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I look up and laugh, “Any guesses?” I ask playfully, knowing my question will not be answered. Then, to my utter shock and surprise, a blue sparkle of light flashes from one of the flying creatures. My heart pounds in my chest. Was that simply an odd coincidence? Surely, whatever that is, it did not just answer my question. I decide my only option is to go with it, otherwise, I will appear horribly rude. What a humorous notion.
“Very good. Aren’t you the clever one?”
It does not go unnoticed that it appears pleased with my compliment as it loops circles through the air. Could I be losing my mind?
“There is a little bit more to the letter.”
I’m sure you know the answer... It is the color of your eyes, though yours have an elegant touch of green. You probably don’t know this, but they change color when you are excited, a crystalline blue like that of a rare gemstone, and it is befitting for the rarity that is you.
I must go now. But I will be writing you again soon.
Your loving husband and humble servant,
Alasdair Stewart
“He is quite the charmer, isn’t he? Though I’m not sure about him saying my eyes change color. I believe his mind is always thinking in verses of poetry. Perhaps that explains his reasoning.” I chuckle at the thought as I get up and straighten my skirts. “I shall be off now, but I will return tomorrow if the weather allows.”
Back on the main path, I think about what happened after reading Alasdair’s poem. It was unmistakable that a blue sparkle flashed from that…creature. Yet, how is that even possible? I have always had a fondness for the whimsical fantasy of folklore, but it was always just that—fantasy. However, I keep going back to what Callen told me about Lilith and her love of this forest. “She said there were faeries in that forest, that they were her friends.”It gives me chills thinking about it now, whereas before, I thought it charming for a grown woman to be so imaginative. Perhaps I should be open-minded, be more imaginative. It seems as we age into adults, we lose the ability to let our minds wander to a place where anything is possible, where pixies and brownies and faeries play about in the forest, creating magic and mischief. What if these fantastical thingsarereal and only the open mindedness of a child allows them to be seen? I am certain I will never know the answer, but I can make a choice—colorful or mundane. It seems a waste to choose the latter.
Outside the forest, the breeze is strong across the open meadow, and carried on it is the distinct sound of a horse galloping toward the manor. Excitement bursts through me, and I run to see if Alasdair is home. When I round the tall shrubbery on the east side of the castle, I can see that it is not him, and I am once again blanketed with the horrible dismay that has followed me for weeks.
The young man on horseback comes to a stop before me. “Good day, ma’am. I have yer mail delivery.”
My heart swells with excitement as I pray there are letters from Alasdair. The young man hands me a small stack of letters for everyone at Galloway Castle.
“Thank you so much. Would you like a refreshment before you leave, or perhaps you’d like to take your horse to the stables to rest?”
“I thank ye, m’lady, but we refreshed at my last stop, and I need to get back to town before sunset.”
“Very well. Thank you again, and safe travels.”
He tips his hat and says goodbye.
I quickly climb the front steps and am greeted by one of the footmen at the door. I scurry through the foyer and down the hall. Once I’m in the parlor, I quickly sort through the stack of mail. To my heart’s delight, I have two letters from Alasdair.
I get comfortable by the window and break the seal on the first letter.
My Dearest Ella,
As always, I hope this letter finds you well and happy. My crew and I are all well and are preparing to arrive at the port in Naples by midday tomorrow. There, I will meet with Admiral Nelson to determine our next moves against France. It is likely we will go to battle.
Please do not fret. My ship is quite able, and my crew is second to none. Furthermore, Nelson will have assembled the best Great Britain has to offer as his fleet. We have fought side by side before and always ended in victory.
I will return home to you, though currently, I cannot say when that will be. It is a day I look forward to with a yearning I have never known. That’s what happens when your wife carries a secret magic in her arsenal of charm and beauty. It traps your soul and holds it captive for all eternity—a sentence I will happily accept and indeed view as a rare gift of immeasurable value. I often wonder at my good fortune and why I am so deserving of it, but then I stop and simply focus on my gratitude and offer thanks to fate for ensuring our union—or perhaps I should say our reunion.
I know I will nothave an answer until I return home, but I think of my father often. I do not expect him to be alive when I return. He is a good man, a good father, and husband. Imperfect, to be sure, but courageous and strong, righteous without arrogance, yet proud with uncompromising wit that forces you to laugh at yourself and the world around you. I hope you have gotten to know some of those characteristics. No doubt he has made you laugh on many occasions and taught you things you never dreamed of knowing.
I must bid you farewell. Always know you are forefront in my mind, morning, noon, and night.
Your loving husband and humble servant,
Alasdair Stewart
After reading this letter, I have a windstorm of emotions colliding inside me. My heart beats harder with worry knowing he sees an inevitable battle ahead. Is this a battle meant to intimidate our enemy where only a few cannons fire, or is this going to be a full-scale conflict with fire, explosions, black billowing smoke, sunken ships, and far too many deaths? I wish I had never seen those paintings, the ones depicting various battles where England was victorious. For me, it didn’t matter who won. When I looked at the details so vividly portrayed, I could hear cannons firing, the cracking of wood, gun shots by the thousands, and the horrible screams of men inflicted with unimaginable pain. I’ve often wondered if it was the same for others when they looked at these works of national pride.
I stand to move closer to the window, feeling too upset to sit still. I take a deep breath and look to the sky as a small flock of sea birds swoop and play around each other. Their grace and agility conjure a smile, and I think of Alasdair’s ever-flowing endearments and the girlish butterflies they wake up in my stomach. I love how he still refers to me as his faerie maiden as he did that fateful night. Now I carry secret magic that is holding him captive. I laugh out loud at his fanciful charm.
Once I’m seated again, I reread the letter and my eyes burn with tears of sadness for his father. Alasdair is right in his expectations.
