“Aye, that I do, Mary,” I answered, staring at Duncan.
He shrugged at me then turned to Rabbie.
“Rabbie, my man, I’m sorry to leave ye in a wee bit of a moil, but I ken I’m leavin’ these lassies in verra capable hands.”
Rabbie blushed to the roots of his russet hair but stood a little taller and grinned at Duncan.
Duncan grinned back, wiggling his eyebrows up and down at me then tipped his head toward Sloan. “Just so happens, Master Sloan is out for a wee canter, lad. What are the chances of this good fortune? What say ye flag him down? I’m sure he’ll be happy to help ye with that wheel.” He winked at Rabbie and I smiled to myself as Rabbie winked back.
Then Duncan’s expression sobered and a tone of urgency invaded his voice, “Look after my lass for me will ye, Rabbie?”
Rabbie stared back at Duncan, eyes round and nodded, “Aye, Laird Duncan, I will,” he said solemnly.
Duncan reached out and shook Rabbie’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Master Rabbie.”
Then Duncan turned to me and taking my hand, he led me to the cover of the trees.
“Ah, lassie, I hate to leave ye like this. Lord willin’, I’ll be no more than a month, but I must go the now,” he said in a low voice, his blue eyes intense. “But I make ye this promise, Meara. I’ll be back for ye no matter what.” He tipped my chin up with his hand so that his eyes held mine. “Ye trust me don’t ye, lassie?”
I nodded, swallowing hard, wanting nothing more than to beg him to stay. “Aye, Duncan, with all my heart.”
The time had come.
I felt my body begin to clench and a knot worked its way inside of me. My throat ached with tears that I held tight. He pulled me hard to him and I pressed my face to his chest. His heart beat fast and I closed my eyes and breathed his scent; spicy soap, horse and loving. I tucked his essence away in my head. It would have to last a while.
“Dinna cry for me, lassie, I willna be gone for long.” His voice quivered and I squeezed my eyes tight, pressing my body to his.
My voice came out ragged, muffled against his plaid. “I’ll wait for ye, Duncan.”
The familiar sound of horse’s hooves intruded and our time was up.
He hugged me with fierce desperation, “I love ye, lass,” he ground out.
His lips crushed mine.
“I love you, Duncan,” I whispered to his back as the underbrush pulled him into its embrace.
Taking a deep breath, I smoothed my gown and arisaid and turned to face my extremely disappointed uncle.
SEVEN
October 1808
Missing Duncan
The repetitive trill of a song thrush at my window plucked me from my dreams of Duncan. I yanked the quilt over my head and squeezed my lids, willing my head to recapture the images. I was only able to summon a fleeting vision of the face I longed for before he slowly dissolved and receded back into the shadows. The thrush continued to sing for his life. Sighing, I wrapped my arms around myself and burrowed deeper beneath the quilt.
Summer’s warmth had long ago backed away from October’s pervasive chill and it found me through layers of blankets and my wool night dress. The latter was wrapped round and around my body from another night of tossing.
I wiggled my toes and felt the numbness in the smallest one. Years long past my feet had got soaked when I’d broken through the thin ice topping the burn. Four of my toes had turned blue. Da was certain I’d lose some of them but once the swelling had gone down and the blisters had healed, most of the feeling had returned. But the smallest on my right foot had never been the same. Numbness was replaced with tingling as I vigorously rubbed my feet together.
Reluctantly, I pushed the blanket from my head and opened my eyes. Dawn had reclaimed the sky from the night and it outlined the rectangular slit of my window in a muted glow.
I stared at the stone walls and counted back the days. It had been almost six weeks since our wedding and there had been no word from Duncan. However, Rabbie had learned, from his visits to Uig, that war was imminent once again. Napoleon had lost Portugal and it appeared he would lose Spain as well until he marched in with tens of thousands of fresh, trained troops who were easily overcoming the disorganized, depleted Spanish troops. If this continued, England would be next and in all of this uproar, I didn’t know where Duncan was or if he was all right. I cursed Napoleon again, wishing every sickness upon him.
Shoving back the quilt, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. An involuntary yip burst from my lips as my feet missed my braided rug and landed on the cold floor.
I jumped up to grab my robe, but instead found myself clinging to the edge of my dressing table as a wave of nausea washed over me. My nightgown clung to the film of sweat that slicked my body.
Staggering to the window, I pushed back the curtain and gulped at the crisp air until gradually the feeling subsided. I splashed cold water onto my face then leaned close and studied my pale reflection in the mirror. I ran my fingers over the dark smudges beneath my eyes. Puzzled at my ashen appearance, I pinched some colour into my cheeks.
Hurrying through my bath, I dressed then secured my curls at the nape of my neck with a leather tie.
Before leaving my room, as had become my habit, I twisted my wedding band from my finger and carefully placed it into my locket, safe from Deirdre’s prying eyes. I took small comfort in the fact that I would be able to wear it again when I retired to my chambers that evening. I stole one last glimpse in the mirror to ensure the necklace was hidden beneath the neckline of my gown. Pursing my lips, I smoothed the curls that had already begun to escape the tie. With a sigh, I gave up as more tousled strands sprang free.
Stepping carefully, I felt my way down the dim corridor to Hannah’s chamber and knocked lightly before stepping into her room.
“Good mornin’, Hannah.”
She smiled up at me when I entered and finished securing her straw-coloured braids atop her graceful head. I basked in her smile before ruefully running my fingers over my own hair. Then I leaned down to gather my sister in my arms.
“Ye look bonnie as always, lassie, the spitting image of Mother. I do believe I’m a wee bit jealous.”
“Meara, how could ye ever be jealous of me? Just look at ye!” she said, her voice soft with adoration. Then her delicate brow wrinkled as she studied me.
“Are ye unwell, Meara? Yer verra pale, ye ken.” She smoothed her hand across my cheek.
“It’s nothin’, Hannah. I just need some of Mary’s poshie and a hot cup o’ tea.”
“Mmm, me too.”
Seemingly satisfied, she stood and linked her arm with mine.
The wall sconces flickered, adding little light, as we groped our way out to the landing. Daisy trotted beside us, her nails clicking on the floor. We both jumped then giggled as the old clock bonged the half hour at us.
“Careful now, lassie, we dinna want our sweet auntie to see us happy at all. She’ll get suspicious, ye ken. We must act respectful and obedient. Oh, aye, and try to look servile as well.” I dropped my jaw, and elongated my face into what I thought was a suitable mask.
I was rewarded with another giggle. Oh how I loved that sound! It had been missing for so long! Though small, it signalled to me that normality was returning to our lives. And soon, very soon, all of this would be behind us!
Our step quickened and Hannah’s fingers tightened around my arm as we passed Da’s study. This had become Sloan’s favourite place to lurk and we both knew it. The door was ajar and we jumped as a loud explosion of intestinal gas blasted from the room. Daisy let out a sharp bark as I clutched my hands at my throat and rolled my eyes heavenward, letting my tongue hang to my chin. Hannah clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling her giggles.
“Lazy erse!” I whispered, loudly.
I grabbed her hand and we raced down the hall, my laughter mingling with hers.
“Ye’ve had no problem with that gawk of late have ye, H
annah?” I asked as we neared the kitchen. I glanced sideways at my sister and immediately regretted my question as her smile faded. Sculpted lips flattened to a grim line and her eyes avoided mine.
“Nay, Meara, I think he’s quite afeerd of ye, ye ken.” She smiled up at me though I noticed the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He hasna touched me, so dinna fash.” Hannah patted my arm but I was not convinced. Over the past weeks I had made certain Hannah was with me or Janet and Mary at all times. I didn’t think Sloan had found the opportunity to harass her but nevertheless I worried as we made our way to the kitchen.
Mary and Janet had been busy since before sunrise and the aroma of ginger and cinnamon greeted us when I swung open the door. Unfortunately for me, these aromas, coupled with the distinct tang of fried herring, caused my stomach to roll and my head to spin. We walked into the kitchen and I made for the nearest stool, sitting heavily as my legs threatened to give.
Mary noticed, bustled to my side and pressed a floured hand to my clammy forehead. “Janet, do ye fetch the lass some water.”
Hannah rubbed my back, her face tight with concern. Janet placed a mug of water in my hand. The contents trembled as I sipped at them.
Mary’s brow wrinkled as she peered into my face. I opened my mouth obediently as she inspected my throat and sat still while she checked both ears. Satisfied with her perfunctory exam, she stepped back and stood with both hands on her ample hips.
“Well, lassie, yer no feverish, and yer ears and throat are clear. Is it yer belly that’s actin’ up then?
I looked up into the three worried faces crowded before me and shrugged my shoulders. “I’ve been a wee tired of late and my belly’s been puttin’ up a fuss but I think it’s just a touch of the flu, nothin’ more,” I said, attempting to assuage.
“Oh Mary, does she have the consumption?” Hannah asked, tears springing to her eyes.
“Nay, lassie, dinna fash yerself now, yer sister’ll be fine!” Mary wrapped an arm around Hannah’s small shoulders and I knew my sister was thinking of Da. Silence filled the kitchen as thoughts turned to our missing father.
Then Janet moved a little closer and looked me up and down. With raised brows, she exchanged a look with her mother. Before I had a chance to question this look, Flossie let out a squeal and banged her chubby fists on her wooden tray. She was just over a year now and with sunlit hair and blue eyes, she was a fairer version of Janet. Everyone’s attention shifted to the child and I was glad.
Seeing that she had succeeded in securing our interest, Flossie proceeded to throw what was left of her biscuit to the floor. She then challenged us with a stare, impish eyes twinkling. Daisy darted from her bed, always eager for a scrap, but Janet shushed her aside and stooped to pick up the biscuit, inspecting it for dirt.
“Och, yer a spoiled wean, ye are,” Janet scolded good-naturedly as Flossie reached out and snatched the biscuit from her mother’s hand. “Now there’s a good lassie, eat up yer breakfast.”
Holding fast to the soggy bun, the wee lass studied her captive audience, a naughty glint in her eyes. Her rosebud mouth transformed into a gap-toothed grin and she once again hurled the spit-soaked missile to the floor. Janet sighed and shook her head but a smile curved her lips all the same as she dampened a cloth and wiped Flossie’s hands and face. Flossie squealed in protest, twisting and turning, lips tightly pursed then giggled delightedly when she noticed Daisy wolfing down her discarded breakfast.
Tossing the soiled cloth onto the table, Janet cuddled her squirming daughter and was rewarded with a wet kiss. Clasping her legs around Janet’s hip, she relaxed in her mother’s arms while Janet burrowed her face into the crook of Flossie’s neck.
The pang of want that flitted through me while I watched Janet with her bairn, took me by surprise.
The kitchen door swung inward and Janet’s younger sister, Annie, made straight for her beloved niece. Another quick kiss and Flossie was passed into her auntie’s waiting arms.
“Ye dinna be givin’ yer auntie no trouble now, Flossie-lass.” Janet watched her daughter in amusement, pride shining on her face.
“Not this sweet pot o’ hiney.” Annie tickled the sensitive spot under Flossie’s arm and peals of laughter cascaded from the little girl as they left the kitchen and headed for the nursery.
Cool autumn air rushed into the warm room as Rabbie tramped through the back entrance, his shoulders hunched against the cold, the tip of his nose frosted red. Damp earth, decaying leaves and horse wafted in with him. With plaid wrapped close about his shoulders, he headed straight for the stove, rubbing his hands together over the hot iron as Daisy sniffed at his boots. “Och, it’s colder than a witch’s chebs out there.”
Mary poured a cup of tea and stirred in a heaping mound of sugar. “Now, ye mind yer tongue,” she scolded with a smile before handing him the tea. “Here, laddie, this’ll warm yer belly.”
Rabbie grinned, took the steaming cup and cradled it in both hands. He sipped at the liquid, then his glance fell on me and he hastily set the cup down. Reaching into his sporran, he withdrew an envelope. With a shy smile, he passed it to me explaining, “A messenger brought this for ye on the morn, Miss Meara. I expect it’s somethin’ ye’ve been waitin’ for.”
I took the letter from him and felt a shaking start inside of me. “Thank ye, lad.”
My name was written boldly across the front of the envelope and I sucked a sharp breath at the sight of the familiar scrawl. Blood pumped in my ears as I withdrew a handwritten note from the tattered envelope. Duncan’s script flowed across the page. His deep brogue rolled through my mind as I read.
Beloved Wife,
Wife! How I love the sound of that, Meara, my lassie. If my letter finds you in good health, I am mightily thankful. I hope, with God’s help, to hold you in my arms before long. The best I can tell you is I’ll be home once we finish this battle. Trouble is, it has not really yet begun and there is nothing to do but wait and train.
While stationed in Portugal we were involved in a small skirmish and one of my lads suffered a light leg wound from a bullet but he is fit once more. I am presently staying at the home of a chimney sweep together with his wife, one year old daughter and eight of my men. The wee lassie is full of the devil and makes me smile and reminds me of Janet’s Flossie. We have everything we need to eat and drink and I’m under the command of the brave, Sir John Moore. Tonight we march for Almeida, Spain where we have promise of support from the Spaniards. Under Moore’s command we are well looked after and will be used in an intelligent manner to defeat Napoleon.
I love you Meara and wish I could tell you more but dinna give up on me lass. I’ll be home as quickly as I can and then I’ll take ye with me. Wee Ranny sends along his love as well.
Your bonnie face fills my mind each day and my dreams every night. I love you and I worry for you, Meara. Please, please be careful with your aunt.
Your loving husband,
Duncan
I traced the words on the paper until my finger stopped on the word husband. Husband. Unbidden tears came then and a drop splashed onto the page. The letters of Duncan’s name bled together and I quickly blotted the page with my sleeve. Hugging the sheet to my chest, I closed my eyes. Blue eyes, twinkling with mischief and dark with passion, danced through my mind. Ah, my Duncan, come home to me, lad, I silently pleaded.
A clumsy hand patted my back. I opened my eyes and was taken aback as I looked up into Rabbie’s concerned young face.
“I’m sorry, Miss Meara. I kent I was bringin’ ye good news. I didna mean to upset ye!”
“Nay Rabbie, it’s no bad news. I’m just relieved to hear from Duncan, that’s all.” Grabbing hold of Rabbie’s hand, I gave it a squeeze. “Thank ye, lad.”
The blush that accompanied his answering grin was not quite as furious as it had been in the past. I was glad to see the lad was not so uncomfortable around me of late.
We all grimaced at the sound of Deirdre’s heavy step in
the corridor. A low growl started in Daisy’s throat as I hastily folded the precious piece of paper and slid it into my pocket. Mary and Janet quickly resumed their preparations for breakfast as Rabbie hurried for the door. He was just a step away when Deirdre barged into the room.
Her sharp voice sliced the air and Rabbie halted mid-stride. “Rabbie MacLean, just what do ye think yer doin’? Ye clumsy oaf! Look at the mess ye’ve made with those muddy boots.” She stood with large hands perched on her hips, shaking her head as she surveyed the faint smudges of dirt that marred the floor.
Angry crimson spread across Mary’s face. As his mother stepped toward Deirdre with her finger raised, Rabbie circled his arm protectively around her. No trace of the usual blush marred his handsome face and his voice was strong as he answered, “Please accept my apology, Mistress Deirdre. I just stopped in to ask my mother if she’d like me to catch a trout or two from the loch. Ha’ ye ever tasted her baked brown trout?” He gave Deirdre a most angelic grin. I had to bite my cheek to keep from giggling.
His ploy seemed to work. Deirdre actually smiled back, if the spreading of her lips could be called a smile. Then she sternly reminded Rabbie to remove his boots next time.
Rabbie slipped out the door, throwing a quick wink over his shoulder to his mother.
Deirdre turned and skewered me with her eyes. The hands went back to the hips as she scanned my face, her nose pinched. “Och, what’s wrong wi’ ye? Ye look bluidy horrible!” she accused, as though I chose to look ill.
Janet, who usually kept clear of confrontation, spoke up, “Mistress Deirdre, if I may, I’ve had a touch of the skitters and Meara is sufferin’ the same.” Janet pointedly avoided my eyes as I looked at her, puzzled. Why had she lied?
Deirdre’s eyes slid from Janet to me and her fingers began a rhythmic tapping against her thigh.
“Well, Meara, dinna think ye’ll be gettin’ out of work the day. Ye’ll have to toughen up. Now hurry with that oatmeal and ye ken start with this muddy floor and then scrub the others as well.”
Megan Denby Page 11