Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 218 -Two Hundred And Seventeen

The morning mist still clung to the rolling hills surrounding the Thompson estate, but the sun was fighting its way through, casting long, pale beams of light across the damp grass. The air was crisp, filled with the sharp scent of pine and the earthy smell of horses.

"Woah!" Derek said softly.

His black mare slowed from a canter to a trot, her hooves rhythmic on the gravel path leading to the main courtyard. She snorted, shaking her mane, eager for the stable and a bucket of oats. Derek reached forward, his gloved hand patting her neck firmly.

"Easy, girl," he murmured, soothing her. "We made it. We are home."

It was already the fifth day. Derek had ridden hard from the military encampment, leaving General Rogers to finalize the supply lines. He had pushed himself and his horse, driven by a singular need to return and stay a bit longer with his family before the army marched. He had promised Marissa. And he was a man who kept his promises.

He looked up at the house. The stone façade was imposing, a fortress of history and power, but to him, it looked warm.

Marissa stood by the main double doors. She was wearing a simple morning dress of pale lavender wool, a cream-colored shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders against the chill. Her hair was pinned up, but a few curls had escaped, framing her face. She was folding her hands in front of her, trying to look calm, trying to be the composed Duchess, but a small, bright, irrepressible smile was plastered on her face.

Derek’s heart gave a hard thump in his chest. Seeing her there, waiting for him, felt like the end of a long battle.

He swung his leg over the saddle and jumped down. His boots hit the gravel with a solid crunch.

Behind him, Ian pulled up on his own horse. He looked tired, his uniform dusty, but he smiled when he saw the Duke’s expression.

A stable boy ran out from the side of the house, looking sleepy but eager. He bowed quickly to the Duke.

Derek handed him the reins.

"Take good care of her," Derek instructed, his voice kind. "Walk her until she is cool. Don’t let her drink too much water too fast. She ran well today."

"Yes, Your Grace," the boy said, taking the reins and leading the mare away toward the stables.

Derek didn’t wait to watch them go. He turned back to the house. His face lit up when he saw Marissa take a step forward, breaking her pose.

He climbed the stone stairs hurriedly, taking them two at a time, his heavy cloak swirling around his ankles. He felt light. The weight of the command, the worry about Liam’s spies, the planning for the war—it all fell away, leaving only the man and his wife.

When he got to the door, he didn’t stop. He didn’t bow. He didn’t offer a formal greeting.

He grabbed her.

He hugged Marissa, lifting her off the floor effortlessly. He buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent—lavender, soap, and home. He spun her around, a joyful, dizzying circle right there on the doorstep, ignoring the footman who was pretending not to see.

She giggled. It was a sound of pure happiness, bright and clear in the morning air.

"Stop... stop!" Marissa laughed, clutching his shoulders, her feet dangling. "Put me down! You are making me dizzy!"

He slowed down, letting her feet touch the ground, but he didn’t let go. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He looked down at her, his eyes shining.

He kissed her. It wasn’t a polite greeting. It was a hungry, passionate kiss that spoke of days of separation and nights of missing her. His hands moved up her back, tangling in her hair, threatening to destroy the neat style Lily had spent an hour perfecting.

Marissa melted against him for a moment, kissing him back, her hands gripping his coat. Then, she remembered where they were. She remembered the servants. She remembered the message she had to deliver.

She broke from the kiss with much difficulty, pushing gently against his chest.

She tried to catch her breath, her face flushed pink.

"Derek," she gasped.

Derek tried to capture her lips again, leaning in with a grin, not ready to stop.

But she stopped him. She put a finger to his lips, pressing gently against his mouth.

"Wait," she whispered.

Derek blinked, looking at her finger on his mouth. He kissed her fingertip.

"Grandmother wants to see you," Marissa said.

Derek pulled back slightly, surprised. His smile faded a little.

"Grandmother?" he said, his voice muffled by her finger. "Now?"

She put down her hand. She smoothed his collar, which had become crooked during the ride. She brushed a speck of dust from his shoulder.

"Yes," she continued, her voice turning serious. "She is in her bedchamber. She wants to have a word with you. She told me if you come, I should tell you immediately. She has been waiting all morning. She asked three times if you had arrived."

Derek frowned. A shadow of worry crossed his face. Beatrice was usually predictable. She held court in the drawing room. She received guests in the garden. Being summoned to her bedchamber usually meant illness, or bad news, or a lecture that required privacy.

"Is something wrong?" Derek asked, his voice serious. "Is she sick? Did something terrible happen while I was away?"

Marissa shook her head.

"Not that I know of," she answered. "She seemed fine at breakfast. A little quiet, perhaps. A little... reflective."

She stepped closer to him, her voice becoming low and gentle. She placed her hand on his chest, over his heart.

"I think she is just worried," Marissa explained. "You are going to war, Derek. You are going to Strathmore. You are going up against the Mercian armies. Just like Theodore did."

Derek went still. The name of his brother hung between them.

"And Theodore didn’t come back," Marissa finished softly. "She is afraid history is repeating itself."

Derek understood. Beatrice had already lost a son tot the western region and one grandson to the northern border. She had buried the heir. Now, the second one, the last one, was riding to the same place, to fight the same enemy, to face the same danger. The fear must be eating her alive.

"Just reassure her," Marissa whispered, touching his arm. "That is all. I think she just needs reassurance that you are not going to die. She needs to see you. She needs to hear your voice before you go."

Derek looked at Marissa. He saw the compassion in her eyes. He saw that she understood his family, his burden, better than anyone. He caressed her cheeks with his thumb, marveling at how much she had changed, how much she cared for them now.

He kissed her forehead. A soft, lingering kiss.

"Okay," he said. "I will go to her."

He let her go, though he did it reluctantly. His hand lingered on her waist as he stepped back.

"Wait for me?" he asked.

"I will be in your room," she promised.

Derek nodded. He turned and walked into the house, his boots echoing on the marble floor. He went straight to the south wing, heading to Beatrice’s room, preparing himself to comfort the woman who had raised him, and to say a goodbye he hoped wouldn’t be his last.