Megan Denby

by A Thistle in the Mist

  Reaching the bottom of the tower stairs, she shuffled down the hall to the stairway that led down to the foyer. Her walk was slow and painful. The tender skin of her inner thighs was bruised, battered and riddled with bites. With each step, the hurt between her legs burned, pulsated. Her under things were wet, sticky, chafing her lost maidenhood, reminding her, taunting her. She would never wake from this nightmare. It was her truth.

  As she neared the top of the stairs the growl of the storm reached her ears. Then at once the delicate scent of honeysuckle touched her senses. She paused, thoughts of Mother filling her mind. Tears came at once and she pressed her fingers to her mouth to catch the sob. The sound of a closing door snatched her from her reverie. Peering down into the foyer, she saw Deirdre staring down at something she held in her hand, her back to Hannah. Keeping close to the stone wall, Hannah slipped past the landing. She blended into the shadows that led to her chambers and disappeared, undetected, into the darkness, the scent of Mother lost to her.

  ******

  Deirdre re-read the letter. Her teeth ground together, as her eyes scanned the unfamiliar writing.

  January 20 1809

  Mistress Meara MacLeod

  I regret to inform you that your husband, Duncan MacLeod, was injured at Corunna and has been gravely ill for days. The doctor was able to remove the round shot from his leg during the voyage to England but several bones were shattered and infection has set in. He has a head injury in addition and runs a high fever. He has been asking for you since he arrived and I think it best that you come post haste. Your husband’s condition is most serious.

  Sincerely

  Sister Emeline

  Deirdre flipped the accompanying envelope over, frowning at the address. It was from a hospital on the south coast of England.

  She crushed the note between her fingers and hissed under her breath, “That dirty lying cunt!”

  Clenching the letter in her fist, she stalked down the hall to the study. The door was open and she swept in and glared at Sloan, who lay prone on the couch, his mouth agape. Sloppy snores rumbled through the room. A hiss of anger shot past Deirdre’s teeth. With the toe of her shoe, she prodded his buttocks. He moaned and snorted, swatting at the air. The gurgling snores resumed. This time Deirdre lifted her foot and kicked him hard.

  “Wake up, ye lazy gawk!”

  Abruptly Sloan sat upright, eyes open, but bleary. He cocked his clenched fists, ready to defend. “Och... fuck... Wh... What the bluidy hell!”

  “Yer blutered agin aren’t ye?” his sister snarled. She shook her head, lips curled, “Get up off yer erse.” She stared back at the crumpled letter. “We’ve got trouble.”

  Satisfied that he wasn’t in mortal danger, Sloan slouched back on the couch, lids sliding back to half-mast. “What might ye be bletherin’ about the now, Deirdre?” He yawned luxuriously, rubbing his eyes with all of his fingers. Then his hand slid down the waist of his hose and he scratched at his stained crotch.

  Deirdre followed his hand with her eyes, one of her nostrils cocked and her lips gathered in revulsion.

  She thrust the paper under Sloan’s nose. “Look at this. Look at it!” she shrieked, “Meara’s been lyin’ to us all along. She’s married, married, goddamn her! She married the MacLeod right under our noses.”

  Sloan’s expression did not change. Finished with his crotch, he reached up and scratched at his scalp, idly inspecting what he’d gathered beneath his nails.

  Deirdre blew air from her nostrils. “Do-ye-understand-what-I-said-Sloan?” she asked slowly, as though speaking to a halfwit.

  Sloan glanced up from his nails with a bemused expression, his eyes rolling first to the left, then to the right and back at his sister.

  “Meara married the MacLeod before he left.” Her voice started to rise again, “That wean she carries is no bastard and when Duncan returns he’ll have us thrown into the gaols! All we’ve worked for will be lost!” she screeched, dropping the letter into his lap. “What are we goin’ to do now?” She marched across the room and stared at the portrait above the fireplace, hatred narrowing her flat eyes.

  Sloan shrugged his shoulders, “Get rid of her,” he said nonchalantly, his pale eyes on the crumpled letter.

  “What?” Deirdre whirled to face her brother, eyebrows drawn. “What did ye say?”

  “I said get rid of her,” he repeated absently then he looked up as he finished reading the letter. “Duncan’s goin’ to croak anyway by the looks of this.” He pointed to the letter. “He’ll never ken the difference.”

  Deirdre crossed the room and stood before Sloan. “But what if he doesna die? He’ll be comin’ back to get her. She’s most likely been sendin’ him messages all along. He probably already knows she’s carryin’ his brat,” she whined, fingers beginning a manic drumbeat against her thigh.

  “So we tell him she died and then we get rid of her,” Sloan drawled, his pale eyes hooded as he gauged his sister’s reaction.

  Deirdre’s fingers stilled and her dark eyes brightened with a disturbing light. She stared back at Sloan and nodded. Her thin lips hooked a slow smile. “I canna believe I’m sayin’ this but yer brilliant, my brother. That’s just what we’ll do.” She paused and her eyes glazed over as she stared past Sloan.

  Sloan glanced over his shoulder then looked back at his sister, his eyebrows raised.

  Deep in thought, she walked over to the desk then turned back. Her eyes cleared and she pointed a finger at her brother, her voice vehement, “We’ll get rid of her after the bairn has come. I want that bairn and I mean to have it, ye ken.” Her finger stabbed the air as she spoke, punctuating each word. “I deserve to have that baby...” Her voice trailed away and the veil slipped back down over her eyes.

  Sloan glanced sidelong at his sister, noting the distant eyes. Then shrugging, he leaned back, relaxing, fingers interlocked behind his head and allowed himself a satisfied smirk. He’d been looking forward to disposing of that bitch, Meara, for a long, long time. She was nothing but trouble and sooner or later they’d regret keeping her around.

  Sloan’s forehead gathered in a grimace and he shifted his rear end about. With a resounding blast, he released a long, vibration of gas from his gurgling innards. His face slackened and he slumped back, sniffing at the air.

  The explosion snapped Deirdre back. Yanking the drawer open, she searched through the desk and found what she wanted in the third drawer; paper, ink and quill. Taking a seat, she dipped the quill into the ink pot. She held the pen poised for a moment then with a tight smile she pressed the tip to the thin parchment.

  February 11 1809

  Dearest Laird MacLeod,

  It is with heavy heart that I write you. I have just learned of your grave condition and as Meara’s stepmother, I feel it is my duty to inform you that your beloved wife passed on this very eve. She suffered serious complications earlier this day and your bairn did not survive. My poor daughter lost too much blood and passed on shortly thereafter. I send my condolences. There is no need to rush home. I shall take care of the funeral arrangements and I shall see that she is buried by my dear sister.

  Yours most sincerely,

  Deirdre McBain

  Deirdre finished the letter with a flourish then looked over her shoulder at her brother.

  Sloan peered over her arm, a slow grin dragging at his thick lips. “Och, my dear sister, if the round shot doesna kill him, the shock from this’ll surely finish him off.”

  Pale eyes met dark and they burst into laughter.

  ******

  The meat pie lay heavy in my belly, the shortbread untouched on the tray.

  I sat at the table, paper spread before me, charcoal in my hand, looking for direction, waiting for inspiration.

  After delivering my lunch, Edme had snuck back down to my father’s study. She had proven to be a loyal servant and I felt I could trust her. Sloan had been sleeping soundly so she had lifted some paper and charcoal from my father’s desk and delivere
d it to me. I had written another letter to Duncan and Edme promised she would get it to Rabbie.

  I closed my eyes and Hannah’s haunted face floated before me.

  The charcoal came to life in my hand and my sister’s face quickly took shape. With the tip of my finger, I smudged shadows beneath her wide eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. Sadness stared back at me, her desperate sorrow captured on paper. I stared at the sketch for a long, long time.

  Fingers of grief closed around my heart for I knew I could not help my sister.

  I reached for a blank sheet. My fingers flew across the paper. Dark hair curled across a high forehead, heavy-lidded eyes springing to life. Dropping the charcoal, I smoothed the curve of his mouth, added a slight shadow beneath the lower lip. Then using the residue on my finger, I added Duncan’s dimple, my finger caressing the flat paper.

  Chains rattled at my prison door and I sprang from my chair, warily approaching the door. It had to be Deirdre. She was the only one who held the key to the lock that fastened the chains. These chains had been added to my fortress on the day I had begun my incarceration.

  Deirdre had been to see me just once. And that had been to remind me that I alone held the fate of all castle inhabitants in my hands. If I tried to escape, or attempted to coerce Edme or anyone else into helping me escape, my father would suffer the consequences. I believed her though deep inside I wondered if he still lived. If he was alive why hadn’t he come home to us?

  Deirdre had threatened everyone who was dear to me; Da, Hannah, Angus, Mary, Janet and Rabbie. I was trapped and she knew it.

  I had never tried to escape.

  The bolt screeched reluctantly and the door swung inward. I eyed Deirdre as she entered the room.

  “Meara, lassie, just look at ye. Why yer so bonnie, all round and glowing! Being wi’ child surely agrees wi’ ye!” The cheer in her voice was false, her eyes flat behind the brilliant smile.

  I crossed my arms and did not answer. What is she up to?

  She closed the door, cutting off escape, if I chose to try. Then she glided over to one of the windows. Leaning close to the glass she peered out, her eyebrows raised in a show of interest, though there was nothing to see but a flurry of flakes. For a moment, I considered running at her, shoving her so hard that she broke the window and then watching as her body flailed through space and thudded off the cobbled courtyard below. Tempting. But I could not put my baby in jeopardy should she choose to turn and fight me.

  Silence cloaked the room, the only sound the howling storm. I spoke not a word, nor had I moved since she’d entered.

  She turned, her claw-like fingers tap-tap-tapping at her side.

  “Meara, I’ve come to make peace wi’ ye. I ken we got off on the wrong foot but this animosity between us is no healthy. Ye ha’ the bairn to think of. This anger canna be good for it.”

  I dropped my arms to my sides. “Actually, Aunt Deirdre, I haven’t been angry at all. I havena given ye a thought. I’ve had more important things on my mind.” I smiled slightly at the annoyance that flashed in her eyes.

  “Well, Meara, I’m truly happy to hear that. I’d like to call a truce, ye ken. I want us to be friends. I’ve been amiss in my duty as yer stepmother and I hope it’s not too late.” She held her hands before her but she was unable to match the sincerity of her speech with the sly tilt of her eyes.

  I didn’t mince words, “I have enough friends, Deirdre. Now what do ye really want?”

  She nearly succeeded in looking hurt as she wheedled, “Meara, please believe me. I just want to put the past behind us.” She took a step toward me. “What can I do to make ye believe me?”

  “Let me out of here,” I blurted, “then I’ll believe ye!”

  Instantly a curtain slid across her eyes and I now looked at the Deirdre I recognized.

  “Let me out of here,” I repeated, “and keep yer disgustin’ brother away from Hannah!”

  Her eyebrows shot up and this time I knew her surprise was genuine.

  “What do ye mean, Meara?”

  “Sloan’s been harassing Hannah since Da was taken away. Ye’d have to be blind not to see it, Deirdre! Ye must put a stop to it before somethin’ bad happens!”

  The colour drained from her face and the drumming of her fingers quickened. “Sloan is my brother. He’s Hannah’s uncle! He’d never touch her! How can ye imply somethin’ so vile?”

  “I’m implyin’ nothin’. Whether ye believe it or not, I dinna care one bit. But it is happenin’! It has happened. And now ye ken. Ye canna stand by and do naught! Ye must protect my sister!”

  I watched her face. It appeared she in fact did not know how her brother had been occupying his free time.

  “Well, Deirdre, what are ye goin’ to do about it?” I demanded.

  Deirdre’s fingers fluttered with agitation and she raked her fingers along her neck again and again, leaving behind streaks of red.

  “I’ll speak to my brother but I’m sure Hannah’s mistakin’ her uncle’s affection for somethin’ else. I’m certain he’s just tryin’ to be fatherly toward her.”

  Though she spoke to me, I had the feeling she was trying to convince herself.

  “Being fatherly does not include attacking her in the corridor, groping her and forcing a kiss. I want to see her myself. I want to make sure she’s all right. I want to see Hannah whenever I want. Whenever she wants to see me!” My voice had risen to a shout.

  Deirdre’s eyes hardened and her glance slanted from mine. “That isna possible. I still dinna trust ye, Meara. You and yer sister might plan something’.” She shook her head. “Nay, ye’ll ha’ to wait til the bairn’s born.” Her glance slid back to mine.

  Clenching my teeth together, I blew out, straining the air between my teeth. “And then what? We’ll all be one big happy family?” I asked, sarcastically.

  “We’ll discuss it then. But for now, Meara, I canna let ye out. Once the wean is born, we’ll come up wi’ a story and spare ye the disgrace.” Her expression was contrite, her voice coaxing once more as she continued, “What is most important right now is to keep ye well and make sure this bairn is strong.” Her eyes slipped down and she openly stared at my swollen belly, her lips oddly slack. “Strong and perfect,” she murmured.

  A shiver ran down my spine and I crossed my arms over my middle. Her eyes darted up to meet mine and she clamped her mouth shut.

  Smoothing her skirts, she crossed the room, pausing by the table. She picked up the sketch of Duncan and a sardonic smile played upon her thin lips. “If we keep ye hidden til the wean comes, mebbe ye can fool this lad into thinkin’ yer still an innocent maiden when he returns,” she taunted.

  I moved to the table with long, waddling strides and snatched the picture from her hands.

  She stared at me for a moment, eyes narrowed then she reached out and patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Meara. I was just tryin’ to make light of things.” She pointed to the paper that I hugged to my chest. “It looks like ye’ve found a way to pass the time. I’ll see that more supplies are sent up to ye.”

  She headed to the door then turned, her hand on the knob, “I really hope we can be friends, Meara. I’ll visit ye again verra soon.”

  I stared mutely as the door closed and the chains rattled into place. I lay the sketch of Duncan back on the table and smoothed out the wrinkles. Then I looked back at the door, “What are ye up to, Deirdre?”

  TWELVE

  May 2 1809

  The Bairn Will Arrive When It’s Ready

  I jerked awake with the scent of honeysuckle in my nostrils.

  The moon was ripe, its luminous glow washing white the walls of the tower room. The whisper of the wind and the muted huff of my breath pushed out the silence.

  I peered around the perimeter of the room, passing over the red glow of coals that lined the hearth and pausing on each gleaming window.

  Something had disturbed my sleep, but what?

  The baby shifted. Small limbs nudge
d my innards, searching for precious space. A tiny foot tap-tapped then lodged beneath a rib. Inhaling slightly, I pressed against the hard bulge. A strong kick made my fingers jump and I smiled.

  “I ken yer quarters are tight wee one but it willna be long now,” I murmured, my voice scratchy with sleep.

  Though I had emptied my bladder before going to bed, it demanded my attention. I pushed myself up, kicked back my quilts and scuttled over to the chamber pot, the need to relieve myself suddenly urgent. Relief was good and I let out a long sigh.

  The moonlight seemed to call me. I waddled to the window, managing to bang my hip on the corner of the table. As I rubbed at the bruise I squinted down at my sketches that overlapped with haphazard abandon between the chunks of charcoal.

  Deirdre had made good on her promise. Along with her vague reassurance that the misunderstanding between Hannah and Sloan had been resolved, she’d brought me paper and charcoal. But the price of her generosity had been high. With each visit, she questioned my health, my diet and my sleeping habits, each query more intrusive. Her attention disturbed me, deepened my sense of unease.

  Edme no longer delivered my meals. Deirdre had taken over. And of course with her constant presence in my room, Hannah had not returned either. So I had no way of ensuring she was all right, no way of sending letters to Duncan and no way to receive any. With the baby’s birth coming soon and worry for Hannah never far from my mind, I worked hard to keep my despair at bay.

  I yawned and a shiver whispered across my shoulders, down my spine. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I stepped into the bright rectangle of light that lit the floor beneath one of the windows. Gossamer strands of moonlight transformed my feet to marble and I eyed my swollen ankles grumpily.

  Night’s cool breeze carried green vegetation and new heather through the southern window. Spring had at last shaken winter from her back and I inhaled wistfully, tasting the dewy fresh on my tongue.