Ella
Unfortunately, the afternoon sun is hidden behind a blanket of clouds which is casting a gray hue across the typically bright green expanse outside the parlor window. I’ve been sitting here for the past thirty minutes, watching a small herd of deer graze along the edge of the forest. It is calming to witness their slow migration, heads popping up occasionally to check their surroundings or identify a sound. It’s a sort of entertainment, just as Callen had suggested.
However entertaining it may be, it cannot distract my mind long enough to put me at ease. Yesterday, when Alasdair told me he loved me, I felt something open inside me. Like he found the key to a chest that had been locked closed for millennia, its lid finally lifted, releasing emotions I never knew existed. It was profound and thrilling and made me happier than I ever dared dream possible. But I did not voice my feelings. They are still stubbornly lodged in my throat, controlled by fear and the ego of my former self. That proud Seymour girl who will not be molded or manipulated or taken for a fool. Yet I am nothing more than a fool as I realize my silence may be a heavier burden.
Am I in love with him? Or am I truly naive and only enthralled with how he makes my body feel? After just a fortnight of marriage, I fear I will never be able to do without the pleasure he so easily brings to the surface, the touch of his skin, his masculine scent, the way his turquoise eyes speak to me in their own compelling language. My stomach suddenly drops with a fearful ache at the thought of being without him. Perhaps that is the answer to my question.
Before I can contemplate further, Callen enters the room in his wheelchair, Douglas dutifully guiding him toward me by the window.
“Good morning, Ella.” His voice sounds weak and raspy.
“Good morning, Callen. How are you feeling today?”
“Terrible. But, after ye’ve felt terrible every day fer a year and a half, the word loses its potency and simply becomes what is.” He stops to clear the phlegm from his throat. “How I feel is of no mind, though. The important question is, how do you feel?”
I laugh at his frank dismissal of himself and reply, “That is very sweet of you, but you will never get me to be more concerned with myself than with you.” I wink at him. “I am doing quite well. I’ve been watching a herd of deer graze alongside the forest. There are a few young ones and one very large one with antlers.”
“Aye. The stag is a sacred animal in Scotland with many ancient stories and folklore.” He moves his chair closer to the window and watches as the herd makes its way back into the trees.
“How interesting! I would love to know more about these stories.”
“Weel, I’m no’ a verra long-winded man these days, but I can tell ye that yer husband has an extensive library wi’ no shortage of books on everything ye need to know about the legends of that magnificent creature. Especially the legend of the white stag. I’d be willing to bet that’ll be yer favorite.”
“That is wonderful, Callen! Thank you so much for the suggestion. I want to know everything I can about this lovely place I now call home.”
“That pleases me immensely, Ella.”
Just then, Ewan politely interrupts, “Pardon me, Lord Galloway. M’lady, yer husband would like to speak wi’ ye in the library.”
My stomach drops again as something in his tone and expression leaves me with a sudden sense of dread.
“Of course. Thank you, Ewan. And thank you, Callen. I am going to look for these books right now.”
“Good. I look forward to hearing all about what ye’ve learned.” The sparkle in his eyes confirms he speaks the truth.
A few minutes later, I walk into Alasdair’s library, finding him by the window with his back to me. His hands are gripped tightly behind him. He is tense, I can sense it as soon as I enter the room and I’m suddenly afraid to know what is wrong.
“Alasdair, is everything alright?” I ask as I walk up behind him, placing my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t speak or look at me, and the firm set of his jaw tells me that he is not pleased.
“No. Everything is not alright.”
He turns to me then, the stern look of disappointment glaring from his eyes. Is it something I have done? Does this have to do with yesterday?
“I have received a missive. I am to leave immediately and assemble my crew to set sail as quickly as time will allow. It seems our never-ending conflict with France has reached a boiling point once again, and I am needed to help bring about England’s victory.”
I feel like the floor has been yanked out from under me—my heart is pounding out of my chest, and my head is light and dizzy. He cannot leave so soon. We have only just wed, andI cannot picture myself here without him.
“Here, sit down, Ella. Ye do’na look well.”
He guides me to the closest chair, and I collapse into it.
“I’m sorry, my dear wife,” he says softly, kneeling in front of me. He takes my hands in his. “I had’na planned it this way, leaving so soon. I wanted to ensure ye were properly settled here at Galloway, comfortable in yer new role. Not to mention my father—it will’na be long now.” He pauses as that horrible reality settles in, that he won’t be here to say goodbye. “But more importantly, I—” He stops again, the tenderness in his eyes squeezing my chest painfully. “I do’na want to leave ye.”
He lets go of my hands and abruptly stands to walk back over to his desk, where he picks up the paper that holds his directive. He stares at the words, jaw ticking with pent-up anger before he slams it back onto his desk. “Dammit!” I hear him say under his breath while he rubs his hands down his face, then places them flat on his desk and leans forward, head hanging low. A few minutes pass before he lifts it and looks me in the eye.
“I’m leaving tonight. I’ve no choice.”
No…