I trust this relative of mine enough to tell her. "Miles and I- that was his name- continued to meet in secret... but of course you mustn't say anything," I amend quickly. My cousin's face is still wide and her pink lips have parted slightly.

"Not a word, Mairi, I swore it to you!" She says it fervently, with total interest in my sad tale.

"Well, you can't be too careful, can you? Anyways, Miles and I met in secret quite often. We both wished that we would have eloped when we had the chance." I laugh bitterly at the remembrance of it- the night we were supposed to run away with a bit of our family's decent amount of money to London and America from there. "We were planning on it, on the night before his wedding actually, but my father found out and it obviously didn't happen."

"This is better than any novel." She turns to the window. "Terribly sad, of course, but most novels are."

"Novel? Of course it's not better, this is real life, not an idealistic world dreamed up by some rich man who believes he knows everything."

Alice smiles and takes my hand. "No, you don't understand. This is better than a novel because it's real life. Think, just for a moment, in novels there is much bleakness, and so much hurt and longing and it seems though nothing will ever be better. But it always does. The sun always comes out and the two lovers always are able to reconcile and live happily ever after."

I ponder for a moment. "I cannot remember when Romeo and Juliet simply lived, let alone lived happily ever after," I remind her with a smile.

She giggles, all seriousness completely lost. "That is indeed true. Romeo and Juliet, however, are not characters in a novel, but a play."

"Ah, 'tis true. Though it is, without doubt, a story nearly as long as a novel."

"I believe Don Quixote was several times the length of Romeo and Juliet."

We laugh for a moment, then the seriousness returns. "You do understand what I am saying, though, do you not?"

"Of course I do," I reply hesitantly. I understand, but that does not mean I wish to.

*****

"Miss Mairi, how glad we are that you have arrived safely to Idyllwilde." It is my uncle who speaks as Alice and I come to the hall for supper.

"Thank you, Uncle Nathan," I reply with a smile, curtsying, every bit the lady my mother wants me to be. 

"I do hope Alice hasn't been maddening." He shoots a disapproving look at his daughter, who shrinks and casts her light eyes down to the stone floor. Her hands fiddle with her floral gown.

I shake my head. "Oh, no, sir. Alice has given me a very warm welcome." I smile at her gently, trying to be respectful to my uncle, trying to give a good impression. Every bit the lady.

"I suppose that the Scots need warmth every once in a while, don't they? It's never been a pleasant place." He smirks, triumphant in what he supposes is a victory.

My smile remains plastered on my face, but the lady in my mind sheds her heavy petticoats and takes a fighting stance. "I suppose so. What would give us the most warmth is a Stuart on the throne, but I suppose you find that unreasonable, no?"

His grey eyes lose any hint of welcome and the gentlemanly smile drops from his face faster than lightning. "I have forgotten. The Scots have cold weather and fiery hearts."

"And the English have the opposite." My smile fades and I just glare at him, fully aware of the haughtiness that must be on my face. I lift my chin so I am quite literally gazing down my nose at him- an advantage of being tall. Uncle Nathan's eyes narrow as Alice shifts uncomfortably.

Are all of the English so intolerable? Surely not all, for I love Grandfather Jonathan- but he is nothing like his nephew. I do not regret my words. How dare this man- who is my own uncle!- insult my home, my nation, my people, and my king? Oh, how he will pay- his pretender king may have exiled mine, but he cannot exile me.

Alice stands by me awkwardly as her father raises his chin and appraises me. "Come, Father, let us speak not of politics, it will only bring strife and create a rift."

Thoroughly incensed by my uncle, I turn to her and speak with a sugary tone. "Alice, dear, I would love for that to occur. He, however, is a man, and men do nothing but speak of politics."

The dining room is high- ceilinged and so far removed from today's style that it seems I have stepped back in time. It is so dark, with rich colours of red and brown as well as deep- toned lumber furniture and timbering. Beautiful, but so different- why has it not been refurbished?

I seat myself at the long table and Alice sits next to me. Uncle Nathan makes his way to the table. He does not pull out my chair and I take great pride in standing behind it until he comes over and jerks it out, gesturing for me to sit. I smooth my skirts and do so with the littlest toss of my head. The young Negro slave girl at the wall giggles. A stern look from the man and she scurries from the room.

The dinner passes silently with the three of us. I use my very best manners and sit as primly as possible. It brings me great joy to see the petty man butter his bread, bite it, and notice that I have broken mine instead. He fumbles and drops it, buttered- side- down, onto the tablecloth. I continue to gloat as he glares at me and picks up the bread, leaving a smear of butter on the white linen.

*****

The next days are strained between my uncle and I; we don't speak hardly at all and I turn my nose up when we pass in the hallway. Thankfully, he does not frequent the library as I do. 

So it is a surprise when he calls me into his study on a rainy Monday. Of course, what Mondays are not rainy? But that is beside the point.

Alice is shut up with her tutor for the day. I wish I could be talking with her instead of her stuck- up father, but here I am.

"Mairi," states my uncle as I enter, without so much as a greeting, "A letter from your father has come saying that you are not to return to Scotland for a very long time."

The Yorkshire Moors at top, photographed by Lizzie Shepherd, and the song is Loch Lomond- this is my absolute favorite version of it ever and it's where the story gets its name. It's widely believed to focus on the Jacobite Rebellions (though in 1745 more than 1708) and is also a lover's farewell- I personally think it's a woman missing her Jacobite lover after his departure to fight, but it could be from the perspective of the Jacobite soldier missing his lover, back home in Scotland. It's one of my favorite songs for a long discourse of reasons. I won't give it here, but if it's asked...

ALSO: The Scottish name "Màiri" (which has been anglicised to "Mairi") is pronounced "MAH-ree" and means "sea of bitterness" which I thought was cool. I didn't know the meaning before I wrote the story but it fits well, yeah?