Beauty and the Beastly Highlander by Kenna Kendrick

Chapter Eleven

When Etna found Malina the following day, a part of her feared that she would have forgotten all about their truce after she had fixed her doll and that she would have returned to her old self, the one that refused to speak to her and wanted nothing to do with her.

But when Malina saw her enter the library, she ran to her with excitement that Etna hadn’t seen her the entire time she had been there. She wrapped her arms around her legs, giving her a tight hug, and Etna couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Weel, Malina . . . it’s a verra bonnie day outside,” Etna said as she looked out of the window. It had been a while since she had last seen a sun so bright, and the day was warm, inviting her to spend all her time outside. It would be a shame to stay in the castle when they could have their lesson put in nature. “How about we go for a walk?”

Malina was eager to agree, nodding fervently, and Etna knew that she would never miss an opportunity to go outside. She had been cooped up in the castle for too long before Etna had come there, and now she wanted to make up for it.

Taking Malina’s hand, she led him out of the castle, into the courtyard, and then out of the walls. Like every time that she stepped foot out of there, Etna could suddenly breathe easier, the sunny sky making her forget about the gloominess of the castle.

When the Laird returns, I’ll have a talk with him. This is ridiculous! We canna be in the dark every day!

But would Finley even listen? Just because he had changed his appearance, it didn’t mean that his personality had changed, as well. No, Etna was certain that would take a much longer time.

Once they made it to the lake, Etna sat down on a large rock, and Malina settled down next to her. She watched the little girl as she plunged her hand in the water, laughing delightedly, her beloved doll nestled safely in her lap.

Ach, that doll. I suppose I have her to thank for this.

The doll made her think back to her own childhood when her mother would make dolls for her. She had died too young when Etna still needed her, and the wound her death had left behind had never quite healed. Whenever Etna thought about her, she was overwhelmed by grief, like a weight in her chest that refused to budge. Having Malina next to her, though, was a comfort. Young children always were for Etna.

Thinking about her childhood while sitting next to the lake reminded her of something her mother used to tell her, a story that she had half-forgotten throughout the years. It was about that very lake, and Etna frowned, trying to remember what it was that her mother had told her about it.

“Malina, do ye want to hear a story?”

“A story?”

Malina looked curious, a small frown on her face, as though the concept of the story was completely foreign to her. Etna answered with a frown of her own.

“Aye,” she said. “A story about this loch.”

Malina nodded, resting her head on her hands as she gave Etna her full attention. Etna reached over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Malina’s ear as she began to speak.

“In this loch, every night when the moon shines bright in the sky, the fairies come out to bathe,” she said, dipping her hand in the water. “They’re wee creatures, verra tiny, and they fly around on their wings that look like glass.”

Malina’s eyes were wide open by then, and she was looking at the lake in awe. Etna smiled at her innocence and at her apparent love for stories, and she wondered if anyone had actually taken the time to tell her a story before. Surely, Arlene would have told her a bedtime story or two while taking care of her.

“And they look like wee fireflies under the moonlight, their wings catching the light,” she continued. “They sparkle so brightly, but ye can hardly see it because the water sparkles, too, and they look like one. But if ye’re lucky to spot one, then she’ll be kind enough to talk to ye.”

Malina gasped, her gaze fixed on the surface of the lake. A part of Etna wondered if she had made a mistake telling her that story, thinking that she would pester her every single night from then on to take her to the lake, and then she remembered that she had done just that to her mother. Only they had been far enough from the lake for her to have an excuse to not take Etna as a child. What excuse would Etna have since the castle was right next to it?

“But na human should disturb the fairies,” she said, in a hasty attempt to ensure that the fairies wouldn’t be the only thing Malina would talk about for the foreseeable future. She leaned closer to Malina then, voice turning into a soft whisper as she spoke. “For we are na supposed to ken that they exist.”

Malina nodded slowly, her gaze never straying from the water. “Have ye seen the fairies?”

Etna shook her head. “Na, I havena,” she said, and then she remembered how her mother always told her that she had, in fact, seen them herself when she had been a child. Etna smiled at the memory, shaking her head. “But me maither saw them when she was yer age. And she’s the one who told me that story. And do ye ken what else she told me?”

Malina shook her head.

“She told me that if ye see them, and ye’re pure of heart, they’ll make one wish come true for ye.”

Another gasp from Malina, and Etna smiled, almost believing it all herself. She hadn’t thought about her mother in a while, and remembering her was nice, even though it pained her.

“Where is yer maither noo?” Malina asked, her question taking Etna by surprise. She had to swallow the knot in her throat, the one that threatened to turn into a sob, even though the memories of her mother were faded, distant. Perhaps it was that which saddened her so terribly, the knowledge that she couldn’t remember her mother’s voice or her laugh. She could remember her face, but she was certain that she had some details wrong.

“Me maither is in the same place as yers,” she told Malina with a gentle smile. “And I’m sure that both of them are lookin’ over us.”

For a few moments, there was a tense silence between them. Etna didn’t want to push Malina to talk about her mother, but she had heard nothing about the woman in all the weeks that she had spent there.

How can na one talk about her? Does na one think it’s important to remember her?

Etna hadn’t even heard her name. She hadn’t seen a single portrait of her, though she doubted that one had never been painted. All she could assume was that the Laird had taken them all down, perhaps even destroyed them, removing every reminder of her from the castle.

“Dadaidh doesna allow any stories or jokes or songs in the castle,” Malina said then, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, as though she felt like she wasn’t supposed to share that information with Etna. “So, I didna ken any other stories before this one.”

Etna frowned at that. “Why doesna he allow all that?”

Malina gave her a small shrug. “I dinna ken,” she said. “He doesna want any noise in the castle. He doesna want people to speak or laugh.”

Etna couldn’t stop the wave of fury that crashed over her, a rage that she hadn’t felt before. How could one man be allowed to ban any hint of joy that all those people could have? No stories, no jokes, no singing, nothing that could entertain them and give them a moment of reprieve from their daily duties. And all that because he was a bitter man.

There were limits, though, even to what a Laird could do. His people were suffering under his rule; Etna herself was suffering, locked up within those walls in the darkness, having to be around people that didn’t dare smile, let alone speak to each other. It was getting to her, but unlike everyone else, who seemed to follow Finley’s orders without even questioning him, she wasn’t afraid of the man.

No matter how awkward seeing him again would be, she was determined to give him a piece of her mind once he would return from the tour. If he wanted his people to like him, to trust him and fight for him, he had to treat them with the same respect that he demanded from them.

“That brute! How can he behave so cruelly?” Etna exclaimed, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. When she realized that Malina was there, though, she gasped, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

As much as she hated what the Laird was doing to his people, she didn’t want to speak ill of him in front of his own daughter.

But Malina seemed unperturbed, as though she had heard the very same words many times before.

“It’s alright,” she said, and Etna looked at her, eyes narrow. It was only then that she realized her expression must have been murderous. She could feel the heat on her cheeks, the pain in her jaw as she ground her teeth, and she had to will herself to calm down. It could only do harm, letting her rage get the better of her in front of Malina.

“Malina, ye’re only a wee bairn, ye—”

“It’s alright,” Malina said, this time a little more forcefully, sensing Etna’s frustration. “I ken that he’s sad for Mamaidh. I understand. I dinna want to make him even more upset by singin’ or dancin’ or smilin’.”

As much as Malina’s words were sweet, so incredibly sweet, Etna’s heart sank for her. She seemed to love her father, despite everything that the man had done, and she was willing to give up every joy she could have if it meant that he wouldn’t be reminded of her mother.

But that couldn’t be the solution to the situation. It wasn’t a solution at all, in Etna’s eyes. The Laird couldn’t ban joy just because he couldn’t feel any of it himself.

And how can he na feel any joy? How can he na feel happy when he looks at Malina?

Even if she looked like her mother, something that Etna couldn’t confirm, she was such a kind, sweet girl that everyone who knew her was bound to love her. How could the Laird not love her enough to give her the childhood that she needed?

“Malina, a wee lassie like ye should grow up with songs and dances and stories,” Etna said, trying once more to get through to her. “A wee lassie should have her Dadaidh by her side. Dinna ye miss him?”

“Dadaidh visits me sometimes,” Malina said with a small shrug. “I miss him, but he comes to see me at night when everyone else is asleep. When he thinks I’m asleep. Sometimes I hear him cry, but he says that he loves me every time. I asked him why he was cryin’ one time, but he left, and didna come back for days, so I pretend to be asleep noo when he comes.”

That took Etna aback, and she fell silent for a few moments, her mouth hanging open. She would have never guessed that the Laird paid nightly visits to Malina, but she couldn’t understand the secrecy of it all. Why couldn’t he simply see her during the day? And how could his grief be so overpowering that he cried next to her bed?

Could it be that he’s still grieving? That much?

But no, it couldn’t be. She could have believed it had the Laird not kissed her only two days prior. If he was still grieving for his wife every waking moment of his life, then surely, he wouldn’t have kissed her.

The Laird’s behavior was confusing, sending Etna into a downward spiral right in front of Malina. She had to reel in her thoughts, compose herself, and make sure that Malina’s opinion of her father didn’t change because of her attitude toward the man. It was good that Malina loved him and that she hadn’t given up on him quite yet. It was something that Etna could use to talk some sense into the Laird, to show him that everything he was doing was wrong.

And yet, as wrong as Etna deemed his actions, she couldn’t hate him, not truly, not in the way that she wished she could. Finley had captured a part of her heart, and she knew it in her gut that he was a good man. She only wished that he wouldn’t let his pain turn him into the hermit that he had become.

“I ken that people dinna like Dadaidh,” Malina said then, as she stood and kicked a patch of grass. “I’ve heard them talk, and I always ken when they talk about him. But ye like him, right? Ye can see that he’s nice.”

Etna didn’t know what to respond to that. Her feelings for the Laird were complicated at best, and it seemed like every time she heard something new about him, her feelings changed. One moment, she could be frustrated with how unfair and unreasonable the man was, and the next, she could be moved by his gentleness and generosity.

“Aye,” she said in the end, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “I can see it.” Then, she quickly changed her subject, standing up and offering her hand to Malina. “We should head back to the castle. Come on.”

With that, they began to walk back, Malina falling into step next to her. For the entire walk back, Etna stayed silent, and Malina didn’t try to talk to her. They had spent many walks like that, but something told Etna that Malina wasn’t silent because she refused to talk, but rather because she could sense that Etna didn’t know what to say.

She was a perceptive girl, and not just when it came to her father.

“Etna?” Malina asked, just as they walked through the gates.

“Aye?”

“Will ye tell me more stories?”

At that, Etna stopped walking and crouched down next to her, smiling. “Of course, I will,” she promised. “I’ll tell ye a story every night. Would ye like that?”

Malina nodded. Etna made her a silent promise that she would tell her every story she knew. She would give her all the joy that she had been deprived of.

Etna spent the rest of the day with Malina, teaching and reading to her, and by the time the sun had set, she had kept herself occupied enough to have had no thoughts about the Laird. But as always, those thoughts returned, and she became restless, wishing that he would return already so that she could speak with him.

But she knew that he and his party wouldn’t be returning any time soon. There were several villages for them to visit, and it would take a week, if not more, for them to head back to the castle.

I must stop thinkin’ about it, or I’ll go insane. All I can do is wait.