"What of our families? What will they think?"
"Let us not live for them, let us live for us and our eternal love."
A century-long feud and a forbidden romance.
In which a Sutherland falls
for a Bridgerton, and despite
the cutthroat rivalry between...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"SISTER?"
One word. Two syllables. Six letters. Without the context, without the scene unfolding around them and without the knowledge of history itself, the singular word would mean nothing more than a dictionary's definition. But, a word so short and so innocent meant everything. It was horrifying and it was poisonous. It was heartbreaking and breath-stealing. Any light that had found itself in her chest from her conversation with Colin had now been extinguished as the darkness of fear reigned, conquering all. Six letters. Six damning letters falling from her brother's tongue was the soundtrack of her ruin.
How could something so small, so quick to say as 'sister', be the precursor of her downfall?
The silence that followed her brother's singular word was deafening. Time seemed to halt in the enclosed space void of all sound. Even the quick and shallow breaths filling her lungs were without any audible noise. The one thing ringing loudly in her ears, the one thing that she could hear was the intense beat of her heart in her chest. She could not escape the thunderous lub and dub throbbing inside her head.
She felt as if she were drowning on dry ground.
"Maxwell? What are you doing?" She asked, her tone heavily laced with caution and her eyes wide. She hoped he had not heard her speaking with Colin. She hoped he would not notice the painting discarded to the floor and the exposed crack in the wall. She hoped he would fail to put the pieces together. For there was no other explanation for the scene before him. If he had heard her speaking, then surely he would unpuzzle the riddle. But, Maxwell was no fool. No, not at all.
With hesitation, as if to draw minimal attention, Maisie rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around her stomach. She lingered in front of the crack, attempting to conceal it in full, attempting to protect her and Colin's secret. However, even she knew the effort was in vain. Maxwell knew. How could he not? She repeated, her voice breaking like fragile glass under the strength she willed upon it, "What are you doing?"
She had never seen Maxwell so cold before. His nostrils flared and his brown eyes were empty of life, becoming a chasm of ice. The seventeen-year-old boy stood by her shut bedroom door across the room and stared at her with an unwavering gaze. Yet, even in the distance, she could feel the freezing lividity whirling around him as if he were a dangerous blizzard. Even under the fiery glow of the candlelight, not a sliver of warmth could be found on his skin, for his anger swallowed all comfort from her bedroom. She withheld a shiver from crawling down her spine.
His eyebrows scrunched together, allowing thin creases to run across his forehead. "What am I doing? What are you doing, Margaret?"
If not for the tenseness ruling her body, encasing her in a coating of stone, Maisie would have flinched at the repulsion in his tone. He confirmed her deepest fear. He knew.
