by Amanda Boone
Dampness started to seep through the leather of my shoes and the hem of my blue dress because of the wet grass. I lifted my skirt slightly, the wetness brushing against my ankles. I shivered and wrapped myself in my arms. It was starting to get chilly.
I walked toward the cliff overlooking the harbor to get a good view of the blurry setting sun, obscured by the dense gray. The ocean presented a mirror, though more warped, image of the descending orb. I stood rooted to the spot, the pale yellow light having a calming effect on me. I made a resolution to watch the sun follow through on setting—something in me was convinced that seeing it disappear behind the distant, shadowy cliffs ahead would make everything okay. If the sun could rise and fall every day no matter what obstacles stood in its way then I could do this . . . for my family.
My spirits fell as I remembered why my head needed clearing in the first place. My insides seemed to generate ice that coursed through my veins in place of my blood as I thought about the events of the past couple of hours. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to go through with it.
The sun was mostly out of sight, now, only a sliver was visible behind the mountain that looked as if it were devouring it. I walked forward, so the tips of my toes hung over the edge of the cliff. In the process, I accidentally kicked a small rock forward. I watched as it fell gracefully at a steady pace, soundlessly disappearing into the inky black abyss. I wondered if I would fall the same way.
My morbid thoughts frightened me, and I quickly backed away, shaking my head to erase them from my mind. Things weren’t that bad off. I turned around, causing my untamable blonde hair to whip across my face. I did nothing to try to quell it.
Before I knew it, I was back at my house. The torches were lit in front, probably for my sake. I observed the spacious building I had lived in all my life. During my family’s prosperous days, it had stood proudly, eliciting envy from those who came across it. Nowadays, the thatched roof was full of holes; the white siding was browning and contained numerous cracks, and the wooden beams were visibly rotting. Soon, the place would be inhabitable due to its owners’ neglect. Not that we were to blame, horrific circumstances beyond our control had left us basically destitute—my father’s death nearly five years ago.
It had happened very suddenly. One day he was fine, the next he developed a cough, then he was bedridden, and the fourth day he was gone. We, my mother, two brothers, and I were left without a plan, without means to live. My older brother, Greer, was only fifteen years old, but he was expected to become the head of Clan McGreggor. We’d been struggling ever since. Worst of all, my mother had abandoned herself that day—turning into a shell of the happy, vibrant person she had been before.
With my eldest brother preoccupied, my mother absent, and my younger brother, Aiden, being much younger, I had felt very alone and vulnerable. The only person I had to keep me company was my family’s nurse, Morna. She had been my primary caretaker since infancy, my parents being too busy as socialites to tie themselves down to the job of raising children day in and out. Morna was a loud, burly woman who had a hard time keeping up with me, which made evading her much easier.
“ISLA!” I jumped at the sound of Morna’s scolding voice. She was standing in the doorway of the house, her fists resting on her ample hips, her face sour and pulled down in a frown. “Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been about you?”
“I’m sorry, Morna,” I breathed, brushing past her into the house, my eyes downcast to avoid her disapproving stare. Without another word, I marched up the stairs, and turned into my room. I shut the door behind me and stood in the center, idly. How long would this continue to be my room?
I heard the door creak open. I turned to seen Morna entering my room, timidly. A far cry from the blistering woman I had witnessed downstairs. I looked away from her, silently begging her not to talk, knowing that’s why she came in here. I began to tug on the strings of my dress.
“Here,” Morna murmured, stepping toward me. “Let me help.” When Morna was upset, she liked to keep busy.
I dropped my arms to my side as she began unlacing my dress with deft hands. My dress fell around my ankles, leaving me in only my chemise. I smoothed the white, cotton material over my stomach, stepping out of my discarded clothing. I walked over to my bed and sat down on the edge. Morna followed, sitting beside me so she was facing my back. She gathered up my wild hair, moving it so it fell down my back in gentle waves. I couldn’t keep up my stoic façade any longer. I laid my head in her welcoming lap. She began running her stubby fingers through my hair. I tried to stifle a cry, but it escaped along with a solitary tear.
“Oh, sweetie,” Morna cooed, continuing to stroke my hair. “It’ll be all right. We knew this day was going to come eventually.”
I sniffed, unconsoled by her words. I knew someday I would have to marry, but there had always been a part of me that believed or hoped that I would be able to choose my husband . . . that I’d be in love. Instead, I had basically been bought by the most arrogant man in town, Colin MacLeod.
Colin was the eldest son of the most powerful Clan in Skye and the object of many girls’ desire with his dashing good looks, raven hair, and powerful physique—just not mine. I was constantly put off by his bravado. He was single-handedly the vainest man I had ever met. His only criteria for a wife were her looks. He had made his opinions about mine abundantly clear over the years with his aggressive flirtation and suggestions. The memory made my stomach churn, and I let out another sob.
“Hush, now,” Morna warned. “I know it seems scary right now, but Colin MacLeod will make a fine husband. He’ll take care of a pretty girl like you.” I looked up at her and she gave me a crinkly smile, which had deepened in her skin over the years. She sounded wistful when she talked about my fiancé. I guessed she was never the type of woman who garnered attention from men like Colin. I wasn’t grateful for his admiration, I was bitter about how he coveted me for superficial reasons. I wasn’t a person for him to protect and take care of—I was his property.
I stifled my tears to appease Morna though I didn’t feel any better. I gave her a strained smile, which she accepted. She leaned forward and planted a wet kiss on my forehead. “That’s a good girl,” she murmured. She pulled back the covers on my bed, encouraging me to lie down. She tucked me in, stood up, and picked up the candle on my nightstand. “It’s just the shock that’s got to you is all. You’ll feel better in the morning.” I nodded mutely at her, closing my eyes so she’d get the hint to leave. “Sweet dreams, girly.”
I heard her thunderous footsteps retreat toward the door, open it, and shut it gently. After a few seconds, I rolled onto my stomach, burying my face into my pillow, and let the tears fall freely. My cries were partially stifled, but my sobs were still audible. I cried hard for what seemed like a very long time, releasing the stress of the day from my body any way I could.
After a while, I felt the bed give behind me, and a familiar hand brushed against the bare skin visible on my back. My eyes grew wide in surprise and excitement, my breathing hitched. He was here.
I didn’t look back, knowing from experience he wouldn’t be there if I did. He had once told me, back when he first started visiting me in my room at night, not to look at him. I’d disobeyed once, and he vanished into thin air before I could see anything. He hadn’t come back for weeks after that.
His hand moved to my shoulder, and he rubbed it with his thumb. I could feel the heat of his skin through the thin material of my nightgown. He laid down behind me, pressing his chest against my back, his lips so close to my neck that I could feel his warm breath against my skin. “Why are you crying?” he asked in a low, husky timber. I shivered at his words, his disembodied, faceless voice always having that effect on me.
I quickly wiped at my tears in vain. He had already seen them. I sniffed. “I’m not,” I protested, closing my eyes tightly to stop any more tears from falling.
He chuckled, causing his chest to shake against me. He
ran the pad of his thumb across my moistened cheek. “Then what’s this?”
“Nothing.” A haggard sob escape my lips, and I buried my face in my pillow again. I shook violently causing him to hold onto me tightly, snaking his arm around my waist, and pulling me impossibly close to him. I could feel his worry from his silence. He hadn’t seen me this upset since the first night he had visited—the night my father died.
I wriggled out of Morna’s preemptive embrace when I’d heard the news and stood up. “No!”
“Sit down,” my mother warned calmly. There was something empty about her face, as if the light had gone out in her dark eyes. Or perhaps it was me.
I suddenly felt very far away from everything that was happening in the room, like I was watching the scene unfold instead of living it myself. “No!” I shouted again, avoiding Morna’s grasp when she tried to grab onto me again. Why was everyone acting so calm?
I looked around at my brothers, trying to plead to them with my eyes to stand up to my mother alongside me. Greer wasn’t looking at me, he was staring down, frowning at his hands, picking at the skin on the side of his thumb. Aiden was just a baby.
“You said he was getting better!” I pointed my finger at my mother.
She looked up at me in shock, then sadness, and finally anger. “That’s enough, Isla.”
“You let him die, you didn’t do enough to save him. You should have been the one to—”
“Take her away,” my mother interrupted, talking to Morna.
Morna stood up, gave me a sympathetic, closed-mouth smile. “Come on now, deary.”
She grabbed my hand, but I snatched it away. “I want to see him!” I yelled to my mother. She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking down as well. “I want to see him!” I repeated.
Morna bent down and picked me up, throwing me over her shoulder like she used to when I was four, and I was having a temper tantrum. I kicked wildly, trying to dislodge myself from her arms, but Morna held onto me tightly. She started walking toward the stairs. I looked back at what remained at my family. They hadn’t moved.
When we reached the staircase, I stopped my attempts at freeing myself. I slumped my body like dead weight and let my angry and frustrated tears start to fall.
When we reached my room, I let out an audible sob. Morna rubbed my back and opened the door with the other hand since I was no longer struggling. Morna put me down inside my candle-lit room. She started stroking the hair on the top of my head.
I swatted her hand away. I didn’t want sympathy—sympathy made this real. “I want to see him.”
“That’s not something a young lady should see,” Morna murmured, trying to sooth me.
“I don’t care, I want to see him. Please!”
Morna sighed. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, dear. They’ve already taken him away.”
My eyes widened. It was too late. He was gone. “Go.”
“Isla, deary, you shouldn’t be—”
I lunged at her, balling my hands up into fists and started hitting her wherever I could reach. “Go! Go! GO!”
Morna backed up, shocked at my behavior, and grabbed my wrists, holding me steady. I struggled, but she was stronger. “Now listen here, young lady,” her voice was strong like it usually was. I blinked, relieved that she was no longer treating me like I was made of glass. “If your father could see you like this, he’d have your hide. You need to be strong for your family. That’s what your father would have expected from you.” He released my now limp wrists. “You can have your tears for tonight, let them flow as much as you want, but in the morning, you have to be a MacGreggor.” She took my hand again and led me to my bed.
I toed off my slippers and climbed inside, wordless. Morna pulled up my covers, tucking me in. “Everything will be all right.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked, my voice tiny.
“I’m not.” She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. “Goodnight, deary.”
She blew out the candle next to by bed and left the room. I rolled over into my pillow and sobbed loudly, trying to get all of my tears out tonight like Morna said. I laid like that for what felt like forever until I fell asleep from exhaustion.
I awoke to a very bright light shining in front of my closed eyelids. I opened my eyes, but it disappeared. I looked down at myself, realizing I was still in my day clothes and wondered why. Then I remembered. Tears started to trickle down my face instantly. I sniffed, rubbing them away with the back of my hand. It stung from wiping them away so much earlier, so I just let them fall. I let out a whimper.
“Why are you crying?” a mysterious voice asked, quizzically.
I gasped, nearly jumping out of my skin. I sat up, looking wildly around my dark room, seeing no one. My mouth hung open. Had I imagined the sound? Then I heard a chuckle. The voice belonged to a boy—young, like Greer, from what it sounded. I stood up, starting to search the room. “Who-who’s there?” I asked, not sure where to direct my question.
A pause and no answer. I relaxed, deciding that the trauma from today had just rendered me temporarily mad. “You answer my question first,” the voice replied, teasingly. I screamed and ran toward the door, tripping over something in the dark and falling to the floor. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.
I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my head on my bruised knees. That question was very loaded. I let out a sob. “N-no, I’m not all right.” I felt something land on my hand. I looked up to see my handkerchief. He must have put it there. “Th-thank you.” I picked up the handkerchief and dabbed my eyes with it.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured soothingly. He had a nice voice. It was actually helping to calm me down.
We sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes. I sat up and walked back over to my bed. I pulled back the covers and tucked myself back in, still sitting up. “You shouldn’t be in here, it’s not proper to visit a young lady at night unchaperoned. Besides, if Morna catches you, she’ll have your head.”
He chuckled again. “Thank you for your concern, but I won’t be caught,” he replied, cockily.
“Where are you?” I wasn’t sure why I was peppering him with questions when he should have been leaving.
“I told you—you have to answer my question first.”
I frowned, not wanting to talk about my father. “I guess I’ll never know, then.”
“Please tell me. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” I recited.
“That’s ridiculous,” he countered. “Everyone you’ve ever met was once a stranger. Besides, I’m not a stranger.”
“You’re not?” I furrowed my brows, trying to place the voice to a face.
“We’ve met before,” he explained, dismissively.
“I think I would remember such a rude, nosy, arrogant boy like you!”
He barked a laugh. “Well, you don’t, but I remember you.”
“Then who are you?”
He paused, and I briefly thought he left. “A friend,” he said eventually.
“A friend?” I’d never had a friend before. I just had my family and Morna.
“Yes, if that’s what you wish.”
“Okay,” I replied, uncertain.
“And friends tell each other things . . . like why they’re upset.”
I looked down at my hands in the dark, the moonlight illuminating them through my window. “My father died today.”
The silence hung between us awkwardly. He hadn’t expected me to say that. “I’m sorry.” It sounded like he was apologizing for more than just what I was going through.
“It’s okay, I mean it’s not, it’s—”
“—devastating,” he finished for me.
“Yes and unreal.”
“My parents are dead, too.”
“Oh,” was all I could say. It was my turn to feel awkward. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. They’ve been dead for a very l
ong time. I barely remember them.”
“That’s terrible.” I wanted to rub his back like Morna did to comfort me, but when I reached my hand out, it touched nothing but darkness. “Are you a ghost?”
“No.”
“Oh,” for some reason, I was disappointed.
“Please don’t be sad.”
“I don’t think I know how to stop.”
“I can help you.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but I can try.”
We talked for hours. He made me laugh and forget about my troubles. The first rays of sunlight started to stream through the window.
“I have to go.”
I felt a twinge of panic and disappointment. “Will I see you again?” Now that I had a friend, I didn’t want to go back to not having one. It was nice to talk to someone that wasn’t an authority figure.
“If you wish.”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll be back . . . Turn around.”
I did as I was told and closed my eyes. I heard the window creek and slam shut. I turned around quickly. The window was shut and the room was silent. Nothing was different, but for some reason, I felt a little bit better. I didn’t know who he was, but it was if my father sent him to comfort me.
“Please tell me.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingertips brushing softly against me.
I exhaled shakily, trying to muster up the strength to utter the words. For some reason, saying them out loud was hard. It was as if saying it to someone, especially him, would make it more real, permanent. “I’m getting married . . .” I released it into the air on an exhale, hoping it would continue to travel in front of me and wouldn’t reach behind me.
I heard his sharp intake of breath and then nothing. Tension permeated the room, and I wanted to take it back. His arms were rigid against me. “When?”
“A month.” He sighed and let go of me, I felt him roll over and stand up. I felt cold without him and wrapped my arms around myself. “Are you still here?”