“I would love that,” Arianna replied quickly, grateful for the offer of distraction. She rose, tucking Bramble against her side. “Truly, I was growin’ far too deep in me own thoughts.”
Melissa laughed softly and motioned for her to follow.
They walked through the corridors and down into the gardens, the heavy doors opening to a sweep of green and color. The McGuire gardens sprawled wide and careful, bordered by stone walls and clipped hedges, with roses climbing trellises and herbs growing thick near the paths. A small fountain murmured at the center, its sound mingling with birdsong and the rustle of leaves. Sunlight dappled the grass, making the whole place feel hushed and private.
Arianna set Bramble down near a patch of clover, and he immediately began to explore, nibbling with single-minded joy. He flopped into the sun after a moment, clearly pleased with his surroundings.
Arianna smiled at the sight, feeling some of her tension ease. “He likes it here,” she murmured.
Melissa had already arranged two easels beneath a flowering apple tree, paints laid out neatly beside them. “I thought the shade would help,” she said, handing Arianna a brush. “And if the laird asks, I’ll tell him it was me idea to steal ye away.”
Arianna chuckled as she dipped her brush into blue.
They worked in easy silence at first, the scrape of bristles against canvas soothing. Arianna painted the fountain, though her hand wandered now and again, her thoughts less steady than her lines.
Melissa glanced over and smiled. “Ye’ve a gentle hand,” she said. “It shows in the way ye see things.”
“Thank ye,” Arianna replied, surprised by how much the praise meant. She hesitated, then asked, “Melissa… ye seem happy here. Truly happy.”
Melissa’s smile softened, and she nodded. “Aye, I am,” she said. “More than I ever thought I’d be, if I’m honest.” She rinsed her brush and leaned back slightly. “It’s Flynn, mostly. He’s a good man, even with all his odd notions.”
Arianna looked at her with interest. “How did ye meet?” she asked. “I ken he’s the laird’s man-at-arms, but beyond that…”
Melissa laughed, a fond sound. “Oh, I was just a maid, same as any other,” Melissa said. “And he was always about, followin’ the laird like a shadow, lookin’ serious as stone.” She shook her headat the memory. “We’d pass each other in the halls, nod polite, nae more than that.”
She continued painting as she spoke, her voice warming with the telling. “Then one night there was a ceilidh in the great hall, music loud enough to shake the rafters. I was meant to be workin’, but Flynn asked me to dance just once.”
Melissa’s cheeks colored faintly. “He said it was a full moon, and it’d be terrible luck if we danced and didnae wed after.”
Arianna laughed outright, nearly dropping her brush. “Ye cannae be serious,” she said. “That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Bramble twitched an ear at the sound. Melissa grinned.
“Aye, I said the same,” she admitted. “But he looked so solemn, like the fate of the world rested on it.” She sighed, eyes distant. “And somehow, between the music and the moonlight, I believed him.”
They shared a smile, and Arianna returned to her canvas, feeling lighter. “So ye married him because of a superstition?” she teased.
Melissa shook her head. “Nae just that,” she said gently. “I married him because he looked at me like I mattered.” She paused, then added softly, “And because he never once tried to be anythin' other than what he was.”
The words lingered with Arianna longer than the story itself. She thought of Ian, of his rough edges and blunt truths, of the way he seemed at war with himself. Her brush slowed, then steadied. “It sounds like ye grew to ken him, truly,” she said.
“Aye,” Melissa replied. “And he grew to ken me, stubborn bits and all.” She smiled at Arianna over her canvas. “Sometimes it starts in the strangest ways.”
Bramble hopped closer then, nudging Arianna’s hem as if seeking attention. She bent to lift him, holding him against her chest. The garden felt warm and safe, and for the first time since her wedding, her heart felt a little less guarded. Perhaps, she thought, there were worse beginnings than uncertainty.
As they painted on, Arianna let herself breathe, let herself be present. The kiss still lingered in her memory, but it no longer felt like a threat. Instead, it felt like a question she was not yet ready to answer. And for now, with paint on her fingers and sun on her face, that felt like enough.
Arianna dabbed her brush against the canvas and then stilled, letting out a quiet breath as she looked around the sunlit garden.
“I feel… at ease here,” she said softly, glancing at Melissa. “Paintin’ with ye, listenin’ to the birds, it’s the first time since arrivin’ that me chest doesnae feel tight.”
Melissa smiled knowingly and arched a brow. “It’s about time,” she said lightly. “So tell me, what’s been twistin’ yer thoughts so fierce, then?”
Arianna hesitated, her fingers tightening around the brush before she finally murmured, “He kissed me.”
Melissa’s eyes widened just a fraction before she chuckled. “Well, I’d hope so,” she said, amused. “Ye are married, after all, kissin’ yer husband is hardly a sin.”
Arianna shook her head, color rising in her cheeks as she whispered, “It’s nae that simple.”
