3 - Highland Hillsides

Ailsa

My hand pricks against the rough bark beneath my palm, sending me down toward the ground for a second before I regain my ever-slipping grip.

The half fall is enough to give me a small scare, but not enough to stop my journey up. I kick away my skirts, annoyed.

I may be semi-talented at scaling things, but my wardrobe tends to get in the way when it's the least convenient. I blow a blonde strand from my face through the side of my mouth.

"Curse this stupid dress." I grumble to myself, pulling at my mountain of skirts as they snag on each and every passing bump of tree bark and stray branch.

The massive oak underneath my skilled hands is so ancient that flecks of moss fall with each grab at the knobs and broad limbs. I try to dodge the very mossy parts, knowing that I'll be asking for green stains on my dress.

I'm not allowed much exercise, but this is fine, at least that's what I tell myself. If anyone actually knew they would surely wring my neck. My Mother and Gentry especially would disapprove. I can practically hear their nagging now.

What they don't know won't kill them, and this won't kill me either, I won't let it. Because how could something that makes me feel so alive possibly kill me? This is what it is to be living. Even when this sickness does kill me, I will not regret doing things that took my breath away in the best way.

That's what I tell myself as I get closer and closer to the top of my favorite tree. My bare feet brush on green leaves, my hair swept up by little twigs and gusts of the freshest air. The closer I get to breaching the top, the more I start to sweat, the more my muscles strain, but my breathing becomes easier.

This is where I come to be free.

I finally feel the euphoric bits of sunlight flitting onto my face from above. The warm light is tinted green, reflecting on everything and covering my skin like a blanket of warm wool.

My head pops through the top of the tree, and I gasp when the beauty of the land is in my grasp. I rake my eyes over it hungrily, selfishly. I love this land that God has blessed us with. I feel as though He had me in mind when He layered the rolling hills of grass and cliffs of edgy rocks and stones.

It's rare moments like these that I remember that I am indeed alive. I may not be well, but I am alive, and I have that much to be grateful for. While I have air in my lungs and a beat in my chest, I can enjoy the beauties of this earth. I just have to get past the ones who would try to keep me from that simple joy.

I'm not sure how long I stay nestled in the tree, wanting to avoid everyone for as long as possible. I came out here as early as I could.

I just sit and dream, my legs tucked under me, my breathing controlled but slightly uneven.

My breathing is like my life in a lot of ways. I can try my best to control it, but there will always be things that are out of my hands.

My mind wanders to my father as I tease tiny green leaves between my fingertips. He wants to marry me off to solidify an alliance between clans. It only makes sense, I am a laird's daughter after all, and daughters are pawns. I am nothing more than property swapped to make men shake hands and revel in their cleverness.

The thoughts gurgle in my belly, upsetting and overturning the slice of toast I swiped from the kitchen earlier this morning.

The gorgeous view no longer appeals to me as it did only minutes ago, not even as the haze of fog drifts across the highlands like a pack of ghosts ready to haunt the nearest girl in a tree.

Everything I see from the brook to the stone path is rotten with my poisonous thoughts. It's all tainted by the fact that I may one day never see this view again, this land I've come to love could be swiped away by a marriage of convenience.

My only comfort is that it may take longer to find me a husband because of my cursed ailment. No man wants a delicate wife.

No, the prideful men of Scotland want a bride that will bear them many sons and be able to run a clan with a baby sat on each wide hip. I'm not that. I'm not tough. I'm not resilient. I'm anything but ideal.

I'm scrawny and short. Not exactly prime breeding stock for strong sons.

With a heavy sigh, I force myself to start the inevitable climb back down. I have to leave my favorite tree.

I get glances of the castle from time to time through the dense, lush branches as I get lower. The dull, gray rocks remind me that my home is more prison than home. No warmth enters my heart when I look at the Sinclair clan. My insides simply hurt when I see it.

The descent is more difficult than the original climb, as it always is. There's more maneuvering involved. Each step I take is careful and coordinated. I have to feel out every branch under my foot to test my strength. It's constant vigilance until my feet are planted as firmly on the ground as the towering tree beside me.

I pat the beautiful plant with my hand, palming the bark and feeling each notch along my fingers, trying to memorize every line of wood along its surface.

"Thank you." I tell it, knowing it can't respond, but hoping that it can hear me somehow.

I stroll through the forest, letting the foliage brush against me with each step. My ankles are tickled by each little weed and wildflower. The trickle of streams and the chirps of birds echo around me like a lullaby of nature.

This is where I belong. Just a creature among the trees.

I stumble over a rather large tree root. Falling to my knees, I laugh as I try not to focus on the pressure in my chest. My breathing. I have to ignore it. If I overthink each breath I take, then I know it'll get worse.

I land on my hands to catch my face before it hits the dirt. I push myself up, but I'm already feeling dizzy as my lungs struggle to bring in enough air.

Gasping in small puffs, I look around blindly as if some part of the woods will come to my rescue. My terrified eyes scan the tree line. All that I can see are dimly lit tree trunks that surround me like a band of onlookers. They seem to point and laugh as they stay as still as statues.

For a moment, I stutter, pressing my hand to my chest and messaging gently. I grasp for my breasts, pulling them apart and twisting my grip between my cleavage. My hand comes up empty.

I forgot my smelling salts.

Panicked, I fumble around the grass and twigs. My bare limbs scrape against rocks, my hair catching and tugging against shrubs as I crawl across the forest floor.

My chest is burning. My head throbs. My body trembles.

Please. Please. Please. Not today. Not alone.

Don't take me yet. I'm not done here yet.

Just when I think I'll go under the darkness hedging at the edges of my vision, something stands out to me.

A figure stands not too far away. The shadow is shrouded with shadows itself, hardly discernible from the dark horizon of trees and landscape.

I freeze where I kneel, my disease forgotten as eerie, red eyes rake over me. The figure pauses. The head attached to its broad shoulders tips to the side as he observes me.

He's oddly tall and towering, mimicking the countless trees around him. Without even revealing his face he is still terrifying, his aura alone turns me cold.

I can feel my eyes go wide in my skull. I've never run into anyone in these woods. Rumors be damned, I never put faith in the countless tall tales. I didn't care what people claimed about monsters skulking through the wilderness of the highland hillsides.

Those were just stories, weren't they?

Something about this stranger, this mystery man, just tells me that I'm wrong. I've been wrong all along. And now, well now I may face death as a repercussion for my stupidity.

Instead of creeping closer, the figure backs away slowly, turning into darkness as he fuses with the shadows surrounding him. He's retreating. The beast of a silhouette is disappearing before my very eyes.

He becomes part of the forest, just like I always dream of.

It's only after he's definitely gone that I realize I am panting. I'm breathing just fine. The air comes easy. The attack on my lungs ceased with the appearance of this dark stranger.

I turn back towards the castle, knowing I need to return and see the physician right away. It's important to check in with him whenever I have a breathing attack.

I don't want to, because all I long for is to follow the mystery back into the woods, even if it means my death.

What do you think so far?

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See you next week