Ailsa

We both sit in silence, the only noise surrounding us it the dripping of the cold, wet ceiling.

I'm sitting far away from Fraser today. I'm not sure that I want to be anywhere near him, too afraid of what I'll feel when our proximity mingles. I always experience feelings I shouldn't whenever he's involved.

I don't really know why I'm here. Everything in my life is going to hell, and somehow I still find time to sneak away and visit my secret prisoner. I stare at him, and he stares right back. My growing feelings for him are completely useless. What is it that I could expect with him?

A future? A relationship? A life? None of these things are possible, and yet... Yet I wish that I could just forget about this life I lead and make a new one, just start over where no one knows me, with him.

How would it be any different? I glare at him for a split second before putting my head down in shame.

Marrying Fraser would provide the same result. It would ensure my death either way. Stay, I die, leave, I die. There's no obvious choice here. No matter what, I will die young. There is no other way.

I flick my gaze down to my hands, eyeing the lines engraved in my pale, dry palms. Some say that those lines are a map of your destiny. I suddenly wish someone could read them and tell me what it is I'm destined for.

Am I destined to marry and sign my death contract? I'm only seventeen years old. Time is not on my side.

"You're thinking rather deeply tonight." Fraser's rumblings words were unbothered, emotionless. I look up at him and frown.

He's smirking, eyes lazy. He's holding the book I lent him in his lap, his legs sprawled casually across the chilly, stone ground.

It's the first time that I've really paid any attention to the clothes he's wearing. He's not in a kilt, but a pair of trews. The tartan isn't a pattern I recognize. Ever since I was a child, I was taught to recognize which tartans belong to which clans. But still, I do not recognize the red and green plaid.

Noticing this is dangerous, it only makes me more curious about him. He really is a stranger in most ways.

"Did you finish my book?" I ask, gesturing to the novel in his lap with a tip of my head.

Fraser narrows his eyes and flips through it, letting the pages feather down until the hard cover ladened with a thump. He shifted it to the ground, sliding in under the bars of the door until it connected with my ankle.

"I've read it five times. I would say it wasn't my favorite thing to read, but I'm hardly in a place to complain." He drawls.

I frown, picking up the book and sifting through it until I get to the spot where I had left off.

"I've never got the end. Don't spoil it for me." I insist. He chuckles in response, shaking his head.

"I won't, I promise, as long as you tell me what it is you're thinking about in that pretty head of yours." Fraser coaxes, lifting a finger and crooking it towards himself.

I sigh, my body scooting forward of its own accord, like there's a magnet dragging me towards him. I always feel this pull to Fraser, every day and night there's an invisible string trying to drag me down to the dungeons.

Leaning towards him, I smile up at him through my lashes. It's a weak smile, but it's there. I huff again, a sigh that gives away every emotion hiding under the surface.

"It's... complicated." I surmise, not knowing any other way to describe it without spilling my guts.

He shakes his head, smiling softly.

"I think I can keep up."

"Well, I'm supposed to be married actually." I murmur, looking away at the spark of surprise in his expression. "And that wouldn't be good for me."

There was a drawn out silence, and I wonder if he even heard me in my hushed tone.

Fraser shifts suddenly, as if sitting for too long in the quiet made him stiff.

"How old are you?" He was curious.

"Almost 18, but I doubt my birthday will arrive before I'm a stranger's bride." I relented.

"A stranger?"

I look at him again, and can truly see the confusion there. He didn't understand. Of course he didn't, he knew so little about her despite spending so much time together.

"It's difficult to explain." I say, searching my scalp is itchy and the nerves wreak havoc on me.

I suddenly want to scratch my entire body raw until my skin is red and throbbing.

"Try. For me, please. I want to understand. I need to." He pleads. I pause at his words.

I've never heard him say please. His plea almost sounds like a beg.

"My father, he wants an alliance with another clan. So, I will be marrying a stranger in order to please my parents and make my clan proud."

I cringe at my own words.

"Even to myself I sound selfish, complaining about this. Everyone has to do their duties to make the world work smoothly. I am not special, I'm no different from others. I was born the daughter of a Laird, that means that my marriage is doomed to happen whether I agree or not."

He's quiet, not uttering a word in response to my admission. Fraser likely thinks me selfish as well. His lack of speaking has made me self conscious, and I start rambling.

"Of course, it's not likely to be a good match. My father doesn't care about that." I purse my lips, pressing them together until the blood leaks out of them. "And I'll die soon after. It's something I've expected, but for whatever reason I simply cannot accept that. I thought I had more time."

I let the silence play out for a while, welcoming it, enjoying it even. The less I speak, the less I embarrass myself.

"There's never enough time."

"You're Laird Sinclair's daughter?"

The icy voice startles me, and I'm shocked to see so much disdain on Fraser's face.

"Yy-yes." I stutter, confirming his suspicions.

He didn't know. Of course he didn't know. I'm his imprisoner's child.

"Cursed she-devil." He snarls. I flinch, forgetting he was capable of so much hatred. "You we're sent here to try to get my secrets, weren't you? Playing an innocent girl to lower my defenses?"

"No, no. You have it all wrong, you see. I... I-" try to get the words out quickly, to defend myself as fast as possible, but suddenly I'm gagging and choking on air.

My lungs always chose the worst moments to make themselves known.

I put a hand to my chest, begging them to calm so that I may properly explain the situation.

"You disgust me. Lies, all of it. You thought that you could bat your pretty little eyes at me and I would be so quickly drawn under your spell?" He spits the words out like they taste rotten on his tongue, shaking his handsome head of hair adamantly. "You're mistaken. Try again and I'll kill you, Sinclair."

I can't help it, my jaw hangs open, shocked and disturbed at this rapid shift in the man I've come to care about.

I hate it, that realization of how much I do really care for Fraser. Why did I have to realize it now? Why did this outburst have to hurt me so in order to find out that I'm well on my way to loving him? That paired with the revelation that I'm helpless to do anything about it makes my stomach turn.

Realizing I must go, I stand swiftly, too swiftly. I knock over my lamp. It shatters, glass flying and flecking across the floor.

I gasp as oil leached into my socks, pooling around my feet like a river. Grabbing the shambles of a lamp, I yank it up along with my book. I whirl around and bound up the stairs that are now so shrouded in darkness that I can't see a thing, only the light under the door at the top of the staircase.

Not thinking of anything but myself and the sickness infecting my stomach, I slam the door. It thunders loudly on its hinges, echoing through the halls, likely alerting anyone within range of my lurking.

I don't care. I don't care about any of it. I could be caught right now and have my neck wrung by my father, and none of it would matter.

Fraser hates me. I poured my heart out to the man, and he hated me for it, all because of my heritage.

How can I not be a monster when my father is one, and my mother not being much better?

I run frantically through the halls with my smashed lamp in toe.

Before I can make it to my room I collapse on the staircase, a puddle of sobs and tears. My stomach tosses and rolls, determined to free it's contents.

I pick myself up, my hand to my mouth as I barrel into my room. I grasp for the chamber pot, retching my guts out. I throw up all of my half digested food, and it clunks at the bottom of the pot.

Over and over I retch, even when there's nothing left to get out. My body is reacting in a different way, but no less painful than my lung attacks.

Each wave of pain is followed by tears before another gag takes me.

Finally, it's over with, and my stomach stings and groans with agony. It's sore from this horrifying event.

I sniff, wiping at my eyes, and try to swallow my sob.

So, it's over then, no more Fraser. I suppose it had to end at some point. Maybe it was best to break it off before I was forced to leave with a marriage party.

I groan, pressing a palm to my face, still streaked with tears. I look to my bed, the covers and comfort calling to me.

It is going to be a long night. This much I know.

Thanks for reading! :) love ya
Don't forget to vote and comment what your favorite parts were this week. See you soon!!❤️