Megan Denby

by A Thistle in the Mist

  Heath. They had taken my baby. They had taken my son. A desperate moan started and I realised it was my own.

  No, Lord. Please no.

  My glance slid from the tender, blue eyes and I peered around the bleak interior of the room.

  Hundreds of people shared my new prison, shoulders rubbing shoulders, backs rubbing backs.

  A small girl of about four slept no more than a foot from me. Her fair cheeks were flushed. Warm breath skimmed my face, momentarily replacing the sour smell of vomit. I stared, unseeing, at the child.

  The room tilted, bodies rolled together and voices rang out. The wee lass tipped toward me and I caught her in my arms. Her eyes flew open and she shrank from me. By the light of a lantern swinging overhead, I saw her lower lip tremble and tears pool in eyes the colour of a highland thistle.

  I found my voice. “Dinna fash, lassie, yer fine now,” I whispered. She relaxed and her lips curved in a small smile.

  “You talk strange,” she said, turning from me to look over her shoulder. “She talks strange, don’t she, Mum?”

  A young woman, not much older than me, smiled apologetically. “That’s not very nice, Molly. I’m so sorry, miss. She don’t mean to be rude.” Her grey eyes drooped, her pretty face drawn.

  “I know.” My lips turned up woodenly as Molly crawled from my arms and back to her mother. She cuddled close and I saw then that she shared her mother’s lap with an infant. It nursed quietly, cheeks moving rhythmically. Gentle baby-sounds clawed at my eardrums. All other sound faded as I watched the mother feed her baby.

  A bittersweet euphoria flowed through my body. Hot tears pricked at my eyes as the tips of my breasts swelled and filled. Warm milk seeped, dampened my nightdress and I felt a cramping low down. Deliberately I looked away, rubbed fiercely at my burning eyes. The corners of my mouth quivered as I crushed my arms tight across my chest to stem the flow.

  Laudanum slowed my limbs as I struggled to sit. Two strong hands helped me up and I turned to Rabbie. My eyes found his and the pain I saw mirrored there tipped the scales of my grief. I couldn’t stop the hot tears that spilled onto my cheeks.

  “Rabbie.” His name escaped in a sob. “They stole my bairn. They stole Heath.” By saying it aloud, there was no turning back. It was real. This was real. Wherever this was, I was here and my baby was with her. Rabbie held out his arms and I leaned into them, hungry, desperate for comfort I knew could not come.

  “Aye, lassie, I ken. But we’ll get yer laddie back.” His hands smoothed across my head, rubbed my back. “I promise ye.” I pushed into the safety of his strong, young arms. The ship pitched beneath us as I hid my face. The scent of the stable, horses and sweet hay, was strong on his jacket.

  Duncan. Duncan. The day we had been separated I had tucked a similar scent away in my memory. The essence of my husband hit me with startling clarity and my throat tightened painfully, the ache in my heart unbearable.

  Minutes passed and I tipped my head to peer up into Rabbie’s tense face.

  “Where are we?” I glanced around our crowded quarters and then something occurred to me. “Why are you here?” I looked back up into his face and then noticed the lump that rose from the side of his head, the dried blood that caked his temple. I skimmed my fingers across the swelling. His eyelids flickered but he didn’t flinch. “Did they do this to ye?” There was no need to clarify they. He nodded ruefully, his expression mournful.

  “I tried to stop them, Miss Meara, but they got me, lass. They bashed my head wi’ somethin’ afore I could get ye safe.” His eyes slid from mine but I had already seen the shame. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled.

  This time I squeezed his hand, words of gratitude lodged in my throat.

  His cheeks darkened and his hand tightened around mine. “Och, lassie, I woke up shortly after we set sail. We’re on the Ghillie Dhu, sailin’ for the Canadas.” At my sharp intake of breath, he nodded, eyes grim. “Aye, lass, yer uncle really wanted us out of the way. The captain’ll sell us to the highest bidder when we dock.”

  My mind raced. Canada? It was a world away! And we were being sold? “Ye mean we’re indentured servants?” I asked, unable to keep the horror from my voice.

  Rabbie nodded. “Aye, but dinna fash now, we’ll send a message just as soon as we can. I’m sure we can get this all sorted out.” His arm tightened around my shoulders. “We’ll get yer wee laddie back.” His soothing voice could not quell the sick desperation that invaded my soul, the numbness that spread to my fingertips.

  My stomach churned. “I think I’m goin’ to be sick agin.” He held the pot for me, held back my hair and rubbed my back while those close by pulled away at the sound of my heaving. I dabbed at my mouth with the corner of my nightdress, noticed the loose bandages on my arms, as sweat dripped into my eyes.

  I felt the waves beneath the worn boards of the floor, felt the sway of the ship. The squall, finally tiring of its game, gradually passed but I felt the speed with which we cut through the waters and knew that Scotland slipped further and further away.

  My bairn, my son, was gone. Gone with the rest of my family.

  I could bear no more.

  I closed my eyes as despair made its claim, seeped into the center of my being. I leaned into Rabbie’s chest and wept until no more tears would come.

  ******

  The metal grate screeched open and, as one, the passengers peered up into beautiful strands of sunlight. Dust motes floated lazily along the shaft of light. Then the captain’s face filled the opening. “The storm has passed now mates and all is calm. Come up for a wee bite and some fresh air if ye’d like.”

  With eager murmurs the crowd surged toward the ladder. “Dinna push now and no trouble, ye hear?” His face disappeared as the indentureds climbed up the rungs, one by one.

  Rabbie and Meara waited until the rush thinned. Then Meara shuffled painfully across the floor, shoulders rigid. Rabbie watched, concern clouding his blue eyes. His mother had told him she’d had trouble, had a difficult time with the birthing. He didn’t know what she’d been through but he recognized the pain that tightened her features as she crept toward the ladder.

  He took her hand, gently guided her.

  The aroma of rain-damp wood and sea air filled his lungs and he tipped his face to the hot sun. The wind ruffled his bright hair and he closed his eyes briefly, felt his face warm.

  Meara’s hand hung lifeless in his and he opened his eyes, peered down at her, noticed again the grubby strips of cloth that bound her forearms. He’d ask the captain for fresh bandages and make sure her arms were cleaned. He knew she’d broken the window trying to save Hannah too. She’d been through more than most could bear.

  Her green eyes were empty, devoid of emotion, as she stared at the wake that trailed behind the boat. Her hand slid from his and she carefully made her way to the stern. Her fingers turned white as she clenched the railing, her back ramrod straight.

  The blue sea stretched endlessly, whitecaps frothing in the distance. Laughing gulls chuckled and dived at the shimmering herring that teased just below the surface.

  Meara’s expression hardened and Rabbie flinched at the fiery hatred that burned in her eyes. He knew at whom her loathing was directed. He hovered close but left her alone, aware that nothing he could say or do would ease her distress. He’d seen a similar look in his mother’s eyes the day his father had been killed.

  His glance passed over the deck and took in the motley group of passengers. Indentured servants crowded around a table on the starboard side of the ship. Two crew members passed out biscuits and mugs of tepid water. Rabbie’s gut gurgled noisily, but not from hunger. He decided to pass on the meager fare.

  He continued his perusal and his gaze moved back to the stern. A dozen or so well-dressed gentlemen had gathered at the railing. A blue haze of pipe smoke hovered above their heads as they chatted. Surreptitious glances were cast in Meara’s direction and Rabbie’s eyes narrowed as he watched them admire his mistress.
There was an obvious difference between the ragtag indentured servants and these men. Rabbie concluded these gentlemen must be the paying passengers the captain had mentioned.

  One of the men drew his eye, his rumpled garments a garish peacock blue. He stood apart from the others, his paunchy belly straining the velvet waistcoat. Yellow breeches hugged his stubby legs and though his garb was undoubtedly costly, it was clear the wearer sought attention. His fair hair was long and ridiculously coiffed, the comb over failing to disguise bits of pink scalp that peeked through. A moustache framed the dewlap jowls; the drooping ends a cache for a hoard of crumbs. The remnants of a biscuit dangled from his hand and Rabbie watched as his tongue rolled out to lick at the liver-like lips. The biscuit slipped to the deck and the fop rubbed his palms over his breeches, leaving behind dark stains of sweat. His eyes resembled those of a pig – small, pale and mean and at the moment disturbingly bright with a barely-contained hunger.

  The man was disgusting. Curious as to what was causing his obvious excitement, Rabbie followed the man’s line of vision. Air shot past his teeth. The slavering lecher was ogling Miss Meara!

  A breeze gusted across the deck and swept the copper curls from Meara’s face. The bruises did nothing to diminish her beauty but added to the vulnerable aura that seemed to surround her. Her breasts, swollen with milk, strained at the thin cotton of her night dress and threatened to spill from the laced bodice. She frowned at the empty horizon, green eyes fierce, oblivious to the hungry stares.

  With one long stride Rabbie was at her side. He shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around Meara’s shoulders, pulling it tight. She peered up at him with tortured eyes.

  “Ye look a wee bit chilly, lassie,” Rabbie stumbled by way of explanation. Meara didn’t answer, her eyes drawn back to the ocean.

  Rabbie glared over her shoulder at the man who stood a few feet away. In answer, the dandy grinned lazily and tipped an imaginary hat. Ignoring Rabbie, he let his hot gaze roam Meara’s scantily-clad body. With a smirk he retrieved his mug from the railing and slurped noisily then raised his cup to Rabbie in mock salute.

  Clenching his fists, Rabbie took a step toward the man.

  Captain Duff had been quietly assessing, watching the scene unfold, his keen eyes missing nothing. He stepped forward and blocked the gangly young man, whose face was now the colour of claret.

  The captain’s voice rang with false pleasantry as he held his hand out to the dandy. “Mister Sean O’Flynn?” The man scowled at the interruption then accepted the proffered handshake as the captain continued, “Och, but it’s a braw day! Wouldn’t ye agree, Mister O’Flynn?”

  Sean O’Flynn nodded, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  Rabbie slipped his arm around Meara’s shoulders, eyes glued to O’Flynn’s face.

  “Come, Miss Meara, let’s get somethin’ for our bellies, lass.” Meara turned and looked through Rabbie with haunted eyes.

  As they moved from the railing, Rabbie felt the burn of Sean O’Flynn’s eyes on his back and tightened his hold on Meara.

  A sense of foreboding crept up the back of his neck. Trouble was brewing, he felt sure of it.

  SIXTEEN

  June 1809

  Rude Awakening

  According to Captain Duff, the winds were in his favour and his Ghillie Dhu was making good time, well ahead of schedule. Rabbie was relieved to hear this. The sooner they reached the Canadas, the sooner he could make arrangements for their return to Scotland.

  Captain Duff McDougall had proven to be a fair man. He was not cruel nor could he be called merciful. He ran a tight ship and tolerated no insolence from his crew, who in turn showed him admiration and respect. Punishment was swift but reasonable. Indentured servants were permitted on deck at meal-time for one hour but were instructed to stay well away from his paying passengers. This was strictly enforced. Anyone who dawdled when time was called had their deck privileges revoked for one week.

  Rabbie, with embarrassment heating his cheeks, had asked the captain for rags for Meara. Having grown up with sisters and a mother who left nothing unsaid, he knew Meara would need them for her flow. The captain, sharp eyes glinting, handed over the clouts. Meara’s arms were healing nicely though Rabbie knew she took no notice.

  Each day the winds grew warmer. After the first days aboard ship, it became increasingly clear that Meara’s thin shift was causing a good deal of attention. Using the dirk that he concealed in his boot, Rabbie sliced the arms from his jacket and shortened it. He offered it to Meara and without question she slipped into it.

  The vital essence had drained from her, leaving behind a shell of the Meara he had admired and loved. At every opportunity she stood at the stern, hands tight on the railing, hollow eyes staring back toward Scotland, back to her son, back to her husband. She looked at no one and spoke only when asked a direct question. At meal-time she ate little and the weight she’d gained during her confinement melted away. Sculpted cheekbones jutted beneath her murky eyes, giving her a waifish look that only enhanced her beauty.

  Rabbie had overheard snatches of whispered conversations. Though all considered her beautiful, the general consensus was that she was ‘touched’.

  Rabbie began to wonder himself if she had lost her senses. She’d lost so much. Would she be able to recover from this most recent blow, the loss of her son? Rabbie’s resolve strengthened. He had promised Duncan he would take care of his bride and he would do whatever it took to reunite Meara with her bairn.

  Rabbie’s gut instinct, regarding O’Flynn, had proven correct. The man was a lecher and he’d set his sights on Meara. Apparently the rumour that Meara was not quite right made no difference to him.

  When standing with the other gentlemen, O’Flynn’s voice boomed above as he bragged of his riches and vast holdings, strutting back and forth on his woefully short legs, his eyes continually darting to Meara. She did not offer him a passing glance, her mind turned inward.

  Rabbie hovered nearby at all times, but his constant presence did not deter O’Flynn from lusting after Meara. He stared at her constantly, arousal glazing his stare as he slyly inched his way along the railing toward her. Rabbie, however, would not let him near her.

  The captain also kept a watchful eye on Mr. O’Flynn. He had seen his type before and instinct as much as past experience told him O’Flynn was not to be trusted.

  It was a hot day in early June, slick and humid. The wind had stalled and the sails hung slack. Lunch of stale biscuits and brackish water had been served. The hold was a nasty soup of unwashed bodies and the captain had given permission for the indentured servants to remain on deck for the afternoon.

  The sea was dead calm. Not a breath of wind stirred the glass-like surface. The passengers moved restlessly, fanning themselves, mopping at the sweat.

  But Meara stood like a statue, silent at her post, her eyes fixed on the far horizon.

  Her cheeks were flushed and her skin glistened. A small scar beneath her right eye stood white against her tanned face. It was all that remained of the vicious beating Sloan had given her. Rabbie, as usual, stood stoically by his mistress. He glanced sideways at her and was alarmed to see her sway, her eyes closed.

  “Miss Meara, what’s the trouble, lassie? Are ye ill?” Rabbie’s voice was tight with worry as he put a steadying arm around her thin frame.

  “It’s just the heat, Rabbie, dinna fash,” she answered in a thin, breathless voice as sweat trickled down her temple.

  “Mebbe loosen the jacket? That’ll help a wee bit,” suggested Rabbie.

  Meara fumbled and released the long row of buttons with a sigh. Using her hand, she fanned at the smooth expanse of her exposed throat.

  Satisfied that she was not going to faint, Rabbie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the railing, glancing sidelong at his woeful companion.

  The shimmering waves of heat were suddenly pierced by a woman’s frightened scream, “Molly! God no, child!”

  A murmur of alarm ripple
d through the crowd and when Rabbie spun around his breath left him abruptly.

  Molly, the wee lass of four years, was perched atop the railing. Blond hair fluffed in a halo around her angelic face. Unaware of the danger, she smiled happily down at her captive audience.

  “Look at me everybody. Way up ‘igh!” she giggled, her cheeks dimpled.

  Molly’s mother, Sarah Burnett, stood nearby. She thrust her infant son into someone’s arms and moved closer to her daughter. Her face, drained of colour, faded further still. “Yes Molly, you are up ‘igh. N-n-now come down to M-Mum, love,” she pleaded, her voice quivering. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she held trembling hands up to her daughter.

  The little girl, intent upon having fun, skipped a few steps away from her mother. “Come get me, Mum. You ‘ave to catch me!” Violet eyes danced with mischief as she peeked back over her shoulder. “Try to catch me, Mum.”

  A collective gasp cut the still as one small foot slipped on the polished railing. Molly hung suspended for just a second, her hands grasping at empty air. Then, eyes wide with surprise, she vanished over the side.

  “Noooo!” Molly’s mother collapsed, sobbing, to the deck. Rabbie bounded over and, without a thought, hurdled the railing and dived over the side.

  Molly was nowhere in sight when he surfaced. A crowd of onlookers lined the railing. Voices called down to him, “Over there. She’s over there.”

  With strong strokes, Rabbie swam in the direction they pointed. The sea bubbled and frothed while Molly struggled. Rabbie dipped under the surface. Tendrils of blonde floated lazily around a terror-filled face. He reached out and closed his fingers around her hand. They surfaced together and Molly immediately began to choke, salt water spouting from her mouth and nose. Rabbie pulled the child into his arms and kept them both afloat as he cuddled her close. He looked into wide eyes, surrounded by spiked lashes.