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“Now say that like you mean it.”
I open my mouth to repeat it but my throat clenches as I think of Dugald. The image of pain on his face stops the words. Alesoun watches my face and shakes her head, then resumes grinding.
“No, I do,” I protest. “It’s not that I don’t; it’s just…”
Just what? My thoughts spin as cold creeps over me.
“You’re scared,” she says. I try to disagree. I open my mouth and everything, but no words come out. I snap my mouth shut and nod. “That’s natural, you know.”
“Is it?”
“Ach, did your mother teach you nothing?”
The old pain explodes in my chest and tears swell in my eyes. I thought I’d cried myself out when I lost my mother but what the Dark Fae did, twisting my memories and putting a Changeling into my life ripped open any scars that had grown over that wound and made it as fresh as new.
“I… I…”
Words won’t form. Thousands of them crash in my head but my mouth won’t say them, can’t speak them. Alesoun stares for only a moment before she pulls me into a tight embrace. I rest my head on her shoulder and let the tears fly, sobbing and crying as she pats my back and makes soothing sounds.
“Ah, lass, it’s fine. You’re okay,” she says over and over.
Tears run until I’m left dry. Empty feeling, like a vast desert that is devoid of life or emotion. I straighten and dry my eyes, then pat my swollen face as I shake my head.
“I’m sorry.”
“No,” Alesoun says, grabbing my wrists and shaking me. “Do not do that. Never apologize for feeling, lass. That is your power. You’re just too young to see it.”
“I don’t understand.”
She releases my wrists, then places her warm hands on my cheeks. Her eyes glisten and she smiles as she wipes my eyes with her thumbs.
“Ach, lass, of course you do not, but listen to an old woman, will you? Never be ashamed of your heart.” She moves one hand to my chest and presses down hard. “This. It is what makes you special. You love and you love hard. You live and you live well. In the end, this, your heart, is your guide.”
My chest flutters and I shudder as I inhale. There is depth and wisdom in her words. I wrap my arms around her neck and nod, biting my lip to keep myself from breaking into tears despite how dry I thought I was.
“Aye,” I whisper.
“Good,” Alesoun says.
“So this is the lass causing the division in my clan.”
Surprise and embarrassment flush my cheeks hot as I spin to meet the newcomer. A heavy-set woman wearing a MacGregor tartan skirt and a rough spun blouse stands on the opposite side of our worktable. She has thick, red curls that are bound up and pulled back, but strands have fallen onto her full face. Her eyes are piercing green and sharp with a deep intelligence. She looks me up and down.
Alesoun curtsies to the woman and keeps her eyes cast down after she’s done. It takes me a second before I think to imitate her. Before I do the woman and I stare into one another’s eyes and pass judgment. I see her strength and easy air of control; what she sees in me I have no idea, but it leaves butterflies dancing in my stomach.
“Mary Helen,” Alesoun says.
I try to remember the name but I don’t. I don’t think I’ve seen this woman before but it’s obvious how much respect Alesoun is giving her. I’m smart enough to know to follow the example.
“Alesoun,” Mary Helen says, and there is a note of respect in her voice that surprises me. I dart my eyes at Alesoun, then at Mary Helen. The two women obviously have a long history together. “And you must be the lass that has stolen Duncan’s heart.”
“Yes ma’am, I suppose I am.”
“You suppose, do you? A fair assumption to be made since he has proposed to you in front of the entire clan.” I don’t bother answering, recognizing the rhetorical nature of her statement. She shakes her head and sighs heavily. “Well, you’ve certainly stirred the pot, now haven’t you?”
I glance at Alesoun, but her face is impassive and gives me no clue on how to respond. When I look back at Mary Helen, she’s eyeing me with an appraising look on her face, her eyes moving up and down.
“Ach, do you not speak, girl?” Mary Helen asks.
