Love your Enemy (Ruby Rose fanfic)

BONUS CHAPTER 3 (Iselen POV)

"I've been told that the doctor certified the death and he thinks it was an accident, definitely, the sheriff agrees with him," Ruby whispers before smiling and shaking the hands of Dunira's neighbours, her mother and cousin are still talking to the pastor while we wait patiently enjoying some rays of shy autumn sun. "They released the body to the family so they can organize the funeral service and won't investigate further."

"Yes, I've heard the same," I answer quietly too while smiling at the neighbours that are walking out of the church.

Even if they all know I'm not a particularly spiritual person and despite I was baptized Catholic, attending the Sunday church services is an obligation that comes with the duchess position. My wife explained to me crystal clear that this is not a matter of faith but about establishing strong relationships with the community and I can't wriggle out of it so we decided to attend at least two services each month, one in Falkland and one in Dunira. There're two places where our neighbours gather to talk about their things, gossiping, see their friends, to discuss the problems or necessities of the two villages, etc. One of them is the pub and the other one is the church.

So we got up early this morning, we put on some smart but warm clothes, hats and wool scarves with the family tartans, and we went through the entire ritual that includes greeting everybody after the service and talking to them for some minutes. Dunira's neighbours can't help joking with me when they see the Lindsay colours around my neck as usual, the same way my people from Falkland joke with Ruby too. I whine about how cold it is and predict that this will be a hard winter, the old guys and ladies nod smiling, agreeing with me. I suggest them to go to Gordon's pub and ask the pastor if I can buy him a pint of ale, the man answers yes as usual but he must go to change his clothes and lock the church. Ruby tells the neighbours that we'll meet in the pub in 15 minutes and everybody nods. And the Sunday ritual is over.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" I ask while walking down the main street holding hands, Lennox and Catriona are following us chatting with Ruby's administrator and his wife.

"No, I trust your instinct, I already told you." The countess answers grabbing my arm when we reach an area of the sidewalk where the sun doesn't shine, there's a thin layer of ice covering the pavement and we both walk slowly trying not to slip and fall.

"My instinct saved my ass many times in the past," I mumble nodding and she smiles in response.

"I know and that's why I believe you when you say something weird is going on. My people believe you too and some neighbours of Dunira admitted that they saw lights and weird movements of vehicles in the forest. They organized a search party yesterday morning..."

"Sorry, what?" I ask stopping abruptly in front of the pub door.

"Some hunters living in the village, my administrator and his friends, McTavish and his dogs, and also Brianna, the owner of the small hostel next to the pharmacy... She's my dad's distant cousin and her thirst for adventure is huge, you know, the Murray blood, and she knows the forest because she's a tourist guide too. They went all together for a stroll yesterday morning looking for something strange in the area where the body was found. Unfortunately, the forest is very big and it gets dark soon so they promised to go back next Saturday again. They do this because they believe you, Iselen, and they respect you."

"Okay, well, I appreciate that," I answer feeling touched by the trust they seem to place in me. Or maybe they just trust their countess and they know she believes me... In any case, I'm happy because the stupid war between our villages is over. "I think I'll go with them next Saturday."

"They'd love that, I'm sure. Mam, it's cold. Do you want a hot toddy?" Ruby turns around to talk to her mother and cousin while I smile, opening the pub door for Catriona, trying not to stare at the extravagant hat she's picked out this morning: she must've plucked a poor peacock to design it.