And now, Eilidh leaned forward, nearly pressing her face to the glass. Reverend Gillespie and his wife finished settling themselves into the carriage. A footman shut the door and then climbed up beside the coachman.
Eilidh watched the carriage until it disappeared down the rough lane.
So . . . now what?
She was abandoned.
In a castle.
In northern Scotland.
With no money.
And her supposed friends, some of the few she could claim, had just forsaken her.
A freezing chill—void of warmth and hope—seized her mind.
A blank nothingness.
Instead of shivering it away, Eilidh welcomed the numbness.
It was a long-time companion.
Within the frozen deadness, she did not need to feel the sting of the Gillespie’s desertion. She could avoid the acidic taste of despair, and the sinking tide of hopelessness that threatened to drag her out to sea.
Instead, she could logically dissect the situation and make appropriate decisions.
She was rather a professional at starting her life anew, was she not?
Six years. She had served Mrs. Gillespie forsixyears as a lady’s companion. They may not have always been kind, but the Gillespies had usually been fair. Why had they not simply informed Eilidh that her services were no longer needed? Why not leave her with Simon in Yorkshire? Why bring her all this way just to sneak off at the break of dawn?
It seemed needlessly cruel.
But then life since her father’s death had been peppered with cruelty.
Simon was the only bright spot—a miraculous, solitary touch of grace that God had granted her. She could almost hear his soothing voice in her ear, telling her that she was safe, that all would be well. That if she needed a place to fall, he would catch her.
She simply needed to return to him.
After six years of suffering the repercussions of actions she could not remember, she was ready to move on. To finally progress beyond her guilt and anger and horror. To take Simon’s steady hand in hers and race into their bright future together, arms wide.
Eilidh hugged her elbows, the chill in her chest spreading, causing her fingers to tingle and buzz.
She might be experienced when it came to dealing with desertion, but that didn’t mean she found the experience pleasant.
Once more, she would cast herself upon the kindness of strangers.
And if they turned out not to be kind . . .
Well . . . that did not bear thinking upon.
An hour later, Eilidh had summoned the courage to face her fate.
After all, the occupants of the castle would soon learn—if they did not already know—that the Gillespies had departed. How long would they allow Eilidh to stay?
Perhaps this Mrs. Campbell would be understanding and motherly and even feed her breakfast before casting her out. Most importantly, perhaps the lady would lend her the money to return to Yorkshire and Simon.
Eilidh dressed, proud that her hands only shook slightly. Her wardrobe consisted entirely of Mrs. Gillespie’s cast-offs, and so the fabric of her gowns had been turned and re-sewn many times over. The muslin was so worn at the seams, she pulled cautiously as she did her buttons, pleading with the cloth not to tear altogether.
