That sounds more like the Mary I know, but she is in love with Mr. Knightly, that I can see clearly. My heart aches at the thought of falling in love and how good it feels to come together as husband and wife. I feel the emotions welling up inside me, but I will not take away from Mary’s excitement, so I swallow it down and rejoin the conversation.
“What did your mother say in her letter? Surely, she knows nothing about this,” Beatrice says.
“According to this letter, she doesn’t know. But her patience has worn out, and she has apparently chosen a husband for me. She expects me to be home within the next fortnight so that I may be introduced to him and start the engagement proceedings.”
“Does she mention who this man is?” I ask.
“Lord Adam Chapman, Earl of Dalton,” she answers succinctly.
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“Neither have I. And it matters naught—because he will not be my husband.” She puts her mother’s letter down and looks at me. “Enough about my never-ending saga to find a husband. How are you doing today?” She reaches over to take my hand.
“The same as yesterday, perhaps worse. My stomach is terribly unsettled, and I can’t stand the thought of food. But I am going to have some broth and go for a walk. Maybe that will lift my spirits.” I look down as the tears spill over, and I quickly wipe them away.
“Ella. Look at me.” She waits with patience for me to bring my eyes to hers. “Alasdair will come home to you. You must believe that in your heart. You must never give up hope.”
“I will do my best, Mary, I promise.”
“I don’t have to leave, you know, even though it appears my schedule has changed a bit.” She shrugs her shoulders and offers me a wink. “Graham can wait. It will only make him want me more.”
I laugh because that is very likely a true statement, but honestly, I want to be alone for a while as I come to terms with the drastic turn my life has taken.
“Thank you, but no, dear. You must go and meet Mr. Knightly if that is truly what your heart desires. Just promise me that you will be careful and that you won’t go through with it if it feels wrong. Trust your heart.”
I take my time walking to the forest. Before I left, I ate some buttered bread and drank a mug of broth, which settled my stomach and gave me a noticeable boost in energy.
There is a breeze coming in from the sea, carrying the scent of brine. The occasional gust pushes against me, lifting my skirts and sneaking under the layers of fabric that cover my body. The cool, humid air touches my skin and awakens my senses.
Once I am under the forest canopy, I stop to rest and just listen. There are no voices, no questions asked, no answers given, no doors opening and closing, no tablecloths snapping open as they are set in place, no carriage wheels or horses’ hooves, only the pleasant sound of the forest. I close my eyes and fill my lungs with fresh air. I do it again and again. And each time I do, I feel a little bit more of myself coming to life. I’ve always felt more at home out of doors than in. I love beautiful gowns and opulent homes, that is all I have ever known, but the simple act of standing in the forest, breathing the air of the trees and plants and animals, is more exhilarating than any fancy ball could ever be.
My eyes open, and I look above at the beautiful mosaic of leaves and light and branches. I hear the hum of trees, young and old, birdsong that no musician’s instrument could ever replicate, the air that is moving, yet blind to the eye, its scent is every shade of green. Two more breaths, and there it is. Serenity.
Can she feel it too, my baby? Surely, she can. I smile, thinking about how my mind goes back and forth between a boy and a girl. Each day passes with a different certainty, and I wonder if I will drive myself mad with curiosity until the happy day finally arrives. My thoughts shift. Will it be happy? If Alasdair truly is gone, giving birth to his son or daughter will undoubtedly be a blessing and will fill me with joy, but my heart will break again knowing my child will never know her amazing father. And what if the child looks like Alasdair? Will a part of my heart hurt every time I look upon her…or him? The idea makes the nausea return, so I throw the thought away and continue down the path.
Halfway to the clearing, I see a rabbit hopping along the side of the trail. It is adorable with its plump little body, long ears, and a face that is the definition of cute. He stops to nibble on the grass that grows between the stones, his tiny mouth working quickly as the blade completely disappears.
“Hello, little fellow! You’re the first bunny I’ve seen here in Scotland. You have a beautiful home. This forest is my favorite place to be.”
He pulls off another blade of grass and devours it as readily as he did the first. I’m quite close now, and he doesn’t seem as though it bothers him, so I kneel and take the liberty of rubbing his forehead with my finger. A burst of happiness bubbles in my chest as he nudges his head up toward my finger, wanting more, a clear sign that he trusts me.
“You like that, do you? Well, you certainly are the most adorable thing I believe I’ve ever seen,” I say with genuine delight.
Just then, something whirs past my ear, loud and swift, startling the rabbit and me. I stand up and see it quickly fly away until it stops abruptly over the ferns some distance ahead. I stand here for a moment staring at it, in shock that it seems to be doing the same to me.
“Were you trying to get my attention?” I ask through a laugh, feeling that nervousness in my stomach that I always feel when my little flying friends’ actions seem premeditated. No matter how many times I tell myself to let go and have the open mind of my youth, it doesn’t change the fact that this seems to defy all logic.
In answer, it loops in circles, then darts off in the direction of the oak tree I always visit when I am here. Once again, I cannot be rude, regardless of whom or what is offering an invitation. In truth, I want to avoid that special place—my heart is too tender right now—but I alter my plans and head toward the oak.
My stomach tightens as I approach the place where Alasdair made love to me. It was the second time he had me undress outside the confines of my bedchamber, and I still wonder at how good it felt, how natural it was to be naked, standing under a massive tree in the middle of a forest or inside that magical cavern created by mountain stone and a wall of water. Each time was exhilarating, feeling the ultimate pleasure through the masterful techniques of my husband while also feeling connected with a part of myself that had been buried so deep that I didn’t even know it was there. Yet, once I tapped into it, I felt free and powerful, beautiful and sensual, healthy and vibrant.
I sit down next to the trunk, leaning against its rough surface, then close my eyes so I can concentrate on its subtle vibration of hundreds of years of existence. My shoulders relax, then my neck. I’m able to slow my breathing and just be in the moment. Within that peaceful space, an image comes to my mind: our baby, healthy, happy, smiling. I see myself holding the swaddled infant; I can sense the joy in my heart. But then I see Alasdair gazing upon his child with fatherly pride. He is so handsome; it makes my insides swarm with excitement and my heart swell with love as I focus on the tenderness in his eyes. I tell myself that this can be real, that it is my future. I want to feel the truth in my words. I fear so much will be missing from my life if it is not.
I stay with it for a moment longer, then take a deep breath of forest air and open my eyes. They are here, as I knew they would be. I count six but feel certain there are more.
“I’ve had a difficult time lately,” I begin, wanting to get some of this heaviness off my chest. “Word has come that Alasdair has either been injured in battle…or worse.” I don’t let the dreadful word leave my mouth. “I’m trying to stay strong and not lose hope, but I saw a white stag in the forest last week, and I was able to approach him and pet him. He was not afraid and acted as if he knew me, and now I have convinced myself that it was Alasdair’s spirit visiting me, just as I read in the books.”
I stop to wipe the tears from my cheeks, and when I look up, a shallow gasp catches in my throat. There are at least twice as many members in my mystery audience, and they are all hovering around the same height above the ferns.Good Lord. I believe I have upset them as their usual whimsical flitting and swooping has come to a halt. “I didn’t mean to trouble you, truly. I was only venting my woes. You see, I have told no one of my encounter with the stag for fear they would question my sanity. I know I certainly have. But I do have good news, very good news. I am going to have a baby!”