Page 45 of The Guardian

Despite washing up with the water left in the bucket, she was reluctant to dress. Her clothes were soiled with dried blood and other things she’d rather not think about. She hadn’t time to consider much the night before, washing her clothing had been last on her mind.

Crossing to the old trunk at the foot of the bed, she lifted the lid and dug through the neatly folded garments. Most were well-worn and in need of mending, but she found one tunic that, while frayed at the cuffs and thin from years of washing, smelled of cedar and lavender sachets tucked beneath the linens. Clean. That would have to be enough.

She pulled it on over her chemise. It hung a bit loosely, but the fabric was soft and comforting. Her skirts, however, were another matter. With a sigh, she picked up the soiled ones and stepped into them. They crackled faintly with dried blood, and she pushed down the rising unease that threatened to turn her stomach.

Using her fingers to untangle her hair, she braided it. Then laced up her boots, squared her shoulders, and left the cottage.

The moment she stepped out into the morning air, the world met her with stillness, which contrasted starkly after days filled with shouts, hurried footsteps, and the agonized moans of the wounded. The courtyard was damp with dew, the flagstones glistening beneath her feet as she walked across them. Smoke curled lazily from the kitchen chimney, and the scent of ash and fresh bread teased her senses.

Her steps echoed lightly as she crossed the worn stone path, eyes scanning the keep’s weathered walls and the distant shapes of stable hands beginning their day. The castle had not yet fully woken, but it breathed with life again. A hum of resilience.

She entered through the kitchen doors, the warmth of the hearth washing over her. The housekeeper greeted her with a brisk nod and tired eyes, quickly informing her that the sick and wounded had been moved into the adjacent chambers to better accommodate care. Ailith sat at the table next to the kitchens, normally used by the servants, and ate a simple meal of bread and porridge.

The great room had changed greatly from the day before. The tables, benches, and floors had been scrubbed. Evergreen sprigs in jugs had been set out to freshen the air and cover the remnant odors of sickness.

There, near the hearth, sat Nala with a large basket of neatly rolled bandages beside her. The young woman looked up, her eyes rimmed with fatigue, but when she saw Ailith, her smile bloomed with quiet relief.

“I am here to help,” Ailith said gently, settling into the chair beside her.

Nala exhaled with something close to gratitude. “Ye are a godsend.”

Ailith offered a weary smile. “Where are the others?”

“The chambermaids are working the laundry. Ainsley’s in with the wounded, helping them break their fast.”

Nala’s gaze swept over her, lingering on the tunic. Her lips twitched. “I dare nae ask where ye managed to find that.”

Ailith laughed softly, the sound surprising herself. “It’s Hendry’s,” she confessed in a whisper, a shy grin tugging at her mouth.

Nala’s eyebrows shot up, and then she beamed, eyes sparkling. “I am so very glad to hear it. We were growing tired of the man’s constant glum expression.”

Ailith’s face flushed with warmth. “If I can be forthright… my heart feels lighter as well. It’ll be slow going, but…I am hopeful.”

Nala leaned in with an impish smile. “Dinnae worry yerself. Alexander himself mentioned how he hoped ye and Hendry would grow closer. Said ye would be good for the man.”

The warmth in Ailith’s cheeks spread to her chest, a quiet joy taking root.

Of course Nala and her husband confided in one another in bed. She’d nearly forgotten how a couple’s bond grew stronger in the hush of night. How soft laughter and whispered truths shared in the dark could weave two souls closer than mere time alone could manage.

For the first time in what felt like years, she allowed herself to hope that she would share moments like those with Hendry.

Nala rose from her chair and stretched, arms arching overhead as a yawn escaped her. Her dark, soft curls bounced with the motion, catching the light like burnished springs. Ailith watched her for a moment, struck by the woman’s beauty. The warm golden hue of her brown skin, the proud line of her jaw, the natural grace she wore like a crown. And yet, Nala carried herself with such ease, such unaffected humility, that ye wondered how she was unaware of the radiance she exuded.

“Come,” Nala said with a smile, reaching for Ailith’s hand. “We must find ye something more suitable to wear. This is nae a time for pretty gowns, but we’ll no let ye walk about in bloodied skirts.”

“I can’t go home yet. Not until the roads are safer.” Ailith looked down at her stained clothing. “Once I do, I’ll wash and return whatever ye lend me. Neatly pressed and free of every speck of dust, I promise.”

Nala gave a soft laugh and waved her concern away. “There’s no need. The wardrobe is filled with clothes left behind by Alexander’s mother. She’s gone to live with Gavin and his wife now, on another isle, and the garments are for any woman who finds herself in need.”

They left the great room, climbed two flights of stairs, and walked down the corridor. Their steps echoing lightly off the stone walls. Morning sun slanted through high, narrow windows, casting gold light on the stone floor. Inside the chamber, they moved to an old but polished armoire that stood tall near the bed. Nala opened the carved wooden doors with a creak, revealing a trove of carefully arranged garments, folded items, neatly hung skirts, blouses of every shade, and fine woolen vests.

With practiced hands, Nala selected a few pieces and laid them out on the bed: two soft chemises, a pair of earth-toned skirts, three blouses with subtle embroidery at the sleeves, and two warm vests.

“Ye must keep these,” Nala said firmly. “Better they warm yer back than be eaten by moths.”

She returned to the wardrobe, inspected a few cloaks, and chose a heavy one. “This to keep ye warm.” Finally she pulled out a long nightdress of soft cream wool. “And this,” she added with a playful grin, “will keep ye warm at night. If necessary,” she added with a wink.

Ailith was sure her face flushed scarlet as she let out a groan, hiding her cheeks behind her hands. “I swear, ye are enjoying torturing me.”