Chapter 5

With the Gathering in full sway, Stormway Castle was crowded from wall to wall as the visiting Lairds, banner men, advisors, and every man, woman, and child beholden to the estate descended upon the grounds. Farmers and merchants camped in the courtyards and beyond the castle walls, their tents spreading out into the distance until they were a multi-colored blur on the horizon. Everyone was loud and drunk, and after the sunset, they became louder and drunker still. I did my best to stay out of the fray, confining myself to my rooms and only coming out when I was required to be at banquets and hunts. Idly, I would scan the crowds looking for other girls my age, eager to form some kind of friendship, but conversations stalled once they realized I had no useful intelligence on how they might snag one of my brothers into a Standing engagement.

Thus, by the night of the Standing, a week into the Gathering, I was so swaddled in my world of haze and fog that I no longer tried to greet people with eye contact or make conversation. I sat at the head table with a bland, insipid smile on my face and let everyone else enjoy themselves.

The great hall hummed. Crowded and potent with the scent of hundreds of bodies, roasting meat, and stale wine and ale that had splashed and spilled onto the floors. Fires blazed in the enormous fireplaces that ran along the perimeter of the room. The heat from the flames mingled with the sweltering scent of the crowd until I was groggy. Though a violent spring storm howled outside, the chill could not permeate such a flushed and festive room. My chief entertainment in all the chaos was watching the bright explosions of light that came from the vicious lightning. The head table where I sat, was placed behind a low stage erected in the center of the hall. Mother and Father sat at the middle of the table, my brothers and I fanned out on either side of them — my seat was the last on the right. I passively listened to a story the twins, Rupert and Timothy, were telling to themselves.

"And then I bet him twenty gold shells that I could beat him, even without a horse."

"You ran the race on foot, against his horses?"

"Brother, am I not the very embodiment of the ideal male form? Of course I ran the race on foot! And I bested them all!"

"Hurrah! That is a MacLeod man for you!"

The twins clanged their tankards together enthusiastically and then drank deeply.

"You are so brave and courageous, brother," I said, turning to offer a compliment to Rupert, the hero of the story. It was an effort to force my smile.

Rupert looked at me peculiarly, Timothy turned and jumped; both of them realizing that I had been part of their audience.

"Thank you, sister," Rupert said tightly.

They then turned toward one another and started a quieter conversation to which I could not overhear.

Just as well. The twins, in particular, were keen on boasting about their physical prowess and often regaled the family at breakfast about their harrowing exploits. Most of them followed a similar vein: a challenge, a dare to complicate the challenge, a stunning success. I turned my attention to the crowd, studying the people in the hall. Less heroic, perhaps, than reliving my brother's exploits, but still a fine occupation. It seemed as if everyone from Ellesmure had arrived for the Standing. The hall felt more full than it had on other nights of the Gathering. Lords and ladies, captains and generals in my father's army, even servants and farmhands — eager for a night off — filled the room. Everyone laughed and yelled at each other, banging their cups together or on tables. Servants carried fresh glasses and tremendous platters of roasted meat on trays. doing their best to navigate through the room. A musical troupe played cheerful dance music, their tones fluttering down from their stage atop a walkway that encircled the upper half of the room. Couples danced, whooping and laughing with each turn and spin.

It was all unsettling to me. There was too much life and chaos. The scene was so dramatically different to my typically solitary days and nights. Despite my discomfort, I managed to maintain a smile of bland neutrality as the night progressed.

Then, Father stood. When he did so, the hall was instantly quiet. He walked from the head table and mounted the temporary stage, grabbing the attention of every eye in the room. He smiled, enjoying the effect of his power. I wondered what it would be like to feel such self-assurance. To know that people were looking at me not to gawk but in rapt anticipation of what I might say and do. The yearning for such a sensation surprised me with its force.

"My lords, and ladies! Citizens of Ellesmure!" He boomed, his massive voice echoing throughout the hall, "I welcome you to the Standing! A ceremony placed in the middle of our Gathering, so we might sup and drink together. To remind ourselves of the bonds of our brotherhood. To form new bonds by creating new families. New alliances that will make our land strong and powerful!"

There was a round of cheers from the crowd.

"Now," Father said, dampening his voice to a sly tease, "I invite all eligible ladies to the stage."

The room buzzed as people turned to each other to speculate on which women would be offered and Stood for — and which man might win their hand. I sat up, scooting to the edge of my seat to get a better view. I hadn't seen such a large Standing since I was a child. They happened all the time, naturally, otherwise people would never get married; but I had never had such a close view to the proceedings. Besides, now sixteen, I was close to my own Standing. I wanted to be prepared for what was to come.

Seven women were escorted up to the platform by the fathers. Resplendent in their best gowns, their cheeks were bright and rosy. The girls spaced themselves out across the stage and kissed their father's on the cheeks before being left on display. They all wore varying expressions: some hopeful, some sour, a few withdrawn. One woman's black eyes glinted and were hard with fury and hatred. She alone refused to kiss her father's cheek.

Deep down, behind the nothingness within my mind, she amused me.

"The rules of the Standing are thus," Father said, continuing in his role of master of ceremonies. As Laird of Stormway, it was his duty to administer the ritual. "I will call the eligible ladies forward one by one, from lowest rank to highest. I will read hereditary and qualifications out. Then, any unmarried man my bid upon them. The highest bid wins and after which, the couple is engaged. We will not proceed to the next lady until the first has been claimed. The drawing of sticks will decide any ties."

I frowned. The procedure of the Standing was not unknown to me, but for the first time, the rules and ritual struck me as unfair. Turning my head, I looked down the table toward my brother Walther. He was sallow and jittery, he looked on the verge of being very ill. It was well known that he would be compelled into an engagement this night. Mother and Father had talked of little else for the past month, reminding us at every meal of the importance for all of us to marry properly and ensure the strength of the MacLeod line. Walther's forced Standing tonight would be used as an example to us. This was his punishment for open indiscretion. My brother glanced frequently and flagrantly at Bess, who stood nearby, refilling a Lord's wine glass. She looked at my brother with longing. She herself looked stricken and pale. As a servant, she was not eligible for the Laird's Standing ceremony. If she wanted to marry, her Standing would take place in the town square where the other servants, farmers, and tenants might bid on her.

Anguish, bright and shocking, split through my chest. It was clear just by the tenderness in their eyes that Walther and Bess loved each other fiercely. I felt wretched for them both and terrible for every woman on that stage.

"Irene McHumbolt," Father cried, bringing forward the first girl. She was pert and pretty, with blonde hair and a small frame. Her hands were delicate and tiny. She looked calm, expectant. Only a tiny glimmer of fear was visible in her eyes.

There was a smattering of bids over her before a tall, red-headed gentleman won her hand. She seemed to wither in relief when he won his suit. It was telling. The man was undoubtedly her true beloved. Their engagement, the first of the night, was greeted with wild applause and whistles from the crowd. She slipped from the stage and into the arms of her now-fiancé. They swiftly exited the hall.

Four women were auctioned off in a smilier fashion. One girl started crying when her paramour was outbid by an elderly Lord with a purse full of gold. I wanted to stand up and demand he release his claim. It made me sick. With each engagement, my stomach twisted itself into a tighter and tighter knot. A sour taste rose from my gut up into the back of my throat. Each time, the crowd whooped and hollered for the pairs as they were betrothed and escorted off the platform. Each time I felt myself burrow deeper and deeper into the dark protection of myself.

Just as Father was about to call out the name of an exceptionally beautiful brunette — the woman with the violent eyes — the main door burst open on a dramatic gust of wind. Seated where I was, I could not see what was going on, but it soon became clear that the Crier was making his way through the crowd with a new arrival. Whispers slithered through the hall, passed from person to person as they observed the water-logged, hooded traveler. I looked at the two remaining women on the stage, but neither of them reacted to his presence or acted as if they knew who had arrived.

At the foot of the stage, the Crier paused and banged his staff on the floor three times. A hush more still than Father had produced settled over the room.

"Lord Alexander Leslie, arriving from the Seat of Leslie in Fist of the Mainland," the crier yelled. He stepped aside, revealing the gentleman behind him.

I almost broke my neck snapping my head toward the soaked figure. As he removed his hood, my heart stopped. There he was. Dripping wet, so familiar to the boy I had known but...entirely different. He was older, taller...completely foreign to me.

It was like the world exploded into color and music in an instant. My vision and thoughts felt clear and vibrant for the first time in years. I inhaled deeply to soothe my jangling nerves, only to realize I could breathe. Easily. For the first time in years, I could breathe and see and feel.

When had he become so handsome? Prior to this moment, my only reliable recollection of Alex was how he had looked the last time I saw him. Scrawny, dirty, half-blind with a black eye, his face twisted in hatred. Now, while he was still dirty, he was also tall, broad, and trim. His height and strength were impressive — evident even under layers of soaked traveling clothes. His bright blond hair framed his face and curled around his ears in a very distracting way. Vivid blue eyes framed in long black lashes scanned the room. He looked restless, impatient.

He had to be looking for me. The sudden realization became a wish. I pleaded with a distant, dreary god I didn't believe in that Alex was looking for me.

Our eyes made contact for a brief moment, but there was no surprise of recognition, no familiarity. He simply assessed me without feeling before moving on, continuing his sweep of the room.

I sank into my chair, devastated. Perhaps I had not been his target. Father was grinning proudly. He left the stage to welcome Alex with a powerful hug and a clap on the back. Signaling a servant, he sent Alex out of the room for a hot bath and a change of clothes.

Alex disappeared as rapidly as he had arrived. I sat frozen, stunned. My heart hammered urgently against my ribs. My breathing was rapid and haggard. He came back. He came back. He came back.

"Look, Bug Eyes is as red as a tomato," Timothy said, snickering to Rupert.

Robert, immediately to my left, between me and the twins, broke his night-long silence to say, "Does she think he is here to Stand for her? Pathetic."

Ignoring them, I pushed back from the table and stalked out of the great hall and out of a side door. In the hallway, I stopped in front of a wide-open window. I let the cool air and the mist from the rain chill my skin as I leaned over the windowsill and worked to calm my breathing. After settling down as much as I could, I placed my hands on my cheeks, hoping the cold panic that had flooded my limbs would temper my flushed face. There was a round of cheering from the great hall as another woman was sold off. I sat down on a bench and felt ghastly.

Had he genuinely not recognized me? Thoughts spun in my head and — newly alive as I now felt — the effect was nauseating. Everything was too sharp, too bright. Details and colors and sounds I had never noticed exploded across my senses with impertinence. Had this hallway always smelled so strongly of the kitchens? Why hadn't I noticed the embroidery of bees and flowers on this gown? Was my cheek always so soft and pliant against my fingertips? My heart continued to race. I was overcome with the desire to talk, to sing, to shout. To press my presence into other people. To force them to look at me, hear me, know me.

There was another roar of noise as the last couple was engaged. Seven women sold off like cows in less than an hour. Sold for entertainment, bid on as if they had no thoughts or preferences of their own. I dry heaved, swiveling over the side of the bench just in case.

I was overstaying my refuge in the hallway. It would not be proper to be absent this long. Though, I doubted my disappearance had been noted. Taking in a few more deep breaths, I let the cool air refresh me. Once I felt secure enough, I stood and smoothed out the resplendent emerald silk of my dress — the special one the dressmaker had made for me. Only now could I appreciate how beautiful it was. Indulging myself in a few more seconds of peace, I watched as the rippling candlelight shifted the silk from deep navy to a fresh, spring green. It was magnificent. Smiling, I squared my shoulders and prepared to re-enter the great hall at last.

That, however, was the exact moment Alex turned the corner and strode into the corridor. He had changed out of his muddy travel clothes and wore clean breeches in supple, light leather and a coat of luxurious green wool. He caught my eye and stopped walking. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. I couldn't think, I could only take him in. My vision narrowed to a pinprick, at the center of which was his lovely face.

"Alex," I breathed, delighting in the feel of his name across my lips. "Alex," I repeated, this time more self-assured. I took a step toward him.

Then, and it seems only then, recognition took hold. A wide smile spread across his face. "Eilean?"

Without warning, tears welled up in my eyes and he started walking toward me. Once close enough, I practically knocked him over with the force of my embrace.

"I'm so sorry!" I blubbered, "I am so, so, so very sorry, Alex, and I never got to tell you. I went looking for you to apologize but you were gone and — and—" I was thinking and talking too fast. "And I am so ashamed."

Squeezing Alex closely, the words and regret tumbled out of me. Inelegant and frantic though I might be, it was imperative that he understood I was repentant of my past behavior.

There was no hesitation as Alex's arms encircled me with equal ferocity. He laughed as my extended apology continued to pour out.

"Eilean," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "Eilean, it's alright. It's fine." He pulled back a bit and looked me in the eye, smiling blissfully. He brushed his hands across my cheeks, wiping away my tears. "Consider your apology accepted. You are thoroughly forgiven, as I hope you might forgive me."

I beamed, nodding, "You did nothing wrong — " I started to say but Alex challenged me with a wry look. I almost laughed.

He reached up and pulled on a loose tendril of my hair, "I see it all grew back."

Now I laughed, the sound unfamiliar to me after so many years of silence. "And you are not blind?" I asked, looking between his eyes for any signs of damage.

"My vision has never been better," Alex winked.

Happy. I realized I was happy. It was a sensation as unfamiliar to me as the smells I had never noticed or the laugh I hadn't used in years. The realization made me blush and Alex faltered. We stepped away from each other and the gulf of years settled between us. A servant carrying a bin of dirty wine glasses walked through where we had just embraced.

"I—I should go say hello to your father and mother," Alex said, watching the retreating servant.

"Right," I blurted, shaking my head. My happiness dimmed a bit, I felt myself slipping back into the haze and the fog as I realized I had no idea what to say. "Of course." Grimacing, I led the way back into the great hall.