Chapter 9

9

R oselyn had enjoyed her walk with Braden up the mountainside. The view across the glen had been like nothing she had ever seen before, and the waterfall was a magical, otherworldly place – despite Apollo's best attempts to spoil it. That evening, only Kenna and Roselyn ate together, as the laird was out hunting with Calder.

"Does he ever remain inside?" Roselyn asked.

"Aye, but when the snow comes, and the mountain passes become impassable, he's confined to the castle. So in the summer, he spends as much time as possible outside. I dinnae want to invite ye here in the winter though– ye'd have nae lasted a week," Kenna said, pushing aside her empty plate.

Roselyn smiled. She was used to harsh winters. The border country received its share of snow, and there were times when Abbey Estate was all but cut off from the outside world. But she understood how a man like Braden wouldn't enjoy having to stay in one place.

"When will he and Calder return?" she asked, but Kenna shrugged.

"When their bellies rumble, I suppose. They'll follow the stag across the moorland for miles," Kenna replied.

Roselyn had seen a stag in the distance that afternoon on the mountain above. She had climbed to the top of the keep, looking out across the glen, and up to the towering heights above. It had been a magnificent sight – the monarch of all it surveyed.

"And will they catch it?" Roselyn asked.

The laird's sister laughed. "They'll try, but… well, tis' nae as easy as they might like to think," she said, and Roselyn laughed.

She had enjoyed her walk with Braden, but the thought of stalking a deer for miles made her sad. Such a majestic creature hunted for sport…Perhaps she could talk to Braden about it the next day.

She was hoping to begin her lessons with Braden properly the next morning. He had not managed to utter any words so far, but Roselyn had learned several dozen signs, allowing the laird to communicate with her at the most basic level.

I'm sure we can make progress, she said to herself, as she wished Kenna goodnight and made her way upstairs to bed.

A lot had happened since her rude awakening that morning, and Roselyn smiled at the thought of Apollo shaking himself off after emerging from the pool by the waterfall. She had been soaked to the skin, and her still damp dress hung drying by the window. Elena had offered to wash it, but Roselyn had instructed her to just hang it up to dry.

"It got perfectly well cleaned," she said, and Elena had laughed.

Roselyn pulled back the drapes across the window. Dusk was falling, and she lit a candle to place by her bedside, taking out several of the volumes she had brought with her to read. Lying in bed, she flicked aimlessly through the books, her mind wandering as she thought back to the events of the day. She wondered if she had been na?ve in her assumption as to how easy it would be to teach Braden to speak. He seemed unable to form the words, and no amount of repeating them seemed to help.

We'll need to do something different – a different approach, she said to herself, wondering if reading the words would help, rather than repeating what she herself had said.

An owl hooted outside her window, and Roselyn wondered if Braden and Calder had returned from their hunting adventure. She pictured Braden striding through the forest with Calder at his side. She had not known what to expect from the laird, but she had now seen him as he truly was. Even without his speech, he commanded respect, and there was a strong and noble air about him. She was yet to see any vulnerability, but the knowledge she had gained about his past suggested he was haunted by memories of his father's death, and she remained certain this was the reason he no longer spoke.

And until he comes to terms with what happened, perhaps he never will, she thought to herself, realizing it might not simply be a case of teaching Braden to speak, but of helping him realize he could.

Yawning, she put down her book and snuffed out her candle. A thin shaft of moonlight shone through a gap in the drapes, and Roselyn lay awake for a while, pondering the matter of the laird's speechlessness. She felt certain she had come to the correct realization, and now she found herself wide awake, mulling over what she knew, and what was still to be discovered.

I wonder if he'll tell me – if anyone will tell me. His mother must know who killed his father? Or does she? Why does she keep it secret? And what does Kenna know, I wonder? Dare I ask Braden? Roselyn thought to herself, and now she got out of bed and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.

Her mind was racing with possibilities, and she decided to make her way downstairs in search of Elena, keen to learn more about what the girl knew of Braden's past. If she was careful in the way she broached the subject, perhaps the laird would be willing to speak – if only he would trust her with his secrets.

Yes, I'll ask Elena. She's already told me a great deal, but I'm certain she knows more, Roselyn said to herself, but in the kitchens, where the other servants seemed astonished by Roselyn's appearance, she was told Elena had already gone to bed.

"She rises early to do the fire, my lady," one of the other servants said, and Roselyn thanked them, feeling somewhat foolish for making such an unusual request.

But when Roselyn had an idea, she found it hard to let it go, and now she made her way out into the castle gardens, wanting to walk in the moonlight and think through what now seemed so obvious. It was in the laird's childhood where the origins of his lack of speech lay, and if the mystery surrounding it could be unlocked, so could his tongue be loosened.

And then he'll have peace, Roselyn told herself – it all seemed so simple.

The castle gardens were formed from an ancient courtyard – the original part of the castle, with walls towering on three sides, and the side of the mountain forming an unscalable height on the fourth. All manner of plants grew there, including fruit and vegetables for the kitchens, and plants and flowers, many of which were now in bloom. The moon cast its silvery light on the granite walls, and Roselyn followed the course of the paths marked out between the beds. She was lost in thought and was surprised when she heard a voice in front of her.

"Who is there?" the person said, and a startled, Roselyn looked up to find Calder grinning at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just…" she stammered, but the laird's friend laughed.

"Tis' all right, lass – ye can do as ye please. If ye wish to wander through the gardens at night, tis' yer choice," he said, glancing over his shoulder.

Roselyn now noticed the laird himself sitting by the far wall on a seat cut into the rock. He looked up at Roselyn and nodded as if to greet her, as Calder walked away, humming to himself with a smile on his face.

Roselyn felt embarrassed. She had not meant to be caught wandering in the castle gardens, even as she had every right to do so. But it was late, and she felt certain the laird would think it odd to find her here – just as she found it odd to find him there, too.

"I just came outside to take some air. I couldn't sleep," she said, by way of an excuse, and Braden beckoned her to sit with him.

She did so, smiling nervously at him as she sat down. He pointed over the castle walls, made a sign suggestive of hunting.

"Kenna told me you'd been hunting. Did you catch a stag?" she asked, and Braden shook his head.

He shrugged, not looking disappointed, and grinned at her.

"It must be quite remarkable to follow such a creature for so long – to see its movements and its kin," she said, and Braden nodded.

Her own father liked to hunt, but he did so with hounds, following foxes or rabbits. This was something different, and whilst Roselyn had no interest in her fathers' pursuits – she found them somewhat distasteful – she found the thought of watching the stag quite fascinating. Killing it was another story, but she couldn't bring herself to say so to the laird just now.

The laird nodded again, and made a movement with his hands as if he had almost caught the creature. Roselyn smiled. He had a way of communicating through his movements –Roselyn knew she needed to learn more. Kenna knew how to interpret Braden's movements, but Roselyn found it hard, even as she was determined to learn more.

"I wish I could understand more of what you were trying to tell me," she said, as the laird looked at her.

He smiled and shrugged, rolling his eyes, and sitting back with a sigh.

"I don't like to second-guess you. I want to help you speak. I was thinking…" she began, but her words trailed off.

It seemed like an imposition to speak of his childhood. She did not know how he would react to her assumptions. Braden looked at Roselyn, cocking his head to one side, waiting for her to say more.

"Well… I was just… I've been thinking about why you can't talk, and I wondered if it was something to do with your past. It can happen, I suppose – the thought of something from the past, keeping you silent," she said.

Braden gave no sign of agreement, but he looked suddenly sad, as though her words had brought back a memory he would rather forget. Roselyn felt suddenly guilty. She had a habit of voicing her thoughts, even when they were not welcome – her sisters always said as much.

"I don't need your opinion, Roselyn," Grace would say, whenever Roselyn ventured to offer her advice.

"I'm sorry if I've said the wrong thing. It was just a thought – nothing more. I wasn't… prying," she said, and Braden shook his head.

He looked up at her and forced a small smile to his lips, as if to reassure her. Roselyn felt an instinctive need to comfort him. There was something so forlorn in his expression, as though he was carrying a terrible burden – a burden preventing him from speaking of everything that tormented him. Roselyn could only imagine what terrible trauma prevented his speech, and now she reached out to take his hand in hers.

"I realize it's not going to be easy. Perhaps I was na?ve in thinking it would be. When Kenna spoke of you before, I thought it was just a matter of teaching you. But it's not, I realize that now. There's something holding you back. But it doesn't have to. Our past doesn't define us – it shouldn't, at least. You don't need to learn to speak, but you need to want to," she said, and Braden nodded.

This was his vulnerability. The mighty laird, strong and noble, his body scarred with the marks of a hundred battles, and yet there was an innocence about him, as though he was forever trapped by memories of the past.

Roselyn smiled at him, and Braden shook his head, pointing up into the sky, where the moon hung like a disc of wax over the mountain tops, and the stars made for a canopy of twinkling lights. There was a sweet scent in the garden, a perfume, heady and intoxicating, and the air was still warm from the heat of the day.

"I won't pry, I promise. I just want to help. That's all," Roselyn said, still with her hand clasped in his.

He smiled at her, and to her surprise, he raised her hand to his lips, kissing it gently, as a shiver ran through her. She had not expected such an act, even as she found herself smiling at him in return, their eyes meeting in a gaze of understanding.

"Do you… I don't know, I'm sorry. I wish I could understand," Roselyn said, but Braden now leaned forward, slipping his arm around her waist, and drawing her into his embrace.

Their lips met in a kiss, and Roselyn gasped, caught up in the intensity of his passion. As their lips parted, it was as though Braden had said everything he had wanted to say, and Roselyn's eyes were wide, as she stared at him in astonishment. It was entirely unexpected, and Braden had given no indication of his feelings for her, even as Roselyn realized her own were confused.

She barely knew him, and yet there was something between them – the shared experience of the journey, the beginning of communication, their walk on the mountain and to the waterfall. Had Braden been able to speak, perhaps Roselyn would have realized why he did this… But she wasn't entirely sure she would have known why she was letting it happen.

As his arm tightened around her waist, and his other hand came behind her neck, keeping her in place as he deepened the kiss, Roselyn could think no more. For the first time in her life, she let herself feel, rather than think, and brought her own arms behind his neck. Encouraged, Braden lifted her and brought her into his lap, biting her lower lip for entrance which she gladly granted. As his tongue teased hers, exploring her mouth, Roselyn couldn't help making a noise that sounded awfully similar to a moan.

Braden smirked on her lips, but that sound that had come from her was enough to bring her back to reality.

"I think I do understand," she said when she pulled away, feeling almost speechless herself, as Braden gave a small smile.

Roselyn was conflicted as to what to do. Rising to her feet, she felt suddenly embarrassed in his presence, and nodding to him, she hurried back across the gardens, pausing at the door into the kitchen and turning to find him still sitting by the wall, watching her as she fled.

I can't… but… oh, I don't know, she exclaimed to herself, and hurrying inside, she fled to her chambers, where she locked herself in, not knowing what to do or think.