Lady Eilean

Chapter 48

"Why are you living with a man you have not married?" Mother cut into her chicken with precision, the knife flashing in the low light.

My forkful stopped halfway to my mouth. I lowered the utensil and exhaled heavily through my nose, pressing my lips tight.

The fire crackled merrily, mocking the strained atmosphere between us.

"You might have to be more specific," I said with a sweet smile. "There are many men on the estate with whom I have not married."

Mother's lips pressed into a thin line, nearly disappearing into her mouth. I acknowledged her annoyance with a cocky tilt of the head.

"As for Alex, about whom I presume we are discussing, there is an understanding between us. He has proven himself to these lands and these people in a way I fear few others can. He has been a devoted friend and companion. Not only to myself and our family but to all the inhabitants of Ellesmure." I reached for and took a long sip of my wine. "Or do you not know about the ruin father left behind?"

My insolence exposed my contempt. While I was ashamed of my behavior, the rage I felt in being questioned by someone who had displayed nothing but neglect would not permit me to have a civil conversation. I had held back too much for too long. I had spent the afternoon trying to school my emotions into more compassionate, welcoming, easy spirits — but it was all for naught. Hurt, frustration, betrayal, they all played second fiddle to any sense of filial outrage.

"You're nothing like how I remember you," Mother said, shaking her head. "What happened to my sweet girl?"

I snorted. "You never knew me. If you remember a girl that was sweet, she was a creation of your own imagination. A mirage of your own guilt at whittling who I was into a perfect, useless husk."

Mother held my stare, her eyes as hard as mine. With a huff of exasperation, she dabbed her mouth with her napkin and then threw up her hands. "You seem to hold a great crime over my head. If you want to be a vengeful harpy, so be it, but at least inform me of what I am accused of, Eilean."

I scoffed and shoved a roll in my mouth, eating it in one bite. Even now, full of anger, I was a coward. The chewing only bought me time.

"Six years," I said, gulping down the bread. "Not a single letter. Not a scrap of parchment to tell me where you were. If you were alive. No note of comfort or advice or concern."

"War is chaotic, Eilean —"

"You had the presence of mind to send back bodies. Even then, time for a letter could not be spared? No. Just my brothers' names nailed to coffin lids. How was I supposed to know that the rest of you weren't rotting in the sun on some battlefield?"

Standing, needing to move before I combusted, I paced around the length of the room.

"Father was years behind on his debts! There was no food. You took all the men who might plant and harvest, who might have been able to protect us. I begged you in weekly letters for guidance. I needed to know how to manage the tenants and creditors. I needed to know how to feed the thousands of people you had left behind without a thought. Your crime, mother, is exactly as Ian said all those years ago. You made me stupid. You made me useless. And then you left me to die."

Years of suppressed anger burned through my veins. I wasn't screaming. My voice had fallen to a deadly whisper. Resentment made me unfeeling, dangerous, righteous. Maybe mother was innocent of the financial burdens, but in all other matters was I not worthy of the same devotion, attention, and loyalty she had always shown my brothers?

"In father's foolish quest for glory, he sacrificed the very people of the Islands he claimed to fight for. We nearly died. All of us." I braced myself against the table, channeling all my heartache into her slack, stupid face.