Chapter 25
It’s already over.
Lughnasadh had already arrived, and that meant Rhea had only one day left to spend with Callum. The weeks had gone by fast, too fast for her liking, to the point where she felt she hadn’t managed to get anything else out of him.
But that was also because he had been avoiding her, much to her chagrin. Whenever she searched for him, he was busy. Whenever she tried to find him, he was nowhere to be found.
It had been the same since the night they had spent together, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he had realized that she had feelings for him and if that had pushed him away.
But she couldn’t deny the love she felt for him.
How could she ignore it? How could she hide her feelings when all she wanted was for him to acknowledge them, to return them even?
Every time they passed by each other and he all but ran off, trying to avoid her, another piece of her heart shattered, never to be recovered again.
Perhaps it is better this way.
She had been the one to fear that the more time they spent together, the more she would grow attached to him. Now that they were apart, she carried an ache in her chest every single day, from the moment she woke to the moment she fell asleep, but at least her love wasn’t growing.
She could handle the ache. It wouldn’t be her first time battling with something like this, after all. There had been a similar ache when they had first wedded, which may not have come from love, but it was a kind of disappointment all the same.
She was nothing if not familiar with disappointment.
“Ye look… unwell.”
That had always been Mabel’s way of asking if she was all right without speaking those exact words out loud.
Rhea couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her, shaking her head as the two of them sat in the busy drawing room, watching the servants rush back and forth to get everything ready for the feast. There was nothing left for her to do.
Everything had been arranged, and now all she could do was sit there, stewing in her own disillusionment.
“I’m fine, Mabel,” she assured her sister half-heartedly.
Mabel knew her better than everyone, so there was no point in even trying to hide from her.
“Aye, I’m sure,” she mumbled, clearly not believing her. But Mabel was not the kind of person to push, not even with Rhea. There were other ways she utilized, mainly distraction. After a pause, she asked, “Have ye spoken to Callum yet?”
“Nay,” Rhea answered flatly, not allowing herself to show anything—not sadness, not weakness, nothing that could give her true feelings away.
She didn’t want to worry her sister, nor did she want to talk about any of this. Whatever was happening between her and Callum was too painful, too confusing for her to speak of it clearly, especially when they were surrounded by so many people.
“Och, ye look quite pale, me Lady,” Lara noted as she placed a tray of tea and treats on the small table before them. She lingered by the couch, studying her carefully. “Is it because of the candle?”
“The candle?” Rhea asked with a confused frown.
“Aye, the candle.” Lara nodded. “I saw it in yer room. It extinguished itself, me Lady.”
Mabel rolled her eyes.
Rhea was more than familiar with Lara’s superstitions by then, so the statement didn’t surprise her.
“It’s a very bad omen, me Lady,” Lara added. “There was nay wind, nothin'. I saw it.”
“And what does that mean?” Mabel asked impatiently, as if she was waiting for her to say something that would prove her wrong.
“It means…” Lara’s voice lowered to a whisper, and she leaned in so that the other servants wouldn’t hear her. “It means that someone will die.”
Mabel scoffed before Rhea could utter a single word. “That is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath.
Rhea sighed and made space for Lara on the couch, beckoning her over. “Come, sit.”
Lara hesitated for a moment before she did as she was told, coming to sit on the couch between Rhea and Mabel.
Mabel, ever patient, took Lara’s hand in her own and squeezed it lightly. It took Rhea a moment to notice the tremor in Lara’s hands. The maid was truly frightened.
“There is nothin' to be afraid of, Lara,” Mabel assured her. She had a way with people. She rarely spoke, especially when she wasn’t familiar with them, but when she did, they listened. “It is only a superstition. Ye shouldnae fash so much over small things.”
“But the candle, Lady Mabel,” Lara said, her breath hitching on the word candle. “I saw it with me own eyes, I swear it.”
“I ken ye did,” Mabel soothed. “But candles can extinguish themselves for many reasons. There may have been a breeze that ye didnae notice. The wick may have been… I daenae ken… faulty, perhaps. There are so many reasons why this may have happened.”
Rhea could almost see the cogs in Lara’s mind turning, as if she was truly considering the possibilities—at least possibilities other than supernatural ones—but she seemed hesitant. Rhea didn’t know if anyone could convince her that there were natural causes to all things.
“But—”
“Tell me,” Mabel cut in, “did yer mother teach ye all these things?”
“The superstitions?” Lara asked, sounding eager to speak about it. “Aye, she kent all about such things. She could tell ye a superstition about anythin’! Truly a wealth of knowledge that few people have, and even fewer in our village. Me family has always been the keepers of such knowledge.”
“I see,” Mabel murmured. “Well, perhaps many things have been… exaggerated over the years. Perhaps ye daenae have to fash about everythin’.”
“Nae everythin’, Lady Mabel,” Lara said. “But there are things I ken for a fact, and this is one of them.”
“Have ye seen a candle extinguish itself before?” Mabel asked.
“Aye.” Lara nodded. “Quite a few times.”
“And did someone die every time?”
Lara seemed to consider that for a moment, and both Rhea and Mabel stared at her with bated breath, waiting to see what she would say, if she would come to some logical conclusion.
“Nay, I cannae say that they have,” she replied, frowning to herself. For a long while, she remained silent, and so did Rhea and Mabel, giving her time to process what she had just uncovered. When she spoke again, she sounded doubtful. “I suppose there were many times when that didnae happen.”
“Perhaps every time?” Mabel suggested.
“Perhaps,” Lara conceded.
Another silence fell over them, and Rhea and Mabel waited patiently once more.
Lara seemed more uncertain than ever, but then she shook herself.
“But there are many times when I was right about other things,” she pointed out.
“Such as?” Mabel prompted.
“The weather, for one,” Lara replied. “I’ve been right about the weather many times.”
“But there are many ways to predict the weather,” Rhea reminded her.
“Aye.” Lara nodded. “That’s what I’m sayin’.”
Rhea and Mabel exchanged amused smiles behind her back, before leaning forward once more to look at her.
“Well then, ye can see that sometimes ye’re right and sometimes ye’re wrong,” Mabel said.
“And there’s nay way to ken when I’m right or wrong!” Lara pointed out, panic thinning her voice.
She seemed disturbed now, as if she had just come to a horrible realization, and any hope Rhea had of talking some sense into her vanished immediately.
“Let us assume ye’re right about the weather,” Mabel allowed. “Since that seems to be the case most of the time.”
“And wrong about everythin’ else?” Lara asked.
“Aye,” Mabel said. “How does that make ye feel?”
“Terrible!”
Rhea couldn’t help but chuckle.
Lara shot her a scathing look. “It isnae amusin’, me Lady!” she complained, misery written plainly all over her delicate features. “If I’m wrong about everythin’, then that means… I’m wrong about everythin’!”
“Aye, that’s usually how it goes,” Mabel muttered under her breath.
“But that’s fine, Lara,” Rhea said, placing a comforting hand on Lara’s back. “It doesnae say anythin’ about ye.”
“But me Lady… so many of the servants trust me with these things,” Lara whined. “How am I supposed to tell them that I’ve been wrong all this time?”
“Ye daenae,” Rhea reassured her. “Ye daenae have to say anythin’.”
Besides, she was quite certain that the servants were only humoring Lara, just like she and Mabel did. She hadn’t seen any of them treating Lara like the seer she considered herself to be, and if they did, then they certainly had to know that not everything she told them was true.
Or so she hoped.
“Anyway,” Mabel spoke up, changing the subject. “Perhaps ye can tell me why me sister is so morose all of a sudden.”
Lara glanced at Rhea out of the corner of her eye and turned a bright shade of pink, the color traveling all the way to her ears. “One doesnae need to ken about signs to figure out what is the matter with me Lady.”
It was a clever response. Rhea had to give it to her.
In another life, Lara would have made for an excellent diplomat. But in this life, she only avoided the subject with such tact that no matter what response she gave Mabel, Rhea couldn’t find it in herself to be offended.
“And what would that be?” Mabel prompted.
Lara glanced at Rhea once again, her cheeks darkening. “Perhaps ye should ask me Lady that.”
“I did,” Mabel said. “But she insists she’s fine.”
“Ach, me Lady!” Lara gasped admonishingly, finally turning to face Rhea. “That isnae right! Yer sister is worried about ye. Ye should tell her what’s wrong.”
It was Rhea’s turn to blush, a lump forming in her throat as she glanced between the two young women.
Lara had a point, she supposed. Mabel would worry either way, and perhaps she would worry even more if Rhea didn’t tell her what was plaguing her mind.
“Fine,” she relented. “But nae here.”
The gardens were quiet at that time of day.
The summer sun beat down on the flowers and the bushes that lined the winding path leading through the manicured plants, and the three young women found shelter under the large canopy of the ancient oak that stood in the very center of the gardens, where there was a long, stone bench.
Rhea was flanked by Mabel and Lara, the two women looking at her expectantly. And yet the longer they looked at her, the more difficult it became for her to speak.
She drew in a sharp breath, forcing the words out. “I worry. I worry that Callum will go after Laird Barclay and never return. I worry he will go to this senseless war and die there. I worry… I worry that he will never… that he will never…”
That she couldn’t force out. No matter how much she tried, the words were stuck in her throat, threatening to choke her.
Thankfully, Mabel and Lara didn’t press her to finish. They only sat there quietly, comforting her with their presence rather than with empty words.
It was up to Rhea to admit the truth. It was up to her to speak the words out loud, to give them shape and weight. As long as the thought remained just that—a thought—it was harmless to her. But she feared the moment she voiced it, it would become reality.
The only way to deal with it is to face it.
“I worry that he will never love me.”
There it is. I’ve said it.
She had said it, and the world kept turning.
Nothing had changed, other than the weight that had suddenly lifted off her shoulders.
Not entirely, as she doubted such a thing was possible, but enough to allow her to breathe more easily, enough to allow her body to relax, sagging on the bench as if all the air had left her lungs.
Mabel scoffed. It wasn’t the reaction Rhea had expected. A comforting touch, perhaps, or a few reassuring words, but not a scoff.
“Surely, ye jest. Have ye nae seen how he looks at ye?”
Rhea blinked a few times in surprise, glancing between Mabel and Lara. “How does he look at me?”
“If ye open yer eyes, ye’ll see it,” Mabel said.
“Lara.” Rhea turned to her maid and pinned her with a look. “How does he look at me?”
Now Lara shook her head. “I couldnae tell ye, me Lady.” She raised her hands as if in surrender. “I never look at the Laird.”
“What?” Mabel frowned.
“I never look at the Laird,” Lara repeated. “If I can help it.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s frightened of him,” Rhea replied on her behalf. At Lara’s indignant huff, she asked, “What? It’s the truth.”
“Perhaps, but ye daenae have to advertise it to everyone!” Lara protested.
“He’s an… imposin’ man,” Rhea said. “But I have seen nothin' but coldness in his eyes when he looks at me.”
Mabel looked at her as if she knew it was a lie—and it was. Rhea had seen many things in Callum’s eyes other than coldness, but love was not one of them.
“Trust me,” Mabel insisted. “We’re too close, and ye fash too much.
Ye cannae see what I see, but I ken what it is.
I ken that he loves ye, Rhea, and ye would be a fool to let him go without tellin’ him how ye feel.
I daenae ken the man well, but he doesnae seem like someone who would reveal his feelings first. Ye have to be the one to tell him how ye feel. ”
Rhea was quick to shake her head. “I cannae do that.”
“Why nae?”
“Because!” Rhea waved her arms wildly in the air. “What if ye’re wrong? What if he… what if he doesnae feel… the same?”
The last two words were spoken in a whisper, barely audible even to herself. But Mabel seemed to hear them regardless.
“I cannae be wrong,” she stated with such confidence that it was almost enough to convince Rhea.
“And if I am, what of it? This is yer last day with him. On the morrow, he leaves again. Do ye want to spend the time he’s gone kennin’ that ye didnae tell him how ye feel?
Who kens when he’ll be back? He may be gone a week, or he may be gone a year.
He may be gone a lot longer than that. What ye need to do is tell him the truth while ye still can. ”
Silence fell over them.
Rhea stared at the bright blue sky, at the few fluffy clouds that passed overhead. And then, ever so slowly, she turned her gaze to Lara, who was clapping, each slam of her hands faster than the last.
“That was… that was so movin’,” Lara sniffed, one hand coming up to wipe away a stray tear. “Lady Mabel, ye’re right.” She then turned to Rhea. “Me Lady, ye must do as yer sister says. Ye must tell the Laird how ye feel before he leaves.”
“I daenae think—”
“Daenae think!” Lara urged, interrupting her. “Just… just do!”
Rhea looked to her sister for help, but Mabel only shrugged, as if to say, I told you so.
She sat there, considering everything Mabel had said, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that her sister was right. If she didn’t tell Callum the truth before he left, then she would forever regret it.
Perhaps she would never even see him again. Perhaps when he returned, things would be different between them anyway. If she didn’t tell him how she felt about him now, there was a chance she never would.
And she deserved to have an answer from him. She deserved to have something—anything but his avoidance.
She nodded, mostly to herself. “All right,” she breathed. “I ken what I must do.”
On either side of her, the two women cheered, and she couldn’t help but laugh.