Page 30 of The Story of his Highland Bride
“That sounds perfect.” Eloise offered her arm to the older woman, the two of them walking through the drafty, whistling halls of the castle at a leisurely pace.
Soon enough, they were settled in the sweltering heat of the library, where two fireplaces burned as though they had a personal vendetta against the winter chill. It would never make sense to Eloise to have fire near such flammable things as books, but she couldn’t deny it made for a cozy atmosphere, and firelight was much easier to read by than candlelight.
Comfy in a huge armchair, Eloise sipped her bramble tea, enjoying the sweet and sour taste that tickled her tastebuds. “What did you mean about the Old Gods demanding a price you might not want to pay?”
In the armchair opposite, Lorraine faltered. “Och, it was nothin’. Just the babblin’ of an old coot.”
“I don’t think anyone could accuse you of being an old coot,” Eloise chided softly. “Did something bad happen, when you asked for something? If you don’t want to talk about it, then forget I ever asked. I get curious about that kind of thing. Too curious, maybe.”
Lorraine sighed wearily. “I assume it’s the same nay matter what God ye pray to, but when ye ask for somethin’, and ye get it, but somethin’ bad happens at the same time, ye cannae help but wonder if ye caused it.” She gazed toward the fire, watching the flames dance. “I daenae ken what possessed me to do it, but I prayed to the Old Gods to make Jackson a great Laird, like his faither before him. An innocent prayer, or so I thought.”
“You think the accident was your fault?” Eloise jumped in quietly, her heart aching for the old woman.
Lorraine’s eyes widened. “Ye ken of that?”
“Kaitlyn told me.”
“Ah…” the old woman nodded slowly, “I’ve often thought me prayer got twisted, somehow. After all, Jackson became the Laird of Faulkner that very night, and… he has been a great Laird. It wasnae what I wanted but, sometimes, the Old Gods like to amuse themselves by playin’ tricks.”
Peering at Lorraine over the rim of her cup, Eloise wondered how long the old woman had carried that burden with her. The pained creases around Lorraine’s eyes and the slump of her shoulders were in stark contrast to the Lorraine that Eloisehad encountered so far, but perhaps there would be some relief in finally getting it off her chest. Although, offering advice had never been Eloise’s strong suit.
“I’ve read enough histories and research, from all kinds of cultures and religions, to know that, sometimes, it’s the world itself that gets twisted,” she began tentatively. “It’s easier to blame it on a God, or to blame it on yourself, because then someone, somewhere is paying penance for the awful thing that happened. But the truth is, awful things just happen, and coincidences are more common than you’d think. You weren’t to blame, Lorraine, and I doubt the Old Gods were, either. The weather and the narrowness of the road and the safety of the carriage were to blame.”
Lorraine looked back at Eloise, her eyes shining. “But the Old Gods toy with the weather when they want to.”
“It was winter. The weather is always bad in winter,” Eloise insisted. “For years, I blamed myself for the death of my parents, certain that I could’ve changed things if I’d gone home that weekend to hike with them, or if I’d called when I’d said I was going to, or if I’d realized they weren’t responding to my messages sooner. I thought of a thousand things I could’ve done, a thousand different fates where I stopped it happening, but… I couldn’t. No one could, and no God was involved, just… terrible luck. I expect it’s the same for Jackson’s parents.”
The old woman seemed even older for a moment, as she shrank down into the armchair and sipped her tea, mulling over what Eloise had said. Tears glistened in her eyes, a few escaping ontoher cheeks, trickling down into the valleys of her wrinkled skin before reaching her lips. She wiped them away, shaking her head to anchor herself again.
“Just bad luck, eh?” she said, flashing a sad smile at Eloise.
Eloise nodded. “Just bad luck. The worst.” She glanced over at the stacks which crowded the library: huge bookcases that formed alleys and avenues throughout the vast room. “Are there any books about the family in here? I’d love to know more about them.”
“Och aye, there are plenty of ‘em. Soothes me, sometimes, to come in here and read about those I’ve lost,” Lorraine replied, brightening. “If ye head toward the back, ye’ll see shelves painted gold. That’s where ye’ll find them—it’s me own little memorial to them.”
Eloise made to get up. “May I?”
“Please do, though I willnae stay and pester ye while ye’re readin’. I’ll wander to the gatepost and see if there’s been any sign of me grandson, then I’ll take meself off to bed.” Lorraine heaved herself out of the chair, prompting Eloise to run forward and help her. “Ye get some rest when ye’re able, do ye hear?”
Eloise assisted the old woman to the library door. “I will, and the same goes for you. Don’t be tossing and turning all night. I don’t know Jackson very well, but I can tell he’s capable. It’ll just be the snow keeping him away, and if he’s got any sense—which Idon’t know if he does yet—he’ll have stayed somewhere warm in the village.”
“I’m glad ye’re here,” Lorraine said softly, giving Eloise’s hand a squeeze. “I think me old bones needed someone to talk to tonight. Thank ye for obligin’.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Eloise assured. “But you don’t have to go if you’d rather stay up for a while? I can read those books another time.”
Lorraine wafted a dismissive hand. “I cannae be awake all night like I used to when I was young. Everyone says how fortunate I am to be old and gray and wise, but I’ll tell ye one thing—bein’ old isnae so much of a triumph when ye’ve nay one to share the winter years with. If it wasnae for me grandson, I’d have withered away years ago.”
“Well, you keep sprouting. I doubt the castle would be the same without you, and I’m sure there’ll be great-grandchildren one day to make your winter years feel joyful again,” Eloise insisted, her cheeks on fire as she realized what she’d said. Of course, she didn’t think those great-grandchildren would come from her, but she worried that the old woman might.
A grin spread across Lorraine’s face, confirming Eloise’s fears. “Aye, that would be a fine thing indeed.” She patted Eloise’s shoulder gently. “I’ll leave ye, then. Daenae burn the candle at both ends.”
With that, the old woman left Eloise alone in the majesty of the library, surrounded by the things that Eloise loved best: books.
Oblivious to the time, Eloise devoured the Faulkner dynasty and Buchanan family archives, sitting on the floor, as close to the fireplace as she dared, so she wouldn’t strain her eyes. It had served as the perfect distraction against Jackson’s continued absence, her mind filled with the mother and father that he clearly missed so much. She could picture them, now, though she hadn’t stopped there; she’d read as far back as she could, soaking up tales of treachery and love and scandal and tragedy. Sometimes, she forgot she was reading about actual lives from the recent past, completely immersed in it all.
So, when the library door gusted open and a figure marched in, she jumped out of her skin in fright.
“Jackson, what the—” Her heart thundered, as she hurried to close the last book she’d been reading, like she’d been caught doing something terrible.
