Megan Denby

by A Thistle in the Mist

  Years ago, under Mother’s patient guidance, I’d embroidered a mauve thistle onto a square of cloth; at least I had attempted to. Hannah’s had turned out perfectly while I had spent most of the afternoon peering mournfully out the window, yearning to be on Caulley’s back with the wind in my hair. When Mother had witnessed my clumsy attempts and the dozens of pinpricks that tipped my fingers, she had relented. I had never picked up a needle again. Below the crooked flower, the letters of my name were spelled out in uneven stitches.

  The unmistakable tread of Deirdre’s heavy feet sounded out in the corridor.

  The handkerchief would have to do. I thrust it into my pocket and as I did, I noticed my ring. Yanking it from my finger, I pressed it into my locket and shoved the necklace below my neckline. Then I grabbed the voluminous white apron that Janet had given me and rammed my head through the opening. It concealed my dress and I secured the ties just as Deirdre barged into my room.

  I held my breath but she didn’t give me a second look. Instead she frowned as she eyed the wreckage of my room. Jewellery lay strewn across my bed and piles of discarded clothing littered the floor. Daisy scrambled through the mess and toddled to my side, her teeth bared, a low growl rumbling in the back of her throat.

  “What ha’ ye been doin’ in here?” She shook her head, the nostrils of her beaked nose wide. As I opened my mouth to answer, she snarled, “Wheest, girl! I dinna want yer excuses. Do ye clean this up, Meara, and be quick about it! I’ve a job for ye the now. Annie’s come down wi’ the skitters and canna help her mother the day. Mary’s asked for ye, Meara.” Her dark eyes narrowed as she eyed me. “Agin my better judgement I’m goin’ to send ye along. I need Mary back to make the evenin’ meal so there best be no dawdlin’. Mary’ll be watchin’ ye so dinna try nothin’ fancy.” She scanned the room and sniffed at the air while she scratched at her dull brown hair. “Ye bin using yer mother’s perfume, Meara?” She didn’t wait for my reply but stabbed a bent finger in my face. “Now, ye dinna want to mess up, Meara, but I expect ye will and when ye do I’ve come to a decision.” She brought her hand up to her face and inspected her nails. “Ye’ve left me no choice but to lock ye in the tower room where ye willna be a bother to anyone. Do ye understand, girl?” Her hating eyes slid back.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. As she glared at me, Deirdre’s nostrils opened and closed and I bit my cheek hard to quell the hysterical giggles that were trying to betray me.

  “Och, dinna stand there gawkin’. Hurry now or ye’ll be leavin’ on an empty belly.” She stomped from the room.

  I hugged myself and danced silently, like an idiot, my feet barely touching the floor. Mary had done it! God bless her! I was getting married!

  ******

  Bunching my clothing, I stuffed it back into my armoire and slammed the door before it could burst back out. I hurled my jewellery into the chest, checked that my ring was secure in Mother’s locket, patted the hidden handkerchief and took one last peek in the mirror. How did Deirdre miss my flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes? I wondered. I crossed the room then turned back to my armoire. Carefully opening the door I reached past the mess and found my arisaid, the female version of the plaid and vibrant with the MacDonald colours. I hadn’t worn it in a long time but I felt the need to follow tradition and wear it for my wedding. I gathered it around my waist, leaving an opening at the front then secured it with my belt, draping the leftover corner up and over my shoulder. Then I pulled my apron back down over the whole ensemble and hoped I would not run into Deirdre. Gathering my skirts, I flew down the hallway and down the stairs. Dashing across the foyer, I slowed, allowing my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark corridor that led to the kitchen.

  Whistling softly to myself, I passed Da’s study on my right.

  At once something encircled me from behind and squeezed the breath from my chest so quickly that I could not cry out. My cheek was pressed against the cold stone as I was shoved up against the wall. A scream died in my throat as I pulled away and whirled to face my assailant.

  Sloan!

  I stared up into the scabbed face of my uncle. The sour tang of whiskey spilled from his mouth and I covered my nose. Evidently Sloan had spent the night partaking of Da’s vast store of liquor. He leered at me and I cringed at the mucilage anddebris that clung to his misplaced teeth like moss to rotting wood. Hatred glistened from his small, round eyes as he attempted to focus on me.

  Though fear tightened my stomach, I raised my chin and met his stare.

  “Leave hold, Uncle Sloan.” Christ’s blood, ye ninny! I silently cursed the waver in my voice.

  A grin twisted Sloan’s lips. “Och, the high and mighty Meara MacDonald is no but a servin’ lass now.” He pointed a finger at his own chest. “I’m Laird of this castle now and I’ll surely treat the help any way as I see fit.” His colourless eyes roamed my body with an intensity I could feel. “Ye had much to laugh about the other day but ye dinna seem so amused the now. Now why would that be?”

  He stepped forward and I scurried back, my shoulders hitting the wall. I did not take my eyes from his but clenched my fist, ready to strike.

  Peering down at my balled hands, he snickered, spraying my face with spittle. “What’s the trouble, Meara? Are ye no in the sharin’ mood the day? Ye didna mind peddlin’ yer wares to the MacLeod now did ye, ye hoerin’ slut.”

  Suddenly his hand was on my breast, his fingers pinching and twisting the tip. Gasping with shock and pain, I swung my arm up and knocked his hand away. I pressed back against the wall and shielded my chest with my arms.

  He tittered, an unsettling feminine sound. “Och, but yer a feisty bitch!”

  With his nose almost touching mine, he propped his hands against the wall on either side of my head. His stinking breath burned my eyes as he sneered, “Dinna worry about protectin’ yerself agin me. Ye’ve the body of a boy and ye act like one too.” I couldn’t tear my eyes from his lips. Like a shedding snake, he looked as though he’d outgrown his skin. Shrivelled pieces of lip dangled as he talked. His lids drooped and his tongue flicked out to moisten the corners of his mouth in the same manner as his sister. “Now that wee sister of yers... mmm... she has the body to serve a man proper.” One of his hands dropped to his crotch and he rapidly rubbed up and down.

  Hannah’s tearful image came to me and without thought I hiked up my skirts and jerked my knee up hard, bashing Sloan between his legs. His eyes bulged and putrid air exploded from his mouth. His face turned purple and for several seconds he did not breathe. Then he pulled in mouthfuls of air, noisily gulping as though it were water. Doubled over, he clutched his injured manhood and mewled like a new kitten.

  “Argh. Ye cunt!” he managed.

  My voice was strong and steady, spurred on by the pain I’d inflicted. “I’m aware of the lasses that interest ye, Sloan, ye manky bastard. Might I remind ye of yer talk with Duncan? He willna look kindly upon a man who lusts after his own niece.”

  Sloan’s head whipped up, eyes bugging at the mention of Duncan. Confident that I had the upper hand, I continued, “I ken what ye’ve done to Hannah and I dinna ken what Duncan’ll do to ye when he finds out. And he will find out. He’s an honourable lad, mind ye. He willna really murder ye in yer sleep.” I lowered my voice, and hissed between my clenched teeth. “I, on the other hand, have no qualms buryin’ a blade deep in yer back as ye sleep off my father’s liquor.”

  His mottled face emptied of colour and he slumped against the wall, cupping his battered organ with both hands.

  “Dinna touch Hannah agin, Sloan.”

  Leaving my pathetic uncle slouched against the wall, I turned and continued to the kitchen, thankful my skirts hid my trembling legs.

  ******

  Mary snatched my arm the minute I entered and hustled me to a seat. “Where ye bin, lass?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “Hurry now! Eat up quickly so as we can leave afore the cailleach changes her mind!”

  I settled onto a stool and tried
to still my shaking hands. Janet, never one to miss a thing, noticed and hurried to my side. “What is it, Meara? Yer so pale, lassie. Are ye worrit then, about the day?”

  I told them of my encounter with Sloan, leaving out nothing. Then I confided Hannah’s secret as well.

  Janet’s reaction was one of shocked anger. “Och, the mingin’ coward! My poor wee lassie! She must ha’ bin terrified. Well, ye dinna fash about wee Hannah the day, Meara. I’ll keep her wi’ me in the kitchen til yer back. Wait til I tell my Alec. He’ll gi’ him a gubbin’ he willna soon forget!”

  “Oh nay, Janet, I dinna want to have them throw Alec in the gaols. I dinna think Sloan will touch her agin. He’s too afraid of Duncan.”

  Janet’s lips curved up slightly, her eyes, the colour of steeped tea, crinkling at the corners. “Och, it sounds as though he might be afeerd of you, lass. Yer knee probably put him out of service, surely!”

  “That’s my feisty wee lassie!” Mary agreed with a grin.

  “Aye, well he best no touch my wee sister agin if he kens what’s good for him!” I threw my arms around Janet and kissed her cheek and Mary wrapped her arms around us both.

  “Now, lassie eat up yer poshie and be gone wi’ ye. I only want to see smiles on yer weddin’ day!” She squeezed my hand as I turned back to my breakfast. My stomach churned with nerves and I only managed a few mouthfuls of the steaming porridge before Mary shooed me out the door.

  The day was already warm, the dazzling sun having burned off the mist near Duntulm. I listened to the rush of the wind in the pines, the whispered secrets. My buoyant step quickly left Mary behind as I tasted the green of summer on my tongue.

  Rabbie had clearly been informed of our plans. He had a horse and cart ready and helped us up onto the bench seat. Mary kept up an incessant chatter that required no input from me and lasted the twenty minutes it took us to reach our rendezvous point.

  Rabbie hopped down and reached up for my hand, his cheeks glowing. Mary fussed with my hair and pinched my cheeks. Reaching around my middle, she loosened my apron ties. The blue triangles of her eyes misted as she gazed up at me and took my hands in hers.

  “Ah, Meara, yer so bonnie, lassie.” She cupped my face, so that my lips puckered between her hands. “I’ve watched ye grow from a wee sauncy bairn to a bonnie lass and I love ye as if ye were my own, ye ken. I just wish yer Maw and Da were here for ye the day.”

  My throat tightened and I swallowed hard. “Now dinna make me cry, Mary,” I managed between squished lips. Then I leaned over and hugged her. She pulled me close and patted my head. “I love ye too, Mary” I mumbled against her shoulder.

  “Ah, lass, everythin’ll work out.” Then she lowered her voice and whispered into my ear, “Now ye ken what to expect the day, Meara? Ye ken what a man and wumman do after the weddin’?”

  Mortified beyond words, I giggled, “Aye, Mary, I’ve seen the sheep on the moor and the horses in the barnyard. I ken what to expect.” This was the truth. I had seen the animals coupling many times. It seemed awkward and anything but pleasurable and I didn’t really know what my part would be, though I had tried to sort it out in my mind. I glanced at Rabbie. His eyes were round with horror as he looked at his mother and I’m sure he wished the ground would open and swallow him. He glanced at me then quickly looked at his feet, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

  Mary smiled, obviously relieved that she was not required to enlighten me as to the expectations of a new bride. She sighed, releasing a mouthful of noisy air. Giving me a quick hug and kiss, she reached up into the cart and withdrew a splendid bouquet of wildflowers from behind the seat.

  “Young Rabbie picked these for ye, Meara. No bride should be without flowers on her weddin’ day. Isn’t he a darlin’ wee lad? Although I ken he wishes he were in Duncan’s shoes the day, right laddie?” she teased.

  I turned to poor Rabbie whose embarrassment had given way to that of utmost mortification. He looked ready to throttle his well-meaning mother. I reached out and gave him a quick hug and sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder, noticing how tall he suddenly seemed. Pulling back, I looked into his blue eyes. He was taller than me now, long and lanky, with auburn hair like his mother.

  “Thank ye, Rabbie, they’re beautiful. Ye’ll make some lass a fine husband one day.”

  The blush extended to the tips of his ears but a huge grin lit his handsome face and his usual cheerfulness returned, “Och, it were nothin’, Miss Meara. I gathered some heather there for ye as well, to bring ye luck.”

  “Aye, Rabbie, I think we all could use a wee bit of the luck. Thanks, lad.”

  Mary called last minute orders to me. “We’ll be back for ye at three o’clock, lassie. Dinna be late now!” The cart creaked forward and rolled away through the pines.

  Suddenly the twittering of birds and drone of bees was loud to my ears. I stared off across the clearing and saw the bushy tail and pointed ears of a red fox. Four kits wrestled nearby, pouncing and playing under the hot sun. I shaded my eyes and watched for a moment until the vixen spied me and I heard the warning yip as she quickly chased her young back into the mouth of her den.

  Filled with a mixture of lovely anticipation and a vague feeling that I might vomit, I walked along the familiar path to the edge of the glen. The purple tips of the far-off Cuillin peeked above the mist and a diluted fog still hung over the ghost town below. I squinted, peering down through the veil and picked out the silhouette of the single thistle, rising above the ruined roofs, purple against the vapour.

  As I approached, the cottage door swung open and there he was; my Duncan.

  He was a braw sight, his large frame dominating the doorway, a shaft of morning sun finding him and painting his chiselled features golden. My unease melted as Duncan opened his arms wide and I ran the rest of the way to him.

  “Ah, my sweet lass,” he breathed into my hair.

  ******

  Duncan led me inside and I peered around curiously.

  A decided effort had been made to tidy the little cottage. Reeds concealed the dirt floor and a curtain swayed in one corner. A cheery fired crackled in the fireplace, chasing away the chill of the valley, and flowers overflowed several jugs around the room. It was a striking departure from the dilapidated appearance of the exterior and his effort almost brought me to tears.

  My eyes adjusted to the dim and, with a start, I realised we were not alone.

  A stout man, sporting the clerical collar of a priest, beamed at me from a less-than-stable chair. He stood and I saw that he was shorter than me by several inches and more than just a little stout. His bald head glowed as if it had just received a brisk polish and his round spectacles glinted in the firelight. He approached me, both hands outstretched.

  “Ah, my dear, ye must be Meara.” He grinned in Duncan’s direction. “Yer young lad was no exaggeratin’. Yer indeed the bonniest lass I’ve ever lay my eyes upon!” I was startled by his amusement as he rested his hands on his bulging belly and chortled until he wheezed. I felt my smile freeze as I glanced at Duncan. Leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, Duncan just wiggled his eyebrows at me.

  “Meara, may I introduce my uncle, Father Gilmer MacLeod, my Da’s youngest brother?”

  “Nay, lass, just call me Uncle Gilmer,” the happy little man countered.

  I looked back at Uncle Gilmer. Thankfully I detected no family resemblance between himself and Duncan but immediately felt contrite at my less than charitable thought.

  I curtsied slightly and extended my hand, “I’m very pleased to make yer acquaintance, Father... er Uncle Gilmer.”

  Uncle Gilmer took my proffered hand and raised it to his lips, but continued to hold it after the kiss.

  “Uncle Gilmer travelled through the night, lass, so that he might perform our ceremony.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at the little man until he finally released my hand. He rocked back and forth on his heels, his fingers intertwined, resting comfortably on the shelf
of his belly. He stared right back at me, a broad grin illuminating his features. For some reason I found myself liking him and I couldn’t help but smile back.

  Stepping between Duncan and myself, he placed my hand securely under his arm and did the same with Duncan’s.

  “Och, I understand that time is short so we’d best waste no more of it.” He led us over to the fireplace, scooping his Bible from the mantle.

  The ceremony began.

  As though in a dream, I heard my voice respond on cue to the priest’s prompts. Periodically Duncan’s wooden voice penetrated the fog that filled my head like cotton. Uncle Gilmer beamed at us throughout the ceremony, perpetually rocking back and forth, back and forth. At one point he rocked so far forward that I held my hands ready should he lose his balance and topple.

  With the ceremony all but concluded, Father MacLeod reached out for our hands and prompted Duncan, “The ring, lad.”

  Duncan looked at me pointedly. I stared back. Panic widened his eyes. Raising his eyebrows he nodded down at our hands. I looked down then back in bewilderment.

  “The ring, Meara,” he whispered, through clenched teeth.

  The ring? “Oh. Oh my God!”

  I slapped my hand over my mouth and gaped at Duncan’s uncle, horrified at my blasphemy. “I’m so sorry, Father... uh... I mean Uncle Gilmer.”

  Father MacLeod patted my shoulder, giggling, “Dinna fash now. He’s my God too. We just need the ring, lassie.” He grinned, bespectacled eyes sparkling with mischief. I thrust my bouquet at Duncan and fumbled with the locket. At last it was in my hands. I stared at it for a moment before passing it to a relieved Duncan who passed my flowers back.

  Father MacLeod concluded the short ceremony and Duncan slipped the ring onto my finger. Dipping low, his lips found mine for a moment. Then my husband wrapped his arms around me and hugged me with joy. Next, I was passed to Uncle Gilmer who plopped a wet kiss on each of my cheeks. “Young Duncan is blessed indeed. Ye take care of him for me aye, lassie?” He wiggled his eyebrows at me and for a quick second the family resemblance was clear.