I have not accepted the fate of my bonny Scotland.

Neither has Alice, in a way. She believes that England is becoming too unwieldy, that soon the British lands will be too great to rule with effect. I agree, but Scotland is not Hong Kong or America. We are not a colony, and we will not stand for such blatant disrespect.

I sit in my room, late that night, unable to sleep. A candle is lit beside me, but the parchment on which I meant to write my father is still blank. I cannot think of what to say, what to scratch out with my quill- demands? Questions? Which demands, and which questions?

I dip the quill into the inkwell it hovers above, for the millionth time. Who to write, besides my father or my mother? I cannot bring myself to face them, even in writing.

Dearest Miles.

The pen stops, it waits. It thinks with a mind of its own now, words building up and waiting to flow. I decide to let it bleed. Perhaps it shall be what I need to write.

"I will not trouble you with words of conversation typical to society, I hold you in much greater esteem than that. No, leannan, you are too precious to be brought down by such.

News of the Act of Union has saddened me. I imagine it must be the same on your side of the great isle, but here... I am so very alone, here in England without you. How many times have I wished to have comfort, to have a semblance of our home...? I wish only to go and behold the hills again, the lochs and valleys. I wish to see our isle, the isle of Mull, and I wish to behold your countenance. I wish- oh, I wish so many things, none of which are truly needed and few of which are plausible!

It is strange here- beautiful, otherworldly so, but oh, so lonely. I wish, I wish, I wish in vain- for what did the wishing of a silly girl ever do? I miss you more than words can say. I miss your reassurance and your love- the only one, I feel, to return my own affections. If only the stars were never crossed on our behalf, and to our dismay...

Perhaps you may never read this silly girl's epistle to you, perhaps your wife shall read it first, but I am not ashamed of it. For so long I have had to coop myself up, rein myself in, and it has been too long. I feel I am going mad- I feel cramped, I feel like I am gasping for breath as I drown. I miss you, for everything you are, and how you chased the darkness away. But now I am here, in the midst of it, and you have been ripped from me, and I from you. I wish I had my heart again, for now I feel nothing but quiet sorrow and muted rage... and oh, what a miserable combination they are.

The day grows late, leannan. My father has told me that I shall never return to Scotland, and perhaps I never shall. Perhaps I will die before I may return- but you, leannan, always have my heart, and you, leannan, shall always be home to me.

Tha gaol agam ort barrachd is faclan urrainn a ràdh. Soraidh.

Yours forever, in Scotland and in heart,

Mairi MacClaine."

It is a pity I shall never sign as Douglass.

*****

The cloth sits in the bottom of the trunk I brought here. It is a narrow strip, a handspan wide but a meter long. Blue tartan, with orange and yellow lines- it is my home's pattern.

I feel the soft wool under my fingers and lift the tartan to my face, smelling the familiar scent of home that I cannot describe. The smell is blue and golden- brown, wet and it comforts me. I do not realize I am crying until the tear spots the fabric.

I tie it as a sash over my dress. I did not sleep last night and it reflects in the mirror, in my darkened face, my flat and tangled ashy hair. With the tartan on my torso I seem the picture of fierceness, a warrior about to strike. It gives me strength as I go down to breakfast.

Vincere vel mori, Caledonia.

This is the end of this story... I know that it was short but it holds a dear place in my heart.

Mairi is a real friend of mine, though I have changed her name's spelling and changed her family's clan name to clan MacLaine of Lochbuie. That clan and the genetically similar one, the MacLeans, are very special. My official clan is Stewart (through my grandmother). During the Hanoverian Succession and the Act Of Union of 1707, my ancestors were forced from the English crown (they ruled England and Scotland as separate kingdoms) and exiled to France and Germany. The MacLeans/MacLaines were some of the most valiant supporters of my family and were great warriors in the cause that ultimately failed (which is a bummer, because then I'd be living in Scotland and might have a laird for an uncle. Sigh.) but was valiant nonetheless.

I wanted to capture the highlander's spirit of independence with Mairi, and the turmoil of the time. It is a period that does not receive enough attention in classes and textbooks.

I hope you enjoyed this installment in the Osbourne family's saga. Until next time!

~Megan