Home of a mother, wife, writer

Bridgette stepped into the dining room and saw that Eamonn was the only one there. He didn’t even seem to notice her presence though, as he focused on the paper in front of him. He scribbled a few lines over it, pressed the end of the nib pen against his lip then put it back against the paper. He only paused in the scribbling to dip the pen back into the inkwell.

“Writing a letter?” she asked as she moved closer. She hadn’t really seen much of him recently. Not as much as she had seen of Torin. She felt a little bad that she wasn’t more disappointed by that. But, he was here now.

He jumped a little at her voice, and a few drops of ink fell across the page. He wiped at them, but they only smeared across the paper. He shrugged and set the pen aside. “Not a letter, no.”

She moved a little closer, hoping to get a glimpse of what he was writing. If not a letter, then what could it be? But he slid the paper under a blank sheet. Right, so he did not want her to see. He had been fairly charming to her over the days. She hadn’t expected this turn of behavior.

“You are not going to let me see then?”

“Nay, I do not think that a good idea,” he said, but he did flash her that smile. The one that liked to make her knees a little weak. It wasn’t as strong as it usually was. And it had nothing on what just Torin’s hand on her elbow did to her.

And there was still a sadness in Eamonn’s eyes. He was not as despondent as when they’d first arrived, a little more than a month ago. But, she still saw flashes of it, especially when he didn’t think anyone–mostly his brother it seemed–was watching. She did not know why he didn’t want her to see what he was writing, though. What could the harm be if it was not a personal letter.

But, she moved away and from the corner of her eye saw him dip the pen again. She tried to catch a few words without getting too close. But none of those made much sense to her. Not without seeing all of them. But, she couldn’t seem to help looking over from time to time.

It wasn’t until he was starting to fold the paper, and she got a glimpse of the name at the top of what he’d been writing she got her first clue. Keagen Aislinn. She’d seen that name before. Along with a rather stirring diatribe in The Nation. She couldn’t believe that was Eamonn. He could be charming when he chose to be, but this had gone beyond that. It could see him transported if not hanged.

“Have care,” she murmured as she stepped past him. “I know your brother enjoys your presence.”

He met her gaze for a moment, awareness in those eyes. She’d been caught by them from the first moment she’d looked into them. But, he simply nodded after a moment and turned away.

What was he doing to her? Not even two months ago, she’d sworn she’d never letΒ  a man control her. Now, she was being turned and twisted by two of them. No, she would not let it happen. Especially not for a man who seemed to be willing to risk being charged with sedition.

She definitely wasn’t going to let herself fall for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt was to use “ink” either as a noun or verb. Wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do at first. But, Eamonn decided to start speaking to me, or writing as it is. πŸ˜‰ The Nation was actually an Irish newspaper that would have been published around this time, and by this time, several of the contributors had been transported to Australia for exactly what Eamonn is doing, which would be why he’s writing under an assumed name. πŸ™‚

Comments on: "Stream of Consciousness Saturday: “Ink”" (2)

  1. […] Stream of Consciousness Saturday – a bit with Eamonn and Bridgette from Green Hills & Smoky Fields. […]

  2. […] Stream of Consciousness Saturday – “Ink” a bit with Eamonn and Bridgette from Green Hills & Smoky Fields. […]

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