“It will be good for her recovery,” Isla agreed, the seriousness in her voice making Amelia giggle.
Ach, I’d like to hear more of that.
“I’m nay longer confined to this room?” she asked when she recovered, doing her best to return her face to the neutral mask. Even so, there were cracks in the facade now.
“Nay,” he confirmed. “Ye’re still to remain within the castle walls, but I daenae see a reason why ye cannae eat with the rest of the residents now that I’ve returned.”
She made a soft sound, her eyes contemplative. He stood there long enough to give her a chance to respond. When she didn’t, he took a step back, nodding at the two men taking their place before he retreated down the corridor, slowing his walk, so he could listen to Amelia’s laughter for just a few moments longer.
Chapter Eleven
“Miss Abigail works fast, does she nae?” Jinny asked, still fussing with the bustle of Amelia’s new gown as they made their way to the great hall. “Ye only went to the village a few days ago, and she’s already made ye this gorgeous thing.”
Amelia looked down, taking in the sky blue of the gown. The seamstress had gone on and on about how the color would make her eyes pop, and upon getting dressed, she found that the woman was absolutely correct.
“I feel quite blessed to have worked with her,” Amelia replied, the words sincere.
“And I heard ye have a few more gowns on the way,” Jinny said excitedly, opening the large door and ushering Amelia inside the hall.
The hall was mostly empty, save for a few servants dining at a table separate from Darragh. His eyes found her immediately. The weight of his gaze was heavy, a physical thing, as he took in her appearance. For reasons she couldn’t quite name, her entire body flushed.
“I dinnae want ye to be overwhelmed by the noise,” Darragh said as Jinny pulled out a chair across from him. “And Mrs. Rowan would have me head if ye fainted again.”
“That’s quite thoughtful of her,” Amelia replied, sitting up stiffly.
For a moment, they held each other’s eyes, and the thing that had shifted the previous day in her quarters deepened. The minute stretched between them, seeming to go on for hours. Then, quite abruptly, it ended. The openness in Darragh’s expression was replaced with cold formality. It felt to Amelia as if she’d been plunged into a tub of ice water.
Instead of speaking, he gave her a nod. It wasn’t dismissive, it was restrained. It was the kind of gesture she imagined he’d make toward any other guest in his keep.
As their meal was served, his restraint stung her. As Jinny had dressed her, Amelia prepared herself for another interrogation about her past. She was sure that she’d be fielding questions and weathering his anger. This was completely unexpected, and it felt as if a wall had risen between them.
Between each bite she took, she tried to catch his eye. Dutifully, he kept his focus on his plate. It was the kind of respect she’dlonged for just a few days ago. No pressing her for answers or persistently picking at subjects that she’d rather keep to herself.
I should be grateful for this.
When he did finally open his mouth more than halfway through the meal, she deflated a bit when all he said was, “Would ye pass the salt?”
She did as she was told, their fingers brushing together, making the knot of regret in her chest tighten further. She’d pushed him too far. She’d literally pushed him right into a body of water, and the look on his face when he’d caught her was downright murderous. His refusal to speak now made her feel as if he no longer cared about her or who she was.
I almost miss his demanding questions. The quiet is far more unbearable than the fights I thought he was pickin’.
As she looked away from her plate again, taking in the precise way he fed himself, she realized she felt as though she were sitting across from a stranger. She took a slow bite, swallowing around a lump in her throat. Still, he didn’t glance at her even once.
I think I might miss him.
Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she finished her meal without looking at him again, though that did nothing to calmher racing thoughts. He was still there, calmly and efficiently finishing his own meal like she wasn’t even there.
When he placed his utensils on the table, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin, he finally met her gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited for him to say something, anything. Instead, he simply gave her a curt nod and stood.
As he walked away, the guilt and anxiety she’d been carrying became unbearable. She rose from her seat quickly, the legs scraping against the stone floor and echoing through the now-empty hall. With the same desperation as she had once run from him, she hurried to catch up to his retreating form.
He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. It felt like a dismissal, but she couldn’t let him leave. Not now. If she didn’t say something, give him some sort of explanation, she was sure he’d be lost to her forever.
And a very loud, impossible-to-ignore part of her brain couldn’t allow that.
“I am of noble blood,” she said quietly, looking down at the floor, “but I cannae tell ye me family’s name.”
He turned around then, the movement careful and measured. When she lifted her gaze, he was looking at her with something akin to wonder. His voice gruff, he said one word, “Why?”
