Megan Denby

by A Thistle in the Mist

  “Ah Meara, I ken yer sufferin’ but ye canna go castin’ blame. It was an accident, lassie. Yer mother surely fell.” His voice broke and his throat worked convulsively. “Ye ken they loved each other. Deirdre couldn’t have hurt yer mother. It’s the shock that’s makin’ ye haver.” His eyes held mine. “I’ll hear no more of it, lassie,” he ordered in a thick voice.

  Doubt stumbled through me. Was I mistaken? Had Mother fallen?

  Da turned then, away from me, back to Deirdre. Her arms snaked out and drew him in. Her lips curled up as she sifted her fingers through his hair, her eyes never leaving mine. Da laid his head on her shoulder.

  I backed away, holding back my vomit with sheer will and turned to the remaining servants – the ones who had loved my mother dearly. They hovered silently, faces pale. Janet, her cheeks glistening with tears, held her arms out to me. I staggered forward and she hugged me close, her ripe belly pressing into mine.

  The foyer was silent save for Janet’s breath at my ear. The copper scent of blood lay heavy and a deep cold moved through me. Janet’s hand smoothed my back over and over, warm through the cotton of my gown.

  At the sound of movement, I peered over my shoulder. Da had left Deirdre’s arms. With stooped shoulders, he bent and scooped Mother’s slight frame, cradling her close. I stared, unable to look away, at her pale hair that cascaded almost to the floor, drifting back and forth like languid seaweed taken by the oceans current. Her lifeblood continued to flow, seeping into Da’s plaid, blending with the red and green of the MacDonald tartan.

  “Jessie... my sweet, sweet Jess...” He stared into Mother’s fixed eyes, his voice desperate, pleading. “I canna live without ye, darlin’. Do ye hear me, lass? My blessed angel, come back to me. Please. I need ye.” He pressed his face to the curve of her neck and stumbled down the corridor and into his study.

  Slipping from Janet’s arms, I followed and watched from the doorway as he fell heavily into his barrel chair. His aimless hands smoothed Mother’s brow, while he murmured unintelligibly against her breast.

  Was it just that morning he had been a mountain to me, as impenetrable as the rock of the Cuillin Mountains? I wanted to take him in my arms, take away the hurting and bring back my mother.

  I crossed the room and pressed my lips to the top of his head. Pipe smoke lingered on his clothing and I let the comforting scent take me for a moment as I stroked the gleaming curls, so like my own. I stole a look at Mother’s face and could not hold back the moan. Then I turned away.

  Hannah needed me.

  Angus MacArthur stood in the doorway. He was Mary’s father and had served Da since Da had been a wee lad. He brushed at his tears then cupped my face in his gnarled hands. Faded eyes softened into mine. “I’m sarry, lassie.”

  I swallowed hard, nodding. His worn hand slipped down to cradle mine.

  “Take care of Da, Angus.”

  “Aye, lass, that I’ll do,” he said, patting my hand.

  He limped to the sideboard, his body bent with rheumatism, found a bottle of claret and filled a goblet. Da threw back his head and downed the burgundy wine, thrusting his cup out for more.

  I closed my eyes for a moment then turned, retraced my steps and crossed the foyer.

  As I neared the stairs, I lost my footing and glanced down. A gleaming puddle of truth stared up at me. I backed away, giving myself over to the trembling. With heavy legs I turned and mounted the first step but halted as I felt fingers close around my wrist. Snatching my arm from the cold grip, I spun around.

  Deirdre!

  Uncle Sloan lurked at her side. Not a trace of sorrow shadowed his cadaver-like face. Shiny lips framed his uneven teeth in a hungry grin as his fingers slid down to rest by his crotch. I felt the heat of his pale stare as though he had reached out and touched me. A shiver whispered between my shoulder blades as I turned back to Deirdre.

  “Meara, ye best keep yer clarty accusations to yerself. Everyone kent that Jessie loved me,” she hissed. She leaned in to me and I felt her breath, hot on my face, “Dinna say nothin’ ye’ll regret, girl.” Her words slithered into my head, coiled around my brain and the doubt I’d felt was gone.

  I drew myself up, vibrating with spasms I could no longer control. “Dinna ever touch me agin or I’ll kill you,” I whispered. I leaned forward until my nose almost touched hers. She jerked her chin into her neck. “Did ye hear me? I’ll murder ye as ye murdered my mother.” Raising my hand, I jabbed at her chest. “I ken what ye’ve done and you may be the next to take a fall.”

  I felt her eyes on my back as I turned and mounted the stairs on legs that felt like water.

  ******

  Something touched my arm. It was cold but it was a touch I knew.

  Fingers?

  I stared at my arm then peered around the dim landing. Dust motes drifted on a shaft of sunlight. A hint of honeysuckle touched the air... or did it? “Mother?” My thin voice was lost in the vaulted ceiling. I had a crazy desire to run and see that she still lay in Da’s arms. I jumped as the grandfather clock bonged the half hour behind me. I’m going mad, I thought before I hunched my shoulders and hurried down the hall toward Hannah’s room.

  ******

  Jessie watched her daughter melt into the shadows, confusion clouding her mind. Why? Why had Meara ignored her?

  She leaned over the railing and stared down at her half-sister’s back. Deirdre abruptly stiffened and darted a look up over her shoulder, up to the landing. Her lips tightened and she turned and hustled after Sloan.

  The dark puddle at the base of the stairs drew Jessie’s eye. The edges were turning a rusty brown.

  Jessie stared at the puddle for a long, long time.

  And a cold tear overflowed and slipped down her cheek.

  TWO

  The Undoing of Da

  Mother’s funeral dawned a black day. Heaven knew one of its angels had been taken and the sun refused to shine.

  We huddled in the cemetery to the north of the courtyard, just outside the castle curtain. No other clansmen attended. Most of our extended family had emigrated to the new colonies of the Americas.

  A stand of dark clouds, pregnant with rain, waited above our heads. The scent of fresh earth tainted the breeze. Angus’ pipes echoed the mournful strains of Amazing Grace across the moor. I recited the familiar words in my head; it’s meaning suddenly and ironically clear to me. Forgiveness and redemption are possible regardless of the sins people commit. I shook my head and stared at Deirdre. In the depths of my heart, I knew there would be no forgiveness and no redemption for my aunt.

  As the drone of the pipes faded, sadness surged through me and I could not stop my tears. The priest finished the ceremony and as if on cue, the heavens opened. Rain pelted the rough-hewn pine coffin, drops splattering and joining until the box grew slick. Rainwater dripped from my nose and spiked Hannah’s lashes into dark stars that framed her despair. My love, Duncan, on leave from the 42nd Regiment, stood by Angus, Rabbie, our stable lad and Janet’s husband, Alec Sherrifs and together they lowered Mother’s casket into the lonely pit.

  Hannah went limp in my arms and I felt the touch of Duncan’s hand on my shoulder as I held my sister to me, the musky smell of rain filling my mouth and nose, the cold of Deirdre’s stare infecting my sorrow.

  “Nooo!”

  Like stone scraping together, Da’s anguish grated from deep inside. His composure fell away, revealing a pitiful man that cowered beneath. Duncan rushed to his side and held my father as he slowly curled into himself and slid to the ground, his hands covering his face.

  Dark earth was smoothed over Mother’s grave and I trembled violently as I watched the rain turn it to mud.

  ******

  The trees looked as sad as I felt; branches drooped in sorrow, leaves heavy with rain. My breath hazed the glass and I polished it away with my sleeve then rested my cheek on Daisy’s silky, black head, felt her rough tongue roll over my cheek. I cuddled the warm, wee body of my Skye terrier, a
gift from Da when I had turned ten. She peered up at me with her bright, loving eyes and I kissed her forehead. The rich scent of roast venison drifted into the great room, the inviting smell of dinner. Dinner – such an ordinary affair – except our table held one less setting and that was not ordinary at all.

  I rubbed my swollen eyes then felt the touch of lips on the nape of my neck. I turned abruptly and pushed into Duncan’s arms, pressing my face to the safety of his chest. He held me tight, Daisy’s wriggling body lodged between us, and he kissed the top of my head.

  “Ah, lass, if I could take away the hurtin’, ye ken I would,” he said into my hair.

  “It’s not fair, Duncan,” I said, squeezing my eyes tight. “She didn’t deserve this. I ken Deirdre did it! But I canna prove a thing.” I leaned down and deposited Daisy on the floor. She trotted over to her bed by the fire, pawed at the cushion for a moment then settled in, her intelligent eyes never leaving my face, her pointed ears cocked.

  Duncan hugged me and I felt the heaviness of his arms around my body, his breath at my ear. Then he held me away and cupped my face in his hands. “Lass, is it possible yer mistaken? Could yer mother have fallen?” he asked carefully.

  I closed my hands around his wrists and stared hard into his eyes. “Nay, lad, I asked myself the same question. But I can see the truth in Deirdre’s eyes as clear as Mother’s blood on her hands!” I said, my voice rising.

  He touched a finger to my lips and peered over his shoulder. “Then that’s enough for me, lassie,” he said in a low voice, my assurance sufficient. “I dinna ken how we can prove it but she canna get away with it, surely. I’ve decided I canna leave ye, the now. I willna be returnin’ to my regiment. I’ll stay and help.”

  I felt a rising in my chest, a swell of love for this man who stood before me. He was willing to give up his position with his regiment for me. Though I thought I had cried myself out, my eyes pooled. What I wanted to say was, Aye, laddie, stay with me! but what tripped from my lips was, “Ah, Duncan, ye are my sweet lad. Ye’ve always been my sweet laddie but I canna ask this of ye.”

  “I love ye, Meara. Yer my heart, lass. I need to stay and keep ye safe.” He used his thumbs to catch the tears that overflowed then leaned in. I felt the soft and firm of his lips. I kissed him back and clung to him, pressing my forehead to his, trying to draw strength from his embrace.

  Shaking my head, I reached up and pushed an errant spike of hair from his forehead. “I’ll give Da some time to mourn then I’ll talk to him about Deirdre. At the very least, she and Sloan need to leave.” Duncan leaned in again and kissed my forehead, wiping the wet from my face. “But Duncan, ye need to return to yer troop. Yer needed there... and... and we’ll be fine,” I managed.

  He shook his head again but before he could answer a small voice interrupted.

  “Meara?”

  We turned. Hannah stood in the doorway, her hands clenched before her. She seemed so small and fragile, as if a wisp of wind could pick her up and carry her from me. Daisy ran to greet her, her tail bobbing back and forth.

  “Aye, Hannah?” I held my hand out to her.

  “I just... I just need ye,” she cried, rushing into the room.

  Duncan held out his free arm and together we pulled her into our circle.

  “It’ll get better, lassie. I promise it’ll get better,” Duncan vowed and I knew he thought of the loss of his own mother as my sister’s slender form trembled in our arms and rain tapped at the window.

  ******

  But it didn’t get better.

  Duncan and I argued. He insisted on staying and I insisted he leave. He was angry with my doggedness but I knew his regiment needed him. I convinced him Da and I would be able to take care of Deirdre and Sloan. So reluctantly Duncan kissed me good-bye and I ground my teeth together to keep from calling him back.

  Had I known how wrong I was about Da, I may not have sent Duncan away so hastily. Da pulled away, spinning in an eddy of despair, sitting stoically in the chamber he’d shared with Mother, the light missing from his moss-coloured eyes. He drank himself to nothingness. Mother had been his love, his light and without her he had lost his way.

  Duntulm’s halls lay silent, the rumble of Da’s laughter, yesterday’s memory. The silvery tinkle of Hannah’s giggles and my not-so-silvery snorts, as Da chased us through the corridors or jumped out to scare us, seemed a long ago dream. The empty space where Mother had been, overflowed with shadows that crept from the corners and threatened to swallow us all.

  More young men lost their innocence, sacrificed to Napoleon’s grand designs as he defeated Portugal and Spain. When the emperor replaced Spain’s king with his own brother, outrage and rebellion broke out. Even with the constant uprisings, Boney’s appetite was not sated. Next he enforced a ban on British trade. Great Britain retaliated by offering both naval and land support to Spain and Portugal. Before Duncan left, he confided it wouldn’t be long before Napoleon invaded Britain. His regiment would most certainly be called to arms which meant intense training to ready for battle.

  I had been accustomed to seeing Duncan whenever I wanted. We had grown up together, fallen in love together and ridden the moors together. Duncan had been a frequent and welcome presence at Duntulm, had lived with us for a time when his mother had passed away and now to not have him near during this most desolate time was a struggle. Inwardly I searched for my strength of spirit while outwardly I moved through my day to day life, praying to God to keep Duncan safe.

  A week after Mother’s funeral I stepped into Da’s chamber. My fingertips tingled and my stomach felt sick. Never in my life had I felt uncertain in my father’s presence. But Da was different now. He thought of nothing but Mother. He seemed to have forgotten about us and what Deirdre had most assuredly done. But he needed to know the truth about Mother’s supposed sister. I needed to make him believe me, and he needed to do something about it. Somehow I had to make him accept what I knew to be true.

  And so I stood nervously across the room from him, chewing my bottom lip and wringing my hands. “Da, may I speak with ye?” It was just after the morning meal and I prayed he had not been into his cups already.

  Stale wine, grief and unwashed body lay on the air like a thick stew.

  “Da?”

  He stared out the window, didn’t answer. I tiptoed to his side and peered into a face grey with misery. His flat eyes looked past me, through the glass and I turned to see at what he looked. I found the cross that marked Mother’s grave and a sob pushed at my lips. I fell to my knees and lay my cheek on his lap. He sat so still, as though carved from granite. Then slowly his hands came to life and I felt his fingers touch my hair. The weight of his hands on my head felt good... so good. I cried then, letting my tears roll, unchecked. He leaned forward and I felt his lips touch my cheek.

  “Oh, Da, I love ye so. Ye canna do this to yerself. Mother wouldna want ye to give up.” I lifted my head and peered up. His hands slid down to frame my face and I swallowed hard at the shimmer of his tears.

  “Meara, yer so strong, lass,” he murmured, his voice thready. “Yer just like her, ye ken, yer spirit, yer strength. Just like yer mother. She was so strong.” His eyes drifted back to the window. “So strong.”

  I clasped his hands in mine, tipped my head to find his eyes and spoke softly, “Da, we canna let her away with it.” His stare remained distant. I squeezed his hands, shook them a little in frustration. “It was Deirdre, Da! She killed Mother. It was no accident! Mother was strong but she was no match for Deirdre.” My voice rose as I continued, “Deirdre killed her own sister, Da – your wife – and ye must not let her away with it!”

  His eyes slid back and I pulled away, away from the face of the stranger who stared down at me. Behind the film of tears, his eyes were hard. “Meara, I already told ye, yer mother loved yer aunt and uncle. Dinna ye remember how happy she was when she learned she had a brother and a sister? It was me who encouraged them to live here, me who let them into Duntu
lm and me who asked them stay.” He stabbed a finger to his own chest as he ground out his words. “Do ye really think I would have let them in if I kent they were a danger? Do ye, lass?” he demanded in a thick voice. He leaned forward, his face so close to my own. “Well, do ye?” he whispered.

  I stared up into this face, Da’s face, and my stomach slowly sank. “Oh nay, Da... nay... but it wasna yer fault. Ye canna think that. Ye couldna have... Oh please, Da,” I begged.

  Despair edged his voice as he cut me off, “What does that make me, Meara? And what does it matter? She’s gone.” His hands slid from mine, lay limp in his lap, his fingers curled. He looked back to the window. When he spoke again his voice was empty. “I dinna ever want to hear another word about this. Ever. Do ye understand me?” he intoned. His eyes avoided mine but I saw the shame as plainly as the moon on a clear night.

  “Aye, Da,” I breathed.

  He blamed himself for Mother’s death. Lord no! It’s not yer fault Da! I implored silently. And the murderer was going to get away with it! And I didn’t know what to do.

  Mother, I need ye so. Please help me, I prayed. I reached beneath my neckline and felt the weight of my locket in my palm. A gift from Mother on my eighteenth birthday, it was sterling silver with a bloodstone cross set into the front. Inside was a miniature painted portrait of our family. I rubbed my thumb over the cross.

  It was hardly noticeable at first, but gradually a chill crept through the room. I wrapped my arms around my middle and glanced toward the windows but they were closed, as I had known they would be, the heat of summer nudging from the other side. I peered around Da’s chambers. My breath turned to white ribbons that floated for a moment then vanished. I tensed as the fire suddenly flared in the hearth. I stared at the climbing flames then glanced up at Da. But his eyes were fixed on Mother’s grave. I looked back but the fire had faded back to a glowing bed of coals. A faint note of honeysuckle teased my confusion but was gone before I could be sure.

  I jumped as Da spoke, “Leave now, Meara.” His knuckles were white as he gripped the arms of his chair.