My Wee Mate

17 - Words Aflame

Ailsa

The knock at my door startles me, but I clear my throat before putting my book to the side. I glance at it anxiously, longingly. I want to return to it. The pages call to me, trying to draw me back to them.

    I heave myself out of my chair before I can change my mind. I really do not want to open the door. I would much rather pretend that I'm not here at all. That wouldn't do anything. She wouldn't believe it for a second.

    As little as my mother knows, she still knows me well.

     "Hi mother." I say, shoving fondness into my voice as I swing open the door, putting my palm on the edge of the wood as I observe her. "Nice of you to drop by."

     She gives me a surprised look.

    "How did you know it was me?"

     Because you knock, and Gentry never does.

    "Hmm, lucky guess?" I hedge, not sounding convincing to even my own ears.

    She brushes past me, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

    Oh, so this is going to be a long visit. Best to put on a fake grin and get this over with now.

    I close the door with a dull thud. I flick my gaze to the book still sitting on a small table by the fireplace. The fire roars, crumbling and crackling with flames. For a moment, I fear that a stray ember will jump from between the fire grate and land on one of the precious pages.

    Pushing away the irrational fear, I yank my eyes away from the novel that I was so engrossed in. My mother has never respected my hobby of reading. She is too traditional. She believes that women should be silent and have no deep thoughts or strong opinions.

    I did a lot of things secretly that my mother didn't agree with. What went on inside my head was my own business, regardless of my gender.

    There was another habit I have that I know would upset her. Fraser's face flashes behind my eyes. His sly smile. His lights alight with mischief as he teases me.

    I shove him away, frightened that I might slip up and tell on myself. What would I even say? Oh, mother, by the way, father has imprisoned a handsome man in the dungeons and I've been sneaking out every night to visit him? That I lent him a book and shared my meals with him?

     It sounds ridiculous, even to myself. She might not even believe me.

    Walking away from the book and my mother, putting distance between the things that could put me at risk.

     Taking a seat at my vanity, I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess, resembling a bird's nest rather than a lady's hair. I don't mind though. I did just wake up after all.

     Mother scoffs behind me, I meet her gaze on the mirror to see the disgust settled in her steely eyes. She is looking at my hair in all its disarray.

     I comb my hair in silence. The brush pulls its way through my long, tangled hair, working through each snarl with difficulty.

     My mother hums in approval, crossing her legs as she scoots forward, perched on the edge of the bed.

     I try not to look in the mirror, afraid of what emotions I could see there reflecting in my eyes.

     My mother sits idly. She doesn't lift a finger to help me, and I'm thankful for that much.

     "I came here to talk with you, Ailsa." She says confidently, and when I look back up at her, all of my hair in one hand, she's smiling grimly. "And I think you know what it's about."