Page 104 of Wicked Rivals
Beyond the blue waters lay Castle Kincade, nestled in the midst of a vibrant green field. Rosalind’s heart leapt as years of happy memories from before her mother’s death came back. She had learned to swim in the shallows of that loch and learned to ride in the nearby forest.
I’m home.
And this time father wasn’t there to blacken the castle or her life.
Her brothers rode past her, and for a long moment Rosalind stayed frozen upon the hill, fighting an internal battle. She could follow her brothers and return to a life in the Highlands, or she could return to London and face Ashton. She knew he wouldn’t let her go if she came back to London. It wouldn’t matter that she viewed their agreement as void after his breach of trust. But would he come after her in Scotland?
And some small part of her asked, Did she want him to?
“Rosalind!” Brock waved his arm from below on the sloping hill. With a sigh, she kicked her heels into her horse’s flanks and followed her brothers.
The castle looked almost the same as when she’d left. How was that possible? Rosalind dismounted from her horse and let a groom lead it away before she followed her brothers into the front entrance. The craggy gray stones were like old friends, but part of her was also wary because darker memories still lingered in the shadows of the hall.
“You should rest. Would you like your old room? Or…” Aiden’s cheeks turned a ruddy red. “Sorry. You should have another room, one of the nicer ones down here.” He nodded to a hallway she’d never been allowed to visit when she’d lived here. An entire wing of sealed-off guest rooms.
“Brock had us open them after Father passed.” Brodie curled an arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze as they walked down the hall. Brock lingered by the stairs, watching the three of them, his gaze unreadable.
“How is he?” she asked as they both watched Brock over their shoulders. Her brother had taken the worst of the beatings intended for her before she’d fled and had always protected everyone from their father at his own expense. Worry ate away at Rosalind. What if her father’s death had hardened Brock?
“He is…” Brodie struggled for words a moment. “Relieved. I think he feels guilty that he doesn’t mourn our father, but none of us do.”
“I understand,” Rosalind said. She understood all too well the guilt of feeling so little grief at old Lord Kincade’s passing.
“Why don’t you take this room and sleep? We raced to get here. You could use a bath and a change of clothes. I’m sure I can find Mother’s trunk in the attic.”
“It wasn’t destroyed?” She remembered all too clearly her father shouting that he’d sold the jewelry and burned the clothes mere weeks after her mother had died.
Aiden shook his head as he joined them outside her guest room. “Brock hauled the trunk up into the attic in the north tower and left it hidden beneath some old drapes.”
Rosalind rested her hand on the door to the room. “You’re right. I think I could use a bath and some rest.” Her body felt heavy enough that if she took a swim in the loch, she would not stay afloat.
“Get some rest. We’ll send someone to tend to your bath and bring you a change of clothes.”
She hugged each of her brothers before they left. But within moments, there was a knock at the chamber door.
“Rosalind?” It was Brock.
“Come in.” She was dragging a white sheet off a settee that backed up to a large feather bed with dark-blue drapes and faded gold tassels.
Her brother entered, his hands fisting around a packet of old letters.
When he did not immediately speak, she settled onto the couch, coughing slightly as dust wafted around her. Brock came over and slowly held out the packet. Thick twine bound the letters tightly, forming grooves in the old parchment.
“What are these?” she asked, taking the letters from him.
“I swore I would not give these to you, but it was father’s dying wish. It is your choice whether you wish to have them or not.” He backed up and nodded at the empty fireplace. “If they prove to be upsetting, you are free to burn them.”
She plucked at the twine, unfastening them to retrieve the newest letter, one that wasn’t faded like the others. “Do you know what they contain?”
“I do not. You may tell me after, if you wish, but I must see to the house. We have preparations to secure your safety. I’ve hired men from the village to assist us if anyone comes for you.”
Rosalind nodded. “Thank you, Brock.” When their eyes met, she was a child again, a girl of sixteen who was standing in a hall, her lip split and her face swelling from her father’s fists, and he was the brother who’d stood between her and her father whenever he could. Her protector.
But I don’t need to be protected. Not any longer. She could see in his eyes that he was realizing the same thing.
“Rest, little sister.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead before he left her alone.
It seemed like ages before Rosalind worked up the courage to open the newest letter in the stack. She broke the wax seal upon the letter and unfolded the pages. It was a letter to her from her father.
