Ailsa
I'm careful not to let the blood slosh as I carry it through the near pitch darkness. There's not much natural light inside the castle, but the courtyard and fields are flooded with milky moonlight that touches everything underneath the sky.
I observe the moon with a small, sad smile. Seeing it only reminds me that Fraser is locked away from such beauty.
Nearing the door to the dungeons, I freeze when a group of men shuffled through the halls. I slip behind a door and clutch the bowl to my chest even as my lunges rattle in my chest.
They might hear my broken breathing, or smell the metallic bite in the frigid, night air.
But they don't even turn their heads in my direction as they barrel past me, stinking of ale and sweaty body odor.
I exhale in relief, still trying to keep myself as quiet as possible. Lucky enough for me, the men of my clan didn't notice the lantern I had left next to the dungeons.
The oil lamp flickers with live flame, the illumination is constant as it casts shadow across the otherwise drab walls.
I decide quickly to bring the blood down first, even though I can't see a scarce thing in the obsidian underbelly of our home.
Since visiting Fraser as often as I do, I've counted the exact number of stairs it takes to reach the level floor at the bottom.
38 stairs, a level where the staircase turns, and then 20 more. I count each one, holding the bowl tightly in my hands that are beginning to shake and tremble from the effort of such a heavy task.
I don't give up though, even when I reach the landing and my arms are burning from wrist to elbow, all the way up to my shoulders.
I may ache tomorrow, but I will not come to regret it.
Anything done to help Fraser is beyond worth the trouble.
Once I'm standing on the bottom floor, I take 50 paces to make it to the front of Fraser's cell. I turn to the right, clutching the bowl out in front of me before gently bending at the knee to place it down.
I can't see a thing in the darkness, but my ears detect the rustling.
"Ailsa? How are you..? What are you...?" He babbles like a bird, trying to grasp a sentence and failing.
Here I am in the pitch black night, barefoot and placing a brimming bowl of hog's blood on the ground, pushing it towards my vampire friend who is imprisoned by my own father.
I do not blame him for sputtering like a fool.
"Can you see me so well in the dark?" I wonder out loud, already knowing the answer deep in my heart.
"Yes. I can always see you perfectly, Ailsa, even in the dark." He has the audacity to sound sheepish. A terrifying creature that feasts on the blood of men, but he is shy to speak of his own power.
I roll my eyes, just to test him. He laughs.
So he really can see me. I should be the one feeling timid. Nothing, not even darkness, can hide me from his scrutiny.
"My eyes are much more powerful than a mortal."
Something inside me jangles at the word mortal.
"I'll be right back." I supply quickly, turning on my heels and practically sprinting away.
"But... what?" Fraser is speechless again. It's sort of adorable.
I race up the stairs, not bothering to count his time since I'm no longer hindered by the jostling liquid and fear of spilling it.
Mortal. He said mortal as if he's not. Of course he's not. He's a vampire. I face death every day and he may never die.
The words of the rumored witch that read my palm echo in my mind.
'Your life line. I've never seen anything like it. It doesn't seem to end.'
I shutter, and it has nothing to do with the cold or the lack of light.
I snatch up my lantern, swinging the door closed behind me and returning to the man and bowl of blood.
Fraser has deep bruises under his eyes, his gaze dark with hunger and lack of sleep. I want to weep for him, the pain of seeing him in such a position is almost more than I can bear.
"Curse that key that still evades me." I murmur, squatting to place my lamp by the bowl and deciding on a strategy of how to go about feeding him his newest meal.
"Maybe I should just saw these bars off myself."
Fraser grins at my muttering, scooting forward on his hackles, eyeing the bowl of deep crimson ravenously.
"That's unlikely, the silver is too thick." He comments, and I raise an eyebrow, looking closer at the bars. He's right, like he usually is.
"Although, I would love to see you wielding a saw in your scrawny arms. It would be a sight to see."
I scowl at him. He grins wider.
"I'll have you know that I am very strong. I brought you this gift, and it's no light carry, I assure you."
"A gift? Is that what this is?" Fraser asks, surveying the bottomless pit of blood that's an arm's length away from him.
"Well, yes." I shrug, feeling lame as I collapse on my knees. Even though I bragged about my strength required feat mere seconds ago, the weight of my efforts is already taking its toll.
"I figured that I must do all I can to help while I fail at finding the key." I play with the hem of my dress, fingering the pretty lace that I don't deserve. "I looked all day and still came up short. I can't help feeling like I'm failing you. You're right. I'm nothing more than the laird's useless daughter."
"Ailsa. Look at me."
I don't want to look up. I'm afraid of the disgust I'll see there, or worse yet, pity. I'm not sure I could handle seeing pity from Fraser.
A hand grabs my face, and I startle, nearly jumping from my skin.
His hand is warm and large, stronger than I'd think, fixing my face to be directed towards him.
His expression is warm, kind, dark eyebrows scrunched down. His arm is sticking through the bars. His forearm is thick with muscle, ropes of it under his tan skin decorated with a sprinkle of dark hair.
Fraser is careful to keep his skin from making contact with the bar. I've heard that the demons of the forest can't touch silver. This is another theory proven right.
He gently, but firmly, cups my jaw, giving it a squeeze as he forces my eyes to meet his.
"You are more than enough, Ailsa. Damn it all. You are so much more than you think you are." He insists, and I'm touched by the amount of sincerity he's displaying.
"I don't deserve this kindness from you. Not after the way I spoke to you."
My gaze falls for a scant second, and he jostles my head to resume our staring.
"Even though I do not deserve your kindness, I'm thankful for it." Fraser says, letting his hand drop and retreating his reach. I miss the warmth immediately. I pout, silently sulking.
I huff a massive sigh, trying to hide my disappointment.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, and Fraser smirks.
"More than you ever have been, I assure you. What's on the menu?"
I laugh, scoring forward to drag the bowl forward, realizing the bowl is flat enough to slide under the bottom bar, and barely narrow enough to fit between the columns of unbreakable silver.
"Guess." I wonder if he can smell the difference between human and animal blood.
He takes a small whiff, his eyes slanting a bit.
"Hog?" His one word question has my mouth hanging open in impressed shock.
"How did you..?" He doesn't respond, grabbing the bowl and dragging it forward quickly, but not spilling a drop of it.
Fraser lifts the bowl one handed, a casual display of superiority. He pulls the lid of the bowl to his lips, tipping it back and drinking quietly.
It's not like before when my father brought him the altered blood. That night, Fraser drank quickly and noisily, his gurgling guzzles reverberating off the wall in sloshing pulls.
I wonder if he holds back on my account. A vampire with table manners, but only for me.
"Don't hold back because I'm here. Drink your fill, please." I plead, but he doesn't change his pace.
He steadily takes long pulls of blood, swallowing silently. I didn't think about how he would eat the dinner I brought him, but I didn't expect him to be so neat about it. It's almost as if I'm watching a gentleman drink a delicate teacup full of tea.
Finally, he finishes with a groan of satisfaction, pulling the bowl away and kicking it roughly through the bars.
He's panting a little, almost out of breath.
I gasp. The shadows under his eyes are gone, his eyes brighter and stronger than before.
"Thank you. I'm indebted to you, wee Ailsa." His words make me shrug, a blush climbing my cheeks.
"It's the very least I can do after all the wrongs my father has committed against you." I pause, holding the now empty bowl in my hands, the last drops of blood sliding down to the bottom to create a small, black pool that reflects my face.
"Plus you'll need your strength for your escape."
I ignore the pang of fear that erupts in my chest, having nothing to do with my condition.
One day, Fraser will leave, and I will have no one.
"You're still set on that?" He murmurs. I look up, he's not smiling, just observing me silently.
I nod once, firmly displaying my dedication.
"I will get you out of here. I won't rest until you're free."