17 - Words Aflame

Ailsa

The knock at my door startles me, but I clear my throat before putting my book to the side. I glance at it anxiously, longingly. I want to return to it. The pages call to me, trying to draw me back to them.

I heave myself out of my chair before I can change my mind. I really do not want to open the door. I would much rather pretend that I'm not here at all. That wouldn't do anything. She wouldn't believe it for a second.

As little as my mother knows, she still knows me well.

"Hi mother." I say, shoving fondness into my voice as I swing open the door, putting my palm on the edge of the wood as I observe her. "Nice of you to drop by."

She gives me a surprised look.

"How did you know it was me?"

Because you knock, and Gentry never does.

"Hmm, lucky guess?" I hedge, not sounding convincing to even my own ears.

She brushes past me, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

Oh, so this is going to be a long visit. Best to put on a fake grin and get this over with now.

I close the door with a dull thud. I flick my gaze to the book still sitting on a small table by the fireplace. The fire roars, crumbling and crackling with flames. For a moment, I fear that a stray ember will jump from between the fire grate and land on one of the precious pages.

Pushing away the irrational fear, I yank my eyes away from the novel that I was so engrossed in. My mother has never respected my hobby of reading. She is too traditional. She believes that women should be silent and have no deep thoughts or strong opinions.

I did a lot of things secretly that my mother didn't agree with. What went on inside my head was my own business, regardless of my gender.

There was another habit I have that I know would upset her. Fraser's face flashes behind my eyes. His sly smile. His lights alight with mischief as he teases me.

I shove him away, frightened that I might slip up and tell on myself. What would I even say? Oh, mother, by the way, father has imprisoned a handsome man in the dungeons and I've been sneaking out every night to visit him? That I lent him a book and shared my meals with him?

It sounds ridiculous, even to myself. She might not even believe me.

Walking away from the book and my mother, putting distance between the things that could put me at risk.

Taking a seat at my vanity, I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess, resembling a bird's nest rather than a lady's hair. I don't mind though. I did just wake up after all.

Mother scoffs behind me, I meet her gaze on the mirror to see the disgust settled in her steely eyes. She is looking at my hair in all its disarray.

I comb my hair in silence. The brush pulls its way through my long, tangled hair, working through each snarl with difficulty.

My mother hums in approval, crossing her legs as she scoots forward, perched on the edge of the bed.

I try not to look in the mirror, afraid of what emotions I could see there reflecting in my eyes.

My mother sits idly. She doesn't lift a finger to help me, and I'm thankful for that much.

"I came here to talk with you, Ailsa." She says confidently, and when I look back up at her, all of my hair in one hand, she's smiling grimly. "And I think you know what it's about."

I nod, gulping as I put done my comb and smooth my hair to let it trail down my back.

"My marriage." I sum up the subject simply. Two small words that meant so much. It represented so much for my family, my clan, my father and his alliances with other strong clans.

As a woman, I was meant to be nothing more than a pawn to be traded for power by men. And yet, I held none of the power for myself. The only people meant to gain from this marriage were the men coordinating it.

"Yes." My mother sounded excited when she confirmed my suspicions, clapping her hands together. She was acting as if this were some sort of delightful occasion rather than the travesty that it is.

And maybe in her eyes, it is an exciting thing. After all, she wasn't the one that had to be married to a stranger. She wasn't the one with a disability that made marriage a terror rather than a happiness.

Not to mention that my mother would finally be free of me. I would likely go years without seeing my parents again, that is if I were to live long enough.

"Mother... my condition." I emphasize, looking away when her eyes narrow disapprovingly.

It's as if she wants to pretend that the condition didn't exist at all. To my mother, my medical annoyance is more of a rotten sideshow versus the pinnacle of my unfortunate life that it truly is. It is the cause of all my frustration and failure. It holds me back from so many things I wish for myself.

Maybe, if things were different, maybe I would wish to be wed. Matrimony holds such little promise for me. The only thing I think when a marriage comes to mind is how my condition would affect it.

"That is no matter, lass. You will be wed. You are old enough now, and you are a young lady. You are not exempt of your responsibilities." She insists.

I stand, frustration broiling in my blood. There is so much power in my limbs that I cannot stand to sit any longer.

"Responsibilities?" I spit, venom on my tongue lighting the words aflame. "Like being a wife? Upholding the duties of a wife? Laying with my husband in our bed?"

Mother flinches, but holds my gaze all the while. She's forcing herself to listen to my case that I plead.

She may be listening, but she knows it's all for naught.  This is simply an outburst. At the end of the day, father's word is law.

"That's right. The marriage will have to be consummated. And how do you think I will fair then? I cannot walk across a field without my lungs punishing me. Those attacks, they put me in danger of death, just by doing everyday activities."

I take a deep breath, or try to, even now my lungs agree with me. They show their weakness loud and clear. They never fail to remind me of my true strength, or lack thereof.

I laugh a humorless laugh, shaking my head.

"And you expect me to marry? To warm a man's bed and be a normal wife when the mere act of love making could kill me?"

Mother purses her lips, not saying a word even though she looks desperate to speak.

"Then, if I were somehow to survive that, I would risk bearing a child. Carrying a wee bairn for months on end without my lungs becoming a complication? Unlikely."

Still, she's speechless. My mother just stares at me. Her gaze unrelenting, her hands wringing her skirts.

It's the most distressed I've ever seen her.

"Then the birth." I breathe, my eyes bring into her, my jaw hardening. "I wouldn't live through an ordeal like that. You know it. I know it. Father knows it."

And you don't care. He doesn't care.

I don't have to add that part, my silence does that for me.

I hate the remorse I see in her. The way she sinks as her back curves, her usual straight rod posture disappearing in the midst of ridicule.

Panting now, I have to sit down and steady myself. Putting a hand to my temple as I attempt to calm the shuttering of my lungs in my chest.

They too were angry. Those hated organs of mine that should work as they were meant too. It's as if they are agreeing with me, showing their frustration at this dire situation I've been forced into.

I have never spoken to my mother like this, but I am tired of being backed into a corner like a freighted animal, letting it happen to me without a word of disagreement.

"Well," Mother sniffs, standing. She seems to be over her emotions, shoving them down as was usual. "I never expected such an outburst from you, wee lass. I am disappointed that you are not grateful for such an opportunity to make yourself useful to this family."

I glare at her, my mouth hanging open.

"The only way for me to be useful is to die in the process?"

She pressed her lips together, doling her hands before her now wrinkled skirt. She stood tall above me. Proud. Pompous. Everything my mother always is.

"Everything will work out as it should."

She turns to leave, taking slow, measured steps to the door. Her hand is on the knob when I stand and demand her attention. She looks at me and I ball my fists.

"And if I die as a result of this marriage? What then?"

My mother is silent for a long moment. Her eyes look forlorn for a split second before it's covered again by hardness.

"Then you will die aiding this clan. It is a noble cause. Your father and I will certainly see it that way. You should be thankful that your sacrifice won't be in vain."