Hannah. Wee Hannah. He had promised Meara that he would take her little sister away with them to Dunvegan when he came home. Now Meara was dead, but Hannah was not. He had failed his wife but he would not fail Hannah. The one thing Meara had feared most of all was that something bad would happen to her sister.
He could not let that happen.
With fierce determination, he held onto the bed clothes and pulled himself to a sitting position. His voice rasped and cracked as he hollered, “Emeline. EMELINE!”
Hurried footsteps pounded up the aisle. The curtain whipped open and Sister Emeline poked her head through, brown eyes wide with concern. She breathed heavily and her face glowed.
“Yes, Mr. MacLeod? What is it, sir?”
Methodically, Duncan gathered up his letters. With great care he folded Meara’s slip of embroidery and placed it and the letters into his sporran alongside his Mother’s dolphin. With trembling deliberation, he fastened the leather ties.
His blue eyes were desolate, his face pale as he peered up into Emeline’s concerned face.
“I’m ready to go home, Sister.”
FOURTEEN
May 3 1809
Duntulm
It oozed into my head, dark tendrils sliding from the shadows.
The creak of the rocking chair cut through the still as Deirdre swayed back and forth on the far side of the tower room. Heath squirmed and whimpered in her arms, tiny hands jerking free of the blanket.
“Dinna cry now, laddie, yer Momma’s here,” she crooned in a singsong voice.
Heath settled at the soothing tone and I froze as the words slowly filtered into my head.
“Dinna cry, yer Momma’s here. Yer Momma’s here. Yer Momma’s here.”
“Nooooo,” I screamed, “He’s mine! I’m his mother!” I thrust my hands out for him but the chair seemed even further away, rocking from my outstretched fingers. I lunged forward but the mattress sucked my legs into its soft betrayal. Invisible fingers closed around my legs, tightened, pulled.
“Heath. HEATH!” I sobbed. “Please... give me back my bairn.” I tore at my legs, clawed at unseen hands. Then I reached out again.
My stomach dropped.
The chair still creaked back and forth back and forth... but now it was empty. Empty. Heath was gone. My vision turned liquid as I gaped about the tower room.
Someone stood on the far side of my bed. She faced away from me; an incandescent apparition swaying in front of the broken window. Flaxen hair spilled down her back.
“Hannah?”
A numbing spread through me to my fingertips. Worms of terror shimmied across my scalp and down my spine.
Slowly, she turned.
I could not breathe.
Strands of silver moonlight played across her face.
She was drenched, nightgown melded to her body, the swell of her unborn child clearly outlined. Tears glistened in her eyes, overflowed and slid down her hollow cheeks. She stretched her hands toward me, water dripping from the tip of each finger. Her blue lips parted and icy breath misted from her mouth, chilling the room and seeping into my bones. Goosebumps scurried across my flesh as her feathery-soft voice washed over me.
“Why? Why, Meara? Why did ye let him do this to me? Ye promised me. Why?” she breathed. Her black lashes spiked together, dark stars around her empty eyes. Tears dripped from her chin, merging with the seawater that soaked her nightgown. “Why?”
Sloan slithered from behind her, snaked his arm around her shoulders. Red lips stretched into a macabre grin. Long fingers slid down and cupped one small breast, paused to caress, then slipped further down to splay across his seed. His soulless eyes burned into mine.
“Poor wee Hannah,” he taunted.
I struggled to escape the bed. Had to help Hannah. Had to. The mattress buckled inward and I slipped, sucked into a jagged hole that appeared in the center of my bed.
Deirdre and Sloan gaped over the edge, mouths wide. Their maniacal laughter reverberated against the stone walls.
I awoke with a moan.
“Ohh. Sweet Jesus,” I whispered.
Crouched on my hands and knees, my head roared. My arms quivered and I collapsed onto my stomach, heart hammering and skin slick. My cheek lay mashed against the pillow. I fought to keep my lids open as they drooped over my grainy eyes. My limbs felt boneless and weak. My mind blurred, thoughts fluttering aimlessly at the edges then scattering.
The moon had taken cover behind a stand of heavy clouds, its beam trying to break free of the shroud. I heard the far away growl of thunder. Shadows shifted, crouched in the corners. I held my trembling hand up to my face and it slipped into a pale, shapeless smudge. Pushing against the bed, I flopped onto my back and slid my fingers down to my belly.
My soft belly.
I snapped awake.
This was not a dream. I was awake.
Heath.
A bolt of panic struck me. I darted a look around the room. Where was my son? Where was Heath?
The room whirled as I struggled to a sitting position.
My eyes moved of their own accord as I tried to squint into the dark. A small vial sat on my night stand and I snatched at it. Tingles tiptoed up and down my bandaged arms. My fingers were clumsy as I yanked out the stopper and sniffed. Laudanum! The bottle slipped from my grasp.
I was drugged!
Disjointed bits flashed. Deirdre... can’t breathe... struggling... empty arms... Heath... gone...
Deirdre had Heath!
My heart battered at my chest as I shoved my legs over the side of the bed and peered into the darkness. Lightning flashed through the room and I saw the haphazard boards that covered the broken window as thunder shook the room.
Hannah.
The pain of her suicide hit me again. Its whetted tip stabbed at my heart and I looked away, rubbing at my eyes with tight fists. I grabbed at the fragmented thoughts in my head.
Where is my son? What time is it? When was Heath born? Where has Deirdre taken him?
Moonlight spilled through a window in the clouds. Shadows scurried back into the corners. Familiar objects leapt from the dark; my bookcase, the table, Heath’s new cradle and something else – something nestled in my rocking chair.
I bit my tongue as my teeth gnashed together.
Something stirred and the chair began to rock. Horror crushed my chest. Air rushed from my lungs. I leapt from my bed and crumpled to my knees. Stumbling to my feet, I lurched toward the chair.
“You!” I gasped.
“Weesht, Meara! Ye’ll wake my bairn,” Deirdre scolded in a soft whisper. She did not miss a beat but continued to rock. Casual. Nonchalant. Heath dozed in her arms, cocooned in a snowy white blanket. Half-curled fingers rested by the curve of his cheek.
Deirdre, stared up at me, chin dipped down, crafty eyes glittering beneath half-lowered lids. Her thin lips lolled in an open-mouthed grin.
“My bairn,” she repeated in the voice of a petulant child, lips turned down in a ghastly pout.
An animal whimper vibrated deep in my throat.
This was no nightmare. I stared into the face of insanity and it was real. The embers of madness I’d glimpsed so long ago had been stoked, fanned, and now Deirdre’s eyes burned with the unnatural light of dementia.
She had snapped. And she had my baby.
I shuffled toward her on legs that did not want to obey. The room tilted and I swallowed the hot sick that surged up my throat.
“Please, Aunt Deirdre, just... just give me my son.”
“Please, Aunt Deirdre, just give me my son.” A familiar voice mimicked mine and I spun around.
Sloan.
Sheet lightning bathed my uncle in a brief flickering glow. He stood before me, arms folded over his thin chest, toe slowly tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I shook my head and gaped from Sloan to Deirdre and back. A clenching started inside of me and the walls of my world began to crumble.
“Why are ye doin’ thi
s?” I whispered. “What do ye want?”
Sloan smirked and gave a condescending snort. His lips drew back and I could not take my eyes from his gums. The puffy tissue had shrunk back as though it too had just discovered how vile his teeth were. Lightning painted my uncle in an eerie, yellow glow and I stared at the gums, at the long teeth, at the moist smile.
“Ye just dinna get it, do ye, Meara?”
I dragged my eyes from his mouth and stared into his colourless eyes as the floor quaked beneath us.
“Yer brain is a wee bit addled, is it?” He tapped his finger against his temple, his bottom lip pushed out in mock sympathy. Then his eyes hardened and he sauntered toward me.
I stumbled back from him and darted a look over my shoulder to Heath.
“Well now, let me make it verra clear for ye. In case ye havena noticed, yer family’s all gone.” Stopping just in front of me, he steepled his fingers and nodded as he sneered, “Aye, all gone.” Dropping his hands, he reached down and cradled his crotch, eyebrows arched in sorrow. He glanced toward Deirdre and lowered his voice to a hiss, “I do ha’ one regret. I am goin’ to miss that delicious sister of yers.”
A strangled sob slipped from my lips as he shook his head in mock sadness.
“Ye raped her, ye bastard! Yer own niece!” I hissed.
He shot another look toward his sister and I followed his eyes but she seemed oblivious to us, her expression vacant. His glance slid back to me. “Nay, I wouldna’ call it rape exactly.” He shook his head as though deep in thought, stroked his chin. “She was willin’ enough, didna give me no trouble at all. I showed her things she would ha’ never dreamed of.” His thick lips curved in slow triumph, his eyes holding mine in the sputtering light of the oncoming storm. “In fact, I’d say mebbe she liked it.”.
“Bastard!” I flew at him with both hands raised but he caught me by the wrists and shoved me away. I fell to my knees but staggered back to my feet and glared at him.
His smile vanished and his pupils contracted to twin points of black as he stepped forward. “Ye’ve served yer purpose, girl. Ye bore my sister the wean she wanted and we thank ye for that but now it’s time to get rid of ye, Meara MacLeod.”
MacLeod? It took a moment for my fogged brain to comprehend. He knew! He knew I was married to Duncan! But how?
I thought I might throw up and pressed my hand to my mouth as he took another step toward me. He smirked as I backed into the bed. He moved in closer and I ducked under his arm, lurching over to Deirdre.
“Deirdre. Ye must give me my son. Please.” Thunder crashed, swallowing my plea.
Deirdre hummed a tuneless lullaby, dark eyes blurred as she stroked Heath’s curls. She was gone.
“Mmmm... mmmm... mmmm... mmmm,” she chanted behind closed lips.
“I promise I willna tell anyone. Just let me have my bairn and I’ll leave. You can have everything else. Please...” My voice trailed away as I stared into her face, the face of madness. Cold sweat dribbled between my shoulder blades and slid down my back.
I dived forward and managed to touch Heath’s warm fingers before my head was yanked back, a handful of my hair held tight in Sloan’s fist.
“Nay, ye willna tell anyone ‘cause ye willna be here to tell,” he hissed into my ear.
I lost my footing and he dragged me backward, away from Deirdre. Away from Heath.
“And we will ha’ everythin’ ‘cause we choose to, not because ye tell us we can!”
Releasing my hair, he bodily hurled me onto the bed and then trapped my wrists above my head. His eyes snapped with hatred. “Yer no so tough now, are ye?” I kicked at his crotch but my foot snagged in the hem of my nightgown and I merely nudged between his legs.
“Fuckin’ scut!” he roared as his fist connected with my jaw.
White lights exploded before my eyes. I tasted blood and my head lolled back against the mattress. With cruel fingers he pried my lips apart. Laudanum dripped onto my tongue, spilled down my throat. I spat, watched as it slid down his cheek before the back of his hand smashed across my face. He forced more of the drug into my mouth, pinched my nose hard and jammed my jaw closed with the heel of the same hand. The liquid slipped, unchallenged, down my throat. He relaxed his hold on my mouth and I spat into his face again. He rammed his knee between my legs but the pain was dull as I felt the languid effects of the laudanum take hold. Though I tried to fight it, my arms slipped to the bed, unresponsive to the frantic orders my brain was issuing. My lids drooped and I felt my head fall to the side.
I fixed my eyes on the wee round head, the dark curls.
And the dark.
******
“Och, put the brat down the now, Deirdre! Ye can play Momma later!” Sloan barked. “Gi’ me some help here. We’re runnin’ out of time.”
Struggling with Meara’s inert form, he glared at his sister.
Deirdre stared at her brother, anger flaring in her feverish eyes. “Dinna call him that. He’s my son.”
She shifted Heath in her arms, cuddled him to her chest and let his sweet baby scent surround her. Flinging a look of contempt at her brother, she settled the sleeping child in his cradle. Her face softened as she smoothed a curl back from his forehead.
Perfect. Truly perfect.
His tiny mouth stretched in a huge yawn. He sighed, murmured for a moment then stilled.
Sloan flung Meara’s limp form over his narrow shoulder. His knees buckled slightly as he weaved toward the door. Deirdre watched her brother’s struggle and smiled to herself.
“Dinna just stand there wumman, get the goddamn door!” he ordered, a drop of sweat dangling from his beaked nose.
Casting a quick glance at Heath, Deirdre scuttled ahead and held the door wide.
At last she would be rid of that troublesome little bitch. The boy was hers. Hers!
Her plan had come off without a hitch, unexpectedly aided by Janet’s early delivery of her son. Her labour had been hard too – harder than Meara’s – and immensely convenient for Deirdre. It had kept that busybody, Mary, occupied for hours. Mary had checked in once, late in the afternoon. She’d been anxious to get back to Janet and had made only a cursory inspection. Meara had still been under the full effect of the laudanum Deirdre had forced down her throat, just after the baby had been born. Mary had been relieved to see Meara asleep with Heath tucked safely in the cradle.
And Deirdre had been relieved to see that laudanum worked even better on Meara than it had on Robert.
Heath was hers and no one could ever take him away from his Momma.
Sloan stumbled ahead down the stairs. “This bitch is no light weight,” he gasped as his elbow banged against the door at the bottom.
“Weesht!” Deirdre hissed. “Ye’ll wake everyone!”
“Then bloody well help, ye stupid coo!
Deirdre bristled and bared her teeth at her brother. Then she reached around him and opened the door. Poking her head out, she squinted down the corridor. Satisfied that no one waited in the shadows, she slipped out. Sloan followed, laboured puffs bursting from his mouth.
They crept down the next flight of steps as Sloan grappled with Meara’s limp body. Deirdre hurried across the foyer and opened the door. Sloan staggered out into the night and they followed the cobbled path to the stables.
Clouds scudded steadily across the moon, illuminated by random flashes of lightning. Wind rustled the new leaves, fanned the damp foliage. Crickets chirped in harmony. Spicy pine and sweet honeysuckle stirred together on a breeze that held the promise of rain.
But Sloan and Deirdre took no notice of the beauty of the night, intent as they were, upon their evil doing.
“The wagon’s beside the stable. I’ll throw her in the back.” Sloan paused and hitched Meara back up onto his sloping shoulder. “You watch her so... so I can get one of the horses,” Sloan gasped. He tripped over a cobblestone and almost lost Meara. She moaned but didn’t wake.
Deirdre’s thin lips gathered and her brows dr
ew together. Who the hell did he think he was? He couldn’t tell her what to do. She was in charge. He was trying to take control and she was losing it. She must not lose control.
“Nay, I’ll get the horse and you can watch Meara.”
The intensity of Deirdre’s voice left no room for argument. Sloan grunted, peering sideways at the too-bright eyes.
They reached the stable and Deirdre disappeared through the door. Sloan stooped over and dropped Meara into the back of the wagon.
A damp breeze rustled the leaves and the storm moved closer. A sudden flash lit up Meara’s still form. Her jaw had begun to swell, the skin already darkening. The bruise extended up the side of her face to the delicate brow bone. Blood had dried in the corner of her mouth and the skin was split below her right eye.
Sloan’s mouth pulled into a slow grin and he set his hands on his hips as he eyed his handiwork. “Teach ye to laugh at me,” he muttered.
At once clouds buried the moon and the yard was thrown into darkness.
A shadow loomed in front of Sloan and his smile faded as a fist surged out of the dark, snapping his head back on his neck. He heard a sickening crunch as his nose flattened and he withered to the ground. Scrambling into a tight ball, he wrapped his arms around his head, muffling his mewls and whimpers.
“Dinna hurt me,” he begged.
“What in God’s name ha’ ye done to the lass?” Rabbie peered over the side of the wagon. “Oh, Lord.” His face shone pale in the flickering sheets of lightening, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Miss Meara! Blessed Lord, what ha’ they done to ye?” With gentle hands, he smoothed her tousled curls, afraid to touch her face.
“Heath,” she moaned.
“Yer alive,” Rabbie sighed with relief, raking a hand through his hair. “Thank God.”
Rabbie lowered the back of the wagon. “Dinna fash now, Miss Meara, it’s just me, just Rabbie,” he soothed. Sliding his hands under Meara’s legs and back, he leaned over to lift her. “I’ll take care of ye, lassie.”
A horrific screech rent the still and Rabbie dragged his arms from under Meara and whirled toward the sound. He raised his hands but in vain as the end of a fence post smashed into the side of his head. Blood gushed from beneath the shock of red hair. He teetered for a moment then fell sideways into the wagon bed.
Megan Denby Page 20