Daphne shivered, her mouth felt dry, and—for not the first time this season—she longed for her sister. Aileen had been bull-headed, stubborn, and too self-righteous for her own good. Like the Samhain bonfire incarnate, Aileen had taken the helm of Highlander independence and forced its way. If she had succeeded, the peace between the Main and Highlands would have shattered. Just as it was shattering now. But at least Aileen knew how to act. Daphne knew only how to nod her head and be agreeable, to avoid quirking parliament's brow at her.
Because all she wanted was to be left alone.
But Adamh wasn't getting better.
...
It had been a week since she had stopped giving him his medicine. She had swapped it out with a rich herbal tea that harbored a similar color. The medicine she'd pour into the flower beds at their windowsill.
The flowers were beginning to wilt unseasonably early. Adamh still hadn't woken. But his breathing was deeper, wasn't it? Or was she just killing him?
Daphne's eyes welled with fresh tears as she looked out at the expanse of Rionnach and caught sight of the treetops in Yorkshire.
... hours later
"Daphne," came a hoarse croak.
She woke, her limbs stiff. Anxiously, she stared at Adamh. Her precious husband looked no different. It must have been a dream—"Daphne—"
"Adamh!?" Daphne gasped, sniffling as she moved to lick his cheek.
"How... how long...?"
..."Since Winter—it is Spring now..."
No longer did the royal halls sigh with the labored breathing of the bedridden king. Instead, they crashed with the sound of broken porcelain.
Mhairi slipped into a dark cloak of thick, worn, mossy cloth. It stank of must and clung to her fur but she ignored it. Determination burned within her heart as she stared at the raven upon her windowsill. Its beady eyes met hers and, the longer she stared, the more convinced she was that this was the right course of action. How long had it been since she had been permitted to leave her room?
Was this how the Jacobites felt? Stifled and controlled, confined to the North and unable to walk freely through their town? This was no way to live. It was wrong of them—of her, her parents, of parliament and the south—to try and yoke the Highlanders into this oppressive way of life. If there could be no freedom, she would not stand idle.
The guards would be changing soon, she had taken the time to memorize their schedules from the sound of their pawsteps outside.
No one would expect her to escape—at least, not through the servants' quarters and through the ancient sewer systems below. But also, none would expect her to defect to the north. To accept Jacob's invitation as sent by the raven.
"Tell him that I accept," Mhairi breathed, at last steeling herself enough to leave.
"The north must be freed."
ROYALIST & JACOBITE
no posting here — vignette II of IV
Because all she wanted was to be left alone.
But Adamh wasn't getting better.
...
It had been a week since she had stopped giving him his medicine. She had swapped it out with a rich herbal tea that harbored a similar color. The medicine she'd pour into the flower beds at their windowsill.
The flowers were beginning to wilt unseasonably early. Adamh still hadn't woken. But his breathing was deeper, wasn't it? Or was she just killing him?
Daphne's eyes welled with fresh tears as she looked out at the expanse of Rionnach and caught sight of the treetops in Yorkshire.
... hours later
She woke, her limbs stiff. Anxiously, she stared at Adamh. Her precious husband looked no different. It must have been a dream—
...
No longer did the royal halls sigh with the labored breathing of the bedridden king. Instead, they crashed with the sound of broken porcelain.
Mhairi slipped into a dark cloak of thick, worn, mossy cloth. It stank of must and clung to her fur but she ignored it. Determination burned within her heart as she stared at the raven upon her windowsill. Its beady eyes met hers and, the longer she stared, the more convinced she was that this was the right course of action. How long had it been since she had been permitted to leave her room?
Was this how the Jacobites felt? Stifled and controlled, confined to the North and unable to walk freely through their town? This was no way to live. It was wrong of them—of her, her parents, of parliament and the south—to try and yoke the Highlanders into this oppressive way of life. If there could be no freedom, she would not stand idle.
The guards would be changing soon, she had taken the time to memorize their schedules from the sound of their pawsteps outside.
No one would expect her to escape—at least, not through the servants' quarters and through the ancient sewer systems below. But also, none would expect her to defect to the north. To accept Jacob's invitation as sent by the raven.
no posting here — vignette II of IV
