FAREWELL AND A JOURNEY
Amice dressed carefully in a cream linen gown, pairing it with a kirtle worked with dusky roses. With her red hair brushed and a small jeweled band adorning it, she looked demurely pretty. She walked up the stairs to the turret room where Hal was lodged. She felt surprisingly nervous.
I need to say my farewell to him.
She tiptoed up and knocked at the door. There was no answer. She waited.
“Hal?”
No answer. She turned and walked away. She heard footsteps coming up the hallway, and then, suddenly, there he was, all wheat-colored hair and high cheekbones and that earnest smile.
“Hal,” she said softly. “There you are. I wanted to say farewell.”
“Oh.” Hall smiled. “Well, mayhap we can walk on the ramparts together? I'm in desperate need of fresh air.”
Amice nodded. “I'll fetch a mantel. It's cold out there.”
They met on the turret. Amice bundled into a rose velvet cloak, Hal beside her, handsome in green-and-blue plaid.
They walked along the ramparts and Amice looked down, unsure how to start.
“I should...”
“When you...”
They both spoke and laughed.
“Please,” Hal invited gallantly.
Amice cleared her throat.
“I am leaving tomorrow. You know that.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to, um, say a proper goodbye,” she said cautiously. Heavens, but this was awkward! What must she say? “We should, um, have seen each other longer.”
“Yes,” Hal nodded kindly. “Indeed, Amice.”
“Well,” she knotted the sleeves of her gown, her fingers plucking nervously at the cloth. Why was this so hard? “I suppose all I can say is, fare well while I am gone. Take care. And I look forward to my return. Mayhap we shall visit each other further.”
“Yes, Amice,” Hal nodded. “I think we shall do that.”
Amice looked out over the hills, wishing she could end this awkward conversation. Why did it feel so difficult, so confusing? Maybe if he was more animated, less stiff, it would be easier. However, there was no indication of what he thought. Only that quiet gallantry, those impeccable good manners. I wonder if he likes me. Hal was mannerly and affable to everyone.
Hal paused. “I wanted to say that I look forward to your return,” Hal said courteously. “I understand my father plans festivities for the season ahead. If you like, mayhap you could stay with us at the estate?”
“Yes. I'd like that,” Amice nodded. She bit her lip, looking out over the distant hills. Somewhere inside, she wished that she was miles away. That she didn't have to do any of this. Why was she the dutiful one, the one the family relied on to do the right thing?
“Well, then,” Hal said politely. “We must make arrangements. I trust you will not be away long? Your family would not expect you to make a long journey with no adequate chaperone.”
“I'll go with Bronn,” Amice said stubbornly. Heavens! Why must he be so stiff, so proper?
“Bronn?” Hal's pale brows shot up inquiringly. “Who is he?”
“He's the stable-hand,” Amice explained doggedly. “He's a trustworthy sort. I've known him all my life.”
“That's quite unsuitable,” Hal said mildly. “Your father must be distracted by his worries. If I could...”
“Hal,” Amice said gently, not wishing to take offense at his proprietary air, “I will be safe. Bronn cares about me and knows the way like the back of his hand. I'll be gone for a fortnight only. I'll be fine.”
He sighed. “If you insist, my lady.”
“I do.”
He smiled at her. “Oh, Amice,” he said. “You are so innocent, and I sometimes worry...”
“Hal,” Amice protested. “I am twenty years of age. I am no more innocent than anyone else.”
“Oh, but you are,” he said gently. “An innocent flower, raised here in the fortress. You need safekeeping.”
Amice felt her polite fondness thin, replaced by a sudden impatience. “Hal. I'm not a little girl.”
He smiled at her in that mannered, fond way he had. “Well, mayhap not,” he agreed.
Amice sighed. Why was she being so unfair? All he was doing was showing concern for her. She shook her head wearily. “Forgive me, Hal. I don't know what's wrong with me.”
“You're just worried,” Hal said kindly. “And no wonder! Your cousins detained, your mother recovering from an illness...be fair to yourself, Amice.”
Amice nodded. “Thank you, Hal. You're very kind.” She felt abruptly as if she wanted to cry. Hal was the only person who had really thought about the burden she carried. She sniffed fiercely, trying not to let tears fall now. “We should go in before we catch a chill as well.”
“Yes,” Hal nodded. “Yes, we should. Please, my lady.” He held open the turret door and she entered.
Inside, he bowed. “Thank you for your words of farewell. I look forward to our meeting later this year.”
“I, too,” Amice said, inclining her head gravely.
He kissed her hand. When he did so, Amice felt a slight flutter in her stomach, but it was nothing like the passion her sister had spoken of, or the enduring love she sensed between her parents. What was wrong with her?
“Farewell.”
“Farewell.”
Amice curtsied and hurried down the hallway to her bedchamber. Inside, she closed the door and sat on the bed, lost in thought.
Was this truly her destiny, marriage to Hal, a quiet, dutiful life? She remembered the prophecy. A long journey. Someone with something different about them. She sighed. Mayhap Aunt Alina was speaking figuratively. At twenty, she was older than many girls when they wed, so mayhap that was the journey. The something different, though? Well, Hal was so courteous, so mannerly...perhaps that was all Aunt Alina had meant.
A knock sounded on the door. Amice stood and went to open it. “Hello?”
It was Alina. “My dear. I came to fetch you. Your mother is a little better. She wished to speak with you.”
“Oh.” Amice stood at once. “Of course. Where is she?”
“In the west turret.”
Amice followed her aunt up to the small, cozy room at the top of the tower. Her mother was sitting at the window. She turned to face her.
“Hello, dear.”
“Mother!”
Her mother was pallid, her eyes dark rimmed. She looked exhausted. “Thank you, Alina,” she said to her sister. Alina went out, closing the door behind her. “Daughter,” Amabel said softly. “I wanted to speak to you, to say goodbye.”
“Mother, don't,” Amice said, voice wobbling dangerously.
“I'll see you when you return,” her mother assured her. “Never fear.”
“I won't,” Amice said. She looked at her hands, wanting to hold back her tears.
“I also wanted to say that you look sad lately. What troubles you?”
“Um...nothing, Mother.” Amice muttered. She didn't want her mother to be concerned by her own silly troubles. The family wished her to wed a McTae. What else really mattered? Duty was all.
“No, there is something. I know what it is, too. It's Hal McTae, yes?”
Amice swallowed. “Mother, no...”
“Don't lie to your mother,” she said with a raspy laugh. “I can see it.” She coughed and Amice winced. Her mother was badly ill. How could she even think of upsetting her now?
“Mother, it's nothing.”
“You have second thoughts. I know it.”
“It's just...” Amice paused. “I wonder sometimes if I really feel something for Hal. I mean,” she sighed. “I know it's not important – duty to the clan is more important, but – but I do wonder.”
“Duty isn't everything,” her mother sighed. “Love is more important.”
“Mother, I...”
“If you truly love someone, you would know. The world would look different when you remembered they were in it.”
Amice swallowed hard. “Mother, I don't...”
“You will know, if you feel that love,” her mother insisted. “And I pray you will. This journey...it takes a while. Take that time. Think about it. Tell me when you come back, what you have decided.”
“Mother, I cannot let you and Father down.”
“Yes, you can,” Amabel said, coughing. “I would have, had I met your father under other circumstances.” She laughed.
“Yes, Mother,” Amice nodded. “And, Mother?”
“Yes, my daughter?”
“Thank you.” Amice squeezed her hand. Amabel's fingers were cold. Amice wanted to cry.
“Now, then,” her mother said. “No tears. Smile for me – there, that's better. I'll see you soon. And Leona and Conn, I hope. Take care, daughter.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Amice felt her mother reach forward and draw her into an embrace. She hugged her fiercely and her tears dripped onto her shoulder, soaking into her night-dress and her hair. When she sat back, her mother smiled.
“There, now. No more tears. And, tell me, eh?”
“Yes, Mother. I will think a lot on this journey.”
“Good.”
Her mother's fingers, pale and strong, closed around her wrist. “Go well.”
“You too, Mama. I'll see you when I come back.”
“Yes.”
It was a promise.
Amice left the room a moment later and, once in the hallway, fled quickly to her chamber. She bolted the door, lay on her bed and sobbed a long while. She was facing her mother's illness and an uncertain future. She also had no idea at all what decision she would make.
How would she choose anything other than to do her duty? For so long, that had been all she knew. She sniffed and sat up on her bed, making up her mind. She would find the courage to follow her path. Wherever it led. If it led to foreign places and men with some strange difference about them, so be it. All she knew was that, whatever lay ahead, it would be her choice she listened to. Life was too short for any other way.