spine. Even though it wasn't really her name, it was her name here, and she couldn't help but be incredibly pleased to hear him say it. He called her Malvina in the dark of the corridor, in this place that had become a little world all of their own. And it had sent chills up and around her spine and down into her toes. She wanted to ask him to say it again, but that would have been weird, and it didn't matter anyway because they'd never really bridged the language barrier beyond this point.

She smiled up at him and said the one thing she knew without question he would understand. Something that was only meant for him.

"Gallowglass."

She looked up at him, feeling warm and shy and terribly giddy. He watched her with an unreadable expression. She took a deep, grounding breath and said goodnight in her own language before turning abruptly and walking away. She could feel the burning weight of his gaze on her back, and knew it was not imagined. He lingered in his doorway and watched her go, not closing his door until long after she'd gone.