Page 71 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

The MacKenzies had welcomed her with open hearts and open arms. They’d delighted in her, just for being there. No one expected her to be better, no one asked her to change. Si’s one request was to hear her voice, and she used it to lash out at him. Ellen had known welcome there in the bosom of her new family—from her first dance with the Kintail, to her later one with Si and Dorrie, to the letters from Mac, to Bram’s confiding in her, and Gawyn’s request for tutoring.

No one called her poor Wee Ellen here or shouted about good handkerchiefs. Other than Silas, no one seemed to mind whether she spoke, and she suspected he wouldn’t have been bothered, if only she hadn’t had an easier time with the others. She couldn’t even say why she’d done it. Only she could be easy around them, whereas with Si, she had far too much to lose. More irony, now she’d lost it all.

As the horses carried them further and further from Leod, she realized that maybe for the first time in all her life, she had started to become herself, the self she was meant to be, independent of fear and guilt and pity and expectation.

Would that all change in the cloister? Would she be forced to hide Lady Len away, to become meek, sorrowful Wee Ellen all over again?

The sorrowful part, at least, wouldn’t be an act.

She was leaving more than just the castle behind. She was leaving a large part of herself.

Perhaps she should have asked to stay.

Ellen tried to recall the last time she’d asked for anything. Before asking Si to stay the night with her, she’d written impassioned letters to persuade her father to send her to the abbey, begged God fervently for the same. One request granted, so many others ignored. And it was Si who granted it, Si who knew without asking what it was she needed, when she was hungry, or cold, or lonesome.

He would have let her stay if she’d asked him to.

If he didn’t love her, didn’t want her, could she have led a happy life learning to farm a croft? Or could they have stayed married in name but led separate lives as they had nearly done so far?

No, of course not. He would have needs, desires. It had happened so quickly, but Ellen knew that if she couldn’t have all of him, then going far away to the convent on the continent was the only possible answer. Even now, he would haunt her there, him and his amber-fossil eyes.

She had snuck one last glance at those eyes right before they parted, and she had seen only distance and determination. A tear rolled down her cheek before she could force it back by sheer will because the thing was, tears were like a bleeding nose. One drop would lead to a torrent. In the safety of the carriage, though, and with her father-in-law dozing on the seat beside her, Ellen put her face in her hands for the second time that day and wept.

Chapter Twenty

A proper laird wouldn’t be found moping in his father’s bedchamber. That was probably rule number one in the book of lairdship, but Si had never claimed to be a proper laird. Instead of joining the clan at table or outright accusing his cook of attempted murder, he was staring down a decanter of whisky in his absent father’s chamber. Dinner would be over soon, and then there would be the oaths, but still he sat in a corner near the empty bed, staring at a blank parchment.

He’d sat down intending to write the truth about the letters from Mac, though he didn’t know quite what he hoped to accomplish. Len was already gone. Admitting his deceit would hardly bring her running back.

For a brief moment, as a clamor came from the corridor, he allowed himself to hope she had come running back. Then the door was thrown open and in trooped his Aunt and Uncle Leask, with Bram on their heels.

“What the devil’s going on around here?” his auntie demanded.

“Could ask you the same,” Si said, not hiding his shock at seeing them again so soon.

“We came for your ceremony of course,” Auntie Alys said, crossing the room to take his hands and frowning at the empty bed.

“Wish you wouldn’t’ve. I’m honestly not sure which way it’ll go.”

“And I can see why. What’s this I hear about Himself and Ellen Mackintosh leaving,” she asked in a loud whisper.

Si shot a look at his uncle, who closed the door. “Ellen Mackintosh MacKenzie,” he corrected her quietly.

“Oh, so you do remember that particular vow, do ye?”

“Auntie—”

“You know the match was my idea? And I’m never wrong. She’s perfect for you. Now what did you do, hmm?”

Si sagged into his chair and poured himself another dram. “She wanted to be a nun,” he said, twisting the glass to watch the candlelight sparkle in the amber liquid.

“And I wanted to be a fishmonger’s wife.”

“Did ye, now?” Leask asked in surprise, and Bram snickered.

“Yes, of course, darling, but never mind.” She pulled up a chair across from Si. “What happened?”

He scowled at her, his eyes welling with tears at just being asked. He was so tired. He hadn’t slept since that night, with her in his arms.