Aye, he’d been livid with the man, the way he’d ordered Aggie to tend to his horse, the way he had referred to her as “it” instead of she or her. And the way he ordered her about Rowan’s keep as if she were a dog? Despicable Mermadak had hurled one insult after another at Aggie and the lass just sat there, taking it in silence.
Mayhap the young woman was simply afraid and truly did not know how to better relay that message to Frederick. Was her refusal to meet with him given out of fear? Was that ridiculous dress nothing more than a plea for help?
His stomach tightened at the thought and a wave of guilt came over him. If that were the truth, that his tiny wife was simply afraid and had no other way to let him know, he was a tremendous ass. He should have kept his temper in check, should have made a much better attempt at trying to learn how she felt instead of only concerning himself with how he felt.
“Yer an ass, Frederick Mackintosh,” he mumbled as he hoisted himself to his feet. If ye plan on bein’ any kind of decent husband, ye need to first learn to listen.
Deciding he needed to find some way of talking with his wife, he climbed down from the loft and left the stables. The bright morning sun did nothing to help his pounding head. He stood outside the stables and looked around at the ramshackle keep and buildings.
Someday lad, this will all be yours, he thought with a grunt. Mayhap he should ask for an annulment and get as far away from this place as possible. He could always return to the Grahams or even to his family in the north. Quickly, he dismissed both thoughts. He was too proud to give up yet. How would he begin to explain it to his father or his stepmother? Rowan had done his best to warn him that the McLarens were an odd bunch, but Frederick had refused to heed his friend’s warning.
Nay, he’d not give up yet. Somehow, he would find a way to communicate with his wife.
As he took a step toward the keep, he saw the subject of his consternation step out from the shadows. She wore the same brown dress he’d seen her in that day at the Graham’s keep and again just two days ago when he caught a glimpse of her leaving the kirk with her father.
Sunlight bounced off her raven hair giving it hints of red. She did not look straight ahead, instead, kept her eyes downcast as she made her way across the yard and toward the wall. She carried a bundle in her arms.
None of the people she passed bade her a good morn or even a nod to indicate they saw her. Frederick found that strange. She was, after all, the chief’s daughter and with her mother dead, the mistress of the keep. Did they ignore her because she could not speak or was it something altogether different? And where was she heading?
His curiosity was piqued as he watched her push open a door and step outside the wall. He decided to follow at a safe distance. Mayhap he could learn more by observing than he could by confronting her.
AGGIE MADE HER way down the path toward the little huts and cottages where the married couples lived. Sleep had evaded her the night before as she was certain her father would come pounding on her door at any moment and demand to know why her husband had chosen to spend their wedding night apart. She would have no good answer other than the fact that Frederick was embarrassed and angry and was more likely than not, seriously regretting his decision. She could only pray that no one knew that Frederick had left her alone on their wedding night.
After making certain Ailrig and Rose understood to remain out of harm’s way, for there was certain to be nothing but trouble this day, she decided to return the dress to Clair. With a heavy heart she hid behind a veil of disinterest, she left the keep and hoped her father would remain asleep until she had figured out a way out of this mess.
She paused outside Clair’s door before giving it a gentle knock. She hoped that Clair was not here so that she could just leave the dress on her doorstep. Her stomach filled with dread when the door opened.
A contemptuous smile came to Clair’s lips when she saw Aggie. Aggie did her best to ignore it and held out the dress. Clair grabbed it and snorted. “I thought ye’d still be abed this morn,” she said haughtily.
Aggie took a breath before giving a nod of thanks and started to turn away. She was in no mood for Clair’s superior attitude this morning. She had enough on her mind.
“I hear yer husband spent his weddin’ night elsewhere,” Clair said contemptuously.
Aggie paused and cast a glance over her shoulder. If Clair knew, then the entire keep knew and it wouldn’t be long before her father sought her out. Her stomach tightened with fear.
“’Tis no wonder he left ye. I kent that he would. He’s far too good and handsome a man fer the likes of ye.” Her words dripped with venom.
Aye, I ken that he is, Aggie thought as she headed back to the keep. I do no’ need the likes of ye to remind me. Though she was used to the insults, the woman’s words still stung. Try as she might to hide her feelings and maintain her mask of disinterest, tears welled in her eyes.
Aggie swiped away an errant tear and cursed inwardly. Ye should not be so upset to hear the truth. Frederick is too good a man. Aye, he was angry last eve, but who could blame him? Ye shamed him. He deserves better than the McLaren lot he’s now bound to.
She all but ran from Clair, heading toward the keep as she tried to push the humiliation aside. Ye should be used to this by now, ye eejit! She chastised her foolishness as she pulled open the door and stepped inside. If I could only get away from here, far away.
“Aggie!” a voice called out, giving her a start. ’Twas Donnel who called for her. He was standing near the back door of the keep. Aggie stopped abruptly and looked across the yard at him.
“Yer da wants ye in his rooms, now,” Donnel bellowed.
Dread and fear washed over her. He kens. She swallowed hard, frozen in place.
“Did ye no’ hear me?” Donnel barked out.
Aye, she thought. I heard ye. I’m a dead woman.
FREDERICK HAD BEEN hiding next to Clair’s cottage. He had heard every hateful word that the woman had spoken. If he had not heard it all with his own ears, he would not have believed it. The woman had been kind and quite helpful to him since his arrival. Now he could see her for who she truly was. A spiteful woman.
He watched carefully as Aggie fled back toward the keep, had even witnessed her wipe the tears from her cheeks. Were he the kind of man who had no qualms over hitting a woman, he would have knocked Clair on her arse. Then again, were he that kind of man, he might not give a care as to how his wife was treated.
It could be years before he would take over the reins as chief of this clan. He’d not wait that long to begin leading these people. He would let them know now, that any mistreatment of his wife would not be tolerated.
He stepped around the corner of the cottage where Clair still stood in the doorway, casting insults at his wife. “Aye! Run away, eejit! I’d hide me head in shame too!” She stopped mid-rant when she saw Frederick standing before her. In the blink of an eye, her disdainful look was replaced with a bright smile.
“M’laird!” she practically cooed at him. “Good morn to ye!”
Frederick gave a slight shake of his head and wondered how one woman’s mood could change so abruptly. Did she think he had not heard her? He would not fall for that sweet smile again. “May I ask ye why ye feel the need to throw insults at me wife?” he asked calmly as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Clair’s brow lifted and she looked completely baffled by his question. “I fear I dunna ken what ye mean.”
He studied her closely for a moment and realized she was being honest. Mayhap these people had treated Aggie so contemptibly over the years that it was considered the norm. He let out a frustrated sigh. “Ye just called her an eejit. Ye were cruel and taunted her about our weddin’ night.”
Clair blinked and looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Everyone calls her an eejit,” she began to explain. “She is an eejit, m’laird. She doesna speak, ye ken.”
“Just because she doesna speak does no’ mean she i
s an eejit or without feelings.”
Clair looked as though she had not ever considered that before, then quickly dismissed it. “Och! I fear ye dunna ken what ye married, m’laird! Aggie McLaren is—”
Frederick stopped her with a wave of his hand. He did not care what this woman thought of his wife at the moment. “Aggie McLaren is the chief’s daughter, the lady of the keep and my wife. Those three things alone or together demand that ye treat her with respect and dignity. I’ll no’ have ye or anyone else fer that matter, casting aspersions or insults at her.”
“Ye canna be serious!”
“Aye, I am,” he said firmly.
Clair looked appalled at the thought of having to be kind to Aggie. Frederick then noticed the bundle in her arms. “What is it that me wife brought to ye?”
Clair looked at the bundle in her arms. “Me dress. I lent it to her fer her weddin’, m’laird.”
It was Frederick’s turn to look confused. He gave a quick up and down examination of Clair. She was at least two heads taller than Aggie and the woman weighed significantly more than his wee wife. “Why would she borrow a dress from ye?”
Clair snorted derisively. “Because it be a fine dress.”
He shook his head in dismay. “I see that it be a fine dress. What I want to ken is why Aggie borrowed it from ye when ye be nowhere near the same size as her.”
“As I said, because it be a fine dress,” she clearly did not understand his confusion. “Apparently, she wanted something nice to wear yesterday, though a lot of good it did her.”
He wondered how Clair could know what his wife wanted, so he asked.
Clair shook her head and sighed. “Well, she didna tell me if that’s what yer askin’. ’Twas Rose that told me. Rose fancies herself as Aggie’s friend, though I’ll never understand the why of it! I think Rose is a witch fer ’tis like she has a way of readin’ Aggie’s mind!” Clair shivered as though she were both repulsed and afraid of the idea.
He thought back to the ceremony yesterday and the pretty young woman who had stood next to Aggie. That must be the lass that Clair referred to as Aggie’s friend. He made a mental note to look for Rose as soon as he was done.
“Why did she no’ adjust the dress to make it fit?” he wondered aloud.
“Och! I wouldna let her do that! ’Tis my dress! I’d no’ let her go a cuttin’ on it just to fit the likes of her!” Clair explained as if it should make all the sense in the world. It didn’t.
Frederick did not care for the haughtiness of Clair’s voice. Clearly, this woman thought herself better than most, or at the very least, better than his wife. His dislike for the woman standing before him grew tenfold.
Clarity began to dawn in his thick skull. Aggie had wanted to look nice. But why hadn’t she simply made her own dress for the occasion instead of borrowing one that was plainly ill-fitting? He had sent a wagon filled with foods and fabrics and various sundries weeks ago. The fabrics, while not the most expensive, had been of good quality and were meant for his wife as a gift. Something about this situation did not sit well in his mind.
He let loose with another frustrated sigh and turned his attention back to Clair. He wanted to seek out Rose and hopefully, the lass could shed some light on the subject. “Heed me warnin’,” he said between gritted teeth. “The mistreatment of me wife stops now. I will no’ have anyone continue to treat her poorly. Ye may spread the word on that.”
Not wanting to give her an opportunity to question his directive, Frederick spun and headed back to the keep to speak with his wife’s friend.
AGGIE STOOD IN her father’s dark room, her legs shaking and her stomach in knots. Mermadak stood on the opposite side of the large table and stared at her. Donnel stood near the fireplace, his legs crossed at the ankles, his lips curved in his typical sneer. Aye, Donnel knew what was to come and from the look on his face, Aggie knew he was looking forward to it.
Mermadak’s favorite whip rested on the corner of the table, within reach. Aggie wished she had the courage to grab it and wrap it around his neck until he no longer breathed and when she was done, she’d love to wrap it around Donnell’s neck. But alas, she lacked the courage.
He had yet to utter a sound, but she knew that her father was angry. He breathed rapidly through his nostrils, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His lips were drawn into a thin, hard line, his face was nearly purple with rage.
Aggie knew this dance all too well. He’d stare at her for a time, making her wonder what it was he would do next. Sometimes, he would confine her to her room for days at a time with the order to stay out of his sight. She would be treated like a prisoner, given only gruel and a few cups of water until he decided to release her. Instinctively, she knew this would not be one of those times.
Nay, a beating was imminent. This was merely his way of offering her some false hope that she may get out unscathed. For inexplicable reasons, he enjoyed taunting her this way.
Keep yer eyes down, she told herself. Do no’ let him see how afraid ye are.
When he finally spoke, Aggie jumped, but kept her eyes glued on the floor. “Ye canna even do the simplest of things.” His words were clipped and angry. “All ye had to do was spread yer legs!” He slammed his hand down hard on the table and she jumped again as the fingers of fear traced their way down her spine.
“Ye are as stupid as ye are ugly! Why I thought I could trust ye to do this one thing, I dunna ken! I must have lost me mind. I thought even addle-headed ye could lift yer skirts long enough to consummate a marriage. But nay! Ye couldn’t even be trusted to do that!”
He had moved so quickly and she was so frozen with fear that she had no time to move. Mermadak had grabbed her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. A small yelp escaped her lips as he shook her.
“One thing! Just one thing I asked of ye!” Spittle had formed in the corner of his mouth as he shouted and cursed.
He let loose a slew of curses before throwing her to the floor where she landed hard. She’d been down this road too many times and knew what would come next. Covering her head with her hands, curling herself into a protective ball, she took a deep breath and held it.
She could not physically run away, but she could remove herself mentally. Run away, run away, run away. Hide yerself. ’Twill all be over soon. She heard the flogging whip scrape against the top of the table as Mermadak grabbed it. Go into yerself.
Without mercy, he smacked the whip against her back. Aggie sucked a deep gulp of air into her lungs then bit her lip to keep from crying out. God it hurts!
There was no doubt that this was the angriest she had ever seen him. She knew he would not stop this time, not until she was bloody and broken or dead.
Again and again, he lashed out at her back. Aggie jumped with each lash and sting of the whip. After a few strikes, her dress tore and no longer afforded any protection against the cut through – the name she had given this particular flogger as it would cut through nearly any fabric.
“Should I have Donnel here come show ye how to spread yer legs fer yer husband?” Mermadak snarled as he gave her back another lash and then another.
A wave of nausea swept over her. Do no’ move! Do no’ cry! Do no’ move. Do no’ cry.
Over the years, Aggie had learned how to ignore the pain, the fear, the dread, to go deep within herself in order to survive the beatings. But this beating was far worse than any she had ever endured before. The cut through sliced through skin, through muscle, tearing her flesh. Scars from previous beatings were sliced open again. He would not stop this time until she was dead.
Dizzy, nauseous, she could no longer keep her body taught and rigid. She heard Donnel laugh from across the room. “Ye may kill the bitch yet, Mermadak!”
She felt another hard slash against her back. With each stroke from the whip, her strength and energy fell away. It was difficult to breath, to keep herself in the protective ball, to keep bracing herself against the impact of the cut through. She could no longer
hear her father’s curses or Donnel’s laughter. Aggie wondered how a man who was dying could find the strength to wield a whip with such ferocity and anger.
As she lay on the floor, the world around her began to fall away. Sounds became muffled, as if she were submerged in the loch. Bile rose in her throat and she forced it back, knowing anything she did from this point forward would only fuel his anger and urge him to continue hitting her.
Tears were lodged in her throat, tears she’d not shed in front of her father. Mermadak would see them as nothing more than encouragement to keep lashing out, to continue the onslaught.
Her back burned and ached as the tender flesh was repeatedly shredded. Please, God, either make him stop or make him slice me throat for ’tis certain I canna take any more! Why must he take his time to kill me?
The feeling of being underwater, unable to breathe or hear anything clearly increased. Whether real or imagined, she though she heard a great roar of sorts. It felt and sounded like she were in a pool of water with her head being held under a raging waterfall. The roaring grew louder and she wondered if it wasn’t her father bellowing curses she could no longer hear.
Please, stop! Please, just kill me now and be done with it…’tis as he wants. I be ready to die now. I canna take any more. Though her eyes were closed, she felt a sense of darkness fall over her heart and her mind. This be it. The end. Please God, let Rose be able to care for Ailrig! That was her last conscious thought before her entire world went black.
THE BOY, AILRIG, had come running out of the keep shouting for Frederick and Ian. From the look of terror in the lad’s eyes and the frantic tone of his voice, Frederick knew something horrible had happened. He ran as fast as he could from the outer wall and into the bailey.
Tears ran down Ailrig’s cheeks, his chest heaved rapidly as he continued to shout Frederick’s name. Frederick ran to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder. “What be wrong?” he asked, his voice loud and concerned.
Frederick's Queen: The Clan Graham Series Page 8