One of the benefits of having Alex around was the introduction of formal schooling into my days. As my parents had secured a tutor for him, and I was the same age, they figured they'd get their money's worth by having me educated at the same time. I enjoyed being in the classroom and excelled at numbers and figures — unladylike subjects, but they thrilled me. I enjoyed finding the order, the patterns, the solutions.
Our tutor, a dry, middle-aged man of tolerable humor, was typically tolerant of the wild and unruly behavior Alex and I would exhibit in the classroom. Rarely did a lesson go by without a pencil or ruler being snatched and hidden. Notebook margins were full of scribbled conversations back and forth between us. Presumptuous and preposterous questions were asked, forcing Master Allen to lead us down a warren of rabbit holes. An indulgent man, our tutor seemed to think our curiosity was out of genuine interest and not a competition to see who could distract a lesson the most.
But, on a bright and cloudless day full of summer sun and lazy devotion to our studies, Master Allen had no choice but to expel us from the room when — in the middle of a lecture on long division — I stood up and punched Alex in the nose. To be fair, Alex had just lobbed off one of my braids with a pair of gardening sheers he had smuggled into the room.
"What the devil is going on!" Mr. Allen exclaimed, turning at the sound of the thud of my fist into Alex's face.
"Damn you, Eilean!" Alex cursed, his eyes flooding with tears. "What the hell?"
"Language, Lord Leslie," Mr. Allen reminded his pupil. "Now, who will tell me what is going on?"
I remained mum, shaking my hand as pain bloomed across my knuckles. Alex, too, was silent except for the sobs he was trying to hold back.
"It was nothing, sir," I said when I could no longer endure the gaze of the professor.
Mr. Allen looked pointedly at my long, discarded braid on the floor and at the trickle of blood down Alex's chin.
"You refuse to tell me?" After another agonizing moment of silence, our teacher shook his head. Sighing, he said, "Lord Leslie, Miss Eilean, go present yourself to the Laird this instant. Do not return until you can behave yourselves respectably."
Despite our current hostilities, I looked at Alex, hoping he'd offer some guise to get out of reporting to Father. He offered no such camaraderie. Alex swore under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose to try to stop the bleeding. As he stood up out of his seat and shuffled to the door, gallantly walking toward punishment, I felt remorse for hitting him. But anger surged through me once again as I bent down to pick up my braid from the floor.
"I hate you, Alexander Leslie," I spat at his back. I held up my shorn locks and brandished them at him like a curse.
Alex turned from where he stood in the doorway and looked me up and down. There was nothing but bitter contempt in his eyes. "The feeling is mutual, you puffed-up, stupid....girl!"
"Oh, brilliant!" I mocked. "I've never heard that before!"
"Eilean! Alex! Get out of here, now!" Mr. Allen shouted, pointing toward the door.
Squaring my shoulders and lifting my nose, I marched out of the room, shoving Alex into the doorframe as I passed. I heard him grunt as he smacked into the wall, and then his shuffled footsteps behind me a moment later. He maintained his distance all throughout the castle as we traveled from our classroom in the library and up across the battlements to my father's study. There was no shortage of astonished looks from the courtiers and servants as we walked past. We must have looked a fright. Tears of humiliation flooded my eyes as I realized I was now half bald and must surrender to punishment by my father. My hand still stung where it banged into Alex's upper teeth. Too soon, we arrived at Father's study. His door was open, so there is no delaying the inevitable. I walked right in, pretending to be brave. Striding through the wide doorway, I noticed that Alex had caught up and now walked beside me. We would go together to our demise.
Father, after a brief glance up from his work, ignored us.
In turn, I ignored Alex, who was wincing in pain and making a grand show out of probing his injuries. Crossing my arms, freshly annoyed by him, I stared out the window behind Father's head.
"Eilean," Alex whispered, "Stop overreacting."
"Asshole," I muttered under my breath. "Stop telling me what to do, dammit."
"Is that the language of a young lady, Eilean?" My father asked, his voice deep and rumbling. It was terrifying. He did not need to look up from his ledgers to make me tremble. When I did not answer, he lifted his head at last. His mouth fell open as he took in the state of us.
"I don't feel particularly ladylike, sir," I quipped.
Father was too stunned to offer further correction to my impertinence. I still held the braid in my hand, the hairs untwining — a pink ribbon still secured the bundle. The front of Alex's shirt was stained a deep red and his left eye had swollen shut. Most of his face was now a sickly purple color.
Father pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, doing his best to cover up a chuckle. "And I thought your brothers were bad," he said. "Do I even want to know what happened?"
"No," Alex blurted.
"Send him away," I demanded. "As a Lord in his own right, Alex has no genuine need to live with us anymore. He was fostered to our family for his growth and development. He's thirteen, now. Surely his education is complete. Or at least, by the look of him, he is a failure." I don't think I had ever said so many words in the presence of my father.
Father looked back and forth between us, his expression grave. The grim set to his mouth suggested that he would rather not play the part of peacemaker in the squabbles of children.
"Maybe it is time you returned to your own estate, Alex," Father said gently. "You seem to gain nothing from running wild through the castle with my daughter. No one can get any work done because of the messes you two cause." He leveled his gaze at me, proclaiming my guilt to be well known and disliked. "I don't think this situation is as beneficial as we imagined it might be when you first came here."
Though his judgment matched my own, Father's words hit me deep in my soul. I looked over at Alex, an apology nearly bursting from my lips. He hung his head in humiliation. Alex was alone — I knew that. I had always known that. No parents, no siblings, no friends waited for him at his castle on the coast. Only a mean-spirited grandmother with a pinched face and a quick temper. He would be an ocean away, in another world. He wouldn't be my friend anymore.
"Father," I started, ready to apologize and patch things up.
"Get out of my sight while I think about the best course of action." Father snapped, turning back to his work without another glance at Alex or me.
"But —"
"Now!"
Thus dismissed, we shuffled out of his office and I closed the heavy oak doors behind us. Without warning, Alex shoved me against them.
"Why would you say that? Why would you tell him to send me away?" Alex yelled, crying openly. Pain and betrayal shredding his pride.
My earlier thoughts of reconciliation vanished as I rubbed the spot where my shoulder slammed into the heavy iron knocker. "Because I hate you!" I pushed him back. "You cut off all my hair!"
"You punched me in the face!"
I pawed at the ragged ends of my hair and a sob overtook me. I started to cry, big, babyish tears rained down my cheeks.
"Get away from my door with all that wailing!" Father bellowed from inside his study, truly done with us.
Alex scoffed and rolled his eyes, walking a few steps down the hall. "It's just hair, Eilean."
He sounded so pompous, so stupid, and so much like my brothers that my fury engulfed me. I hated him. It became my only thought. I elbowed past him and rushed down the hall — leaving him without another word.
~
Knowing that once we cooled off, Alex would come find me in my own chambers, I took a zig and stumbled into my mother's apartment. At least he would never think to look for me there. Mother shrieked at my appearance.
"What has happened?" She asked, standing up and covering her mouth in shock.
"Alex," I answered, traipsing to her vanity. I collapsed onto the stool and recoiled from my reflection in the mirror.
Mother circled me, tutting to herself. Shaking her head, resigned, she retrieved a pair of scissors from her sewing basket. It took another five minutes for her to work up the courage to do the deed.
She untiled my one remaining braid. A cascade of black hair hung over my right shoulder, ending just below my waist. It glimmered in the afternoon light, rippling from the dents of the plait. The left side of my head felt light and strange, the hair unevenly snipped off around my chin.
Mother picked up locks of hair and weighed them in her hands, indulgently running her fingers through the curls. She looked miserable, but not angry. For once.
"It will all have to come off," she affirmed.
I had known that, but still I burst into tears.
"Eilean!" Mother said sharply, "do not behave so unbecomingly. If you were not so resigned to acting like a hellion, running around as if you were one of the boys, you wouldn't be in such a sorry state. I can't imagine what you did to provoke Lord Leslie, but we all must accept the consequences of our actions."
She was so incorrect, but there was no point in trying to explain, so I let her scold me. Once done, Mother offered me a thin smile and gripped my shoulders. It was a rare, comforting gesture, but not indulgent. When she removed her hands, I felt emptier than I had moments before.
"It will grow back, Eilean," she said. Hastily, she kissed the top of my head. More unusual, fleeting tenderness. "Thirteen is a curious age. I thought each of your brothers would be the death of me when they were that old." She said offhandedly with a wry smile.
With a huff of determination, Mother set about evening my hair. When it was all done, it hung no longer than my ears.
Looking into the mirror, I tried my best to bite back the tears. My reflection was unendurable. Confronted with my hideousness, I wept. It was bad enough that I was too tall for my age and my eyes were too large. I towered over everyone, even Alex, and my brothers all called me "bug eyes" under their breath. My feet were large and unwieldy, no stylish boot or slipper was ever wide enough to wear without pinching and frustration. I was gangly and strange, a quick-growing weed in a dress. My hair had been my only comfort, my only pride.
Mother allowed me to cry as she called in a maid to sweep the floor. She then busied herself elsewhere, providing opportunity for me to wallow in bitter self-pity. After a quarter-hour, she returned. Gripping my chin in her hand, she looked me in the eye, her stare unflinching.
"Go find Lord Leslie and apologize, now." She commanded.
"I will not," I hiccuped slightly as I struggled to compose myself.
"Eilean," she said, wielding my name in warning, "not only is Lord Leslie your superior in rank but his family is an old ally to ours. More than the friendship you two share, he deserves your respect and deference. You have hurt him, perhaps more than he has hurt you. The nurse informed me that you broke his nose."
I looked down at my lap, ashamed. I flexed my sore knuckles.
"Good girl," Mother said, nodding in approval. "He is in his rooms."
I hopped down from the stool and left Mother's chambers. In the hallway, a servant jumped at the sight of me. It was enough to reignite the rage that still simmered under the shame of my ugliness. After all, I was only in this mess because Alex called me ugly in the first place — that was the insult that started the fight.
"I'll find him," I muttered to myself, "find him and hang him."
For the rest of the day, I wandered around the castle. Never once intent on finding Alex or apologizing. I ended up in the kitchens, hiding in the warmth and activity there. I ate dinner with the servants, all of them kind enough to avert their eyes from my hideous features.
Eventually, I made my way back up to my rooms where I threw a shawl over my mirror so I might not be further haunted by my own disgusting face. I catapulted into the bed face first and screamed into the mattress. Ashamed of my behavior, my vanity, and my loneliness, I locked myself into a spiral of darker and darker thoughts until there was nothing to see or feel. Fleetingly, as I surrendered to tear-soaked slumber, I wished I had made everything right with Alex.
The next morning, I woke up with sore eyes and a guilty feeling deep in my gut. I bathed and ate breakfast as quickly as possible, deciding I must find Alex immediately and apologize. I would beg for his forgiveness if I had to. Most importantly, I had to tell him that I did not hate him. Didn't he understand? He was my only friend in the entire world. How could I really hate him? The only way to feel whole again was to make things right.
I ran down the halls to his rooms, horrified to find a maid stripping his bed. The walls and wardrobe were bare.
Alex was gone.