by Fiona Faris
“I would agree that havin’ English soldiers on our island for any reason is nae tae be sought after, but someone is goin’ tae come lookin’ for a lass such as this. She is clearly from a wealthy, noble family. She will be missed.”
“Aye, I suppose ye dinnae leave a treasure such as this behind.” William gestured toward the girl in James’ arms.
“Nae, ye dinnae. When she awakens, she will be able tae tell us tae whom she belongs, and we will return her there ourselves at the earliest opportunity.”
“Preferably before anyone notices she is missin’,” William grumbled.
James understood William’s concerns all too well. It was unwise to give the English a reason to seek you out, for once they arrived in a place, they seldom left it willingly. He carried the lass up the shoreline to the elderly couple’s croft and placed her inside upon the bed. “Agnes, I have brought ye a guest,” he informed the woman of the house. “She is wounded and in need of yer healin’ hands.”
Agnes MacDonald moved forward and took in the state of the unconscious Englishwoman. She nodded her head and moved across the croft to place some water over the fire to boil and began gathering various herbs and some cloth. When the water was ready, she pulled it out of the flames and poured it into a bowl. She carried her supplies over to the woman upon the bed and began to cleanse the wound upon her head. Turning, she motioned for James to leave the room so that she could remove the woman’s sodden clothing, and he quickly obeyed. At the door he turned to inquire, “Will she live?” Agnes shrugged her shoulders and closed the door behind him.
James shook his head and smiled slightly at the older woman’s lack of conversational skills. Turning to her husband he said, “Ye are a lucky man, Samuel.”
“Aye, that I am,” Samuel agreed, vigorously nodding his snow-capped head.
William chuckled at the exchange and then turned serious once more. “I will go back tae the keep and gather some men.”
“I will go and speak tae the minister at the kirk tae prepare him for what’s tae come. Ye can bring the bodies there for burial.”
William clicked his tongue in disapproval while shaking his head. “Sassenachs in the kirkyard among decent Scottish folk is a sin tae be sure.”
James sighed, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It cannae be helped, William.”
“Aye, I suppose it cannae.”
“I will return tae look in on the lass after I have spoken with the minister,” James informed Samuel. “We dinnae ken who she is or what we are dealin’ with so be careful.” Samuel nodded in acknowledgment.
They parted ways, and James walked the distance to the kirk. He found the minister in the kirkyard attempting to right a toppled stone grave marker. James walked over and helped him to reset it back into the ground. “Quite a storm we had last night,” the minister noted, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I thank ye for yer assistance, Me Laird. What brings ye tae the kirk? Have we lost anyone?” he asked concern creasing his brow.
“Nae, we have nae lost any o’ our own, but we seem tae have been cursed with the arrival o’ English corpses and a wounded Sassenach lass on our shores.”
The minister’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. “The poor souls!”
“Aye,” James agreed sadly. He had no love for the English, but he hated to see anyone suffer so. “Can ye accommodate them in the kirkyard?”
“O’ course. All God’s creatures are welcome here.”
James nodded. “William and some o’ the lads from the castle will be bringin’ the bodies tae ye. It would be best if we could identify the bodies tae their loved ones via personal items.”
“I will be ready,” the minister promised and called out for some of the young boys who were picking up scattered items on the ground to come and help him prepare to receive the bodies for internment.
James returned to Samuel and Agnes’ croft to check on the lone surviving castaway. When he entered, he found her clean and dry, her wounds tended to and bandaged. “I thank ye, Agnes,” he murmured softly so as not to disturb the sleeping form upon the bed. Agnes patted his hand and handed him a bowl of warm pottage then went to sit with her husband at the table in the center of the room.
James took a seat in the chair beside the bed and studied the Englishwoman’s face. She was beautiful. Even with a bandage about her head, and scrapes of varying size upon her creamy white skin, she was mesmerizing. “Someone will certainly be lookin’ for a bonnie Sassenach such as ye,” he murmured. “I wonder where it is ye come from and tae whom ye belong. Do ye have a family who loves and misses ye?” He knew she could not answer in her present state, nor likely hear him at all, but it brought him comfort to speak to her in such a way.
“I put her things o’er there in front o’ the fire tae dry, but I dinnae think they can be saved,” Samuel informed him from his place at the table.
“I thank ye, Samuel. Was there anythin’ among her belongings that spoke as tae who she might be or from whence she has come?”
“Nae, I didnae find anythin’ o’ the kind, but ‘tis certain she is a lady of quality.”
“Aye, it is at that.”
“I would have burned the dress as it was ruined, but I didnae do so thinkin’ that the lady should be the one tae decide.”
“A wise choice, Samuel,” James remarked with a smile. He could only imagine how upset the lass would be to awake only to find her clothing going up in flames.
Samuel nodded his head, affirmed in his belief, then returned to his bowl of pottage. James followed suit and ate his in short order. Agnes was as wonderful a cook as she was a healer, but she had not spoken a single word in the entire time that he had known her. Samuel had told him that when she was quite young there was an incident where she was forced to watch her entire family be raped and murdered by British soldiers. Samuel’s father had come across the abused girl barely breathing among the burnt rubble of her parent’s croft. He had picked her up and brought her to Skye to heal, and she had become a part of their family. She had never spoken once since that day, but somehow Samuel had managed to win her heart and she his. They were James’ favorite married couple on the island.
Turning his attention back to the wounded lass upon the bed, he was surprised to find her awake and staring at him with wide blue eyes filled with fear. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
James reached for a cup of water and handed it to her. “James Alexander MacDonald, Laird o’ Knock Castle. And who might ye be?”
The woman opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped. She closed her mouth and frowned. “I do not know,” she finally answered, tears filling her eyes.
“Ye dinnae ken who ye are?” James asked incredulously.
“Apparently not,” she bit out in distress, her eyes searching about the room frantically for any sign as to whom or where she might be. She attempted to lift herself from the bed but was unable to do so successfully.
“Dinnae fash, lass. It will come tae ye soon enough,” he attempted to soothe her.
“Why do you speak in such an odd fashion?” she asked, studying his face with suspicion.
“I am Scottish. Ye are on the Isle o’ Skye, an island off the coast o’ Scotland.”
“What am I doing here?” she asked, a confused and frightened expression upon her face.
“Ye were in a shipwreck. More than that, I cannae say.”
“A shipwreck?” she whispered in question, her voice cracking under the strain of fear. James could see the panic rising in her eyes. The lass was growing increasingly more terrified.
“Aye,” he nodded his head.
Her forehead wrinkled further in question as her hands began to shake. “Where am I from?” she asked, her voice quivering, the question falling from her lips in a panicked, nervous rush. “I do not speak as you do.”
“Nae, ye dinnae. I believe that ye are a Sassenach, an Englishwoman. A wealthy noble lady by the looks o’ yer clothing when we found ye.�
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“I do not know, but what you say feels right.” She answered hesitantly, her forehead crinkling in thought as she nervously chewed on her lower lip. “You do not know me then?” She frowned up at him as if she were gauging the truth of his words.
“Nae, lass. I dinnae ken who ye are or anythin’ about ye.”
“That is most unfortunate,” she fretted, attempting to stand up once more. She wobbled and began to fall. James leaped up and caught her up into his arms before she could hurt herself.
“Have a care, lass,” he warned. “We cannae have ye fallin’ in the fire now, can we.”
“No, I suppose not,” she admitted, blushing with embarrassment at her ungainly state.
“’Twill take time for ye tae get yer legs about ye. Ye have been shipwrecked, tossed about in the sea, and have sustained a head injury. Ye need time tae rest and heal afore ye go runnin’ about.”
“Yes, thank you,” she murmured as James set her back down upon the bed.
“So ye dinnae remember anythin’ then?”
“No, I am afraid I do not, and I am finding it quite disconcerting.” The fear still emanating from her eyes told him that she spoke the truth.
“Aye, I can see how it would be. Well, ye can speak. That is good. Let us see if ye can eat,” James stated, handing her a bowl of pottage.
The lass took the bowl, but when she attempted to eat the soup with a spoon her hands shook too much to keep the food on the utensil. “Oh,” she cried out in dismay as the spoon fell to the floor.
“Here like this,” James showed her, putting his bowl to his lips and drinking out of it like a cup.
The lass looked horrified but did as he instructed. She may nae ken who she is or from whence she has come, and yet she is disconcerted by poor manners. James fought the urge to chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
The lass set the bowl down and looked around her. “You say I was shipwrecked?”
“Aye.”
“Surely I was not aboard a ship alone.”
“Nae, ye were nae alone.”
“Where are the other passengers?”
James did not wish to upset her further than she already was, but he knew he had no choice but to do so. “They are all dead. Ye are the only survivor.”
“Nay, it cannot be so!” Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of so much death. She began to shake even harder than she had before.
“Do ye remember anythin’ about the ship or the people aboard?” James asked, as he took the bowl from her hands to avoid its contents sloshing out onto the bed.
“Nay,” she shook her head. “What if I had family aboard the ship? What if…” her words faded away as the myriad of possibilities swirled through her mind.
James watched as realization swept over her face, and she melted into sobs. Leaning forward, he awkwardly placed his hand upon hers in an effort to console her but quickly took it away when she shrunk back away from him. “I am truly sorry for yer loss, lass. E’en if ye dinnae remember them, it is clear that yer heart has nae forgotten everythin’.”
“How can you be sure?” she asked sniffing.
“Nae many people would weep for the death o’ those they dinnae ken.”
“This is all too much,” she whispered. “I cannot bear it.”
“Ye dinnae have a choice, lass, but I will be here tae help ye through it. When ye are strong enough, ye will move tae the castle, and we will see what can be done tae return ye tae yer people.”
“If I have people,” she murmured, tearing up again.
“Rest now. I will return for ye once we have buried the dead. I dinnae ken if it will bring ye any comfort at all, but it appears that they were all either members o’ the crew or British soldiers. Both were unlikely tae be the family o’ a wealthy noble English woman. ‘Tis nae impossible, but improbable.”
“I fear it does little to appease my sorrow.”
James nodded in understanding then left the croft. When he arrived back at the kirkyard, he found several of his men digging graves, the cloth wrapped bodies of the dead lying on the ground in a row. James had never seen so many dead at one time outside of a battlefield. Grabbing a pick, he began digging. It took hours to bury all the dead. When they had finished, the minister said a few words over the graves.
Night was falling once more as James returned to Samuel and Agnes’ croft. It had taken the entire day to bury the dead and repair the damage caused by the storm. When he walked through the door, he found the Sassenach lass asleep. “She can stay here with us for the night,” Samuel whispered. “We have made pallets on the floor and will be nearby if she awakens and needs anythin’.”
“I thank ye, Samuel, for yer hospitality. I will return upon the morrow.”
That night James tossed and turned. He could not get the thought of the Sassenach lass out of his head. Her tears had touched him to his very core, and he felt for her plight, but he knew he could not allow himself to feel anything more for her as she was English and would one day soon return to her own people. He could also never be sure if he could fully trust her once she got her memory back. William was right. It was too risky having the English wash up on their shores. Somehow, he needed to ascertain where she had come from and return her as quickly as possible, all while attempting to discover who was blackmailing him.
“I loathe lies,” he whispered into the night as he turned over once more, “but it is in order tae save more lives than I will e’er ken, including me godson, wee Ewan’s. I cannae risk that nae matter what must be done tae put this matter tae rest.”
Chapter Two
‘Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Run!’
“Mother!” Sitting up in bed she panted in fear calling out into the darkness around her.
“’Tis well, lass. Ye are safe,” a man’s voice from beside her soothed. It took her a moment to remember the man’s name.
“Samuel?”
“Aye, lass, ‘tis Agnes and I. Have a nightmare, did ye?”
“Yes, I think so. Either that or a memory, but if it is a memory, I am not sure that I wish to remember it.”
“Ye cried out for yer maither, lass. Do ye ken who ye are?”
“I think my name is Elizabeth.”
“And yer surname, lass?”
“I do not remember.”
“What do ye remember?”
“I think my mother is dead.”
“In the shipwreck?”
“Nay, I do not think so. It felt as if it were before, long before now.”
“I see. Lost her when ye were nae but a bairn, aye?”
“I think so,” she answered.
“Well, Elizabeth, ‘tis a pleasure tae make yer acquaintance. The laird will be right pleased tae hear that ye have remembered somethin’ o’ yer past. A name is a good place tae start.”
Agnes came forward and laid a hand on hers in sympathy, then the elderly couple returned to their beds upon the floor. Elizabeth… She mused over the name in her mind and knew it just felt right. The woman she had somehow known was her mother had cried it out before her death. Who or what was I to run from? She could not remember, but she had felt the fear as strongly as if she had been back in that moment. Who or what had hurt her mother, she did not know; but she determined that if at all possible, she would find out who she was and fill in the missing pieces from her past.
She lay in the darkness, playing the dream over and over in her mind, attempting to remember even the slightest detail that might help her to remember who she was, where she had come from, or how she had gotten where she was now. Why was I on a ship? Where was I going? Who was to meet me when I arrived? The questions ran through her mind one after another, tumbling in a confused cacophony of disconcertion. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks. She buried her face in the pillow to keep from waking Samuel and Agnes again. Who am I? Stripped of her identity, her sense of self, her heart felt as if it had been wrenched from her chest. When she finally fell back to sleep, she dreamed of a great endless
sea swallowing her whole.
* * *
“Elizabeth… Elizabeth…” A deep masculine voice pushed its way through the haze of her dreams, forcing her into the light. “Elizabeth…” She opened her eyes to find the strong handsome face of James MacDonald standing over her. “There ye are,” he remarked with a smile. “Ye were cryin’ in yer sleep, lass. Have the night terrors, did ye?”