Page 74 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

And now he was sending her away. Not because of what he needed. She understood well that her absence could only hurt his chances with his kin. But he sent her away to protect her, because it was what he supposed she wanted and needed, for hadn’t she told him as much? And perhaps the Mac from her letters had too. Her mysterious correspondent had promised whatever she wanted. Perhaps he’d gone to Silas on her behalf and broached the idea of the convent, perhaps begged her reprieve.

Si was sending her away to take care of her, the same way he tried to take care of everyone: to save his dying father, against all hope and reason, to restore to Bram a title he believed he’d otherwise be stealing, to replenish his people’s fallow fields.

At his core, Silas was the central support stone trying to hold up the entire castle on his own. He was the roof offering shelter, the earth offering sustenance, and the sky offering rain. He was trying to be all things to all the people, to nurture them, and give them care. But who gave care to the carer? She knew well enough from observing Jory the last few years the toll it could take. Without someone to look out for him, Silas would burn out like an overused candle wick.

In the end, that was what he’d needed from her, and she’d been too self-absorbed to see it. Instead of standing strong by his side, she’d hidden herself away in the chapel. Instead of ministering to his needs, she’d allowed him to push her aside, remaining ensconced in the bedchamber each night while he slept in a cold library. Her mother had prepared her to be the wife of a merchant or a scholar, not of a laird, but a wife nonetheless, and Ellen hadn’t learned that lesson well enough.

Silas had tried to tell her what he needed.

He’d asked her to speak to the clan, and she had yelled at him. Belittled him. Refused.

He had asked her to trust him when he put her on the back of a horse, and she’d pulled back and gotten herself thrown.

He had begged her to stop lining her shift with nettles.

Ellen fidgeted with the seam of her dress and dug her fingernails into the fabric. She had honored that request at least, and only partially because she’d already used up all the available nettles. It might be the hardest thing she ever did, but she’d keep that promise better than she’d kept her wedding vows.

She had supposed she wasn’t the same person she’d been a month ago, but that wasn’t true. She was still the same selfish Ellen. She deserved to be sent away for spending her time learning about him through letters from a stranger instead of just speaking to him. Still and all, accepting her banishment, however deserved, somehow seemed like running away. She was leaving him alone right when he needed her most. Maybe he was pushing her out of fear, the same way she’d been pushing him.

If only someone could tell her the right thing to do.

Poor Wee Ellen, she imagined Maggie saying from a seat on the bench beside her. I’d have never imagined you had the courage to run away.

“I’m not running away,” she muttered, but even imaginary Maggie didn’t hear her.

And what will the Borlum say? Her father’s voice boomed like the thunder outside. How will I ever show my face at Moy again after this?

Ellen sighed. They didn’t have to remind her she was letting not only her family down, but the whole of Clan Mackintosh, and indeed all the clans of Chattan as well.

Is it a deficiency in the MacKenzie? her mother would have prompted. Were things not… in working order?

That must be it, her father would agree over Ellen’s protests. Not man enough even for our poor Wee Ellen. Say the word, my girl, and we’ll have it annulled. We can try again with another clan. No one will think the worse of you for it.

“Stop,” Ellen tried to scream, at the voices in her head and the driver outside the carriage, but the word came out barely more than a whisper.

Are they wrong? another voice asked, a strong voice with a hint of laughter in it.

Ellen opened her eyes to see Lady Len as she imagined her, long golden hair twisted into a loose knot to keep it out of the way, never mind what was or wasn’t fashionable. Instead of skirts she wore breeches like Jory would sometimes do, and one of Silas’s shirts, and most of all she looked relaxed and happy. Ellen hardly recognized herself.

Are they wrong? Len asked again.

“I don’t know how to be you,” Ellen said.

Len smiled. Do you want to be?

“You don’t have to be me, lass,” the laird said, patting her knee. “You’re enough as ye are.”

“I don’t know.”

Ellen picked at a loose thread in her dress. Never mind the convent, would they lock her away in a hospital if they knew she was talking to herself this way?

I think you do know, Len said matter-of-factly.

Ellen shook her head. “What would you do if he didn’t want you?” she whispered.

Len quirked a smile. I wouldn’t believe him.

“Och, don’t believe him,” the Kintail murmured. “Men are stubborn, lass, and none more so than the MacKenzies.”