SISTERLY LOVE
“...and so, I told him, no. Not until I am sixteen at least!”
Amabel laughed and Chrissie giggled. Alina's shoulders shook in silent mirth.
“Oh, Chrissie. What would we do without you?”
Amabel patted their young cousin affectionately on the hand and Chrissie dimpled.
The three – Alina, Amabel and Chrissie – had met in her bedchamber. The fire was burning in the grate, shining coolly off the gray flagstone floor. It lit the scene despite the darkness of the gathering storm without.
They each sat on a carved chair by the fire. The floor between them was spread with fine linen, so soft it could have been silk. They were finishing her wedding trousseau. Alina had her head down, concentrating on making delicate stitches for a hem. Chrissie was fighting with a snarl-up of thread and Amabel was threading her needle carefully.
“...and so, when you wed, you'll move far away?” Chrissie asked. Her small, heart-shaped face was bereft.
Amabel smiled. “Not far away, dear. Dunkeld is not too far.” She swallowed and wished she did not have to think about it.
“It is only a day's hard ride away,” Alina countered. “And I think that is easy for a Lochlann lady.”
Amabel smiled. “Thank you for reminding me, sister. It is not far.”
“Quite so.” Alina smoothed her hands down her blue velvet dress and looked up from her work. “And I am sure you know the stories of our mother's exploits at riding?”
She said this looking at Chrissie, who, as the youngest family member, was the only one who may not have heard the stories.
“No?” Chrissie asked expectantly.
“Well,” Alina began, clearing her throat, “Lady Joanna was a keen rider, so they say. She raced our father once. He was used to hunting in the forest in France, you see.”
Amabel smiled. It was one of her favorite stories.
“And what happened?” Chrissie asked, eyes round with interest.
“Well,” Alina continued, reaching for more thread for her hem, “Joanna was accustomed to our woodlands. And they rode on the moor, heading for the forest where the boars go in winter. They were pounding across the fields, their horses throwing up clods of turf as they went. And Mother rode into the forest…”
“...and Father rode into a tree branch!” Alina and Amabel finished the story together.
Chrissie seemed not to believe them, for her mouth was hanging in an unladylike manner. They both laughed. Amabel felt her shoulders shake as she chuckled.
“What happened?”
“Well,” Alina sobered, though she still giggled slightly, “it was quite serious actually. He was thrown backward – luckily, he was a good-enough horseman to have his heels down, so his boots slid out of the stirrups and he fell out. He was struck in the face with the branch – just a stick, really – and he still has the scar to this day.”
“Yes, he did.” Amabel nodded. She recalled it. A handsome man with the same dark hair as Alina and the same wide, heavy-lidded eyes, he’d had a sickle-shaped scar on his cheek, signature of that day. It must have served to remind him of the danger of challenging a woman. Especially any of Lochlann birth.
“He stayed in Paris?”
“He stayed in court.” Amabel grimaced. As ambassador of the king, their father was almost constantly at court, keeping relations positive between France and Scotland. The girls themselves hardly ever saw him.
“So, he won't be here, then?”
“No,” Amabel said. She was surprised that she did not feel hurt by that. Her father was days of travel away, but it was his daughter's wedding. Perhaps some daughters would have expected him to come, but she had not seen him since she was four, since their mother passed away. She was resigned to his absence.
“Perhaps if the king dies, we'll see him!” Alina said dryly.
Amabel tried not to laugh, for one should not laugh about death, but she couldn't help it. It was funny that the only reason their father would leave court was if court were to leave him.
“Well, Uncle Brien will be there,” Chrissie chattered. “And Aunt Aili?”
Amabel looked up. “Probably not.”
Aili was the middle sister of the three daughters of Fergal, the last earl. Aunt Aili lived in the castle. She had retired to the east wing shortly after Frances died, and most thought her touched in the wits. The only person who saw her was Alina, with whom she had a special bond.
“Aili is in retirement,” Alina said gravely. “I think she has taken a vow.”
“She's a nun?”
Amabel laughed. Most people believed Aili was in league with another power entirely – the denizens of hell, not heaven. “Not quite.”
Alina threaded her needle calmly. “I think she is in retreat from the world,” she explained to Chrissie. “She'll come out when she wishes. Not any sooner.”
“No,” Amabel agreed.
They sewed in silence for a while. Amabel looked at their work, still not quite believing that they were making her trousseau. The wedding – though she had expected it for most of her life – was rather sudden.
“And you're to be married tomorrow?”
“The day after tomorrow,” Amabel said matter-of-factly. “When Broderick returns.”
“And I'm wearing my new pink dress! And I'll have flowers in my hair,” Chrissie enthused. “Even Heath said I'll be bonny.”
Amabel smiled. “I'm sure he did.”
“Really?” Chrissie giggled.
“I'm sure he was not the only one,” Alina said. “And won't be the last.”
Chrissie dimpled, then scowled. “Well, Blaine might be there, too.”
Amabel looked down at her work to stifle a grin. Blaine, the young leader of the guard, had taken to Chrissie in a way that amused them all except Chrissie. Uncouth, loutish and cheeky, Blaine was clearly not appropriate. But Amabel had to admit it was a pity: the boy was besotted. Anyone could see it.
“Everyone from Dunkeld will be coming, too,” Amabel said, altering the course of the conversation.
“And so, we'll meet all sorts of new people!” Chrissie said cheerfully.
“Quite.” New people were rare in Lochlann. Delegates from noble houses visited Brien but actual gatherings happened extremely rarely. It was not fair on the young people. Amabel grinned at herself. Just yesterday, she would have thought of herself as a “young person.” How strange!
I am getting married tomorrow. Or the day after. Whenever Broderick arrives. The thought was incredible. In one day, her life would change. She would be a married woman, in charge of her own household. With a husband to care for and the chance of children. And all that comes in between. Amabel felt herself blush. She knew nothing of bedding.
She had asked the servants about it, but most of them had blushed and giggled and looked away. She had resorted to consulting the midwife, whose account had seemed so fanciful as to be incorrect. She could not imagine men and women did such things.
She could not, especially, imagine doing those things with a man. With Broderick. Imagining his body near hers made her own heart thump. His strong hands on her skin, his muscled chest against her, those strong legs close to her own. She could not imagine herself disrobed in front of him. The thought made her flush.
“...and so, I'll call to the kitchens for orange water.”
Alina was finishing a sentence and Amabel had to stare at her to hear her. She had missed almost all of what was being said.
“You mean for the cake?”
Alina grinned. “I was thinking about the orange blossom, for your hair,” she said, smiling. “Something tells me you were distracted.”
Amabel bit her cheeks to hide her grin. She slit her eyes at Alina, then the grin burst forth. She chuckled. They clearly knew what each other were thinking. Chrissie, however, was lost, and stared from one to the other as her older cousins threw a thimble at each other and collapsed in giggles.
She must think adults are very odd indeed, Amabel thought. In that moment, she was so very glad to have her family around her. She would miss these two so much when she was gone.
Only later, when they set aside their sewing, did she stop to wonder how Broderick fared.