4 - Mischief

Ailsa

"Open." The command sends a stiffness of defiance down my back, making me narrow my eyes even as I open my mouth for inspection as my tongue is pushed down.

Wylie holds a candle to my mouth, looking down my throat through his glasses and shaking his head.

"How long did this attack last?" He questions as he pulls the flickering candle away.

I steal a glance at my mother sitting in a small chair in the corner, wringing her hands around her handkerchief. Her wide, blue eyes flit away from me, fixating on the physician as she leans forward.

She always attends when my health is being looked in on, playing the concerned, maternal role that she feels will make her appear her very best as the wife of the Laird.

"Only a few minutes." I respond, trying to ignore the rasp in my voice.

I purposefully leave out the part about the dangerous shadow that watched me from the sidelines. I'm not completely sure why I keep this bit of information to myself, but it feels like a secret that should remain in my mind. I don't know what they'll do with my experience. Would they laugh and point? Call me daft? They may even say that I'm touched.

I don't care to find out.

"Well, you do have some lingering wheezing, which I suspect will last a week or so. I recommend smoking a pipe of thorn apple leaves at least once a day." I want to growl at him as Gentry fluffs the pillows behind my head.

Smoking those leaves always leaves my mouth dry. I try to avoid it at all costs, but now that I've had two lung attacks mere days apart, I'm sure my maid will be shoving the pipe in my hand every chance she gets.

"Bed rest is important as well." He begins packing his exam bag, clicking it shut as he addresses my mother directly. "If it persists for longer than a week, we will have to bleed her. I may bring leeches if you prefer."

Gentry and I cringe, but my mother simply nods her head dutifully. She is desperate for any way to make me normal. If there was a way to make my disease disappear, she would pay her weight in gold to acquire it.

"I know you don't like it, Ailsa." Wylie says, his stretched jowls swaying with each word. I know it's rude, but my gaze stays fixed on them even as he speaks to me directly. "You must know that many ailments are a result of an excess of blood."

I nod, having heard his excuses a thousand times, but, I believe he just enjoys watching me bleed. I can't explain it, but it feels wrong.

The physician leaves, and I take a rough breath of relief. The breath is loud. My mother takes notice. She perks up, coming to my side to play her role.

"Oh, my dearest." She whines, taking my hand. I flinch. I want to yank my hand away from her icy grip, but I don't. She'll be gone soon enough. "Gentry will take good care of you. We will fix this one day, and you will finally live a normal life."

What she doesn't say is by normal life she's implying popping out grandchildren for her posterity. A woman who cannot bear children is no woman at all. I appreciate that she leaves this part out, but I remember all the times she's said it.

"Mother, I don't want to let him bleed me, it doesn't do anythi..."

"Hush." She demands, oval face brimming with barely leashed anger. "You will obey anything and everything that may heal you. You are my daughter and I want you safe."

I close my mouth with a click, and my eyes start to moisten. I would like to think she cares about me, but I have my doubts. She sniffs, her back going stiff as she flees the room. I watch her go, feeling sullen and abandoned.

That is until my maid steps in my line of view. Since I was a child she has always been the one to "step in" so to speak. Gentry is the mother I never had.

"You know what this means." She says breathily, busying herself fussing over me as she pulls the blankets up higher around my shoulders.

I grin up at her, holding the edge of my quilt all the way up to my chin like a child.

"What? That I get to run away to avoid the insane torture methods of my mother and Wylie?"

I chuckle at my own teasing, but Gentry is anything but amused at my jest.

"You need to follow the physician's orders as best as you can. Bed rest every day. Smoking thorn apple leaves." She pauses to make purposeful eye contact with me, her thick eyebrows bristling. "And absolutely no sneaking out."

Sputtering, I throw back the covers, ready to fight tooth and nail until I get my way.

"But, Gentry!" I wail.

She simply shakes her head, cutting off the conversation decidedly as she crushes some leaves in a nearby pestle, carrying it to my nightstand. I suspect it's thorn apple leaves by the way she grabs for the pipe.

"I don't want to hear of it, lass. You will follow instructions, and that includes forgoing your little adventures."

"You know that I.."

"Bringing your smelling salts only does so much to ease my mind."

I frown, hating and loving the way she knows my mind like a dark maze she's ventured through one too many times. When I'm around Gentry, I don't even have to finish a thought because she beats me to the end half the time.

She hands me the pipe that she's prepared tenderly, moving to the window to open it as smoke floats through the room.

I take a deep inhale of the herb, hating the way it invades me and already feeling the dryness as the smoke travels, invading my body.

Coughing and wheezing, the plant smoke seems to be doing more harm than good.

"All this stuff does is agitate my condition."

Gentry rolls her eyes.

"That's not true and you know it." She shakes her head, her dark hair tumbling into her face. Her cheeks are rosy and full. I've often thought of what a unique beauty she is. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who appreciates her. "When you leave this castle on your own, and no one knows you're out there, it's dangerous. I won't allow it."

Looking down at the brown pipe in my hand, carved delicately, I try to gingerly hold it between my fingers the way a man would. I wonder how I look, but don't risk standing to look at myself in the mirror.

"Alright, you stay in bed. I'll bring a bowl of broth." Gentry hums, neatly organizing the smear of medical supplies that litters my chamber.

I sigh, hoping she takes as long as possible. She treats me as if I'm about to shatter. It's infuriating, but also sweet. I often feel guilty for wanting her to leave me alone when all she wants is to take care of me.

She's about to leave when I clear my bone-dry throat.

"May I ask a favor?"

Tilting her head, she puts a hand on her hip as she looks at me expectantly. Her apron is covered in bits of crushed leaves. Bits of hair stick to her sweaty face. She's my favorite person, and I despise myself for tricking her.

"Can you bring me a book? I'm going to be bored out of my mind, at least I can still read, right?" I suggest, my voice sugary sweet. My unsuspecting maid gives a nod of approval before disappearing.

As soon as the door shuts, I jump from my bed, thanking God that I didn't let Gentry undress me like she wanted to when I got back to the clan. I slip my shoes on, grinning to myself. The library is on the other side of the castle. It'll take her at least an hour before she'll return to check up on me.

That's enough time for me to get up to some sort of mischief.

I smooth my dress, plucking my pipe off the bed and clenching it between my teeth. Stepping before my mirror, I pose a few times with the pipe in my hand, seeing just how I look with my prescribed smoking.

Satisfied, I turn to leave when the window catches my eye. A flash of memory jolts my brain and I imagine that man still out there in the woods. He may still be there. Maybe he's waiting for me, wondering where I went, hoping ill come back.

I shiver.

As much as I want to go back to nature, the memory of that silhouette is enough to make me shrink back. My curiosity doesn't outweigh my self-preservation for once.

Exploring the castle will have to do for now.