My Wee Mate

4 - Mischief

    Ailsa

"Open." The command sends a stiffness of defiance down my back, making me narrow my eyes even as I open my mouth for inspection as my tongue is pushed down.

Wylie holds a candle to my mouth, looking down my throat through his glasses and shaking his head.

"How long did this attack last?" He questions as he pulls the flickering candle away.

I steal a glance at my mother sitting in a small chair in the corner, wringing her hands around her handkerchief. Her wide, blue eyes flit away from me, fixating on the physician as she leans forward.

She always attends when my health is being looked in on, playing the concerned, maternal role that she feels will make her appear her very best as the wife of the Laird.

"Only a few minutes." I respond, trying to ignore the rasp in my voice.

I purposefully leave out the part about the dangerous shadow that watched me from the sidelines. I'm not completely sure why I keep this bit of information to myself, but it feels like a secret that should remain in my mind. I don't know what they'll do with my experience. Would they laugh and point? Call me daft? They may even say that I'm touched.

I don't care to find out.

"Well, you do have some lingering wheezing, which I suspect will last a week or so. I recommend smoking a pipe of thorn apple leaves at least once a day." I want to growl at him as Gentry fluffs the pillows behind my head.

Smoking those leaves always leaves my mouth dry. I try to avoid it at all costs, but now that I've had two lung attacks mere days apart, I'm sure my maid will be shoving the pipe in my hand every chance she gets.

"Bed rest is important as well." He begins packing his exam bag, clicking it shut as he addresses my mother directly. "If it persists for longer than a week, we will have to bleed her. I may bring leeches if you prefer."

Gentry and I cringe, but my mother simply nods her head dutifully. She is desperate for any way to make me normal. If there was a way to make my disease disappear, she would pay her weight in gold to acquire it.

"I know you don't like it, Ailsa." Wylie says, his stretched jowls swaying with each word. I know it's rude, but my gaze stays fixed on them even as he speaks to me directly. "You must know that many ailments are a result of an excess of blood."

I nod, having heard his excuses a thousand times, but, I believe he just enjoys watching me bleed. I can't explain it, but it feels wrong.

The physician leaves, and I take a rough breath of relief. The breath is loud. My mother takes notice. She perks up, coming to my side to play her role.

"Oh, my dearest." She whines, taking my hand. I flinch. I want to yank my hand away from her icy grip, but I don't. She'll be gone soon enough. "Gentry will take good care of you. We will fix this one day, and you will finally live a normal life."

What she doesn't say is by normal life she's implying popping out grandchildren for her posterity. A woman who cannot bear children is no woman at all. I appreciate that she leaves this part out, but I remember all the times she's said it.

"Mother, I don't want to let him bleed me, it doesn't do anythi..."

"Hush." She demands, oval face brimming with barely leashed anger. "You will obey anything and everything that may heal you. You are my daughter and I want you safe."

I close my mouth with a click, and my eyes start to moisten. I would like to think she cares about me, but I have my doubts. She sniffs, her back going stiff as she flees the room. I watch her go, feeling sullen and abandoned.