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Florence gritted her teeth. “How do ye expect me tae do that, ma? How am I supposed tae move on wi’…without them?”
Her voice shook with a sob, but again, she fought to hold the emotion back. To hold herself together.
She listened as her mother crossed the room toward her and sat next to her on the bed. At first, she did not say anything, but after a long moment she released a long sigh.
“I ken it is hard,” her mother murmured. “Losing everything…everyone ye love…it can seem impossible tae continue wi’ yer own life.”
“How would ye ken?” Florence hissed. “Ye were never as close tae da and the boys as I was.”
It was a mean thing to say, but Florence could not help herself. She was in pain and angry, like a cornered wild animal.
Surprisingly, her mother did not scold her or lash back out, which would have been entirely within her right.
Instead, she reached over and covered Florence’s hand with hers.
“I ken it did no’ always seem like it, but I did care for yer da and brothers verra much,” she softly said.
“But…did ye love da?” Florence asked, her tone sad as she was certain she already knew the answer.
Her mother did not answer right away, but squeezed Florence’s hand.
Finally, she admitted, “I did love him…but no’ as he deserved. I was never in love wi’ him. I was no’ capable o’ feeling that way for him. Fer any man, truth be told.”
Frowning, Florence looked up at her mother at last. “Why?”
For a moment, her mother appeared taken aback by the question.
Slowly, she replied, “Well…the truth is…I had already loved someone else. Someone I had tae leave behind long ago.”
“My father?” Florence murmured.
Her mother looked at her and nodded, but did not say a word out loud.
Hesitantly, Florence asked, “Was he the man ye killed?”
Her mother closed her eyes and released a long breath. “Nay…he was no’.”
“But ye did kill that man? That Ruthven?”
Her mother’s eyes widened in obvious surprise. “How did ye learn that name?”
Seeing no point in lying, Florence answered, “Servants talk, ma. I learned tae listen tae whit they have tae say, since nae one else wid ever answer me questions aboot yer past. So, did ye kill him?”
Her mother just stared at her for long moments and Florence started to worry she might simply ignore the question. At length, however, she released a long sigh, her shoulders slumping as though in defeat.
“Aye,” her mother nodded. “I did. He killed ma da and I took revenge, not caring about the consequences o’ murdering the Laird o’ another clan.”
Florence stared at her mother, stunned. It was one thing to hear rumors that her mother had killed someone…quite another to hear her mother admit to it. She did not know what to say. Her mother was not looking at her, and Florence was not certain if it was because she was feeling shame for what she had done, or just did not want to witness her daughter’s reaction to the news.
It was most likely the latter, as she doubted very much her mother felt shame for killing the man who had done such wrong to her.
Swallowing, Florence said, “Do ye regret it?”
At last, her mother looked at her and appeared thoughtful before saying, “Nay…I do no’. Ruthven deserved whit happened tae him. There are plenty o’ things I regret, but that is no’ one o’ them.”
Florence stared at her mother for a long moment. “This is the most ye have told me about yer life before ye had me. Do ye realize that?”
“Aye,” her mother nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I ken. I wanted ye tae have a life free o’ the burdens I had created for meself. I did no’ want ye weighed down by any o’ it.”
