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Chapter Twelve
After reading her letter, Elizabeth stole to the library to read it again, alone. It had been simple enough, and she was greatly relieved that it was not from her imprisoned father, but still, it set her mind to her future once again. It was from her Aunt Mildred.
It read:
Dear Elizabeth,
I hope you will set your mind to your return. I have visited your father, and he is most anxious that you do so. He does not like you being away without chaperonage and has chastised me for not accompanying you.
My brother does not understand the state of my health very well. Even so, I do wish you would return as soon as you can. Your father has set my mind to thinking about you and wondering what you could be doing once the wedding is complete.
Remember, you must make a sensible match, if not for yourself, but for the respectability of your family! You are a good woman, Elizabeth. Do not let the brutish Scottish people tarnish your good and pure nature.
Write to me to let me know when you will return, and I shall thusly alert your father.
Aunt Mildred
P.S. Do not forget that your father is ill. He did not want you to come, but he was happy enough to receive me. He does not look well, Elizabeth, and I fear he may die within the next few months. Do him this service of marrying well. It is your duty as a good daughter.
Once she had read through the letter a second time, she folded it up and placed it on the table next to her. Her eyes were drawn to the walls and shelves of books beside her for some comfort. She pondered them, letting the realization slip into the mind of her encroaching future, jealous that the books would never have to be told what to do or forced into an unwanted marriage all for the sake of wealth and status.
Aunt Mildred was a kind woman, but just like Elizabeth, she had spent years under her father’s thumb and asked to do whatever he wanted. She was not the woman for Elizabeth to implore to understand her side. To Aunt Mildred, women must follow their Christian duties. They could not let their minds run away with them, or their bodies, or even think of men until they were married. They could never have an occupation that was more than reading, sewing, dancing, drawing, or playing music. At the realization of this trapped life, Elizabeth felt a tremor of anger vibrate through her.
The image of a bubbling cauldron flashed in her mind, and she envisioned her anger that way, having been heated on a smoldering fire for years and now coming to a boil. She knew that soon, the bubbles of anger would pour over the edge. Now, she wanted so many things and wanted to do everything at once. She wanted to kiss Liam, kiss John, and not let her conscience hurt her. She wanted to be like Brea, confident, and able to tantalize men with a look.
She stood up, feeling the sudden desire to rip her old self from the new body underneath, waiting desperately to be set free. Was there no way she could live life the way she desired and fulfill her promise to her mother? She stared down at the gold ring, which flickered in the firelight. She wished that her mother could hear her and that they could talk like they used to. She could find out what her mother really wanted for her because this did not seem like it was it.
She began to pace through the walls of books, hoping again for some vestige of comfort, some strength as she thought over her aunt’s letter. A wicked thought came to her. She knew she would have to return, and she would write back to her aunt to tell her so, but what was soon? A few days? Weeks? Could she not spend as long as she liked? There were no prospects for her at this time, and her father was powerless to do anything about getting her back. He was both imprisoned and ill.
His illness brought her no sadness, no remorse. It only served to allow her just a little bit more freedom that she needed before she decided to return. And from now on, she would stop feeling regret and just do whatever it was that made her feel as alive as kissing Liam while the winds of the Sound blew over them.
* * *
Fergus staggered back, but just as was his wont, Liam’s punch could not wipe the smile from his face. Instead, a trickle of blood appeared at his lip, and it taunted Liam with its jauntiness. Fergus held up his arms. “By God, but us MacLean men are stubborn. They dinnae wish tae hear the truth!” He laughed again.
Liam decided against punching Fergus, but he did roll up his sleeves and waved a fist toward him. “’Tis nae the truth! The only reason I am nae punching ye again, lad, is because I dinnae want tae have tae carry ye and the game all the way back tae the boat.”
His anger was coursing through him, making his muscles twitch and his scowl deepen, but at Fergus’ surprised yet humored face at having been punched out of nowhere, Liam smirked. Fergus was like a brother to him, and he was the only one who could bring him out of his mire of racing thoughts and feeling trapped.“Bloody Hell, Fergus. Ye make me so angry, I could—”
“Punch me in the face. Aye, but I think we have achieved that bit. Now, ye are tellin’ me, that that lass kissed ye?”
Liam nodded. “I ken it doesnae make a single bit of sense but ‘tis what happened. I couldnae kiss her again after being the one tae play the forward fool at the wedding, getting the slap that I deserved. And then, I found her on the top of the hill, so I went tae finally apologize for me behavior. Then, the lass kissed me. Aye, I was just as surprised as ye.”
Fergus shook his head in disbelief. “I cannae believe it. And ‘tis more about the way she looks like a virginal angel and as innocent as they come rather than why she would be interested in a rogue like ye.”
Liam was satisfied by his friend’s attempt to humor him.
“So, how was it?” Fergus grinned mischievously.
Liam laughed. “I dinnae think that is very gentlemanly of me, especially when the woman who kissed me is a Sassenach lady.”
“Nae, nae, ye know ye must tell me. Go on.”
Liam happily returned to the memory, remember the feeling of her soft lips on his and the way her arms threaded through the hair at the base of his neck. Pieces of her own golden hair caressed the sides of his face as the breeze blew. The scent of her, the taste of her, and the feel of her lulled him into a sweet daze, and even now, he felt its power. He said softly, “It was like coming home again.”
Fergus frowned as he watched his friend. “I would hardly call those details, lad. I think ye must have fallen ill now. These Sassenachs and their wily ways.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Come, we will stay the night at our usual place. Perhaps ye will wish a woman tae take yer mind of another?” He raised an eyebrow.
Liam shook himself free of the odd feeling that had come over him. Even he had not expected the words that had come out of his mouth. But he realized he meant them. It had felt that way as if suddenly he had a place to go and had a purpose. Could it really be true that Elizabeth Darling was that purpose?
