by Amanda Boone
After a while, I felt the bed give behind me, and a familiar hand brushed against the bare skin visible on my back. My eyes grew wide in surprise and excitement, my breathing hitched. He was here.
I didn’t look back, knowing from experience he wouldn’t be there if I did. He had once told me, back when he first started visiting me in my room at night, not to look at him. I’d disobeyed once, and he vanished into thin air before I could see anything. He hadn’t come back for weeks after that.
His hand moved to my shoulder, and he rubbed it with his thumb. I could feel the heat of his skin through the thin material of my nightgown. He laid down behind me, pressing his chest against my back, his lips so close to my neck that I could feel his warm breath against my skin. “Why are you crying?” he asked in a low, husky timber. I shivered at his words, his disembodied, faceless voice always having that effect on me.
I quickly wiped at my tears in vain. He had already seen them. I sniffed. “I’m not,” I protested, closing my eyes tightly to stop any more tears from falling.
He chuckled, causing his chest to shake against me. He ran the pad of his thumb across my moistened cheek. “Then what’s this?”
“Nothing.” A haggard sob escape my lips, and I buried my face in my pillow again. I shook violently causing him to hold onto me tightly, snaking his arm around my waist, and pulling me impossibly close to him. I could feel his worry from his silence. He hadn’t seen me this upset since the first night he had visited—the night my father died.
I wriggled out of Morna’s preemptive embrace when I’d heard the news and stood up. “No!”
“Sit down,” my mother warned calmly. There was something empty about her face, as if the light had gone out in her dark eyes. Or perhaps it was me.
I suddenly felt very far away from everything that was happening in the room, like I was watching the scene unfold instead of living it myself. “No!” I shouted again, avoiding Morna’s grasp when she tried to grab onto me again. Why was everyone acting so calm?
I looked around at my brothers, trying to plead to them with my eyes to stand up to my mother alongside me. Greer wasn’t looking at me, he was staring down, frowning at his hands, picking at the skin on the side of his thumb. Aiden was just a baby.
“You said he was getting better!” I pointed my finger at my mother.
She looked up at me in shock, then sadness, and finally anger. “That’s enough, Isla.”
“You let him die, you didn’t do enough to save him. You should have been the one to—”
“Take her away,” my mother interrupted, talking to Morna.
Morna stood up, gave me a sympathetic, closed-mouth smile. “Come on now, deary.”
She grabbed my hand, but I snatched it away. “I want to see him!” I yelled to my mother. She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking down as well. “I want to see him!” I repeated.
Morna bent down and picked me up, throwing me over her shoulder like she used to when I was four, and I was having a temper tantrum. I kicked wildly, trying to dislodge myself from her arms, but Morna held onto me tightly. She started walking toward the stairs. I looked back at what remained at my family. They hadn’t moved.
When we reached the staircase, I stopped my attempts at freeing myself. I slumped my body like dead weight and let my angry and frustrated tears start to fall.
When we reached my room, I let out an audible sob. Morna rubbed my back and opened the door with the other hand since I was no longer struggling. Morna put me down inside my candle-lit room. She started stroking the hair on the top of my head.
I swatted her hand away. I didn’t want sympathy—sympathy made this real. “I want to see him.”
“That’s not something a young lady should see,” Morna murmured, trying to sooth me.
“I don’t care, I want to see him. Please!”
Morna sighed. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, dear. They’ve already taken him away.”
My eyes widened. It was too late. He was gone. “Go.”
“Isla, deary, you shouldn’t be—”
I lunged at her, balling my hands up into fists and started hitting her wherever I could reach. “Go! Go! GO!”
Morna backed up, shocked at my behavior, and grabbed my wrists, holding me steady. I struggled, but she was stronger. “Now listen here, young lady,” her voice was strong like it usually was. I blinked, relieved that she was no longer treating me like I was made of glass. “If your father could see you like this, he’d have your hide. You need to be strong for your family. That’s what your father would have expected from you.” He released my now limp wrists. “You can have your tears for tonight, let them flow as much as you want, but in the morning, you have to be a MacGreggor.” She took my hand again and led me to my bed.
I toed off my slippers and climbed inside, wordless. Morna pulled up my covers, tucking me in. “Everything will be all right.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked, my voice tiny.
“I’m not.” She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. “Goodnight, deary.”
She blew out the candle next to by bed and left the room. I rolled over into my pillow and sobbed loudly, trying to get all of my tears out tonight like Morna said. I laid like that for what felt like forever until I fell asleep from exhaustion.
I awoke to a very bright light shining in front of my closed eyelids. I opened my eyes, but it disappeared. I looked down at myself, realizing I was still in my day clothes and wondered why. Then I remembered. Tears started to trickle down my face instantly. I sniffed, rubbing them away with the back of my hand. It stung from wiping them away so much earlier, so I just let them fall. I let out a whimper.
“Why are you crying?” a mysterious voice asked, quizzically.
I gasped, nearly jumping out of my skin. I sat up, looking wildly around my dark room, seeing no one. My mouth hung open. Had I imagined the sound? Then I heard a chuckle. The voice belonged to a boy—young, like Greer, from what it sounded. I stood up, starting to search the room. “Who-who’s there?” I asked, not sure where to direct my question.
A pause and no answer. I relaxed, deciding that the trauma from today had just rendered me temporarily mad. “You answer my question first,” the voice replied, teasingly. I screamed and ran toward the door, tripping over something in the dark and falling to the floor. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.
I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my head on my bruised knees. That question was very loaded. I let out a sob. “N-no, I’m not all right.” I felt something land on my hand. I looked up to see my handkerchief. He must have put it there. “Th-thank you.” I picked up the handkerchief and dabbed my eyes with it.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured soothingly. He had a nice voice. It was actually helping to calm me down.
We sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes. I sat up and walked back over to my bed. I pulled back the covers and tucked myself back in, still sitting up. “You shouldn’t be in here, it’s not proper to visit a young lady at night unchaperoned. Besides, if Morna catches you, she’ll have your head.”
He chuckled again. “Thank you for your concern, but I won’t be caught,” he replied, cockily.
“Where are you?” I wasn’t sure why I was peppering him with questions when he should have been leaving.
“I told you—you have to answer my question first.”
I frowned, not wanting to talk about my father. “I guess I’ll never know, then.”
“Please tell me. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” I recited.
“That’s ridiculous,” he countered. “Everyone you’ve ever met was once a stranger. Besides, I’m not a stranger.”
“You’re not?” I furrowed my brows, trying to place the voice to a face.
“We’ve met before,” he explained, dismissively.
“I think I would remember such a rude, nosy, arrogant boy like you!�
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He barked a laugh. “Well, you don’t, but I remember you.”
“Then who are you?”
He paused, and I briefly thought he left. “A friend,” he said eventually.
“A friend?” I’d never had a friend before. I just had my family and Morna.
“Yes, if that’s what you wish.”
“Okay,” I replied, uncertain.
“And friends tell each other things . . . like why they’re upset.”
I looked down at my hands in the dark, the moonlight illuminating them through my window. “My father died today.”
The silence hung between us awkwardly. He hadn’t expected me to say that. “I’m sorry.” It sounded like he was apologizing for more than just what I was going through.
“It’s okay, I mean it’s not, it’s—”
“—devastating,” he finished for me.
“Yes and unreal.”
“My parents are dead, too.”
“Oh,” was all I could say. It was my turn to feel awkward. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. They’ve been dead for a very long time. I barely remember them.”
“That’s terrible.” I wanted to rub his back like Morna did to comfort me, but when I reached my hand out, it touched nothing but darkness. “Are you a ghost?”
“No.”
“Oh,” for some reason, I was disappointed.
“Please don’t be sad.”
“I don’t think I know how to stop.”
“I can help you.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but I can try.”
We talked for hours. He made me laugh and forget about my troubles. The first rays of sunlight started to stream through the window.
“I have to go.”
I felt a twinge of panic and disappointment. “Will I see you again?” Now that I had a friend, I didn’t want to go back to not having one. It was nice to talk to someone that wasn’t an authority figure.
“If you wish.”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll be back . . . Turn around.”
I did as I was told and closed my eyes. I heard the window creek and slam shut. I turned around quickly. The window was shut and the room was silent. Nothing was different, but for some reason, I felt a little bit better. I didn’t know who he was, but it was if my father sent him to comfort me.
“Please tell me.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingertips brushing softly against me.
I exhaled shakily, trying to muster up the strength to utter the words. For some reason, saying them out loud was hard. It was as if saying it to someone, especially him, would make it more real, permanent. “I’m getting married . . .” I released it into the air on an exhale, hoping it would continue to travel in front of me and wouldn’t reach behind me.
I heard his sharp intake of breath and then nothing. Tension permeated the room, and I wanted to take it back. His arms were rigid against me. “When?”
“A month.” He sighed and let go of me, I felt him roll over and stand up. I felt cold without him and wrapped my arms around myself. “Are you still here?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” his voice was incredulous.
“I don’t know . . .” It felt like the right thing to say. He seemed upset. I scooted back in the bed where he had been lying only moments ago, which was still warm from his body heat. He was always so warm. My bedding smelled like him, like heather. “I don’t want to marry him . . .”
“You don’t?” He seemed surprised, almost happy.
“No, of course not!” I flushed at my own words as if he could read my mind for the reasons why. The reason was perfectly clear, besides the fact that I loathed Colin, there was the fact that my heart belonged to someone else and had since I was thirteen years old. Unfortunately, I didn’t know who, or what, he was. I didn’t even know his name or what he looked like . . . I just knew him as the voice in my head and later, the strong arms that held me.
I felt him sit down again on the edge of my bed, but he abruptly stood back up. I heard him pacing my room, hurriedly, like he was conflicted about something. He sighed, letting all of his breath escape in a big, frustrated burst. “Do you want to come with me?” he asked quietly.
I furrowed my brows, which I realized he couldn’t see. Go with him? The thought had never crossed my mind—neither had the thought of getting out of this marriage. As soon as Greer had told me the news, I had accepted my fate as sealed. The deal was done, the dowry already negotiated. This marriage would save my family, I had duties to uphold. Besides, I didn’t know where going with him would take me. “I can’t . . .” I replied, shakily.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know, but . . .”
“But what?” he growled. His tone startled me, he had never snapped at me like that. I supposed it was his way of lashing out from being rejected.
“But . . . I’ve never even seen your face . . .” He didn’t say anything, and I thought that was the end of this discussion. I didn’t believe he’d actually reveal himself to me—not after all this time.
“I’ll show you,” his voice was barely audible, but it made my heart lurch in anticipation. I was nervous. What if I didn’t want to know? What if he was a monster? I closed my eyes.
I could feel him standing in front of me, but I didn’t open my eyes to look at him. He reached down and grabbed my hands, swiftly pulling me into a sitting position and then he made me stand. He cupped my face in his hands and rested his forehead against mine. For the first time, I felt his breath against my face. It was intoxicating. “Open your eyes,” he commanded.
I paused, holding onto the last few seconds of blissful ignorance and also afraid that if I looked, he would still disappear like before. Tentatively, I opened my eyes, looking up at him through my lashes and gasped.
He took a step back into a stream of moonlight so I could see him better. He was unbelievably handsome, even in the shadows of my room. He was tall with what seemed like green eyes. His hair was unruly and dark, but short and wavy. His jaw was chiseled and he had high cheekbones. I looked down at his arms, the ones that had held onto me so many nights while I talked to my imaginary friend. They looked as strong as they felt wrapped around me. He wasn’t imaginary anymore. He was real, tangible, and I tried to soak up as much of him as I could.
It was my turn to walk toward him. I reached up to him and traced the outline of his face—brow to temple, cheekbones, jawline. I rested my thumb in the small cleft of his chin. He reached up to grab my hand from his face and my other one at my side. He laced his fingers with mine and held them between us. “There,” he said, finality in his tone. “Now you’ve seen me.”
He was staring at me with such intensity, his eyes dilated and hooded. I broke eye contact with him, looking down to evade the power of the moment. “Now I’ve seen you,” I said softly.
He let go of my hands and tilted my chin up, so I was looking at him again. He slowly leaned down and placed a soft kiss on my lips, cupping my head between his hands. I was surprised. He had never kissed me before—not a real kiss. It was everything I didn’t know I was missing. He pulled me close to him, and I braced my hands against his chest clad in a leather vest over a green tunic and white undershirt.
He removed lips from mine and let out a low hum. “Do you want to come with me?” he murmured. My eyes searched his, darting back and forth. He looked at me expectantly, his question fizzing between us. I parted my mouth, trying to formulate the words. He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. I nodded. “Isla, I need you to say the words,” he said sternly, urgency apparent in his voice.
“Yes,” I breathed, barely audible. He smiled a bright, boyish smile that made the corner of his eyes crinkle. He kissed me again, this time with more force as if to knock all of my doubts out of my mind. I grasped the fabric of his shirt in my fists. Gone were the worries from before—my family duties, m
y impending marriage, not knowing where I’d be going with him, what he was, or what his name was . . . well that still mattered. I pulled away from him. “What’s your name?”
CHAPTER 3
FINN
I CHUCKLED AT HER SIMPLE QUESTION. IT SEEMED SO absurd that after all this time, all that we knew about each other, that she didn’t know the most basic things about me. Though, that wasn’t her fault. I had purposely kept these things from her. I had just thrown all my careful secrecy out the window. I was acting impulsively tonight.
“Finn,” I replied simply.
“Finn . . .” she said my name slowly, stretching out the single syllable like she was trying it out. She smiled her big, genuine grin that she reserved for things she really enjoyed. “I like that name.”
I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Now that I didn’t have to keep myself from her, I couldn’t keep my hands or lips off her. “Good, we have to go,” I broke away from her, grabbing her hand to pull her toward her window.
Her feet didn’t move and she held back. “What, now?” she asked, surprised at how fast I was moving.
I nodded. We had to do this now before I changed my mind, before she changed her mind, before reason reared its ugly, practical head. Before I remembered all the reasons this was a terrible, ill-conceived idea. “Yes, now.” I pulled her arm roughly, and she lurched forward.
“Wait.” My feet stopped and so did my heart. She had consented to be with me, something I had dreamed of for the five years since I met her but would never let myself actually consider a possibility. I was fully devoted to her, but only in the roles that she would allow me to fill. She had allowed me to enter this new role, undefined as it was. I was settling for rescuer for the time being. Had she changed her mind? “I need to put on my slippers.”
