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He had appeared like a wraith emanating from the ground, and he had disappeared just as quickly. Amelie had to rub her eyes as she doubted that he had existed at all. Her mind was so forlorn that it might well have conjured him from nothing, giving rise to a form of a man she could trust without hesitation, someone unlike any other man she had encountered. But she peered back towards the keep and saw him sauntering back to the feast, flanked by one of the girls who had mocked her. If he cared about her enough to check on her, then why did he leave when called by someone who had been so mean to her?

Amelie was too tired to try and untangle the motivations of a stranger. She had never had much success in understanding other people. She supposed if she wanted to understand him truly then she could return to the feast and seek him out. The look on the girl’s face would be sour when Amelie tugged at his sleeve and drew his attention away… but more likely she would be mocked again and rebuked. He would probably nudge her away, telling her that he couldn’t be interrupted, and people would laugh at her for daring to think she might be able to get something for herself. Amelie’s stomach turned at the mere thought of the sneering look that the girl would give her, and she would have to live through the humiliation again.

She stayed by the bridge for a while, staring into space. She closed her eyes again, thinking about the warmth of his large fingers, his strength belied by the delicate touch upon her cheeks. His voice had been low and soothing, his breath warmer than the cool air that lingered upon the world at night. He had said just the right things as well, like some sorcerer of emotion who commanded her deepest impulses.

And she didn’t even know his name. She sighed, supposing there was little point in thinking about him too much. She would soon be gone from this place and he would return to wherever he was from. Perhaps he might even fall in love with that girl and their marriage would soon be announced, followed by the arrival of a child or two or three, as was the way for normal people, people unlike Amelie.

She wrapped her arms around her body as she turned away from the wilderness. Thanks to the man’s kind words, her mind was no longer clouded by danger and she did not see demons when she looked into the shadows of the night. She embraced the calm air and enjoyed seeing the branches of trees flutter. She heard the hoots of owls in the distance and watched the water trickle away. The silver moonlight shone upon it so brightly that from the right angle, it looked as though milk was pouring through the land.

As Amelie returned to the castle, these gentle noises were overwhelmed and peace was shattered by the raucous cacophony of the feast. Her chest tightened once again as the clusters of people were illuminated by fires outside the castle. Flagons clashed as people toasted to each other. They danced to the music that was pouring out of the keep, and plenty of the men were also testing their strength against each other. Some of them had wooden swords that clacked and clattered, while others wrestled and grappled, their heavy feet slipping in the mud. Women watched on with amusement, waiting to see which men emerged victorious. They tittered with laughter at these people who were making fools of themselves, waiting to see which fool they would turn into a husband. Their eyes glinted with desire as they sipped on wine, only moving when they were whisked away into a passionate, twirling dance.

To escape from the risk of being pulled in for a dance by a man who did not know any better, Amelie veered away and took the long way back to the keep. She was growing tired now. The alcohol that sloshed through her mind made everything heavy, and she just wanted to return to bed. There was no way she could return to the feast now after she had caused such embarrassment by running away, even if she felt vulnerable without her slate, as a lame man would without a cane. It wasn’t as though she planned to speak to anyone else during the evening though, so she would just have to wait until the morning and hope that someone had left it alone. It wouldn’t surprise her if there were crude drawings when she found it again. That’s what some of the children had done when she was younger before she had gotten used to remembering to bring the slate with her wherever she went. Often she had returned to it, finding it covered in awful things, and sometimes even threats for her and her family to leave. As well as being written on the slate, these things had been burned into Amelie’s heart and so it was difficult for her to ignore them. She couldn’t simply shrug them off like Pascal and Fleur did. They had the uncanny ability to turn away from the past and chop away the bits that they did not like, as though they were snipping away dead buds from a flower.

Amelie wished it was that easy for her.

She slipped by some guards who were keeping watch. They were too busy talking with each other to notice her. She also passed by the entrance to the kitchen, where she heard some of the maids complaining about men being too active with their hands.

“Ye should speak tae the Laird about it. I’m sure he’ll soon make an example of them. He said he is nae gaeing tae tolerate what Angus used tae put up with. We dinnae need tae put up with that any longer,” an unseen voice said.

“I dinnae want tae trouble him,” the original person said.

The other maid tutted and Amelie could imagine her rolling her eyes. “Well, he cannae fix something he dinnae know exists. Ye may as well be waiting for a wagon tae repair itself. If ye dinnae want tae put up with these men then ye are gaeing tae hae tae speak up.”

Amelie passed along, so she did not hear what the other maid said in reply. She felt sympathy for the maid, however, knowing that it was not always easy to speak up. She wished she could have gone into the kitchen and promised them that, as sister to the Laird, she would make sure Pascal knew there was a problem. It’s what Fleur and Bridget would have done, but once again the differences between her and the two other women were stark.

Amelie found a side door in which to enter, not wishing to engage with the crowd. The keep shook from the energy of the party, and she was worried that soon enough the crenelated top of the castle would start to erode and pelt the ground with debris. The noise seemed to be all around her, but she managed to focus on the origin and in this way, she evaded the crowds. She went up the servants’ stairs and crawled about the keep like a stray cat, avoiding the people who might shoo her away. The rooms were mostly empty as everyone staying in the keep was still at the feast. She imagined they would remain there until the faint light of dawn tinted the world.

Soon enough her chamber came into view and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was as though she was a weary traveler who had been blown off course and her arrival delayed, but finally, she reached her destination. She drew the door around her like a cloak and then fell into the chamber, shutting out the outside world. A long exhalation left her as she lit a candle and then unclasped her dress. She folded it in her arms and put it back in the closet, glad that she had been able to wear it for one night, yet knowing that she was likely never going to wear it again.

She pulled her rough nightgown over her and felt more like herself. Noise filtered up from the world below, a world that was filled with joviality and frivolity and a sense of freedom that she would never quite understand herself. Perhaps she had come close tonight, with the mystery man. If things had gone differently she might indeed have found herself spinning around with him while the music played, shifting the beat of her heart to something that was more melodic. Or she might have spoken with him outside, whispering in the dusky night where it was a time and a place for secrets.

Instead, she had been left alone to ponder her solitude. She was glad she had at least experienced a feast like this now that she was older. It served to remind her of her place in the world. She bowed her head, sank to her knees, and then clasped her hands together as she performed her nightly prayer routine. She thanked the Lord for Pascal, as well as many other things, but as she prayed a curious thing happened. Usually, Amelie was quite adept at keeping her mind disciplined. However, tonight unwanted thoughts infiltrated her prayers. Now that she had her eyes closed again she almost expected the mysterious stranger to be there once more and put his hands tenderly upon her, soothing the anguish in her soul.

She quickly jerked her eyes open and pushed herself up, shaking away the errant thoughts. It wouldn’t do to let herself get carried away like this. It just wouldn’t do. She must be still reeling from the effects of the drink she had swigged by mistake. If only she had been able to get some plum sauce…

She blew out the candle. The last plume of smoke danced in the air before it died, and by that point she was already in bed, hidden under the thick sheepskin blanket. Her head nestled in the soft pillow and when she closed her eyes she tried to stop these intrusive thoughts. Despite having gotten used to the loud keep, she was afraid that on this night she would not be able to sleep at all because the noise had ascended to a new volume that was quite disturbing. She wished that she could have draped a blanket over them all and silenced them.

However, the night had been draining enough that she did indeed slip into the sweet embrace of slumber. Her breathing deepened and her thoughts settled to calm water instead of a raging sea. The darkness drew her in, and soon enough she was bidding farewell to this eventful and tormenting day, ready to welcome a new one, one where she could return to the place she knew well, and where she could be at peace after this brief foray into the wild world.

Unfortunately, Amelie’s mind lent itself to troubled thoughts as she slept. Nightmares were freed from their shackles and allowed to run rampant. Images and horrors of the past had life breathed into them again and leaped up, flaring like flames that were being stoked.

She was back to being a child, so small and helpless, finding the world a strange and unyielding place. Pascal and Fleur were lost. They had been right beside her, but then she had caught the scent of sweet bread and turned her back on them only for a moment, but a moment was all it took to get lost in the busy Parisian streets. There were bodies all around her. Strange, giant bodies that loomed over her and cast her in shadow. When she tugged on their sleeves for help they glared and spat at her, cursed her for being a thief, and turned away sharply.

Then someone grabbed her arm. Their grip was painful, and she could not see his face. At first, she thought it might have been her Papa. Fleur had told them that they were never going to see Papa again, but Amelie hoped she was wrong. Perhaps he was taking her home and so, believing this fantasy, she allowed herself to be taken. It seemed better to her than remaining in that sea of people, waiting to be trampled.

The world cleared and she found herself in a dark alley. It was then that she realized the man who had taken her was not her Papa at all. Papa was handsome. This man… was not. He had a toothy smile and bulging eyes. His face was leathery and yellow, and a shade of a beard coated his chin. A pungent odor lingered around him and made Amelie’s nose turn up. She tried to pull her hand away, but he shook his head and narrowed his eyes. A sense of danger poured through her heart and she remembered what Fleur had told her; if she ever found herself feeling threatened all she had to do was scream at the top of her lungs. Scream until she ran out of breath, and Fleur had promised to find her.

So that’s exactly what Amelie did. Or, more accurately, it was what she tried to do. She opened her mouth wide, ready to let fly a shrieking scream that would reach the heavens, only a grimy hand was clamped around her mouth before any noise could escape. The thick palm pressed against her mouth. It was like a slab of meat. He gripped her jaw and flattened it so tightly that there wasn’t any gap for the air to escape.

“You make a sound and I will break your neck,” he said in French, his fetid breath curling around her. Amelie went rigid with fright. He held her so tightly that it was as though he was pushing her voice deep down inside her, into the hidden depths where nothing could escape. She looked up at him with wide eyes, her body limp as he held her in this unbreakable grip. Her nostrils fluttered frantically as she tried to breathe, but it was becoming harder and harder. He wouldn’t take his hand away, and the longer he remained there, the more she felt as though she was losing something precious.

In reality, Fleur and Pascal had found her soon enough. They had noticed she wasn’t with them and had managed to glimpse her being taken away. Their presence was enough to frighten the man into leaving, and Amelie was left with a sore throat, an aching jaw, and the threat echoing through her mind. It would take years before she ever uttered another sound. In the dream, however, the man kept holding her, driving her down to the ground, as though he was seeking to push her into the hard streets where she would be entombed, living an endless death as people walked upon the streets above her. Never would they witness her pain, never would they reach down to help her because she had been silenced forever.

But then she felt hands coming around her head again and the stranger’s voice was rushing against her ears. He was telling her that everything was going to be well and she was safe, and suddenly all the horrible imaginings of the nightmare were dispelled.

Amelie awoke with sweat dripping from her temple. It was cold and damp, as though she had just been doused by a passing storm. She rose into a sitting position and groaned, rubbing her eyes as she took stock of her surroundings. She shuddered as she clutched the blanket close to herself and gulped down deep breaths.

“Safe,” she whispered, just to remind herself that she was still capable of speaking.

It had been a long time since she had endured that dream. The peace and safety of the nunnery had helped her rest easy at night, but the events of the feast and her heightened emotions must have brought the nightmare back with relentless force. It reminded her that she would never be rid of it no matter how many years passed.

And yet never before had her nightmare involved another. The mysterious stranger seemed to occupy many of her thoughts, even sneaking into her sleeping mind. A sense of serenity passed over her, and this was uncommon, as it usually took her a long time to recover from the terror of the nightmare.

She found herself wondering if she had made an equal impression in the mind of the handsome stranger. Did his thoughts linger on her, or had he already forgotten her? Had she been banished from his mind by some pretty face? Was he the type to flirt with every woman who came across his path, or did he only seek out those who sparked some kind of interest in him? She supposed it mattered little since she wasn’t going to see him again. She would have some breakfast and then she would arrange travel back to the nunnery, where she could resume her peaceful life and take solace in the day-to-day routine from which she would never waver. And, on occasion, she might allow her thoughts to stray to the handsome man and think of how her life might have been different with him, but she would never linger on him too long. After all, it wasn’t as though he could ever fall in love with her. He would want someone to say sweet words to him, someone who would coo and swoon and tell him how handsome and powerful he was. Such things were beyond her.