Ailsa

     I sulk through the hallways, looking at my feet as I go. For some reason, I'm convinced that it will help distract me from the talk, the gossip. I was wrong.

     It follows me everywhere I go.

     Each pair of eyes feels like a dagger hellbent on reaching my heart with a piercing blow. I can feel them watching my every move. I have to be careful now. I have always had to be careful, but now more than ever.

     People point and whisper, others look away, some shoot me pitying glances. I hate all of it. It just reminds me of the glaring issue that I have, and they all know about it.

     My Father is officially looking for a husband to marry me to. It's so real that everyone seems to know about it. I try to continue on as if everything is normal, as if nothing has changed. A part of me hopes that I can feel better if I pretend that it's not happening.

     It's impossible to ignore when everyone is pointing it out.

     "I hear he's considering the MacNeil clan." Someone says on a whisper.

     "That would be a formidable alliance, to be sure."

     "But the kid is a wee brat!" Another chimes in.

     "Who cares? He won't be livin' here."

     Hearing my future talked about so leisurely has me trembling. My eyes start to fill with moisture, my nose burns, and my lip wobbles.

      I'm mighty close to crying, and I don't want to shed tears amongst my clan. I may be tested with this marriage agreement, but I will not let my pride take a hit. I will remain strong and tall as I walk past the gossiper.

     I clasp my hands together before me, making my back stiff to perfect my posture.

     My eyes flick to the people who speak about me, and they immediately quiet down, looking guilty for being caught. I nod to them in dismissal, walking along as if none of it happened at all. I wonder what they must think of me. Poor little Ailsa Sinclair, riddled with a disease and being shipped off to her likely death.

     My lungs are beginning to quiver, and I know I'm losing this battle. I must return to my room before my composure slips. I can't release my emotions yet, they need to be bottled up for the remainder of the journey.

      I quicken my pace when the amount of eyes decreases around me, practically racing up the stairs.

      I fling open my door, slamming it shut and carefully making my way to my bed. I gently roll onto the mass of blankets and furs, my eyes already leaking down my face as I push myself further into the cushion of warmth.

       Finally, I allow the rivers of sorrow to flow. Once they start, they won't stop for a while, so I let them do as they wish. They sprinkle all the way down my next, slicking my chest and shoulders as I continue to lay flat on my stomach.

      I don't sob. I cannot afford such a luxury as that. It requires too much lung strength that I do not have. I simply lay and let the emotion leak out of me until I'm dried up. That way, I wont be able to cry for weeks to come.

      The tears seem to build up in the back of my head. Each harsh word, each ugly thought, they all pile on one another until the salty discharge needs to be released for the sake of my sanity.

     I sniffle, finally done with feeling sorry for myself. I wipe at my face with my wrist, going searching for my handkerchief to blow my nose.

      I feel pathetic, useless. I should be out there standing up to my father. Instead, I am here tucked away in my room at the top of a secluded tower, crying away at the thought of losing my power, losing my life and all the choices that are supposed to come with it.

      Suddenly, I imagine Fraser, wondering what he would do if he was in this situation. It leads me to consider the fact that he himself could be married, or even betrothed. For whatever reason, the image has me feeling queasy. I don't like that he might be married, that he might love someone that is not me.

      Why do I feel this way? Is this some sort of crush? Some sort of dumb fantasy that holds no common sense?

      I turn my head to the window, noticing that the weather reflects how I feel on the inside.

     Gray clouds roll, rain tumbles down onto the green hills, lightning strikes and thunders across the land and into my ears.

     I sigh, knowing I must do something, I must put in some effort to stop this decision from ruining life.

     Another thing is Fraser. I must speak to him. I need to hear his voice, get his advice, I have to feel close to him to help numb this growing pain. Maybe I'll even find out if he's married.

     So much for laying low.

     "Ailsa." The tumble of my name down the hall feels like an avalanche.

     "Mother." I acknowledge as she gets closer, linking her elbow with mine and turning me in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go.

     I press my lips together, hoping she doesn't notice my puffy eyes and red nose. Her lack of observance may save me from questioning.

     "Come, sweets, let us dine together this eve. I'm sure you'll fine it lightens your spirit, no?" The tone that she uses is sugary sweet, all for show.

     She leads me to the dining hall, already packed to the brim with people and sloshing drinks. My mother carts me around through the aisles, showing off her fancy gown as cheers and conversation ring through the banisters high above use.

     We make our way to our table at the head of the room, father's table. Father is already halfway through a thick hunk of meat, his mouth overflowing as he barks at his men, laughing and spitting food as he laughs deep from his belly.

     My own stomach rolls as a plate of food is shoved before me. My appetite is not here, but far away locked under the castle.

     "Eat, lass. You'll be needin your strength." Mother insists, putting a hand on my back and looking around the room, hoping to be spotted and seen as the caring mother.

     I roll my eyes, picking up a piece of bread and taking a few bites to appease her. She doesn't drop the act even then. Rubbing my back and running her fingers through my messy hair.

     Gentry sits close by, watching the whole show with barely concealed annoyance. I don't blame her, she knows better than anyone that my mother conceals her disdain for me well.

     Both of my parents wished for a boy. My father more than mother, but she still has her moments. Sometimes when she looks at me I swear she is imaging life where I was the son she always wished for.

     But she enjoys the attention of motherhood. She seems to think it will gain my father's approval each time she plays the dutiful wife and mother.

      I allow her to have her moment. She feigns concern and the desire to comfort me in this troubling time. The whole clan knows the plan for me to be betrothed, and it's expected that she'll prepare me in every way to be what she is. The mistress of a clan. While I'm still alive that is.

      I force food down, sticking a few morsels into my apron pocket when I'm sure no one is looking my way, which is rare.

     Even though I know I shouldn't, im still sneaking down to see that odd stranger locked away. The mystery of his appearance has yet to be solved. Maybe food will continue to coax him into trusting me.

     I spend time during supper observing my father in all his glory. It's no wonder Fraser has yet to trust me. Look at who locked him down there.

     It's not too long before I slip away, trying to escape to my room.

      I'm almost there when Gentry steps in front of me. I hold my breath, trying to duck around her when she grabs the collar of my dress and practically lifts me off of my feet, spinning me around with a determined frown on her face.

     She reaches a broad hand into my pocket, retrieving the bread and meat I have stowed away.

     I try to wiggle away from her, but it's too late. She already holds the secret food in her hand.

     She tilts her head at me, her almond shaped eyes narrowing as her mouth forms a frown.

     "What's this?"

     I stutter over my words, not quite knowing what to say.

     "It's erm... it's really just a little... It's bread and pork." I settle on, crossing my hands behind my back firmly so I won't be tempted to fiddle with my dress.

     "Uh huh." Gentry says, completely onto me as she watches me like a hawk, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

     "Truth is, I know exactly what this is." She takes a step towards me, leaning down into my personal space as I begin quivering. I try to stop, desperate to be strong. "I know what you're up to, wee Ailsa. The trick is up."

     My shoulders slump, and I want to cry out in frustration and sorrow. How has she discovered my secret? How does she know about Fraser? My maid is wise beyond her years, and she knows me better than my mother, possibly even better than I know myself. I was so careful. I don't understand how she found out.

     I clamp my lips shut, because if they're shut then I won't be able to spurt out everything like a guilty child ready for a punishment to meet my misdoings.

     "Yes, indeed. I know you had no appetite during supper. You're sneaking food to your room so you can eat in peace without your mother fawning over you." I freeze as she turns the bread i  her hands before returning the food to my pockets. "That's no crime, dear. Few would be able to eat in your position."

     Oh, right. The marriage.

     "Truth is, I'm trying to find a way to get you out of this, I swear it Ailsa. I will not sit around and let him ship you away. I'll not have it. You have my word that I'll always protect you, God's turth, as long as there is still air in my lungs, I will be there to save you."

     I gasp as Gentry pulls me into her strong arms, crushing me to her chest. I nestle myself into her loving embrace.

     If I am to be sent away with a husband, it won't be Gentry's fault. Naye, my father will be the one to blame. A part of me also will blame myself.

     If I had been stronger, if I had fought him harder, maybe I could have prevented this. Or maybe, just maybe, I've been taught to blame myself every time.

      Either way, my future is on the horizon, and I won't meet it laying down. I need to prepare for battle.

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