Be it wrong to love you so?

“You truly be þe most reckless person I know, milady.”

As soon as Lady Alice roused, I immediately scolded her lightly. I had been at her side þroughout þe night, her hand in mine as she layeþ in þat small inn bed.

“Eleanor… ware…?” as her consciousness returned to her, þe lady looked around, taking a moment to recognise her surroundings. “Ah… þe room at þe inn…”

“Master Mackay carried you here after dark. Wiþout his actions to bring you to me, you almost sertanly would have perished yester eve.” I spake softly, well aware þat her consciousness was still faint.

“I see… it seemeþ þat I owe him yet anoþer debt. And perhaps, too, an apology.” She slowly sat up, her hand on her forehead. “And to þee, too. Þine assistance undoutedly saved my very lyfe.”

“You may þank me and apologyse by swearing not to act so rashly in þe future, milady. You gave me þe fryte of a lyfetyme yester eve. I wish never to see you in such a state again.” I put my right hand over my hart, my left still clasping hers.

“...art þou angered wiþ me?” She asked, not meeting myne eye.

“Of course I am, you near got yourself killed, milady. I ask little of you, truly, just þat you not seekest your own deaþ as such. What possessed you to do so wiþ such reckless abandon?” I asked, þough it was concern, not anger, in my voice.

Þe lady replied not immediately, instead gazing off into space, deep in þought. Her expression was complex, þough I recognised it boþ as regret and sadness.

“Þe words spoken by Barry yesterday morn… þey remaned wiþ me þroughout þe day. Can I truly clame to rally against þis horrid institution if I watch as it continueþ before myne eyes and take no action? Þose þauts swelleþ wiþin me, and I felt anger at myne own futility. So… to see as þat detestable man brazenly rolleþ along down þe streets… myne impulsiveness caut þe best of me. I could stand and watch no longer.”

She traled off wiþ a tone of abject sadness, and I could fynd no words to comfort her. She haþ a strong sense of justice, unmatched by most anyone. 'Tis one of þe many þings I so love and admire about her. But ‘twas also a liability to her safety. If to do þe ryte þing meant to invyte her own deaþ, could I truly support her as such?

“Milady…you art fair and just as any man, woman or chyld could stryveþ to be, but in youre insistence on justice at any cost you forget yourself and þose around you. Þink upon þe effect youre actions may have on þose dearest to you. þose who-” my words caut in my þroat. I new what I had to say, but to say it was not so simple.

...But I would not so easily cower from myne own feelings. I swallowed my fears and continued, “þose who love you. As I do. For truly, wiþ all of my soul, do I love you.”

“And I þee, my dear Ella. I apologyse profusely for causing þee such stress.”

My hart pounded in my chest, þough ‘twas a bittersweet þing. To hear my one most beloved say þose words, what a treat it should have been. And yet, but one look at her innocent face told me she new what I truly meant. Þat þe love she spake of, and þe love I had for her, were not one and þe same. Þe joy of loving and being loved, and þe sting of knowing such love was not truly ekwal, togeþer ravaged my hart in a happy sorrow. Yet, despyte knowing þe outcome, I pushed forþ, unwilling to let my feelings remane unresolved.

“Lady Alice… I believe you may hast misunderstood me,” I said, taking a breaþ before continuing. “‘Tis not ‘love’ as one haþ wiþ a friend þat I speak of, nor þat which one feels for family. I… love you as a man loveþ a woman. I know by þe laws of our land, such affections are forbayed, but I know what feelings I hold in my hart, and I wish for you to know too. As a husband loveþ his wife, I too love you, Alice Edelweiss.”

Þe lady’s eyes wydened in surpryse. Perhaps ‘twas poor tyming, for she had been awake just moments. But I could wate no longer. I, too, had been deeply affected by words from master Mackay. A simple man he was, and all too unrefyned. And yet, he spake wiþ a sincerity þat few couldst truly muster. Somehow, some way, his words carried a grate wate, and I could not help but be struck by þem. ‘Twas an uncanny ability he possessed.

“I… know not what to say…” þe lady said, averting her gaze from mine. “Þis ys awfully sudden… and I cannot say I have entertaned such þauts about anoþer woman… ‘tis a kweer þing indeed…”

“Kweer it be, truly, but be it rong for me to love you so? Þough our world may treat it as such, my belief in þose tenets haþ been shaken. Perhaps such a love be not so impure as we’re led to believe.” I spake wiþ a steady conviction, þough my words were hardly myne own. ‘Twas þat man who chanejd my perspective. I merely borrowed þe words he spake to me.

“If þou askest so ernestly… I must say nay, I þink not þat þy feelings be’þ rong,” lady Alice replyed, after much deliberation. “Þere ys no grater desyre of þe hart þan to love and be loved. If þe one þee choosest to love be of þe same sex, so be it. Þere ys no sin in loving anoþer.” She looked up at once again, a kind smile on her face, but a sadness in her eyes. “But… if þou requestest of me to answer þy feelings… I þink... I cannot do so at þis moment. To love a woman as I would a man… ‘tis an idea too forren for me to aksept wiþ haste. Wilt… wilt þou give me tyme? I intend not to play wiþ þy hart by answering wiþout due þought. Þou deservest  þat much at least.”

Once again, my hart near lept from my chest. ‘Twas not þe blunt rejection I had ekspected, nor was it þe reciprocation I desyred. I was in part elated þat she accepted þe validity of my love for her, and in ekwal part anksious, for I had suspicions þat I new I had to lay to rest.

“Þen, answer me þis at least, milady. Dost you love Barry Mackay?”

Her gaze once agane left myne, staring into space as if hoping þe man in question wouldst materialyse befor her.

“To say… love… would be premature. But Barry… twyce now, he haþ layd down his very lyfe for myne own, at no benefit to himself. In but a handful of days, he haþ proven himself brave and dependable at every turn. And…” her hand moved to her chest, and a tinje of red grew on her cheeks. “...when I þink upon þose moments… my hart doþ flutter so…”

Her face was paneted wiþ an ekspression of ekwal parts joy, longing and pane. ‘Twas an ekspression I new well, for ‘twas one I wore often myself in my younger years. þe tyme shortly after I met lady Alice.

Perhaps ‘twas not yet love as she sayd, but ‘twould soon blossom as such. Of þat I had little doubt. And my hart ached grately for it.

But I spake not as such. For if my feelings for her were valid, so too were her own. And ‘twould be not conducive of love were I to make her feel gilt for þem. So, I kwietly wept but a single teer, and swore to aksept wattever annser she wouldst later givest to me. Even if my hart could hardly bare it so.