Page 59

For the first time in what felt like years, the heavy, suffocating weight of war, duty, and grief had vanished from Mabel’s shoulders. Sitting here in the quiet warmth with her older sister, they were no longer ladies burdened by the survival of their clans. They were simply sisters again.

Mabel threw her head back, laughing so hard her stomach physically ached.

“I am telling ye the absolute truth, Rhea!” Mabel gasped, wiping a tear of pure mirth from the corner of her eye. “He fell directly into the mud! Laird MacGregor was trying so desperately to look dignified while reciting that terrible poetry to ye, and he tripped over a stray chicken!”

Rhea dissolved into a fit of breathless giggles, dropping the ribbon onto the vanity. She clutched her sides, her shoulders shaking violently.

“Papa was furious!” Rhea managed to choke out between laughs. “He tried so hard to maintain a stern face, but I saw him hiding behind his goblet to keep from laughing. Poor Laird MacGregor. He spent an hour trying to clean his boots, and he still smelled of the stables for the rest of the evening.”

“He was a terrible poet anyway,” Mabel giggled, tossing the hairbrush onto the mattress. “He rhymed ‘beauty’ with ‘duty’ four times in the same verse. It was a tragedy.”

They laughed together for a long time, the shared memories of their childhood at MacAllister Castle wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. It felt so incredibly good to simply smile without constantly looking over her shoulder.

Eventually, the laughter naturally settled into a quiet, contented sigh. Rhea picked up the ribbon again, her fingers moving nimbly through her dark hair. She looked at Mabel’s reflection in the polished glass of the mirror.

The playful joy slowly faded from Rhea’s eyes, replaced by a soft, serious affection. She turned around on the stool, facing her younger sister directly.

“Are ye happy here, Mabel?” Rhea asked gently.

Mabel’s smile faded. She looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting nervously into the fabric of her dark green gown. The question was so simple, yet the answer felt impossibly complicated.

“I daenae ken how to answer that, Rhea,” Mabel admitted softly. The crackle of the fire suddenly sounded very loud in the quiet chamber.

“When I first arrived at Blackthorn Keep,” Mabel began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I was terrified. I feared the Black Laird. I feared this fortress. Everything felt so cold and unforgiving. But now…”

Mabel hesitated, her heart giving a frantic, uneven thump against her ribs. She looked up, meeting her sister’s patient, understanding gaze.

“Now, I fear something different,” Mabel confessed, a hot blush creeping rapidly up her neck.

Rhea tilted her head slightly. “What do ye fear, little bird?”

Mabel took a deep, shaky breath. The secret she had been carrying for days burned in her chest, demanding to be released.

“We kissed,” Mabel blurted out.

Rhea’s eyes widened slightly, a tiny, delighted gasp escaping her lips.

“We kissed twice,” Mabel clarified, burying her hot face in her hands. She felt embarrassed, yet overwhelmingly relieved to finally speak the words aloud. “And it wasnae just a chaste peck, Rhea. It was… it was everything. He looked at me as though he wanted to devour me. He touched me as though I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.”

Rhea stood up from the vanity stool and walked over to the bed. She sat down beside Mabel, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“That sounds wonderful,” Rhea murmured softly. “So why do ye look as though ye are about to cry?”

Mabel dropped her hands, frustration and heartache swimming in her striking blue eyes.

“Because I daenae understand him!” Mabel cried quietly, the words pouring out of her in a rush of desperate confusion. “Every time he lets his guard down, every time he allows himself to be close to me and I feel that incredible fire between us, he panics. He immediately retreats behind the cold, terrifying mask of the Black Laird. He walks away and pretends nothing happened.”

Mabel stood up from the bed, pacing a tight line across the woven rug. The memory of his harsh words in the solar stung just as fiercely now as they had when he first spoke them.

“One moment, he is kissing me senseless,” Mabel explained, waving her hands in sheer exasperation. “He looks at me as though I am the only person in the room. And the next morning, he is standing in the corridor, rigid, speaking of me future as though I belong to another man. He tells me it was a mistake. He tells me I need a political alliance.”

Mabel stopped pacing, turning to look at her sister with a raw, pleading expression. “He pushes me away so violently, Rhea. I daenae ken what to do anymore. If he truly desires me, why does he constantly try to hand me over to someone else?”

Rhea listened without interrupting. She watched her younger sister pace, her dark eyes filled with deep, knowing compassion. When Mabel finally fell silent, expecting a lecture on proper behavior or a warning about the dangers of a warlord, Rhea simply smiled.

It was a slow, incredibly knowing smile.

“Oh, Mabel,” Rhea sighed softly, patting the space on the mattress beside her. “Come sit down.”