“If ye cannae handle this anymore,” Finlay said in a whisper, so that only she could hear him, “I will do anythin’ it takes to get ye out of here. I promise ye. Anythin’ at all.”
“Finlay—”
“I will lay down me life for ye, I swear it,” he said, looking at her right in the eye.
“If that’s what it takes, that’s what I’ll do.”
“Finlay,” River tried again, shaking her head with a soft sigh. “While I appreciate that, it willnae be necessary.”
“I swore to yer maither I would protect ye,” Finlay insisted, and River could have sworn that his breath hitched and his words were choked off, even for the briefest of moments, as if he wasso overtaken by grief that he could hardly speak. It struck her as odd; Finlay had been her guard from birth, and so it was only natural that he had spent plenty of time near her mother, but she had never thought of him as someone who would be so torn up by her death.
Perhaps he was much more emotional than she gave him credit for. Perhaps her mother’s death had affected her more than she could ever imagine.
River reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it in a tight grip. “I ken that,” she assured him. “I ken it, Finlay. And I thank ye for it but there’s naethin’ to protect me from. I promise ye, I am fine. I simply have much on me mind these days.”
Finlay didn’t seem too convinced, but then again, he never did. He was a suspicious man by nature and that meant that River could hardly ever hide anything from him. Even though he wanted to press on–River could tell from the thin press of his lips, as if he was physically restraining himself from saying more–he said nothing else.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But ye ken where to find me when ye need me.”
When...nae if.
“Aye, I do,” said River. “Right next to me.”
Finlay snorted softly, her words amusing him, and River couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes she was stifled by his overprotectiveness, thinking herself too old for such surveillance and protection, but now she could only consider herself lucky to have someone who cared so much for her as to devote his entire life to the task of keeping her safe.
She couldn’t help but think of him as more like a father than her own father had been.
With a groan, Finlay sat next to her on the bench, watching the children play in silence for a while.
“Ye come out here more often now,” he said idly, as if trying to start a casual conversation. River, though, knew it for what it was: yet another attempt to get the truth out of her. Only this time, she had a real–and true–answer for him.
“Aye,” she said. “It’s because of Layla.”
“Layla?” asked Finlay with a small frown. “What of her?”
As if summoned by the sound of her name, Layla appeared around the bend in the narrow, snaking stone path that led to the gardens from the front gates of the castle. Along with her intricate braid, decorated with a single bright pink flower, she was sporting a bright smile as she rushed towards River, waving wildly at her, a basket full of pastries swinging by her hip.
“Ach, I see,” said Finlay. “Ye made a friend.”
River couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him. “Ye make it sound like I’m twelve.”
Finlay chuckled softly. “Well, I think it’s a good thing.” When River gave him a suspicious look, he added, “I truly do. It’s been a year and ye spent it all with me and the bairns.”
“Ye say that like it’s a bad thing,” said River.
“It’s nae,” said Finlay with a small shrug. “But it’s good to have someone...someone like ye in yer life.”
“Like me?”
“A lassie,” Finlay clarified. “Someone to whom ye can talk about...certain things.”
This time, River didn’t ask for clarification. She knew what it was Finlay meant and her cheeks instantly flamed with embarrassment. The last thing she wanted was for him to be discussing such things with her.
“This isnae what’s been on me mind!” she said, the words coming out in a shriek.
Finlay raised his hands up as if in surrender. “Never said it was.”
“Then danae mention it!”
