Chapter 16

A violent storm raged outside. Lightning illuminated the landscape with brief, bright bursts of brilliance. Thunder ricocheted through the battlements and made the castle walls tremble. I sat in my father's study with the windows open. Raindrops crashed through the open window and shattered into a mist on the desk. Fine droplets blew onto my cheeks. It was late, well past midnight. The fire was only a pile of glowing, dancing embers in the hearth. I sat motionless, watching the coals. In my hand, my cheek was bony.

I had never considered my father's study a refuge. He had always been too loud, too commanding. The space held no fond memories. In another life, back when I had food in my belly and laughter in my throat, the room had been used for discipline. But of late, I had been drawn here. Hoping inspiration would find me, that it sat tucked away in his ledgers and account books. Praying that in the scribbles and scrap papers were the answers I sought.

The year had been too rainy and too cold. The crops failed a second time. Every day I cursed myself for my stupidity, my ignorance. If I had shown more gumption as a child, more backbone, Ellesmure would thrive. I could only enable it to fail. Two years of toil and I had only succeeded in assisting with mending. My fine silk gowns had long been worn out and cut up to assist in other needs, like washing windows and scouring dishes. Now I wore rough but serviceable homespun wool. Mending and patching up clothing for the castle had become my full-time occupation. Looking down at my threadbare clothes, I was glad that there was something I could do to support the people left behind in my charge. But day by day they looked at me with increasingly desperate eyes. Every day there was a line of supplicants in the great hall. They begged for food, for medicine, for help. I couldn't grant a single wish. There was no money, no men, no surplus. The servants helped as much as they could, spared as much as we were able, but it was obvious that we were in dire straits. We needed help. Soon.

I sighed and ruminated on a plan that had become a feverish obsession to me in the past few weeks. It would have to work. There was no other option. Stormway needed saving, Ellesmure needed saving. I needed saving. My only option was to turn over control of the Island and marry someone who knew what they were doing. Another Laird, certainly, would take pity on us?

A sick feeling churned in my stomach at the thought of matrimony. At the amount of help we — the largest Island — would need. My senses revolted at standing aside so a strange man, another family, could take possessions of these lands. A castle and people that had been in the MacLeod line for centuries. I was desperate. And despite my hopes, I knew there wasn't another Island large enough or rich enough to save us. But the Mainland Lords that had sided with my father's campaign...

No, it was untenable. I wanted more than a savior. I wanted a partner, an equal. Someone who could guide me but also instruct. Someone who would lead Ellesmure back to prosperity. Who would see the Island as their own. A man who would renounce his own claims and ambitions. Who was courageous or stupid enough to let me, a MacLeod, maintain Stormway's seat.

I snorted at my thoughts. They were the delusions of a starving idiot. Pride, the only possession left to me after my family's abandonment, was my only comfort. With their departure they unyoked me. I savored my independence, the freedom of my hours — toilsome and harrowing though they were. I could endure shabby dresses and blistered palms, so long as it meant I would never be controlled again. The metamorphosis from lady to destitute laborer had been hard, the lessons difficult. Yet it was all too easy to surrender my once luxurious life for one governed by my own will and determination.

Besides, I was not absolutely sure of the legality of my situation. As the only remaining MacLeod, I was presumably Laird of Stormway. But could a lady be a Laird? Could a Laird rule without fealty? With the men gone, who would bend the knee? And if I was Laird, would the title remain after matrimony? Or would I be forced to my husband's home? Abandoning Ellesmure and its citizens to a worse fate?

Shaking my head, trying to harmonize my thoughts, I let out a huff of air. The vapor steamed in the cold room. The varnished wood of the desk, gleaming with the flicker of inelegant, homemade candles that stank of greasy meat, caught my eye. On it, a half-read later from Alex that had arrived two weeks ago. I had forgotten all about it. No doubt someone had called me away while reading it for some task or emergency. As I reached for the parchment, a terrible clap of thunder exploded. I jumped. My heart lept into my throat and it took a moment to calm my breathing. Standing, I walked to an open window and braced myself against the ledge. The cold stone bit through my chapped fingers. Freezing rain splashed my face, and the wind whipped my hair against my cheeks. My stomach growled. There had only been a thin stew of dry carrots and shriveled barley for dinner. The broth nothing more than diluted seawater. At least brine was a flavor.

I found serenity in the storm's violence. For all the pandemonium of my daily life, this moment of repose, this deluge and show of might from the sky felt like a reprieve.

The weather was not unlike another night almost two years ago, after our last successful harvest and a few months after Walther had returned home in a box.

I had been sitting in my room that night, watching a similar storm and chewing on a hard, stale piece of bread. Pitying myself, drowning in feelings of helplessness and defeat. When the clock struck midnight, a servant burst into my room and pleaded with me to follow her.

"What is going on?" I asked, frowning at the interruption. It had been a long day and far past the time anyone might need me.

"It's Bess! I mean, Lady MacLeod," The girl panted, her face red. Despite her agitation, she wore a happy, loopy smile.

I had done everything in my power to make Bess a legitimate member of the MacLeod family, giving her all the accommodations and respect any wife of my brother might expect. Even though money had been tight when we had it, I offered her a small allowance. She accepted it, but only after weeks of persuasion. I could not ask her to quit her work in the kitchens. She had held my hands in hers, commenting on the blisters and calluses on my palm.

"All of us are working, Eilean. I don't expect to stop," she said.

Days were so busy and draining that I hadn't seen Bess in weeks.

"Bess? What about her? Is she ill?" An unexpected flutter of familial concern passed through me. There was no basis for it. We were not close, but she was my responsibility as my brother's widow. Walther would have been ashamed of my neglect.

"Ill?" The servant laughed, "No! She's having her baby! Come, come now! She wants you there!" The girl gathered up her skirts and ran down the hall, leaving me in a stupor.

Baby? Baby? Since when had Bess been pregnant? I counted the months in my head, realizing she would have been with child at the wedding. A flicker of something warm sparked in my chest. Baby! A baby! I dashed out of the room and followed the servant girl to Walther's chambers. When I walked in the door, the stink of sweat and blood hit me. A handful of women gathered around Bess, who was pale and drenched on the bed. Stripped totally naked, blond hair plastered to her forehead and chest. She screamed, and I wondered how I had spent the entire night without hearing her.

"Just in time, mistress! The head is nearly born!" A rosy-cheeked woman with soft arms and a toothy smile called to me over her shoulder. The midwife.

I stepped back, cautious of being in the way.

Bess gritted her teeth and growled as she bore down. A maid mopped her brow and encouraged her to breathe.

"That's it, Bessie. There you go. One more push and we'll have the shoulders. It's easy going after that." The midwife coached.

I felt faint with the heat, the smells, and the sounds; but a profound curiosity pulled me forward. I walked closer to the bed. A tiny, bloody head with a shock of dark curly hair — Walther's hair, my hair — nestled between Bess' legs. The impossible sight of its tiny face, wrinkled and squinting, made me cry spontaneously.

"Can you see it, Eilean?" Bess asked, sitting up on her elbows and trying to gaze over her stomach. Her voice was hoarse.

"I can," I said, my voice catching. "Beautiful, beautiful black hair. And such a tiny nose."

Bess' bottom lip quivered and her eyes filled with profound sadness. Still, a hitherto unseen strength steeled her shoulders, and she nodded resolutely to the midwife. With a huge intake of breath, she closed her eyes and pushed again. With a slick spurt, the baby exited Bess' body and was drawn into the comfortable arms of the Midwife. Within seconds, as if unwilling to let a moment pass where it went unnoticed, the baby started crying.

"A healthy girl!" The midwife said, wrapping up the baby swiftly in clean linen before handing her off to her mother.

"Girl?" Bess said in a daze, falling back against the pillows. She reached for the baby and as soon as she held her, burst into tears.

Amazed by the magic of viewing life come into the world, I cried harder. I raced to Bess' side and kneeled by the bed.

"Oh! Bess! How wonderful!" I said. It barely seemed relevant that I had been unaware of her condition until moments ago.

Bess wept and kissed her daughter's wrinkled forehead, blessing the newborn with her tears. "Your da so wanted a little girl. He was tired of men and boys and all their silliness." She spoke to the baby in a low, calm voice, grunting a little as the midwife worked on the afterbirth.

"He wanted a pretty girl he could spoil and dote on. A daughter he would teach to ride and hunt and be brave. A girl that wasn't afraid or left behind." Bess gripped my hand as if the message was intended for me as well. The lost hopes of a brother I had known for too short a time.

I was sobbing. The poorly patched wound of my departed family breaking open like a dam and flooding my soul. The loneliness, the betrayal, they mingled with something else. A sense of hope. A bright light in the darkness. I had a family still beside me. Bess and this precious child. An entire world opened up before me, written in the inky black eyes of my...niece. I was an aunt.

Then and there, I vowed to do everything in my power to prevent any harm from coming to this tiny, perfect baby and do more to make Bess feel as if she were my kin.

"What will you call her?" I asked, impatient.

Bess smoothed the baby's blanket, cooing at her daughter. "Wallis, I think. After her da."

It was an unusual name, but strong. A name that demanded one look twice at its bearer.

"Hello Wallis," I said, laughing through my tears. "Welcome home. Now there are two Ladies MacLeod who have been born to Stormway. What a miracle."

It was that night and that child with her bright, hunger-pang eyes that haunted me now. Bess and I had scraped every extra morsel of our food onto her plate for the last year and a half, but now...with another failed harvest...

I stomped to the desk, snatching up Alex's letter, and shoved it into my pocket. Winding through the castle, I came to Bess' rooms and knocked quietly. She opened the door a moment later with a finger to her lips.

"Shh," she whispered, "I just got her back to sleep."

"Is she alright?" I asked, immediately on alert.

Bess smiled at my concern. "Of course. It was just the storm that woke her."

I nodded and walked in through the door that Bess held open for me. I took the liberty of sitting down by the fire. Bess joined me on the soft leather couch.

"You seem troubled, Eilean."

I rested my chin on my fist and studied my sister-in-law. She looked tired and worn, but no worse for the wear. She was still radiant, still a living flame with her golden hair and her bright, apple-cheeked face. Feast or famine, I always saw her as she had been at her wedding; awash in candlelight and lit from within with burning love.

"I am worried," I said, not sure how much of my burden I wanted to share.

Bess laid her hand on my knee. The smell of fresh-baked bread wafted off of her. "About the food?"

"And everything else," I closed my eyes, shaking my head. "We need a miracle. I keep thinking that if there is some Laird out there or some Lord, I could marry and — "

"Do you want to do that? Marry?" Bess' question was pragmatic and calm. She would not judge me. She had a frank personality that was always reassuring when I was at my most desperate.

"No," I said, slouching. "But if it helps keep Wallis' stomach full I'd do it."

"I know you would. We all know you would do whatever it takes to ensure our survival."

It was far too generous a compliment; though the praise warmed my heart.

"Who would you marry?" She asked.

I shrugged, at a loss. "Every Islander between the ages of fifteen and fifty went to war. Ellesmure is the largest island... and it was the richest. None of the other Lairds could even come close to having what we need."

"Would they need to be exceedingly rich?"

Looking down at my hands, I was ashamed at the words about to come out of my mouth. Horrified at the monumental debt that stalked the estate like a ghost. "Yes. So much so that I am considering an alliance with a Mainland lord."

I reached into my pocket and felt the crisp edge of Alex's letter. My fingers smoothed over the parchment, wishing it was his warm hand I was caressing. I did not dare allow myself to consider Alex as an acceptable suitor. Two years in, he remained neutral.

Bess noted the movement of my hand, her brow creasing. She might not have known what I had in my pocket or the unspoken desires of my heart, but my haphazard plan for matrimony said enough.

"Don't do it, not unless it's worth it," Bess said with a frown. "If you love a man, fine. But don't sell yourself, your land, your family's legacy all for the sake of a few coins and sacks of grain."

Her judgment was a relief. To be absolved of the sin of not wanting to throw away my life to a stranger. I let out a half-suppressed sob.

"We will survive this. I know we will," Bess said. Her intensity dared me to believe her conviction.

I nodded, wishing I could believe her. I knew we were doomed.

"Of course we will," I agreed with a confidence I did not feel. "Thank you, Bess. I feel much better."

My sister-in-law laughed, "No you don't, I can tell." She checked her amusement, turning her head to listen for a cry from the other room. When it was clear there was no threat of Wallis waking, Bess looked back at me. "Try to get some sleep, Eilean. You're no good to any of us if you're exhausted."

"As you command," I said thickly. Leaning forward, I kissed her cheek, wishing her a good night.

When I arrived back in my rooms, I pulled Alex's letter from my pocket and read it fully. It was cheerful in its tone, full of the small lies we had been telling each other to mask the confusion and hurt of being friends on opposite sides of the war. The letters, though steady, were an artifice. Neither of us shared the reality of our circumstances; the need to protect one another from any pain overriding the trust we shared as friends. Or that was how I justified the lies I penned.

Perhaps it was time to tell the truth.

Before I could second-guess myself, I sat down at my desk and pulled two new pieces of paper from the drawer. I had ripped them from the back of an old book earlier in the week. I dipped my pen into a pot of homemade blackberry ink. We hadn't had real ink in months.

Alex,

This will be a brief letter, and I fear you will refuse what I ask. You're well within your rights to do so — not only because of the strange circumstances of this conflict but because my request is outrageously selfish.

Alex, my dearest, oldest friend, will you come home? Please?

I am in dire need of your help.

Forever yours,

Eilean

Then, on the other page, I composed a similar plea to my parents. I had sent monthly reports since they left but had never received a single note in return.

Father, Mother —

We are dying here. I fear we will not survive the winter. Can you spare some men to help us with planting and harvesting? The crop has failed twice. I would not ask, but the need is great. Are there no soldiers you could return to Ellesmure?

Obediently,

Your daughter