Ailsa
I shoot up off the grassy ground, gasping for air, my throat burning and my chest heavy with weak exhaustion. The air won't come, as usual. I desperately claw at the wildflowers surrounding me like nature's pillow, waiting for my lungs to work properly as they shudder and constrict inside my body. They're weak. The organs that are supposed to function without issue seem to act up daily now.
Staring out at the scenery around me, I see the sun rising over the hill. I stare at the horizon with hope that the stabbing in my chest will ease. I give it time. I stare at the orange ball of light lifting over the rolling green hills, counting in my head until the air comes. It has to.
It always does, but I dread the day when it doesn't.
Finally, after a few agonizing minutes, the air rushes into me and I drag it in and out for a while, simply catching up as I replenish what my body desperately needs to survive. I relish the feeling of breath. When I can breathe, it's a blessing. I silently thank God that today isn't the day that I die.
I sit up, pushing my mass of stringy blonde hair from my face as my legs fold to prop me up. The sound of the creek nearby trickles calmly as birds chirp, flying between tree branches without a care in the world.
I've had difficulty breathing since I was a wee lass. I was never able to run and play as the other children did. Carefree and healthy, the normal children would act with not a thought or care of how their bodies worked, they had no need to worry about over-exerting themselves while they laughed in the breeze.
For me, fun was just being outside, but I have to be calm here. I have to be calm everywhere. Even when I am calm, I still struggle.
I have always envied those other children. They could do what I could not do, what I still cannot do.
I wrap my arms around my legs, drawing my knees up to my chest and resting my cheek as I play with the hem of my dress. The brook is alive with bugs this time of day. The little winged pests are always in a hurry to start the day.
The grass is bright enough to hurt your eyes. A light breeze constantly flowing through my long locks of blonde hair and the tallest of the wildflowers, each petal varying in color.
Remembering my smelling salts that often help with my breath attacks, I pull the thin vile from my corset, the little container tucked between my breasts for safe keeping. I unplug the little brown cork from the glass. Hovering my nose lightly over the opening, I take a deep breath in through the nostrils, letting the stinging peppermint float through my body as it sizzles every part of me back to life.
Although the smelling salts help me slightly, they don't take the feeling away completely. Nothing ever does. That's not to mention the fear. Oh, the fear. The panic that erupts when I feel as if I've been drug under water and my lungs begin to feel heavy, like they've been filled with stones.
I press the palm of my hand to my chest as I try to picture the air rushing in and out, in and out. Mentally picturing it helps somewhat, and after a bit of the calming exercise, I can breathe normally once more. Well, as normal as I can.
Relief floods me as I finally can stand and travel back to the castle. The rolling green hills of the highlands call to me, but being out here can be dangerous.
It's not safe to be alone, at least for me. To be alone with my condition could be fatal. I wish it wasn't so, but that is how I was born, destined to suffer what God has cursed me with.
I hate my illness. I think of how much I despise it as I clutch my hand around my vial of salt until my fingertips turn white. I tuck the container back into my dress. The thing is so small, so insignificant, but a huge reminder of how weak I really am.
Bending next to the creek, I pluck a small bundle of wildflowers growing along the gurgling water. The clear spring water floods over the gray and black stones. I create a small bouquet of purple heather, the tiny flowers smiling at me through the sunshine.
"Ailsa!" The echo of my name being called out makes me jump. I hate hearing it. It's usually said with annoyance. I am always the burden of my clan.
The Laird's daughter. Delicate little flower. Can't even breathe correctly.
"Here." I respond, barely loud enough to be heard over the whittling wind that tickles my eyelashes and makes my skirts swish around my skinny, pale ankles.
Gentry, my maid, pants as she trots into the field, hands on her hips. She's a tall woman, and thickly built. She's nearly as muscular as the men of the clan. Her eyes rake over me head to toe, assessing me after my absence clearly frightened her.
"No shoes. No shawl. I swear you are trying to kill me, lass." She says in a frustrated, jumbled mess of words.
I innocently place my hands behind my back, twiddling the bit of wildflowers pinched between my fingers. I've always known that Gentry would rather be fighting with the men than watching after me. She's always chased after me, ever since I was a little girl. She's also always looked out for me.
Smiling, I guiltily shrug my shoulders.
Sighing heavily, Gentry stomps to me, throwing a heavy arm over my shoulder. I lean into her warm bulk, finding it comforting. She turns me back to the castle, marching me through the trees and towards the main entrance.
"You act as though you mean to make me daft. You do recall that I have been charged with your protection, lass, that is no minor thing, you see?" She rambles, practically carrying me up a small hill as we pass the stables. I roll my eyes and smile knowingly at her berating. It's something I am used to by now.
"What would happen if something were to happen to you, way out there on your own? What would be done to save you if no one knew where you were?"
I sigh, reaching for my vial of smelling salts and waving them at her.
"I came prepared, see?" I ask, grinning in triumph as I shake the glass, the little granules of salt bouncing off the sides. I tap the cork with the tip of my pointer finger.
Looking up at Gentry, I see she is not smiling, not even close. In fact, she's glowering at me. Her thin, straight mouth points down in the corners, showing her clear dismay.
"What?" I demand.
"Your ailment isn't the only thing to fear, lass. There are creatures in these woods."
It's my turn to be frustrated. I ground my teeth and look away, facing forward as each step comes and goes.
"I tire of old, silly tales. They are created to put fear into children."
"They are told to keep you safe. Being afraid is what keeps us alive." Gentry scolds, ducking as her tall frame almost manages to get her eye poked out by a stray branch covered with green leaves.
I kick a pebble, watching it bounce on the thick roots protruding from the soil.
"I am not afraid. Death will come early for me one way or another, and still, when I face death I will do so bravely." I vow. This proclamation does not please my maid. She takes a long while to respond, the only sound to be heard is the rustling of the trees and our determined footsteps.
"I don't like to speak of such things." She says, tone clipped, sniffing slightly.
"Death is a part of life."
"You are 17. You know little about life. There is much to learn, and I'm here to ensure you have the time to learn it. So," She smiles softly. "enough of this."
I quiet down as we near the castle walls, the great big buildings stacked with dark brick and dirt roads. This whole argument between us was simply started by her fears, and the clan's fears, of bloodthirsty monsters. Monsters, we're told, that look like men but feed on real humans for sustenance. It is a folktale, ridiculous. It's told to wee children to keep them from leaving their beds at night.
There is no reason for me to put any stock in such tales.
Walking through the keep, I keep my head low to avoid the eyes of my clan, but it does me no good. Anyone could spot Gentry and I, we are quite the pair. Her, with her height and cold demeanor, me with my long, wild hair the color of the sun.
Yes, we did tend to draw the gazes of my people. They watch me carefully. Their gazes are heavy, and I'm glad that I won't break under their eyes like some of them expect.
Gentry stops at the foot of the curved stairs that lead up to my room, she motions to it with a tip of her head.
"After you, my lady." I take each step up with my head hung low. My bare feet touch each cold stone stair. I shiver. I should've worn shoes, but there's just something about feeling the fresh green blades of grass between my toes.
Chewing the inside of my lip, I whirl around before Gentry can follow me.
"You're not going to tell my mother about this, are you?"
She narrows her eyes, knowing full well that I'm more afraid of my mother passing it on to my father. He's not an easy man to please. Although it's easy to anger him, I try to avoid it at all costs.
"I suppose not, if you're on your best behavior for the rest of the day."
Grinning, I throw my arms around her for a quick hug before ascending the stairs to get dressed before breakfast.