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Amelie returned to her seat and felt relief when she was able to get away from the crowd, as well as all their stares. Her cheeks were still flushed red from embarrassment and she dreaded the thought that some people would come to bid her a happy birthday, which unfortunately did happen. She knew they were only doing this because they did not want to disappoint the Laird, and now they came one after the other, pretending to be friendly. Amelie sat there and forced a smile on her face. There was never enough of a break between people, so her jaw ached as it was stretched taut. She blinked furiously and hoped for an opportunity to resume eating and reward herself for all her hard efforts with some plum sauce. Then a glass was thrust into her hand from an unknown source, but by reflex she drank it, gulping it down to soothe her aching throat. It wasn’t until she had drained the glass dry that she realized it had contained fizzy, bubbly, rich, sparkling alcohol. The sensation was heady and went high up into her head, making her feel as though she was dancing with the stars. Her stomach twisted and turned, as though it was dancing to a rhythm of its own accord. Amelie felt tingles spreading through her and she started to feel out of control, and she didn’t like it at all.

Everyone was crowding her and she couldn’t find any way to escape. The only thing on her mind was the plum sauce. She reached across for the ladle, but something went wrong. Her hand twitched and the dark sauce spilled over the table, and she felt like such a fool. Couldn’t she do anything right? Bridget had bought her this lovely dress, Fleur had such high hopes for her, and Pascal wanted her to enjoy the evening, but it felt wrong to Amelie. All she wanted was to be back in her room by herself, without all of these strangers trying to encroach upon her personal space. This had been a mistake from the very beginning and she should never have tried to think otherwise.

She pushed herself up before anyone could make a fuss. No doubt the others would say it was a simple mistake, but she knew what they were thinking; silly old Amelie, so useless she couldn’t even figure out how to work a ladle.

What she really needed was to breathe, so she managed to wriggle through some people and found a calm, cool space, but then someone else quickly set upon her.

“Gaeing somewhere in a hurry? I thought I could at least trouble ye for a dance, since it is yer birthday,” he said. He wore a charming smile and his eyes were like two stars. The inky blackness of his pupils offered mystery, while the colorful irises were like two gems that would be the prized possession of any king. His face still had the blush of youth, although there was also a sense of maturity and calmness about him. He moved with confidence and his words were smooth, pouring out of him like honey. Amelie was so stunned that she did not know how to react. Her lips twitched uneasily and the fear rose in her throat, making it so difficult to concentrate. She hated to be rude, and yet the thought of being polite and dancing with this man was so different from everything she was used to doing.

He chuckled when she didn’t reply and bowed his head, offering his hand out. She stared at it, at the long, slender fingers that were unadorned with rings. Thin blades of hair appeared at the very top of his wrist and disappeared up his sleeves. His thumbs were stocky, his fingers long, his gaze inviting with warmth radiating from it. For a moment, just a moment, she was tempted to allow her hand to fold into his and be swept away in a dizzying dance of elation. This was the chance she had to be someone different than Amelie the mute, Amelie the silent, Amelie the nun. The alcohol that buzzed through her mind played havoc with her thoughts. He was right there, and would God have placed him in her path had she not been meant to take his hand? She could have been whisked away around the chamber and all the people would have disappeared in a blur, and for one dance she would have known what it was like to be like Fleur and Bridget.

She would feel his cheek pressing against hers, and the expanse of his broad chest would fill her vision. She would disappear into him and perhaps she should, for Fleur and Pascal, a gift to them both on her birthday. Then she could make a fool of herself while dancing and they would see that she was unsuited to this life, and this man, whoever he was, would return to someone prettier and soon forget the day that he ever asked the clumsy, silly girl to dance with him.

While all this ran through her mind and she was frozen in the river of indecision, she noticed over his shoulder people from her old clan. Like her, they had grown up, but they were just as uncouth as they had been as children. Their malevolent eyes had grown colder, their lips thinner. The girls looked like hags and the boys like ogres as they tittered together, sifting the enjoyment from the world as they ridiculed everyone. Amelie could hear them now, just as she had heard them before.

“Ye know it’s hopeless. Let me give ye a wee bit of advice, leave this one alone. She’s an invalid, dinnae ye know? There’s nary a sound that can pass through her lips. Ye will nae get a response from her. There’s nae reason for ye tae pay any attention tae her at all,” they sneered and scoffed towards the man who still had his hand outstretched. Amelie flushed purple, turning the shade of plum wine herself. Breath choked in her throat as she turned away, hating the reminder of her youth. Pascal and Fleur claimed that things were better in the Highlands now. Perhaps they were for the two of them, the Laird and Lady who were reputable and intimidating. But for Amelie, it was a different matter entirely. The people were still cruel, and their words cut as sharp as knives. What was she supposed to do, go and complain to Pascal about it? He wasn’t likely to disrupt the entire celebration just for her, and it was clear again that she didn’t belong.

She turned away from them before a flood of tears could pour down her cheeks and then she ran away. She left the plum sauce behind. She pushed through people who muttered and cursed at her. She ran until she was in the open air and far from the party, moving away from other people, trying to find a place in this clan where she could be alone, but there were people everywhere. They were like a swarm, a plague, popping out from every crevice like dirty rats that scurried everywhere. All she wanted was to find one little corner where she could escape.

* * *

Evan frowned as Pascal’s sister ran away. No woman had ever reacted that way to him before. It only added to her allure though. When Pascal had brought her into the middle of the chamber, Evan’s attention had been drawn to her immediately. There was something about her that struck him as different. She wore her hair differently than anyone else he knew. It showed confidence and bravery to go against the grain like that. And her face was not painted with makeup. Rather she let her natural beauty express itself. Her fine features were delicate and soft. Her eyes were wide and dewy, her lips were full, while her cheeks were flushed with color, which he took to be a sign that deep passions ran underneath. The dress she wore was a deep shade of red which made her stand out as well. It clung to her lithe figure, and his heart beat a little quicker when he gazed at her figure. She wore a shawl around her shoulders, draping herself in modesty, but it only served to encourage his curiosity. He imagined her to be a fine dancer with a figure like hers, so light he could have swept her around the room and lost himself in her eyes.

But he never got the chance. He hadn’t even been able to introduce himself, and he wondered if this was some type of game where he was supposed to chase her. The thought was enticing, but he still had his duties to perform. He had watched the crowd carefully and only spoke to Amelie because he was confident that no trouble was going to present itself. He thought it wouldn’t be too bad if he took a break to enjoy one dance. Pascal had come over to him and told him to enjoy himself, after all.

However, before he could even think about leaving the chamber, one of the women who had come up to him wrapped her hand around his arm and seemed to enjoy the feeling of his muscles. Her fingers worked their way up his bicep and squeezed. She murmured in delight and a glazed look came over her eyes. She was quite the opposite of Amelie. Her hair was long and dark, tumbling in curls down to the middle of her body. Her eyes were dusky, her cheeks painted with rouge, and her dress was designed to draw attention.

“Ye dinnae need her. I promise that I can show ye a better time. I’m sure ye would prefer a lady who knows how tae respond tae a man,” she said in a sultry tone, punctuating her words with a pout of her glistening lips. Her words were clear with promise.

“I think ye were a wee bit rude tae her. She is the Laird’s sister after all,” Evan said.

She merely shrugged her shoulders and tilted her head to the side. “If ye knew her as a child then ye would understand. The Laird takes pity on her, but she is naething special. I can show ye what special is,” she said. Evan furrowed his brow and knew that this woman was anything but a lady. However, he was there to have a good time and since Amelie had fled he thought there was no harm in enjoying one dance at least. He hoped to find Amelie later, and then he could find out why she had rushed away so quickly, and what truth there was to the things that this woman was saying.

* * *

Amelie ran and ran. She ran so hard that sweat poured down her temples and her sides ached. Her dress was constricting and tight, and she didn’t stop until she was surrounded by silence. She was far from the keep now. The fires glowed in the distance, and the raucous noise was now just a faint murmur. The stars were aglow above and the darkness of the night had been draped across the world like a blanket. She came to a halt near a bridge, leaning against the wooden barrier. The moon framed her face, and in the river, she could see the outline of her reflection. It shimmered and for a moment she thought she could see Pascal, and then Fleur, but when the water settled it was just back to being plain old Amelie. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, placing her forehead against her forearm. Her panting hadn’t subsided, nor did it seem as though it was going to settle any time soon.

She hated the feeling that she was being chased. Seeing those people again had brought back so many awful memories, and it was as though no time had passed at all between her childhood and this moment. All she had accomplished, all the progress she made… it was all for nothing. She reached for her slate, but realized in her panic she had left it where she had been sitting. She stared back at the keep, but there was no way she was going to return there now and fight back through the crowd. She would just have to hope that it was there in the morning.

She cut a glum figure as she remained by the bridge, worried that people were going to follow her and tease her again relentlessly. They had years of teasing to catch up on, after all. They could come here and push her into the river, steal her dress, drag her through the mud and make fun of her for being quiet again. She remembered well when a guard had yelled at her for picking flowers from a place she wasn’t supposed to be. All her life people had yelled at her and all she wanted was some quiet.

But then she realized that she wasn’t the only person in danger. After all, those same people had bullied Pascal just as much as her. What if they were here to cause Pascal’s downfall? What if they were going to attack him? Perhaps she should have warned Pascal of their presence. What if in her silence she had doomed her family to be killed? There were so many people there it would have been easy to slip poison into a drink or a dagger into ribs. The more she thought about it the more she began hyperventilating. She gazed at the keep, but her feet were rooted to the spot. She couldn’t move, and then she turned away. Perhaps it was just better if she ran away into the night and let fate decide where she was going to end up. She could cast herself into the wind and pretend that she was a leaf, being carried away to an unknown place.

If only it were daytime, then at least she could ride away back to the nunnery. But out here she was alone… alone. What if there was an assassin creeping by? Maybe they wanted to hurt Pascal by getting to her first. People said they were fine with him being Laird, but they had already forced him to go by another name. She knew well enough that people didn’t change so easily, and there was going to be misgiving and mistrust among the others who lived there. They could drive Pascal away by killing his sister, and she had isolated herself.

She choked on her own breath and her blood turned to ice. Her vision blurred. Hot sorrow bloomed in her eyes and she felt like such a failure. Even now, when she thought her family might be in danger, she could not summon the courage to go and tell her brother. She was the weakest of the three, the one that Fleur and Pascal had always needed to protect. She had never fought off anyone, and it wasn’t likely that she was going to start now.

Amelie was so worked up that she didn’t notice the footsteps behind her. She only knew someone was there when two large hands folded over her eyes. She went rigid and a small sob squeaked out of her mouth, for she thought this was the moment when she was going to die, and the last thing she thought was a wish that she had lived a fuller life.

“Slow down. Calm yerself. Take deep breaths, lass, naething bad is gaeing tae happen. Ye are perfectly safe on this beautiful night in this beautiful land. The sky is as pretty as ye are, sae there’s nae reason for ye tae be like this,” he said. She recognized the voice immediately. It was the same man who had asked her to dance. His fingers were pressed lightly over her face and the warmth of them felt nice. He gave her more directions. His steady voice gave her something to cling to, and he helped calm the raging storm of thoughts that whirled around in a maelstrom. Eventually, she calmed down and he stepped back from her. He hadn’t touched her any more than he needed to.

He smiled at her. It was an earnest, reassuring gesture.

“Good, ye hae calmed down. I was worried when ye dinnae return tae the feast. I thought ye might hae gotten lost. I hope ye understand that whatever is on yer mind, it’s only thoughts. There is nae danger here. I can make sure of that,” he said, spreading his arms wide and looking around. He raised his voice. “If there is anyone out here then come out, I demand it. Beast, man, demon, it dinnae matter. I will challenge ye all,” he said. He tilted his head as he listened for a response, but none was given. “See,” he added, “there is naething here.”

Amelie’s heart trembled with relief at his words. She was also reassured by his actions. There was nothing shy about him at all. He was cut from the same cloth as Pascal, and she began to realize how foolish she had been to allow these thoughts to run rampant through her mind. Of course, nobody was going to kill her, and of course, she wasn’t going to bring about the downfall of her family.

“Thank ye,” she mustered, the words tumbling out of her narrow throat. They were a raw whisper, unsoftened, hard, like a lump of clay that had been left out too long in the sun and was now dry and of no use to anyone. He tilted his head to the side and wore a bemused look.

“Sae ye can speak,” he said, wearing a slanted smile. He was about to say something else when a woman called out to him. He glanced over his shoulder and shrugged towards Amelie. “It looks as though I hae been summoned. I am glad tae see that ye are well,” he winked at her and then sauntered back to the keep.