Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 220 - Two Hundred And Nineteen

The hallway was quiet, the only sound the flickering of the torches in their sconces. Derek walked toward the master bedroom, his boots making no sound on the thick carpet runner.

He reached the heavy oak door and raised his hand to knock, a habit of respect, but paused.

The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm, golden light spilling onto the floorboards.

He pushed it open silently.

Marissa was inside. She was standing by the large wardrobe, her back to him. The room was filled with open trunks and neat piles of clothing. She was folding one of his heavy wool tunics, her movements precise and careful, smoothing out every crease as if she were handling the finest silk.

Derek watched her for a moment. The sight of her, performing such a simple, domestic act for him, made his chest ache with a fierce, protective love. He crossed the room in three long, silent strides.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

Marissa flinched, a small gasp escaping her lips. Her body went rigid for a split second, instinct taking over. But then she inhaled. She smelled the leather of his boots, the faint scent of his horse, and the unique, masculine scent of him, of sandalwood . She relaxed instantly, melting back into his embrace, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Did you speak to Grandmother?" she asked softly, her hands resting on his arms around her waist, brushing his fingers lightly.

Derek buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. "Mmmmm," he hummed, the vibration rumbling against her back. He didn’t want to talk about the fear he had seen in Beatrice’s eyes. He just wanted to be here, in the warmth, with her.

He opened his eyes and looked at her hands. She was still holding the grey tunic.

"What are you doing, my love?" he whispered against her ear, his voice husky.

Marissa turned in his arms so she was facing him, though she didn’t let go of the tunic. She looked up at him, her eyes serious and filled with a practical, fierce concern.

"Helping you pack," she replied simply. "The servants are too slow, and they don’t know which shirts you prefer for riding. They pack the stiff ones."

She placed the tunic on the bed and reached for a stack of clean linen handkerchiefs. She tucked them into a side pocket of the open trunk.

"Remember to wear cloth masks outdoors," she instructed, her voice taking on the authoritative tone of a doctor. "Especially when you are near the camps or the villages. Things spread easily in crowds. Coughs, fevers. You must be extremely careful, Derek. Not just of swords, but of the air."

Derek looked at her, surprised by the specific nature of her warning. He held her arms gently.

"I’m not afraid," he said, smiling slightly. "You had me bring so much medicine in advance. Mrs. Alma informed me after I left Grandmother’s chamber. She said the south wing is full of crates. We have enough willow bark to treat an army twice over."

His smile faded, replaced by curiosity.

"But I am curious," Derek said, studying her face. "You had Mrs. Alma prepare medicine early. Vast quantities of it. Fever root. Willow bark. Is a plague happening? Do you know something the King’s spies don’t?"

Marissa blinked. For a second, her mask slipped, revealing a flash of panic. She couldn’t tell him she had lived this life before. She couldn’t tell him she remembered the thousands who died of the sickness in Strathmore because no one was prepared. She couldn’t tell him that this way how Derek lost his title. She couldn’t tell him she was trying to rewrite history.

She composed herself quickly.

"Strathmore’s low terrain," she explained, her voice steady and logical, "combined with the chilly season as winter is approaching... it creates a dampness in the air. Miasma. It can breed an epidemic very quickly in a crowded army camp. Soldiers live close together."

She smoothed the front of his shirt.

"I once read a medical text about it," she lied smoothly. "So I prepared medicine in advance. Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and watch your men suffer."

She smiled up at him, innocent and wise.

Derek looked at her with admiration. She was always thinking ahead. She was protecting him in ways he hadn’t even considered.

"You are brilliant," he murmured.

He didn’t want to talk about plagues anymore. He scooped her up in his arms. Marissa let out a small squeak of surprise as her feet left the floor. He carried her the few steps to the bed and sat down on the edge, settling her on his lap.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his face serious again.

"I might be gone for over a month," Derek said, his voice heavy with the reality of the separation. "The march alone takes a week."

He reached up and caressed her cheek with his thumb.

"Or even a year," he whispered, the fear of the unknown creeping in. "Depending on the outcome of the war."

He looked at her, his eyes longing, searching hers for strength. He looked deep into her soul, trying to memorize the color of her irises, the shape of her face.

"Is this all you want to tell me?" he asked softly. "About masks and medicine?"

Marissa looked at him. She saw the need in his eyes. He needed something to hold onto. Something more than a promise.

She stood up from his lap. Derek looked confused, his hands empty.

She walked to the small table by the window. There was a small, velvet box sitting there. She had placed it there earlier, waiting for this moment.

She picked it up. She opened the box.

Inside lay a silver locket. It was identical to the one he had given her—her mother’s locket. But this one was new. It was polished and bright. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

And engraved on the top, in elegant, swirling script, was a name.

Marissa.

She took it out. It swung gently from its silver chain.

"I made it for you," she whispered.