Golden Arrow - Chapter 5

5. The Ghost of Galloway Castle

“I need to buy flowers,” Psyche said hesitantly. She had already counted the coins in her purse and calculated the total amount in her head.

“Flowers?”

“Yes, guests are coming. The castle looks too dreary as it is.”

“What guest? My lady, what guest! It’s nothing but a bunch of cursed thieves and scoundrels trying to…”

Clarissa, who had been grumbling beside her, hesitated upon seeing Psyche’s stern expression. Psyche was a forgiving mistress, but she would not tolerate rudeness.

“Don’t talk like that. This is my choice.”

“How is this your choice? You’re being forced into it, with no other option! There are plenty of strong, handsome men in Scotlin who would marry you. But they want you to marry some weak, good-for-nothing fop from the south!”

“Clarissa.”

“What do you lack, my lady, that you need to marry into Ingrint? You’re beautiful, like the late madam, and clever, like the late master. You even have a castle and land…”

Psyche paused at Clarissa’s words. The mention of “land” pricked her heart like a thorn. As a woman, she could not inherit her title. The man she married would inherit both the earldom and the Galloway estate. The problem was that the estate was far more trouble than anyone imagined.

Galloway was barren land, a dry wasteland swept by dust storms. Its environment was too poor for agriculture or livestock, and aside from mining peat, it had no reliable source of income. For this reason, Psyche’s father had constantly succumbed to the temptations of investment. And the cunning companies of Ingrint had swindled the naïve Scotlin earl out of his money.

His final investment, which had used most of the estate as collateral, ended in failure—as it always did. This time, it wasn’t entirely Walter Stuart’s fault. The Ingrint government had manipulated him into converting government bonds into shares of state-owned enterprises.

At first, he earned ten times the profit from his converted shares. So, he invested even more. Then, the stock prices suddenly plummeted. Countless investors who had put their money into the stocks took their own lives. Later, a parliamentary investigation revealed that the crash had been part of a massive government-orchestrated fraud. Even so, the losses could not be recovered.

Sir Isaac, a prominent Ingrint scientist who also lost money in the scheme, famously lamented:

“I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people.” [1]

Indeed, Walter Stuart had been seized by that madness. He became a victim of the fraud. And Psyche became the greatest victim of all, caught in the aftermath of her father’s madness, his ruinous investments, and his death.

What remained of the Stuart family now was the dilapidated Galloway Castle and the few parcels of land that hadn’t been seized. Despite the title and estate being available, no one wanted to marry her.

“So why don’t we find you a fine Scotlin man instead? You’re beautiful, my lady. They’ll all be queuing up to marry you. Perhaps we should host a debutante ball.”

Psyche felt a headache coming on. Most of what Clarissa said was true, but one thing was wrong—there was no line of men in Scotlin waiting to marry her.

Not long ago, Psyche had sent a letter to the Earl of Wallace, one of her father’s friends. This was immediately after the Ingrint royal messenger had visited her castle. Normally, she would never have made such a desperate plea. But she had no choice.

In her letter, she had asked Wallace to find her a suitor as soon as possible, hoping to avoid marriage to an Ingrint noble. She even added that she would accept any Scotlin man, no matter who he was.

Psyche didn’t want to leave Scotlin or Galloway. Nor did she want her life to become a political pawn. After her family’s downfall and her father’s death, no one had proposed to the poor orphaned Psyche. So, she had resolved to live here alone for the rest of her life. She didn’t care if people mocked her as the “ghost of Galloway Castle.”

However, Wallace’s reply had been discouraging. He wrote that no one dared defy the Queen’s order. His letter also included the irresponsible advice that she should gladly accept the opportunity to marry into one of Ingrint’s great noble families.

Indeed, no Scotlin noble could openly disregard the Queen’s command. Psyche Stuart was no exception. She only realized this bitterly after receiving the letter from the Earl of Wallace. A marriage with a noble family from Ingrint was not something her refusal could prevent.

“To be fair, why should we obey the Ingrint Queen? She’s not our ruler! You should’ve just refused.”

Clarissa, like many in Scotlin, struggled to accept the reality of Ingrint’s rule. The people of Scotlin bowed reluctantly before the governor appointed by the Ingrint Queen, but deep in their hearts, they nurtured the flames of rebellion and defiance.

“And what happens after I refuse?”

“Well, something will work out, won’t it?”

“If I refuse, they’ll send an army.”

“An army? They’d send an army just because you refuse to marry?”

“It’s a royal command. Of course they would.”

“Then what, we’d all be killed?”

“That’s a possibility.”

Psyche smiled bitterly.

For decades, the Kings of Ingrint had ruled Scotlin in many ways. Sometimes, they cajoled the people with candy; other times, they slapped them harshly with military force. Over time, the people of Scotlin grew accustomed to the candy and fearful of the slap. They began to submit to the authority of Ingrint—everyone except for a few independence fighters.

If Psyche refused the marriage, the Ingrint army would descend upon Galloway. They could slaughter her and the entire population of the estate under some trumped-up charge of treason. That was the brutal way of Ingrint.

“Pick some thistles along the way and decorate with them. If they step on one and scream in pain, we can laugh. Better yet, if they fall on it and get thorns stuck in their behinds.”

“Like the Vikings?”

“The Ingrint bastards are worse than the Vikings. Let’s make them like those Vikings who once invaded and fled after pricking their backsides on thistles.”

Psyche couldn’t help but laugh at Clarissa’s words. Clarissa, annoyed by her laughter, asked gruffly, “So, what kind of flowers are you buying?”

“Well, the Cavendish family’s flower is the rose, but we can’t get roses in this weather. Perhaps I’ll buy cornflowers instead.”

Cornflowers were Psyche’s favorite flowers. They were resilient, growing anywhere in the harsh highlands, and bore the most noble shade of blue.

Centuries ago, during the war between Ingrint and Scotlin, the Queen of Scotlin had fled with her young princes and hid in a field of cornflowers. She picked the flowers, wove crowns, and placed them on her sons’ heads to calm their fears.

One of those boys grew up to become king and eventually led Scotlin to victory, ending the war. When the war was over, the king remembered that day and declared the cornflower the national flower of Scotlin. From then on, the cornflower became a symbol of Scotlin’s spirit of resistance.

Psyche had another reason for loving cornflowers—or rather, a specific memory tied to them. The deep, striking blue of the cornflowers reminded her of a pair of eyes she had once seen—eyes that swirled with fear, anxiety, relief, and longing. The eyes of a boy she had met long ago.

“Alright, my lady.”

Psyche’s expression brightened as she emerged from the flower shop with an armful of vivid blue cornflowers. It had been so long since she had bought flowers. With the difficulty of running the household, even such a small luxury had been unthinkable. Though she used the excuse of guests, no one was happier to buy the flowers than Psyche herself.

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

She asked, walking slowly and glancing back at Clarissa, who followed behind her.

Because of that moment’s distraction, she didn’t see the man standing directly in her path and collided with him. The bouquet slipped from her hands and fell to the ground, and Psyche stumbled, landing atop the crushed flowers.

At that moment, the wind blew, carrying away a few scattered blue petals. Psyche sat there, stunned, as the petals fluttered gently in the air. Recovering her senses, she looked up at the man, who stood like a pillar before her.

“I’m sorry.”

The man didn’t say anything. Instead, he bent down, and a gloved hand, covered in white deerskin, extended toward her.

“Take my hand.”

Psyche, though startled, did not refuse his help. The cool texture of the leather glove fit smoothly against her palm. When she tried to pull her hand away after standing, the man instead tightened his grip slightly, gently drawing her hand toward him.

Before she could protest, he bent down and pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Psyche Stuart.”

The man’s pleasant voice brushed against her hand like a whisper, sending an involuntary shiver through Psyche. She looked up to see his face clearly.

His eyes were the color of a lake near Galloway Castle, or a field of blooming cornflowers—clear, fresh, and unmistakably blue. Psyche tilted her head slightly, blinking as if to confirm what she was seeing.

The man smiled faintly. It was a smile like a ripple across a still lake, soft yet spreading outward like the gentle breeze over a field of cornflowers.

***

[1] A quote attributed to Isaac Newton regarding the South Sea Bubble incident.