(Catherine POV)
The morning air bit at my cheeks as I stepped onto the castle's main terrace, sketchbook tucked under my arm like a shield against the world's expectations. After last night's confrontation in the kitchen—Lord MacAllister's barely contained fury, the way Mary and Jamie had shrunk into themselves—I needed space that belonged to no one but me.
Drawing had always been my refuge. In London, when the creditors circled like vultures and Father's drinking grew worse, I'd escape to Hyde Park with charcoal and paper, sketching strangers who couldn't disappoint me. Here, surrounded by impossible beauty that felt more like a fever dream than reality, the familiar weight of my supplies promised the same solace.
The gardens stretched before me in patterns that hurt to look at directl
