by Jane Keeler
Defiance bubbled inside her as it had not in a long time. With her saviour no longer a mere dream, she had something to fight for. Rising from the ground, she stood to face her husband. The surprise was evident on his face – never had she done this before. He seemed afraid as she stared him down, the power of her anger evident in her glare. Walking out of the room, she decided she would sleep in the servant’s quarters tonight. Tomorrow she would have a choice to make. For the first time, she felt as though she had an option other than staying with the Laird and his brutal rages.
Aidan could not sleep. How had he let her return to the Laird? He could not bear the thought of her spending another night with that dark giant of a man. As he tossed and turned, Susan slept soundly. Her resolve was strong, but he knew nothing of her decision, as much as it involved him. He was energised and restless, and decided to go for a run. The night was cold and dark, and the air burned through his chest as he ran, filling his blood with a feeling of urgency. Faint moonlight was all that guided him as his feet pounded the ground, which seemed to shift with his feet.
The more his thoughts swirled inside his mind the greater his despair became. There was no way he could see to force the Laird to give up his wife. They were lawfully married, and to break that would be frowned upon, not to mention an impossible task. Aidan doubted very much that their new Laird was likely to let Susan go without a fight. As far as he knew, the last person on their croft to ever win a fight had been his grandfather’s age. They were farmers, not fighters.
Eventually the run, and his thoughts, became exhausting and he turned back to his home. Lying in bed again, he decided he would visit the castle tomorrow on some pretence. Somehow, he would talk to Susan and they would figure this out, together.
***
As Aidan rose in the morning, he was surprised to find a crowd of people outside their home. Looking at the sun in the sky, he saw that he was up late, the midnight run having drained his energy. Dressing quickly, he stepped outside and was greeted with cheers from many of the crofters. Susan stood in the middle of the crowd, her hand waving as she told them how she’d left the Laird for Aidan.
He saw the bruises as she turned to him. It felt as though a spear wrenched inside him to see the marks on her fair skin. But her strength shone through, and she had escaped. Two horses stood near her, her own one and one he had not seen before.
She walked towards him, confident in her plan. “Aidan, I can’t stand it any more. Come with me.” Throwing herself into his arms, she was relieved to find that he gave her no less affection than she had received in the hut in the woods, even before his family and the other crofters. He was not ashamed of her.
“Of course I will – but, Susan, where would we go? I don’t have much.” He gestured around him at the field and the sheep. It wasn’t much, she knew that. She shrugged. They would get by, somehow. They had their skills, and they had each other.
“I don’t care. If I’m with you, and away from him, it doesn’t matter.” She clung to him, finally able to admit her feelings out loud. It was freeing, and she immediately felt better for this admission. Looking around, she was surprised to see the crofters smiling.
“They didn’t think the way he treated you was right either. Plus they’ve been wanting me to find a woman for years.” He laughed, the light finally returning to his eyes and his worries about her fading. “But really, how did you make him let you go?” It hadn’t been easy, he saw as she looked away. The bruises on her face were prominent, and had not been there yesterday.
“I wasn’t exactly valuable to him anyway. But let’s just say I knew something about him that he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to know…” She may not have been valuable, but she was important. Her information must have been shocking, but he did not ask. However strong of a hold she had over the Laird with this, they would still have to leave soon for fear they would end up dead. It was still the Laird’s land after all.
He smiled quietly, proud of what she had done. This was a feat of strength he had never seen matched. He was lucky, and she was free. The happiness swelled within them, a welcome antidote to sadness and repetition. And change, just around the corner, was ready to greet them as they set off to make a new life.
*** THE END ***
Book Seven
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DO YOU SPEAK OF LOVE?
By Jane Keeler
Angelica Redgrave Barrett had become accustomed to boredom. She could not help but wonder if by some alternate movement of the stars her life would have been altogether different. As her fingers darted across the needlework in her lap, these thoughts played on her mind increasingly. Her family was in a better position because of her marriage, but had she received the same elevation? Not in her joy or feelings. It was selfish to think in this way, she knew that. She was glad of the happiness and position this arrangement had afforded others, convenient as it was. But surely her happiness must hold some stead in her own life, which she now tried to fill with endless swathes of chores and hobbies. She was an accomplished lady, well read and fine with a needle. She spoke French and played piano with a beautiful touch, according to the frequent guests who visited their house. Yet it held no fulfilment for her, and she felt as if her entire life had come to this unhappy marriage wherein she wasted days away with a longing for something intangible and out of reach.
Ungrateful, her mother would call her. Her family had a well established position in society, and she had never wanted for anything material. Whatever she needed was always provided at the snap of a finger. This marriage had broken the peaceful solitude of her childhood, where there had been no expectations placed upon her. Here she had to fulfil her role as a wife and the lady of the household without guidance from anyone but herself. Henry offered neither advice nor praise, which did not help their relationship. He was silent and brooding, rarely deigning to speak to her. They slept in the same bed and lived in the same house but it seemed that was as intimate as he would like their relationship to be. She was glad. Their brief interactions hardly inspired love, but she supposed this was how most arranged marriages turned out.
The sprawling estate was a game field in which they avoided each other as much as they could. Though their relationship was not tense, there was no warmth present either. Instead of anything as passionate as animosity lay a stillness, a muffled kind of silence that prevented interaction and suppressed anything resembling a spark. At times, Angelica found the atmosphere smothering in its suppression. All her thoughts were turned inwards. Though they hosted balls and attended dinner parties with the right people, it felt as though their lives were built upon an elaborate farce.
She rose and moved to the window, where she could see Henry riding his horse through the fields. As a silhouette in the distance, the idea of him was promising. It had been so when her mother suggested the arrangement. A childhood friend, finished his education with a place in society and ready to take a bride. She had been excited at first. Swept up in a whirlwind of exciting balls and dresses and dinners, living with an Earl and becoming a Countess had held so much promise. The estate at Linfast and the beautiful nature which surrounded it was still just as appealing as when she arrived. Though she still enjoyed dancing, Henry seemed to have the ability to take the fun out of it with heavy looks and a reluctance to join in with the light mood.
Evening was her favourite time, with the soft light and bowing trees bending beside the river, which wound through them like a strip of gold. It tempted her, that soft, cool water and its clamorous feel against her skin. She had not been in the water since many years ago, in childhood. Swimming was hardly an appropriate thing for a lady to do, especially not a countess. She could only dream of it – dreams like these seemed to be the only substance in her life, she relied on them so. These evening moments of silence and dreams were brief, before Henry returned from his riding and the preparation for the evening’s activities would begin. She relished this time alone, when the household seemed
far less cold.
Her memories of life before marriage carried a rose tinged glow whenever she brought them to the surface of her thoughts. In her parents house the atmosphere was loving and warm, built upon the strength of their relationship. There had been none of the emptiness she felt now. Though their house had been small, it always seemed full. Laughter and movement permeated every moment. It was as if she had ended up in the opposite place, a still wasteland where nothing changed. If she could, she would change it. She didn’t know how, despite the many times she had tried to get closer to Henry. His small rejections became something that she was used to, though she did not understand them or the reasons behind them.
It wasn’t that Henry was a cruel man; she had never seen him disrespect servants or other people. Indeed, he was far from unkind to her. Yet every time she said something affectionate or friendly to him, he closed off. His face became impenetrable, a wall beyond which she could not reach. Where he went in these moments she could not know. His refusal to open up even slightly to her left them in this awkward impasse, where their relationship did not progress, but instead remained at a permanent standstill. Their lives had not changed, it seemed, in all their time together.
Henry was as content as he should expect to be. The estate was his, and he had secured his family’s position with his marriage. If there was something missing from his life, he was unaware of it. Nothing had changed since he took over the estate from his parents. They visited often, and seemed to be proud of what he was doing. Angelica seemed content with her lot, just as he was with his, he supposed. They never had any problems, and he felt that their relationship had firm footing. Both of the pair were reserved, quiet people, he decided.
At times he thought back to before they married, and remembered Angelica and her vivid personality. She had been bold and forthright, unlike him. When he courted her with endless streams of letters and arrangements it had been exciting, and he felt that he might truly woo her. That had faded, for whatever reason. He understood that he could be hard to reach at times. When he thought of the past, years before he had begun his courtship with Angelica, it was difficult to break through his thoughts into the reality he now lived in.
Some things he still did not – or could not – understand about that time. Marianne, the woman he loved before Angelica had been everything he could have hoped for. She understood him, and their relationship had gone both ways. Their time together was filled with his now rare laughter and a passion he had not allowed himself to feel since. This happy mutualism had not lasted. Her past was clouded, and she entered dark places within her mind often. He never knew where she went in those moments, when her radiance dulled and gave way to a different, sad energy. She had no less power over him when she was like this. Captivating as she was, she could not let him go from this emotional hold. It brought him his own kind of pain, watching her in this state.
Despite these moods, this sadness, there were enough moments of light and happiness to support them in their relationship. He was in love with her, and ready to do anything to be with her. But the dark times began to outweigh the light. She did not surface as often or as easily as she used to, and it seemed that something was eating her from within. The life began to leave her. She stopped eating, and her face became drawn and pinched. He was pushed away in all his advances, unable to get close to her. One day, he called to visit and she was gone. Her family were panicked, unable to reconcile the darkness with the light. They did not know where she was.
Her body was found in the river barely a day later. He remembered the sinking he felt, that awful emptiness at her funeral. It had not faded with time, but he had learned to live around it, to construct a life that did not centre on her and her memory. He found a wife, took over the estate, and tried to forget all that he carried within himself.
Angelica was good for him, but he was not sure that he was good for her. His thoughts consumed him, and acceptance seemed to be a long distance away, across a stretch of time. He was healing, slowly, but he struggled to let Angelica know that he needed this time. The emptiness that surrounded them was his way of letting out the truth, though she surely thought it was something else.
He liked the routine they fell into – nothing seemed as fragile as it once had, with each day passing in a compound rhythm of regularity. The days passed easily, slipping past them quickly, the way he wanted them to. Though they held no real substance, at times he had fun. He had never been a particularly joyous person, but since Marianne he had become actively bad at participating in frivolities such as dances. At dinners he was fine, going along with the direction of his friends’ conversation, but at dancing one had to enjoy oneself, something he struggled with daily.
His hope was that Angelica did not despise him, and he felt that she did not. His own family’s lack of affection had led him to believe that indifference was sufficient for a functional marriage. He was sad at times, and he believed that this feeling consumed Angelica too; however their marriage was not affected by it. And surely, he thought, sadness was only human. It would be impossible never to feel it in a marriage like this. They ate together at meal times, usually in silence, and went separately to their different bedrooms at night. Essentially, their lives were separate yet contained within the same house, except for brief moments of sitting together at dinner parties and, on occasion, short dances together.
***
The river invading Angelica’s thoughts. Henry was out riding, at one with nature and enjoying the heat. She felt sticky and suppressed in her corseted dress, the lack of air movement over her body frustrating her. Her head felt heavy as she walked along the bank, contemplating the lovely water and its hue. Birds sang, and the flowers lining the banks seemed to extend up towards her, brushing her hands with their soft petals.
An expanse of water lay before her as she sat down on the bank, infinitely tempting. The sunlight hit the surface and glinted off, reflecting into her eyes. She imagined how that combination of water and sun would feel against her skin, her hair flowing behind her in the water. Without thinking, she let her dark hair fall around her shoulders, releasing the pins and allowing it to absorb the heat of the sun. Lying back on the grass, she soon became itchy and restless in the direct light.
She sat up slowly, considering the water once more. The heat of summer was more brilliant than usual, and what else did she have that was worth doing? The bowing trees on the bank seemed to appreciate just what the river meant to her, dipping their leaves in the meandering current just as she would. A quick submersion in that shining water was all she could think to desire, out of everything covering the whole estate. Land did not give her the same pleasure as water did. She rushed down to the riverbank after some quick needlework, and stripped off her heavy outer dress. The underclothes would be too difficult to remove in her rush to feel the water around her. She decided the leave them on. Dipping a toe in the water, she shivered in anticipation. She had daydreamed about this moment for a long time, and was now buoyed by a new daring, ready to take action.
As soon as the water touched her skin she felt lighter. She let her shoulders dip under, the cool water surrounding her chest and calming her. Her heavy dress lay on the bank, unable to weigh her down from a distance. The cool embrace of the water lifted her, lending her a kind of energy she had not possessed in a long time. Everything around her was smooth and soft, a sensation that no fabric in the world could ever hope to replicate. She let out a long breath of air and lay her head back, admiring how pale her skin appeared in the shifting lengths of light that reached into the water. Her feet rested on the bank, a soft squelch of mud beneath her toes. The trees bowed their heads and the wind sighed with her as she sculled, her hands pulling through the water and breaking its glassy surface. The sun shone above her, bright and intense. There was more power within her at this moment than there had been in all her days trapped within the confines of the house. Nature seemed to listen to her and hear her problems, unlike the unresponsive
house. The trees, the birds, the water: they all moved with her, changing and adjusting, while the house and its walls
While she lay back in that cool water, a silent smile crept over her face. The light on her skin was warm and comforting, and she felt that nothing could be safer. Slowly, her eyes drifted shut, blocking out the warm sunlight. When she opened her eyes again, the sun was gone. The wind blew harder, the trees much lower to the water than before. Rather than relaxing and refreshing, the water was now churning and aggressive, swirling around her underskirts and pulling her into its currents. She tried to make a noise, but sound would not come to her lips. Desperately, she reached up with her hands, grasping for something she could not see. Her hand met some rushes growing against the bank, and she clung to them as the water swirled past her, threatening to pull her away from safety. A rock dug into her side as she was pulled further along the river, the plants coming out in her hands. The roar of the wind in her ears was all she could hear, the churning of the water her only sensation. It began to pull harder, quickening and powerful as it swept her downstream. She ceased her attempts to hold onto the plants as more of them tore away from the bank in her hands, their leaves bent at awkward angles as they drifted past her down the stream. Her struggles to stay afloat were becoming weaker, the river growing ever stronger as she was twisted and spat out of eddies where the river incessantly ebbed and flowed. Angelica kept her eyes fixed up, using her strength to keep her head up. Surely someone would see. They would see her dress, and find her in the water, floating along the river.
