Page 31 of Beyond Dreams

Enlivened by this—she had been wondering if and how she’d ever hear from Sidheag again, Holly pulled out the dainty stool tucked under the desk and sat down to write.

While Holly tried to make sense of the feather pen and the ink, exactly how much to use without blotting it all over the paper, Doirin suddenly became chatty.

“’Tis true, and nae the first time my son has taken a daughter away from me,” Doirin lamented.

Stepson, Holly mentally corrected.I guess this sheet of paper will be my practice one, Holly decided pretty quickly, her first attempts producing only dribbles and letters so thick the words were not discernable.

“First he promised Evir to a common knight and then gave away my Flora to a man of questionable character who makes his home in the borderlands!”

“I’m sure he did what was best for—” Holly began absently, only half paying attention, though part of her wondered if Duncan’s perpetual sour mood had anything to do with living with Doirinandthree younger sisters for too long.

“He did what was most convenient for himself!” Doirin argued. “My precious Moire will almost certainly be ill-received in her new home. People can often be callous and mean-spirited.”

Preaching to the choir, lady, Holly thought, rolling her eyes at Doirin’s select vision and recollect.

She learned pretty quickly that she could not hesitate once she set the nib of the quill to the paper and that holding the pen at an angle produced cleaner, thinner lines than holding it more upright.

“Highlanders are often looked down upon,” Doirin went on.

Dear Sidheag,Holly began on a fresh sheet of paper.Now what? I’m here. I married him. When can I go? Will it be you or someone else coming for me?

The writing was laborious and achieved very slowly. The line from some movie or book, something heard or read long ago, flitted through her mind.I write with a goose quill dipped in venom. It might not be venom, but Holly suddenly felt very medieval for having accomplished this small task.

“I imagine,” Doirin continued, her tone different now, more sly than disgruntled, “that Duncan only hastily arranged Moire’s marriage to appease his own. He wants us gone, desires a new mistress to Thallane, has ever contrived to play me false, accuse me of not loving his father.”

Refusing to be baited by this family’s drama—she barely knew the woman but had already decided she was not a good person—Holly steadfastly ignored her, keeping her back to the room.

“He was ever jealous of how properly I filled the role his mother had relinquished,” Doirin said next. “I should have been a perfect mistress to Thallane if he would have allowed it. So contrary, so filled with hate he is.”

Holly suddenly heard Judy Dench’s voice, haughtily reading her lines in the Jane Austen movie. “If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient.” Holy crap, but they were all wacky in this era.

She’d be best served by not commenting at all, she decided, pretending she couldn’t hear a word. When she said nothing, Doirin carried on in Gaelic, the sweetened honey sound abandoned, returned to her snippy voice.

Tuning her out, Holly straightened and considered her handiwork and then lowered her head and blew on the ink. She didn’t trust that the ink would not sway and dribble if she picked up the paper and waved it. After a moment, she pinched a tiny amount of sand and scattered it over the short note. And then, after further consideration, she realized she hadn’t signed the letter. That posed another conundrum, which name to use.

Ceri MacHeth?

Ceri MacQuillan?

Holly MacQuillan?

Ugh. Not wanting to make a federal project out of it, she signed her own name, just Holly.

Her gaze shifted to the corner of her eye, but she thought neither Doirin nor Moire was paying much attention to her.

“And I just leave it here?” She asked when she was done, wishing she had an envelope in which to tuck it and seal it, to keep it away from prying eyes. Maybe they couldn’t read English, she considered.

“As you’ve been told,” Doirin said, annoyed by another question or Holly’s very presence.

Making a face at Doirin’s profile, Holly spied the candle sitting next to her, a thick yellow stub about four inches tall. Having worked at The Bluffs for so long, she knew very well how letters once were sealed. Carefully, she folded the vellum in three and stood and went to where the candle sat on a table between Doirin and Moire. She picked it up in its metal holder, ignored Doirin’s vocalized outrage, and tipped the candle carefully until several drops of wax landed on the line where the edge was. She set the candle back down and returned to the desk, where she waited just a moment so that the wax was not too hot and then used her thumb to flatten the wax, basically affixing her seal.

She smiled at her own cleverness and left the letter sitting on the desk.

“Good day, ladies,” she said, suddenly chipper, as she sailed out of the solar.

She spent the remainder of the day exploring the cellars beneath Thallane, as she’d thought to do earlier.

Tomorrow, she resolved. Tomorrow she would introduce herself to Red Molly in the kitchen and get about whatever was expected of the chief’s wife. Honestly though, she didn’t see the point, assuming she’d be gone either before she learned anything or before she might be of use to Thallane.

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