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Jenny was a princess. Not an ordinary princess, she was aware of that, even though she might appear as one to others. She wore the dresses and the tiara; she threw dinner parties and knew how to waltz. She could hold court, school her features into an immobile mask, even insult someone while making it sound like a compliment.
But nothing was quite as important to Jenny as escape, pretending to be someone she was not. She was never as fulfilled as when she snuck away in a pair of her brother's breeches, tied tight about the waist to keep them from falling, the cuffs rolled to prevent tripping. She preferred to escape outside the confines of the castle, to run and pretend she wasn’t, in fact, royalty. That she didn’t have obligations or responsibilities outside of herself. She considered the headache earned from her hair twisted in a tight, hasty braid a badge of honor and her sunburned cheeks a trophy well earned.
Her most trusted companion on these excursions was her horse, Marble. Marble would know, before Jenny even twitched the reins, in what direction she wanted to ride, and what speed she’d want to travel at.
There was a cabin, not far from the lake, where the court healer lived. It was Jenny’s preferred place to be.
Jenny's mind drifted there now, even as she sat in her father's council room, her brother looking as bored as she felt while he sat sprawled on his large stone chair. Throne. Whatever they were calling it these days.
Spoiled brat, Jenny thought, running her hand down the wooden arms of her much smaller chair, sitting up straighter.
She frowned, trying to regain focus on the state affairs her father worked hard to keep the two of them apprised of. She tried hard to pretend to care. But her mind kept drifting, seeking that warm little cabin, with the scent of bergamot in the air, the soft prick of a wolf fur bed against her back, her knees, her palms, her cheek, the graceful lines of the feminine person inside it, the sound of her heavy breathing...
A throat cleared, and then she heard a voice, "Janet."
"Mm?"
Brian's black brows were raised. "I was saying, I have some news for ye."
She folded her hands in her lap, the cabin vanishing from her mind as her eyes caught on the new person in the room.
A man, of marriageable age. He merely stood there and gave her an expectant look. Oh no. No, no, no.
Shock flared in her eyes before it extinguished itself into courtly, passive femininity.
"This is Ian Murray," her father said, and Jenny forced herself to smile at the man as he was introduced. He was all hard lines and angles, nothing of the softness or grace she'd come to know and prefer. "Your betrothed."
Jenny inhaled deeply, crumpling her silk skirts in her fists. She let go, and then crumpled them again. Took a breath in, let the breath out.
Her eyes were hard as stone as she studied him, though she continued to give him the smile she knew she had to.
"It's a pleasure to meet ye, Ian," she whispered, and it was only the wine she'd had with dinner that had made it possible to speak.
“He is from a neighboring clan,” her father continued. “An alliance greatly desired.”
Ian bowed slightly, the sword at his hip sweeping back just a bit.
Jenny stood abruptly, her wooden chair scraping against the stone floor with an ungodly sound, ringing in the silence. "Excuse me," she said, as soft as she could, trying to cover for the way her slippered feet stomped out of the room.
And Ian looked like he was going to apologize for merely existing, damn him.
She flew into her room to pack her bags. Her belongings were flung across her room, the wardrobe emptied, the doors left open. Discarded clothes lay in piles on the floor, the four-poster bed. She tore herself out of her silken gown, unpinned her hair. She eventually settled for two dresses that might pass for a peasant’s and stepped into a set of Jamie's clothes, stolen from the laundry a long time ago. The breeches afforded her much-desired freedom of movement and the shirt hung loose on her, several sizes too big and built for a man's body, not the figure of a woman's. But it was freedom; it was hers. She needed to claim what moves she could on the game board she’d been placed.
She was lacing herself into her boots when she heard a knock at her door. Stomach turning leaden, she opened it slowly, then swept it wide upon seeing who it was.
"Jamie.”
He stepped into her room and she closed the door behind him, latching it locked.
"I know," he began. "And I'm sorry. But ye must've kent it would always be this way."
She did. She'd known. This was her fate -- to be shipped off and married to the most eligible bachelor, for the sake of alliances and politics. A pawn in a game she had no power to play; where perhaps, as a woman, she had the most to lose.
Because this was Jamie, she nodded.
He went on, "If it makes it any easier, I know Ian. From the war. He's an officer, a damn good one. Someone who will be an asset to the family as a man, not just for his connection to Clan Murray."
"And to me?" Jenny demanded.
"He'll be an asset to you, too, Janet. If ye give him a chance."
"But what if I can't?" she said, her voice barely audible, her mind once again imagining a flurry of skirts in the garden of that cabin by the lake, of the tinkle of laughter and the flutter of a shift as it dropped. Jenny wanted to weep, to scream.
"He'll understand."
"What if he doesn't?"
Jamie's shoulders dropped. "I might --" but then he sighed. "Go. Go to her. I won't tell anyone."
So Jenny ran. She ran to the stables, to her horse. Like always, Marble knew she would be coming. She saddled him, leapt onto him. The horse let off nothing more than a grunt of excitement as she flicked the reins.
Jenny was electric, needing to outrun her own power. But as she neared the cabin, the world seemed to still its spinning, and mist seemed to hover, shimmering in the air.
Marble trotted near the front door, stopping at the fence post where Jenny always tied him. She hopped off, catching a brief whiff of her own scent, sweet with the tang of musk.
The woman who lived in this cabin was alone in the world. She had no one but Jenny -- she had chosen Jenny.
Jenny strode up the cobbled path to the door, removing her feathered hat and riding gloves as she went. Sweat beaded and dripped between her breasts and down her stomach; she picked at her shirt, trying to air it out.
It was night and yet the air was sweltering.
The door flew open before she knocked, bathing the blue night in a swath of orange light.
A soft, feminine body tackled her and held her tight, curls swarming Jenny's face. "I heard the news. The servants told me."
Jenny breathed the woman in, buried her face in that hair, her nose brushing just so against the woman's cheek. She placed a kiss to the corner of her jaw, content to just hold her.
"Claire," she breathed. Her knees wanted to buckle at the touch of her.
Claire nearly withdrew. "But what about--"
"Don't." Jenny held her tight, refusing the request to pull away. A hot tear swept down her cheek.
Claire was taller than her by nearly a head, but that didn't stop Jenny from gripping her tightly about the waist and lifting her, if only briefly, to set her back inside the threshold. The cabin door swung shut behind them, bathing the field, and Marble, once again in a sea of blue.