Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Somehow, Agnes found herself in a well-sprung carriage, flying behind four glorious horses, down an unfamiliar road in a foreign country.

The shadows of their ten guards passed by the windows from time to time, and instead of making Agnes feel safe, she felt hemmed in. It was as though all of England had conspired to gawk at this misplaced mouse.

How could she have been in Craeghil yesterday at daybreak, and now be in England? Surely more time had passed since she last embraced and wept with Sister Theresa, Joanna, and the others? Surely it took more time to traverse the Uplands of Scotland and the Firth?

"Would you like any drink or a snack, Agnes?" asked a soft voice.

Agnes looked up and shook her head. Her stomach was still churning from the long hours they'd spent at sea yesterday, fighting their way through strong winds. Lavinia Wells watched her now in the same way the men on the boat watched the sky and sea—careful and changing course at some invisible instruction.

Else, this woman was bright. This woman, her mother.

Agnes's hands clenched into her silk skirts. The clothes were yet another change, at Lavinia's surprising insistence and a flash of steely will—the noblewoman had not balked when Agnes had refused. The clothes were far softer than the homespun dress that Agnes had worn at the convent, but its weight felt all wrong, as did having her head uncovered.

It seemed to Agnes that uncovering her head for that Highlander—which now felt like a feverish, half-forgotten dream—had resulted in all of this . Wearing fine dresses, leaving Craeghil, and finding out she had a family.

"Why now?"

The question seemed to cut Agnes's tongue. She couldn't remember ever having spoken in such a sharp tone before.

"For your sister's wedding," Lavinia said. "And the Queen's Edict." She paused and smoothed her skirt, rings flashing on her fingers, then continued. "Her Highness means to unite the nobles of our lands. English ladies are being married off to the lairds in the north."

"So, you only brought me home because you had no choice?"

" No ," Lavinia emphasized, the bitterness in her tone twisting her pretty face. "No, I did not know you existed until your father feared what would happen if the Queen discovered—" She broke off, her face twisting, and a shiver ran through Agnes.

Why did she suspect her mother was lying to her?

"And how would the Queen know if you claim you did not?" Agnes pressed.

At that, Lavinia looked away and pressed a hand to her slim throat. "Your father took you away from me to spare me the pain…" She closed her eyes. "No one thought you would survive, dear girl. I-I had lost a child before and been unwell." Silence fell over them for several breaths. "But it was not what I wanted."

Agnes said nothing, a memory flashing through her mind. She remembered how she'd often been ill as a child, confined to bed. If she thought hard, she could remember strange days of being dipped in the sea, odd-flavored concoctions, and a cunning old woman's face.

The old nurse who'd taught Sister Theresa all her remedies, which in turn she'd taught Agnes.

"I do think your father might have been right, though," Lavinia ventured timidly. "The sea and the care of the Craeghil Sisters saved you."

Agnes snorted. Sister Theresa had cared for and helped save her, along with the old nurse, but she had been a burden to the rest of the convent. When she looked back, Lavinia was staring at her, her lips pressed together, and Agnes felt a twinge of pity.

"Why did he not tell you sooner?" Agnes asked more gently. "Didn't such a lie niggle at his mind?"

At that, a shadow flickered in Lavinia's eyes, turning them from pale green to hard emeralds, and Agnes felt a thrill of fear for her mother. She almost wanted to reach out her hand and pull her back from wherever she had gone.

Again, silence fell between the two women, one that Agnes did not dare break.

After some time, though, Lavinia stirred and offered her daughter a brittle smile. "Please rest, my darling," she said.

Agnes nodded and tried to get into a more comfortable position, watching her mother lean forward and look out the window. She would never know if the next words were meant for her or if Lavinia had said them to herself.

"After all, we have the rest of our lives for questions."

Agnes awoke when the carriage jerked to a halt and peered around in confusion. Hours must have passed, for it was night. She sat up as Lavinia swept out of the carriage, and followed, half-awake, when bidden to do so.

A cloak was thrown over her by a maid, and Agnes was ushered inside. She glimpsed flickering firelight and fine, long halls of shining stone that did not seem real. Then she was being ushered inside a room almost the size of the chapel at the convent.

"What is this?" she whispered and peered around.

"Your room, of course," Lavinia said, almost sounding puzzled, and then softened when she spotted her cowering by the door. "‘Tis comfortable."

"It's too big," Agnes said.

Lavinia's face twisted with pity. "Here." She led her to a soft chair by the fire. "Food will be brought up soon, then go to bed. Emma's wedding day is approaching."

As Agnes's head cleared, she realized that Lavinia's voice sounded strange, as though she were crying. She tried to stand up and failed, too worn out from the journey.

"Are you all right?" she managed to whisper.

Lavinia turned sharply, and Agnes's eyes widened at the sight of tears streaming down her mother's face.

"Should I get—" She blinked and glanced around. "Wait, where is my father?"

Cool, gentle fingers caught Agnes's chin, and a shiver ran through her. It was a touch she'd never known she'd missed, and she almost leaned into Lavinia as she swept her hand over Agnes's hair.

"You have such a noble and beautiful heart," Lavinia whispered. "‘Tis no wonder you are such a beauty, my child." She tried to smile, but her tears fell faster. "Please rest." She paused, then added, "Your father is entertaining wedding guests. As is your sister, of course."

"My sister is here?" Agnes asked.

Lavinia gave a tight nod. She walked to the door then and offered Agnes a strange, strained smile over her shoulder. "Where else would Emma be?"

With that, she stepped out.

Agnes rose to her feet and rushed across the room. But before she even tried the handle, she knew.

Lavinia had locked her in.

Agnes had never known the luxury of a feather tick or pillows that had to be spun of clouds, which meant she slept so deep and so long that it was well into mid-morning when several people entered her room. With a gasp, she sat up, wincing at the bright light and the commotion of maids and strange ladies, with Lavinia at the fore.

"Good morning, my darling," Lavinia said with a beatific smile, no sign of her tears from the night before. "I wish you could lie abed longer, but we must hasten."

Before Agnes could ask or catch her breath, Lavinia and the maids had whisked her to the bath. The other ladies were Lavinia's ladies-in-waiting, along with a few cousins and aunts. They chattered on the other side of the screen while Agnes was helped into the warm water by a careful maid named Beattie.

She almost let out a moan when the warm water touched her skin. Never in her life had she dreamed of such a thing. Was it a sin to want to live here?

"Aye, ‘tis nice, is it nae?" the maid asked with a chuckle.

"So nice, thank you," Agnes said and beamed up at her.

The maid gave her a surprised look, touching her own cheek, and then smiled back. "Of course, lass. ‘Tis an important day, after all."

As the scent of perfumed soap filled the steamy air around her, Agnes couldn't help but strain her ears, catching snippets of gossip and laughter. They kept mentioning someone named MacLarsen, then Emma, and then suddenly, Lavinia was directing them out of the room. She was grateful but firm, and Agnes could've sworn that someone said, "We want to see Emma in her dress."

"You will soon enough," Lavinia replied.

"Where is Emma?" Agnes asked as Lavinia came around the screen, checking on progress.

"She's almost done, Me Lady," came the stout maid's response. "I had to be careful, her back?—"

Agnes flushed scarlet, gripping the sides of the tub as Lavinia made an inquisitive sound and came closer. In her exhaustion, she'd forgotten about her injuries. No wonder she'd slept so deeply.

Lavinia gasped as the maid brushed aside Agnes's long hair. "What is—where are all these injuries from?" She came around and crouched by the tub, peering into Agnes's face. "Agnes?"

Every inch of Agnes's skin felt hot and tight. Her throat burned, and tears pricked her eyes. For a moment, she couldn't speak. She was back in that dark room with the single chair, her upper body bared, the heavy cane cruelly cracking against her flesh.

"Beattie, should we—do we have remedies?"

"Ach, only time will heal these blows, Me Lady," Beattie responded sadly. "And even then… I cannae do a thing for the scars."

"Agnes, tell me," Lavinia begged. "Please, maybe we can—if we know what caused these?—"

"Discipline."

Both Lavinia and Beattie seemed to be holding their breaths, waiting for her to say more, but Agnes merely shivered.

"Am I done, Beattie?" she asked softly.

"A-Aye, Me Lady," Beattie said and hastened to get a long cloth to wrap her in.

Agnes clambered out without looking at either of them, welcoming the cold bite of stones beneath her bare feet. Nothing more was said as Beattie and another maid set to drying and perfuming her skin and then styling her hair.

It wasn't until the dress was brought out that Agnes snapped out of her gloom, clasping her hands together and laughing with delight.

"Oh, what a beautiful dress!" she exclaimed. "I never dreamed such a thing could exist. It's exquisite." She shook her head at the gorgeous fabric, a gold that seemed to be tinged with pink. "How is this for me? It should be for a Maiden of Dawn."

"You are our most important guest," Lavinia responded.

Then, to Agnes's surprise, she helped tie and adjust the layers of the skirt and fabric. When she was done, she dismissed the maids and came to stand in front of Agnes.

"Was it really so terrible?" Lavinia asked. "Craeghil?"

"Not all of it," Agnes said slowly. "I had some dear friends." She thought of Joanna's snorting and Mitzy's delicious food. "And my whole life, I had someone look out for me." She thought of Sister Theresa's kind face and smile. "I suppose I considered her my?—"

Mother.

For a moment, Lavinia looked small and shattered, her face paling, for she knew what Agnes was about to say.

"I'm sorry," Agnes said quickly. "I didn't mean…"

"No, I'm glad," Lavinia said, giving her a tremulous smile. "I suppose it was that lovely nun who wept when we left, who said she knew your fate was outside the walls." She paused. "Sister Theresa."

"Yes," Agnes whispered.

Lavinia gave a tight nod, then stepped back and looked her over. "You're ready, my dear."

At that moment, Beattie came in, her face drawn, a box in her hands. From it, Lavinia pulled out an elaborate circlet studded with round beads like pearls and sparkling gems like diamonds, and a twist of silk cascading from the back of it.

It wasn't until they placed it on her head that Agnes realized the jewels were real and heavy. She had to focus on keeping her head up as she was led out of the room. Lavinia was silent the whole way down the staircase, while Beattie fussed over the skirts and train.

"What took you so long?" demanded a voice as a tall, elegant man appeared out of the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.

Agnes drew in a breath as she took in his face, his light hair and blue eyes, the way they swept over her.

"My God, she's identical to Emma." He focused on her face. "Except the eyes. And that terrible complexion."

"Matthew," Lavinia snapped.

"Well, MacLarsen won't give a damn," Matthew said, and dread welled within Agnes. "Go sit, woman. And here, girl, give me your arm."

"What—what do you mean?" Agnes asked and tried to pull back. She suddenly spotted the guards in the hall, their somber expressions, and the frightened maids beyond. "Who is MacLarsen?" She drew herself up and looked into her father's eyes. "Where is my sister?"

"The devil only knows," Matthew snapped. "And yes, girl, I can see it in your eyes. Too canny—you know you're marrying MacLarsen today."