Official Website of Michelle Deerwester-Dalrymple Author
Writer. Author. Thinker. Storyteller. Love of far away times and places. And chocolate.
What was she going to do? Her father was sending Cuinn with her?
Bronwyn didn’t even feel Aila hug her when she departed. She hid behind her bed curtain, trying to control her erratic breathing, her hammering heartbeat. Her whole body shivered under her thick, long-sleeved léine.
Why had her father asked the man who hated her most in all the world to be her escort? He’d just as soon let her perish than see her safely to any destination.
Bronwyn balanced herself on the edge of her bed, gathering the courage to go to the hearth, have the evening meal with her family, face her father, and not think about the monstrous man who was going to be at her side in a few days. Maybe even a sennight or longer. How could she do that?
And then to know that her younger sisters, who loved her dearly, would also learn she was leaving — suddenly everything she’d been holding inside, struggling to work through and trying to ignore, welled up like a flooding loch in the rain and came pouring out.
She dropped her face into her hands and sobbed silent tears on her bed.
Mayhap she hadn’t thought this through. Could leaving have been a mistake? Had she taken this amazing life for granted? Was she spitting in Ru’s face by wanting to discover her heritage? Or was there something more? No one ever talked about it. Every time she tried to have a conversation of where she came from, everyone hushed and suddenly grew busy. Ru glared at anyone she tried to talk to about it. And nothing of her past was discussed around their own hearth. Now she had to chance to unearth it all. So much mystery, there had to be more than just Ru wanting to remain the father he’d always been to her.
What was it about her past?
Who am I?
Her midnight hair hung limply down her back and wee, flyaway strands stuck to the skin on her wet cheeks. Bronwyn wiped her face with the sleeve of her léine and took several deep breaths. ‘Twouldn’t do to show up to the evening meal with tear streaks on her face. That would lead to questions she wasn’t permitted to ask, not that they’d be answered anyway.
But the conflict inside her couldn’t be wiped away as easily as her tears.
When she peered around the bed curtain to her family gathered around the center hearth to eat, she saw faces of love, of acceptance, of her past here in the village.
Yet, at the same time, she saw a matching set of kin, with bright red hair and healthy builds, of blood and shared history.
Of something she was not.
She lowered her eyes to her hands and picked at her fingernail.
Aye, she had to leave, to at least try to find her own blood and know where she came from.
Only then could she begin to welcome her future and find her place here in Kilsyth.
"Is Love such a Common Thing that we, mere men in this God’s World, should deign to turn our Backs to it when it appears before us? "