My Dear Isabella: A Letter to a Sister from a Brother

My Dear Isabella,

I hope you find this only after I have died, or am incapable of ever seeing you again, as it's easier for me to do this way. I am too cowardly to ever say this to your face and have always been so.

I know I have hurt you in ways I should be and am profoundly ashamed of, so while writing this, I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I owe you at least an explanation for my actions.

Do you remember our childhood in Locksley? Or have I made you so bitter that you have forgotten?

I remember Isabella, I remember only too well. I remember how we used to play in the meadow in the summer. We used to pretend that we were knights jousting each other on foot and sometimes I would pretend to be your horse and let you ride on my back. All those summer days were so wonderful, those were the days when we acted like proper siblings instead of theatening each other like we do now. Oh, how I wish we could go back to how we used to be. We were so happy. But then Father caught leprosy and Mother died in the fire. I remember seeing the smoke billowing out from our house and me, searching the village frantically just to see if you were safe.

The next few years were amongst the worst, for you were only eight years old and I was but fourteen. Though, we were still young I promised myself that I would look after you, look after us both.  

Remember our family in Calais? Well, they weren't much use to us for they just put us to work in the mills, and because of this we often had to fend for and feed ourselves in the poorly kept houses.

Remember our times spent in those ghastly houses, we used to pretend that our lodgings were a grand castle? Well, one day I thought. One day we would be living in exactly that, a grand castle.

The years went by and our relationship started to change. I remember you just ten years old and crying. Crying for our parents but I scolded you and told you not to be ungrateful. I immediately felt guilty for you had every right to cry. I wasn't angry with you but I steered my temper towards you. Pray remember Isabella, that I too, was only a child. I may have been eighteen, but I was never prepared for the untimely death of our parents and thus proper custody of my little sister. Nor had you asked for this. So as you wept, I promised myself that I would do whatever in my power I could to make sure we would never live like this again. You never had to live like this again.

Finally, an opportunity arose. Thornton offered us an opportunity to live comfortably. He gave me a noble title for your hand in marriage. Yet, this arrangement made me feel uneasy about giving you away like this. But then I remembered all those nights when you slept hungry and cold. I remembered the promise I made to you, to give you the life you deserved. Now by marrying you to Thornton, you could get it and we could all return to England. Who was I to deny you that chance of happiness?

Yet on the eve of your wedding, in that house that Thornton had provided us in England, I gave strict orders that I was not to be disturbed by anyone. I still felt burdened by what I was about to do and I did something that I would never admit doing. I cried. Cried because I knew what I was doing. I was giving my wonderful, bonny, baby sister away to another man. A man who I thought would keep his promise to care for you.

The day of your wedding, I remember you being nervous though at the same time you felt happy, because your 'prince' had come to save you and I remember you telling me that and thanking me. Perhaps if I told you then what I want to now, I could have become the old Guy, the brother you knew rather the cold-hearted beast I am now.

Years went by and I gave witness to an era of following orders from a man who was just as merciless as I was. Who taught me that caring for humanity mattered little and wouldn't get you anywhere in the world. You needed to be heartless and ambitious if you wanted power and position. Wealth and position were what gave you safety and comfort, thus I shut myself off to my voice of conscience and emotion. Then I learnt to be cold and callous.

I may have done things that I am not proud of but I hoped that by meeting someone special I would be able to redeem myself from the pit of Hell. That special someone came and I grew to love her but she rejected my feelings. I do not blame her, considering the wretched man I had become. Yet, that was nothing compared to the wretched thing I did. I ran her through with my sword and killed her. She cared for me and made me a better man but I destroyed her. And by destroying her, I destroyed everything, along with the little shred of goodness left within my heart. Destroyed all hope of ever redeeming myself for the unimaginable things I had done in my life. I could not feel after that, it was too difficult and painful. Painful because the memory of her and what I had done to her haunted me. I kept seeing her in my dreams, though they weren't dreams they were nightmares. My whole life was a nightmare I couldn't awaken from. The only way to not feel the hurt was to act cold. Pretend that I had no heart. It was easy for me to not fear the dark pit of Hell, for I was already there.

When I saw you again, at first I felt a small spark of happiness for I had forgotten how long it had been since I last saw you. But when you told me what Thornton had put you through, treating you with no compassion or love, leaving the marks of his hands upon your skin like wounds, I could not believe it. I wanted to believe that somehow you were exaggerating, even though your eyes told me the truth. Why did I not protect you like an older brother should? Why did I not just accept my mistake?

Because that would mean accepting that I made the wrong choice, that I was the only one who benefitted from the decision I had made. It would mean accepting that I had failed you. I had failed my little sister because I could not protect you against your husband like an older brother should. I failed my promise to you.

I know what I have said is unforgiveable and if I could go back and undo all the mistakes I have made, I would. But Isabella, my dear little sister, I can't. My stone heart has been with me for too long that I cannot go back and undo the things I've done. I loathe myself for becoming the man I am today, for not being the brother you've always wanted.

I know this is no excuse for how I have treated you, especially now as I cannot give what I owe you to your face. And I know I have no right to ask for or expect your forgiveness for the things I have done. But know that I never stopped loving you, dear Isabella, even if I have never been able to show you. Know that I am truly sorry and I only ask of you that you never become like me. Never become the cold-hearted person I am and that your heart never turns to poison like mine has. May you find happiness, love and peace like I have always wanted for you and for myself, but never have been thought worthy for.

Your brother always,

Guy