Chapter Eleven #3
Elena nodded, her gaze fixed on the fire. “I was contemplating... about what makes a marriage bearable. Or—happy.” She hesitated, then went on. “And whether a woman can be content, truly content, if she canna rely upon her husband to protect her.”
Isabel stilled.
“Protection takes many forms,” Isabel said carefully. “Do you mean strength of arm?”
“I’m nae sure,” Elena answered, a bit evasively. “I suppose I always kent it mattered. That it is... necessary.”
Isabel considered this, her expression thoughtful rather than alarmed. “It matters,” she said honestly. “But it is nae the first thing I would name to construct a solid marriage.”
Elena turned then, surprised. “It’s nae?”
“Nae,” Isabel said. “A man may be strong and still fail ye. He may be brave and yet absent when ye most need him.” She set her cup aside and folded her hands in her lap. “What sustains a marriage—what gives it any chance at peace—is trust. Respect. And honesty.”
“Honesty,” she repeated, too quickly to disguise how it caught her.
Isabel nodded, watchful now. “Aye. A woman can endure many things if she kens where she stands. It is nae danger that undoes us so often as uncertainty.”
“And integrity?” Elena asked.
Her mother’s gaze softened. “That as well—goes hand in hand with honesty, does it nae? A man must be the same in shadow as he is in the light. Ye canna build a life with someone whose truth changes depending on who is watching.”
Elena’s fingers tightened around her cup. She thought of Thomas’s hands—clean, unmarked—his voice pitched to carry, the story shaped so carefully before it had even been asked for. She thought of how quickly he had needed her to agree, that that had been his first concern upon reuniting with her.
“And if a man believes himself honest,” she asked quietly, “but is nae?”
Isabel studied her then, really studied her, obviously trying to read beneath the words. “Then the danger is greater,” she said gently. “Because he will nae ken when he has crossed a line, or care to see the line in the first place.”
The fire popped softly. Elena looked back at the flames, her reflection wavering there. “I dinna want to be ungrateful,” she said. “Or foolish. I ken fear can make men act strangely.”
“Fear reveals,” Isabel corrected, without sharpness. “It does nae excuse.”
Elena drew a breath. “Mother... Thomas did nae fight for me.”
Isabel’s mouth opened but she said nothing, sat very still, but Elena could see her mind whirring.
“He froze,” Elena went on, the words coming steadier now that they had begun. “He never lifted a hand. He did nae draw his sword. He simply... stood there.” Her mouth twisted faintly. “I ken he forgot he even wore a sword.”
Isabel’s lips pressed together, thoughtful rather than startled. “I did wonder,” she said quietly, “whether that sword and scabbard were more for show than use.”
Elena glanced up, not entirely surprised. “He said he fought,” she added. “Said there were too many. And he wanted me to say the same.” Her fingers curled tighter around the cup. “I did nae contradict him. I could nae. Not there.”
Isabel reached across the small distance between them and laid her hand over Elena’s. “Ye should nae fault yourself for that.”
“I do, a little,” Elena admitted. “And yet—I dinna wish him ruined for it. Fear does strange things to men. And the match...” She hesitated. “It matters. Ye and Father have said as much. The alliance. The families in the south.”
“Aye,” Isabel said slowly. “It is important, but Elena, I would nae have ye—”
Elena shook her head. “I dinna reveal so much to have the betrothal broken, Mother. I only want... to ken how to get past it. I can live with a man who lacks courage,” she said, her voice small, not sure she actually could.
Isabel’s lips thinned slightly. “Can ye live with a man who lies about it?”
“I’m nae sure,” she said finally, and there was no shame in the admission. “I only ken what duty asks of me.”
Isabel studied her daughter’s face—the resolve there, the inherited stubbornness—and sighed softly.
“Duty has its place,” she said. “But it is a poor foundation if it must bear everything alone.” She bit her lip thoughtfully, studying Elena longer.
“I raised ye to be strong, to ken yer own worth, to bear weight and burdens as ye must, but nae to carry another’s. ”
They held one another’s gaze for a long moment, the firelight shifting softly between them. At last, Elena spoke.
“I’m nae asking for reconsideration,” she said quietly.
“Thomas is a guid man—a kind man—and that must account for something. It does, I ken it does.” She drew a slow breath, her fingers tightening briefly in her lap.
“I only wish to ken what to do with the...diminishment I feel now. With the loss of regard. With the disrespect I canna pretend away.” She looked down then, voice lowering.
“I dinna ken how a woman builds a life beside a man she nae longer believes in, nor how she gives him her loyalty when her esteem is already frayed.”
“Ye must understand this, love,” she said at last. “Disrespect does nae mend itself. It does nae fade with time, nor soften with habit. Once a woman sees a man clearly, she canna unsee him again.” She paused, thoughtful for a moment and then added, “Ye may learn to live alongside it. Many women do. But if ye choose that path, it must be with open eyes—and without expecting him to become something he has already shown ye he is nae.” Isabel drew a slow breath.
“I would be failing ye,” she said carefully, “if I pretended this was only a wee thing.”
Elena’s shoulders tightened. “I...”
“Hush,” Isabel said gently, but firmly. “I ken what ye are willing to bear. That has never been in doubt.” She looked at her daughter then with an intensity that made Elena sit a little straighter.
“But I will nae see ye bound to a life that asks ye to shrink your own judgment to make room for another’s weakness. ”
Elena swallowed. “Mother—”
“I am nae saying anything must be decided today,” Isabel went on, softening slightly. “Nor that alliances do nae matter. They do. Ye have been raised to understand that.” She paused, then added, quieter still, “But so does the keeping of our name. And yours.”
She rose at last, smoothing her skirts as though gathering herself for what lay ahead. “I will speak with yer father,” she said simply.
Elena looked down at her hands, folded now in her lap. “I did nae mean to trouble ye.”
Isabel strode forward and cupped Elena’s face in both hands, firm and loving. “Ye did nae trouble me,” she said, kissing her brow. “Ye trusted me. That is what a daughter is meant to do. Rest now. We will take this one step at a time.”