I lowered my head and rubbed my tears with my sleeve. Pushing myself to my feet, I sought his eyes. His jaw bulged and his mouth trembled but he would not look at me.
I touched my fingers to my cheek, desperate to feel Da’s kiss. I left his room on soundless feet, swallowing away fresh tears. With his words he had shattered what was left of my heart and driven hope from my soul.
******
Da refused to end his vigil over Mother’s grave. Each morning I made my way to his chambers and though I had to bite back words that threatened to tumble from my mouth, I followed his orders and said nothing of Deirdre. But I vowed to myself I would not give up. Deirdre had to pay. For some reason, it never crossed my mind that perhaps I should be concerned for my own safety and the other residents of Duntulm.
I’m not sure when I first noticed, but things began to change, albeit subtly at first.
Deirdre intruded on our visits, sweeping into Da’s room with a new boldness. I didn’t know what to do. In mute fury I watched as she fussed with his quilt, filled his goblet and smoothed back his hair, her hands far too knowing, her eyes far too satisfied and my father far too passive.
“Aunt Deirdre, leave him be. I’ll take care of Da,” I said one morning, unable to hold my tongue and hating the sullen note of my own voice.
“Nonsense, Meara! Yer father needs someone to brighten his day, not a brooding daughter who fills his head with dirty lies,” she sneered. “Isn’t that right, my luaidh?” she taunted, her eyes on mine, her hand on Da’s shoulder.
Da acted as though he hadn’t heard, and I swallowed the hateful words I wanted to fling.
My father grew worse with each day, withdrawing further and further until at length I felt he didn’t care if he saw me or not. Mother was lost to me and now in despair, I sensed I was losing Da as well.
The sadness took Hannah too. In the beginning she came with me to see Da. But Deirdre unnerved her and Da’s indifference cracked her fragile self-esteem. Where had our vibrant, loving father gone? Never had a day gone by when he hadn’t wrapped us in a bear hug or teased until we giggled. Hannah couldn’t stand to see what he had become. Despair stole her appetite and the colour from her cheeks. She chewed her fingernails to ragged stumps and her gowns drooped on her frame. Shadows settled beneath her eyes and her flaxen hair lay limp. I had never felt so helpless.
For as long as I could remember, my sister and I had lived a joyful and secure existence. But joy had abandoned us, leaving us naked and exposed to the vultures that circled overhead.
******
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and Mother’s murder faded away. The occupants of the MacDonald castle felt the strain of Deirdre’s watchful eye and sharp tongue. And then a small bit of joy eased into our lives in the form of Flossie, Janet’s lovely wee lass, born at the end of November. But November turned into December and cold winds howled a dismal lament, pushed past the shuttered windows, slipped around the ill-fitting doors.
Britain remained at war with France and though the battle with Napoleon seemed far away, Duncan and his cousin Ranald trained almost continuously with the highland infantry now. He had been home for two brief visits since Mother’s death and each time I pretended things were well and good, that father was working past his sorrow, that Deirdre and Sloan would be leaving soon and that I was fine. Deirdre was not the only actress in the family. And as I hoped, Duncan was able to return to his drills placated. It seemed nothing could stop the emperor of France and his Grand Army. Despite my attempts to think otherwise, fear held me captive, a fear that Duncan would be called to serve and would be lost to me. I prayed for a lone magpie to circle and croak before Napoleon; a sure sign of impending death. Grandmother Searlaid had warned me to always search the skies; a lone black and white magpie carried a drop of the Devil’s blood beneath its tongue and was a curse to all who crossed his path.
The sun had yet to find its way through the clouds and shadows sank their teeth into me as I knelt on Hannah’s bed, braiding her hair. She slumped before me, shoulders hunched, head hanging. I jumped as a knock rattled her chamber door. Hannah didn’t move as I hopped from the bed and swung open the door.
Angus stood in the hall, rocking back on his heels and sifting his fingers through his white thatch of hair. It stood wildly about his head. In happier times I would have giggled and teased him and he would have chuckled with me. But these were not happier times. My brief second of amusement vanished as I took in his expression.
“I’m sorry tae bother ye, Miss Meara but there’s somethin’ ye need tae ken. Can I talk wi’ ye in private, lass?” With a furtive twist of his head, he glanced up and down the hall.
I grabbed his hand and hustled him into the room. As I closed the door, I felt a tremor shudder through his old body and I circled my arm around his shoulders and held him to me for a moment. “Angus, what is it, man?” I asked, peering into his eyes. “It’s Da isn’t it?”
Wringing his hands, he darted a look at Hannah. “Yer faither’s no worse for wear, lassie, but I’ve heard ongoings that was no meant for these lugs, surely,” he whispered, pointing to his ears. “The cailleach (the Gaelic term he used for Deirdre, meaning old hag) has been by his side e’ery day, ye ken. I kent she was up to no good but last night I went tae check on him ‘afore goin’ tae my own bed.”
He took my hand and drew me away from the bed, away from Hannah. “Och, for once she didna hear me so I stayed quiet and listened as weel as I could. I ken it was wrong but the cailleach canna be trusted.” He shook his head, peering into my eyes before he continued, “So, she told yer faither as ye lasses seem to miss yer maither.”
I nodded as dread took root in my belly.
Angus passed a hand over his eyes before continuing. “Aye and she told him tha’ she loves you and Hannah and she told him ye need a new maither.”
I pressed my hand to my mouth, a sick feeling spreading through me.
Angus shook his head again, rheumy eyes drooped in resignation. “Aye and the whole time yer faither didna say a word.”
I paced back and forth in front of him, my mind spinning. What in bloody hell was going on? What evil was Deirdre planning? She was clearly capable of anything.
“I ken ye ha’ enough tae worry yer young heid, Meara, but I thought as this were somethin’ ye should ken. I would ha’ come to ye last night, lass, but it were late and I no wanted tae disturb ye.”
I patted Angus on the shoulder. “Dinna fash, man, I’ll find out what Aunt Deirdre’s up to.”
I peered at Hannah but she stared down at her idle hands, seemingly lost to her own thoughts.
“Make no mistake, Angus, Deirdre doesna love us. She bloody hates us! I ken Da feels responsible but, Blessed Lord, this has to stop! What can he be thinkin’? I have to go to him!” I reached out and squeezed his hands in mine. “Will ye stay with Hannah?”
“Aye, lassie, ye go to yer faither, he’ll listen to ye.” But Angus sounded far from certain. “Watch the cailleach now, she means nothing but harm for this family,” he warned as I moved to leave.
I nodded then hurried down the hall, disturbing thoughts tumbling through my head. Angus had to have misunderstood what he’d heard. Deirdre couldn’t possibly think she might replace our mother! And if so, that could mean only one thing; she thought our father would marry her! Mother of Mary, he wouldn’t, would he? I was certain that, in his heart, Da knew the truth. So why was he doing nothing about it? The idea that Da might marry the woman who had stolen my mother’s life made me wild. Anger pushed me faster down the dim corridor.
At Deirdre’s chambers, I noticed the closed door and paused to listen. A muffled conversation, no doubt between Deirdre and Sloan, came from within. Turning from the door, I gathered my skirts and ran the rest of the way, seizing the opportunity to speak with Da in private.
I knocked then pushed open the door. The room was silent, the air heavily scented with what I recognized as garlic. Absently I scanned the painting
s and tapestries that adorned the corridor that led to his room. Watery light greeted me as I rounded the corner. A persistent wind clawed at the glazed windows and though a fire crackled in the hearth, the room was cold. I peered through the glass, to the north, beyond the cemetery, where whitecaps frothed atop the slate-coloured sea and to the east where Mother’s magnificent garden lay forgotten, overgrown with weeds, twining honeysuckle vines and laden with snow. Beyond, the highland sloped to meet the Cuillin Mountains. Angus told me Da spent most nights in his chair by the window, keeping vigil over Mother. He no longer tended the sheep nor rode his prized stallion, Brodie, who snorted and pawed at the floor of the stable. Da’s golf clubs gathered dust downstairs and he hadn’t taken his violin from its case since Mother’s passing.
Da’s face was gaunt and his curls had lost their lustre. He slouched bleary-eyed, a goblet of claret balanced precariously on his thin knees.
Sweet Jesus! He’s drunk already!
I bent to look into his empty face. “Da. DA! I need to talk to ye,” I said, trying to keep my voice low but failing. His eyes didn’t flicker. Where was my father? “Da, ye must listen! Put down yer drink!” I glanced to the sideboard, at his breakfast tray. “Here, I’ll get ye some coffee.”
I picked up a mug then stiffened as I heard the creak of the door. I spun around as Deirdre breezed into the room, her man-sized feet pounding the floor with each step. I noticed her pasty complexion, further sallowed by the egg yolk-coloured gown that swished round her legs.
I stared at her dress, frozen. Something was wrong! Where was her dark mourning dress? My eyes climbed to her face; smug victory.
I was too late.
The mug slipped from my grasp, breaking apart on the stone floor.
The sound pulled me back and I stooped to pick up the shards, trying to hide the shock from my face, though I knew could not. Deirdre leaned down and brushed aside my cold hand, her glittering eyes boring into mine as I looked up at her.
“Meara, leave that for Angus, dear.” Her thin lips pulled into a smile of triumph. “Yer father and I have somethin’ excitin’ to share with ye.” The sugary words dripped from her mouth, “Verra excitin’.”
Without warning, an icy tension bled through the room. The bottle of claret tipped on the side board and most of the contents gurgled over the side. I stared at the red puddle as it inched across the floor toward Deirdre’s feet, a terrible feeling of déjà vu taking hold of me as I thought of Mother’s lifeblood draining away across the floor of the foyer.
When Mother died, Da had refused to follow the custom of opening our windows to help her soul depart. Mary had wanted to cover the mirrors and stop all the clocks so as not to mislead Mother’s soul on her journey home. But Da had refused to believe she was gone and so had refused to follow custom. Mary, fiercely superstitious, had been dismayed at my father’s decision and was certain Mother would be lost to the ‘between’ world forever. As I stared at the puddle of wine I knew without a doubt Mary had been right. I felt no fear but made the sign of the cross over my heart before peering up at my aunt.
The whites of Deirdre’s eyes circled the centres in a ring of fear. She drew her head into her shoulders, flung a glance around the room and wrapped her arms around her own body in a frightened clinch. Her glance fell on me and she self-consciously dropped her hands then drummed her fingers against her thigh. Shaking her head, as though ridding herself of a pesky fly, she snatched the bottle and slammed it upright. Her shoulders rose and fell as she heaved a sigh then stepped around the puddle and moved in close to me.
I watched her warily, fighting the urge to run and hide. I wanted to turn back the clock, have my mother and father back, convince them not to let this monster into our lives. No, this could not be happening. No! My heart sank slowly, like an autumn leaf, drained of life, drifting to the ground in defeat.
Her lips tightened into a grin while the announcement dripped from her mouth, “Meara, my dear, yer father and I were married last night. Isn’t that wonderful?” I watched as her fingers lightly stroked my arm, barely touching. “You and Hannah have a mother agin.” She paused and her hand stilled upon my arm.
I tore my eyes from her fingers and stared into her face.
A tremor rippled through her left eyelid. Her mouth gaped, her lips quivering as she continued her assault, “Who knows? Mebbe yer father and I’ll give ye a perfect wee brother or sister,” she purred.
I breathed too quickly. I looked down at the hand that rested on my arm, burning my skin with its unholy touch. Blood slammed inside my ears and I willed myself to breathe slowly. Grabbing the arm of Da’s chair, I sucked mouthfuls of cool air. Bit by bit my heart slowed and I looked up at my aunt’s smirking face; mocking me, goading me.
A fury like no other bubbled up from my center. The rage and frustration I’d locked inside for months burst from me with a searing wrath. I jerked her hand from my arm.
“Are ye really that dense? Hannah despises ye and I hate ye more! Ye’ll never replace Mother! And my father doesna love ye. How could he? Just look at ye! Is yer lookin’ glass broken then? What would he want with a gawk such as you? And look at him!” I pointed toward Da, though my eyes never left Deirdre’s face. “He doesna ken what is goin’ on. Have ye bewitched him? That’s the only way he’d marry the likes of ye!” The hate, held back for so long empowered me, gave me courage. “Dinna pretend to care for Hannah and me, Deirdre. I ken what ye want. Yer after the coin in Duntulm’s coffers!”
Deirdre shrank back, eyes snapping with fury.
I spun to face my father. “Da, what in bloody hell have ye done? How could ye? How could ye forget Mother?” I raged. His murky eyes stared ahead, fixed on something only he could see. “Da, will ye listen to me? She killed yer wife! Deirdre murdered Mother!” I hollered, feeling my eyes bulge.
Da blinked slowly but did not move. Summoning control, I softened my voice. “It’s no yer fault, Da. Ye dinna ken she was evil.” I paused and bent to look into his eyes, “Do ye hear me, Da?” I dropped the shards, grabbed his shoulders and gave him a shake. His head lolled about on his neck as though barely attached.
“She’s a murderer! Listen to me! Bloody Christ, Da, send her to the gaols or be rid of her but please Da, please, tell me ye didna marry her,” I shamelessly begged.
He stared at my middle and I glanced down. Drops of my blood wet the front of my dress. I opened my hands and looked at the streaks of red. A shard from the broken cup had cut deep into my palm as I clenched my hands in fury. Blood dripped steadily from the wound and I pressed it hard with the thumb of my other hand. I peered back at Da. His mouth hung slack, saliva gathered in one corner. Something was wrong. He wasn’t just drunk. And he wasn’t just heartbroken. Crouching low, I examined him closely. He was panting, his breath heavy with garlic, his forehead glistening. I took his hand, searched for the strength that had always been there. What in bloody hell was wrong with him? He really didn’t know what was going on.
“What have you done to my father? What have you done?” I demanded, glaring at my aunt.
A slow grin stretched Deirdre’s lips as she stepped forward, forcing me to step back from Da. “Just because he willna listen to yer lies doesna mean there’s anythin’ wrong wi’ him, dearest Meara. He’s just bein’ loyal to his new wife, like any guidman.” With a smirk, she turned and retrieved the claret. Tipping the bottle, she drained the last few drops of ruby-coloured liquid into Da’s goblet. Then taking her husband’s limp hand she closed his fingers around the cup. My stomach hurt as she brushed his curls back from his forehead, her fingers lingering intimately. She moved close to his chair and leaned over, her bosom threatening to spill from the vulgar décolletage. Her eyes trapped mine as she pressed her mouth to his slack lips. With slow deliberation she kissed him, her tongue flicking out like a deadly adder.
I couldn’t help myself and retched. Hot sick rushed up the back of my throat and I pressed my hand hard to my mouth to keep from vomiting.
She didn’t wait for a response but turned her back and sashayed to Da’s side then turned with a dazzling smile. “Weel, I’m glad we’ve come to an understandin’, daughter,” she said lightly, as though I hadn’t just told her I hated her. She tossed the document on the sideboard. “Now run along and find yer wee sister. We’d like to see her,” she ordered in her most condescending tone.
A screech tore from my throat as I spun away. “Ye’ll never be my mother!”
I staggered from the room and fumbled my way down the corridor. Tears blinded me and I crashed into the washing lass, Edme Finlay. Her basket of laundry spilled across the floor. I scrambled by her and fled down the stairs, through the kitchen. I didn’t answer when Mary called after me, but escaped out the kitchen door.
How could he? Lord God, how could he? I didn’t care if he was sad! I was sad too! How could he have married that demon? Hatred consumed me. Hatred for Deirdre and hatred for Da. A snarled mess of thoughts attacked as I charged down the path to the stable. What was I going to do now? What in bloody hell was I going to do?
The stable lad turned at my noisy approach. “Good mornin’, Miss Meara,” he said shyly.
Megan Denby Page 3