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[docksides]

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[salinities]

Alistair arrives at the font gates of Stonewell manor and is greeted with the same amount of fanfare always afforded the patriarch's only son. Servants line the long path of the drive as it curves towards the broad expanse of the building's front entrance; each helper bows politely in time as he passes, the women's hands folded politely in front, the men's hands held in loose fists at their sides. Alistair, ever gracious despite the arguable lack of necessity to be so, meets each of them with his gaze and a small smile before nodding slightly back. Respect, he believes, begets respect. A romantic, antiquated (and some would say naive) perspective on things, but Alistair is nothing if not opinionated, especially on matters of decorum

[docksides]

The instinctive scream that starts its way out of her mouth bubbles into laughter the moment she realizes whose arms carry her up. It's completely inappropriate for a young lady, and Robin can't bring herself to mind it at all-- because it's cousin Alistair, her favorite and her best friend. It's wonderful, she thinks. Wonderful to see him. (Mother will mind the wrinkles in her dress, but she certain doesn't.)

The moment her feet touch the sand, Robin moves to wrap her arms around her cousin's shoulders (broad shoulders, strong-- though they weren't always that way, she remembers). The shape of her smile, too broad to be quite ladylike, is buried against him for a moment, her greeting muffled in his shoulder.

"Please don't be upset, Ali. I only forgot because they made me try on the wedding dress today." Her voice is earnest when she goes on, "I missed you terribly, I really did. I'm so very happy that you're here."

[salinities]

Alistair is, of course, the farthest thing from upset -- a truth that becomes evident from his bright grin the moment he releases her from a tight, protective hug. She's as willowy as ever in his arms, her thin frame made even thinner by the restraints of her expensively-tailored dress. In the back of his mind he's already devising ways to excuse the creases that he's made in it, means by which to distract what will no doubt be the sharp, chastising look of her mother. It's a tiny mercy, arguably an insignificant one, but to Alistair there is nothing (no inconvenience too small, no threat too large) that he would not to go to any lengths to keep his dearest cousin from.

That was, after all, why he had come in the first place, hadn't it? To protect lovely, sweet-faced Robin from her own parents' good intentions (because, truly, what else could such a proper union be other than good). He wished to prepare her for the uncertain journey of marriage that lay ahead, to learn the mind of that second son with all of his thin-lipped

[docksides]

At last, the lady has her champion. Cousin Alistair has always been Robin's knight in shining armor for as long as she can remember. Scraped knees and torn dresses would always lead her to seek his aid before even her mother's or her nanny's. Even as a child, he would always console her. He had a way of making things right. And now, though she's becoming a grown woman and soon to be wed, in her heart Robin is reassured by his presence. It calms her, as if him being there alone will make everything work out just the way it's supposed to. Her fears about the wedding, about Aubrey, about her new life-- all of it suddenly seems quiet