Thistles and Thieves

by Elizabeth Preston

  “Je ne sais pas cuisine,” Juliette said, admitting she didn’t know how to cook.

  The woman pulled another angry face. So, the woman with the long wild hair and weather-beaten features understood French, at least sort of anyway. Her captors spoke a strange Gaelic, and by the looks of things, a little French too. That wasn’t unusual of course. Scotsmen spoke Gaelic, but many of them also used a smattering of French. Just like the English, many Scotsman were descendants of the Normans from France.

  Juliette stood by the fire drying her clothes. She wanted to go on standing there, warming her bruised bones and soothing her battered skin. She also wanted to ask for another drink of water, but it wouldn’t do to sound bothersome and demanding. It would be unwise to be a drain on their resources. Better to be seen as an asset and a help, rather than a hindrance.

  Without warning, a pitiful wail soured the air. Juliette snapped her head around and stared into the gloomy cave. That was the sound of a man in pain. The cry chilled her already-frigid bones and raised the hairs on her arm. Juliette caught the woman’s eye. The woman gestured, pointing at the cave and telling Juliette to go inside. She hesitated, her eyes focused on her captor. The woman gestured again, jabbing the air and pointing to the cave, her impatience obvious. Juliette pointed too and asked, “Aller la-bas?” Should I go in there?

  The woman nodded and shoved Juliette’s shoulder, making her stumble. Then, almost as an afterthought, the woman remembered the rope that bound them together, and dropped it from her own waist. Clearly, her jailer was staying put. Juliette was to go in alone.

  She paced forward until she stood at the cave’s mouth. It was dark beyond the entrance, eerie and gloomy like it might be filled with bats. Then the groan rang out again.

  “Hello,” she cried, inching forward.

  “Here,” a voice responded. The stranger in the cave sounded less hostile than her captives. Holding her arm out in front, she inched forward. Hopefully, soon, her eyes would become accustomed to the dark. “Who’s there?” she asked.

  “Is that you, Juliette?”

  “Yes, who are you?”

  “It’s me, Kenneth. You survived, Juliette?” The happiness in his voice was heartening. “I thought you’d have drowned for sure.”

  She stumbled forward, toward Kenneth. That was when she heard the agonising groan again.

  “Angus is here too, but he’s in a bad way.”

  Juliette put her arm around the dark figure hunched on the ground. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Kenneth nodded toward the entrance. “They did it. They beat him. I don’t think we can help Angus anymore. I’d wager that he’s bleeding on the inside.”

  Juliette touched Angus’s cold, clammy face. But then, she was cold too, and her hands were shaking. She settled herself on the ground next to the injured man and gingerly lifted his head onto her lap. She could comfort Angus, if nothing else. She stroked his face and held him tight, but he did not stop his moaning.

  “Where’s Tam?” she asked, rocking the injured man gently.

  Kenneth shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”

  “Who are they? Their language is a little like Gaelic, but not the same Gaelic you speak.”

  “That be because they’re Irish. They’re speaking Irish Gaelic. My guess is that they’re outlaws. They’ve escaped their own country and come here to avoid the hangman’s noose. Don’t anger them, Juliette. These people have nothing left to lose.”

  “But what use are we to them?” She could guess, even before he answered.

  “They’ll know already you are high born because your clothes give you away. They also hear your English voice. My guess is they’ll ransom you. Just do what they want and help out all you can. It will keep you safe.”

  It was what she’d hoped. “And will they ransom you too, Kenneth?”

  “I’m not worth the coin you are. But I’ve told them I know the Scottish king, so I’m hoping they’ll see some worth in that relationship and keep me alive.”

  She continued to stoke Angus’s cheek. Angus was the youngest and most hot-headed of the three of them. He’d stood up to the Irish outlaws, and they’d nearly killed him for it. Now, if he didn’t recover soon, they wouldn’t let him linger. Why would they water and care for someone who was only going to die and bring them no return?

  One of the outlaws strode into the cave, grabbed her arm, and pulled her away from Angus. “Careful,” she said, trying to place his head back down gently.

  The man barked something at her, again in his strange tongue. Kenneth translated. “He wants you to go to the shoreline with the Irish woman. They want you to collect shell fish for their eventide meal.”

  She would do this—would do anything they wanted. If doing their chores helped keep her alive, then she would work. And as quickly as she could too. Angus had fought them and look how that had gone. Angus had fared better in the sea. The cruel waves had treated Angus with more kindness than the Irish had.

  Chapter 10

  Tam lay behind the bolder—his head still bleeding. He’d attempted to staunch the flow using strips of linen from his shirt, but his shoulder ached like blazes, making the job of ministering to himself difficult. It was a struggle just to stay upright. His whole body wanted to slip down into the earth. Sometimes he fancied he was being dragged to the next world and taken to a place beneath the soil. Under the grit and dirt, he’d meet all the angry men he’s slain in battle.

  His dreams went around in circles. Sometimes he thought of Helena, his dead wife. She was there, stretching out her welcoming arms and beckoning him forth. But something kept him from going to her. Another vision was of Juliette. He watched her trying on Helena’s best fur-lined mittens. The gloves were Helena’s favourite. She loved the ermine trim. Those gloves had always been a few sizes too large for Helena, and when she put them on, bits of fabric hung from her thumbs. Dear Helena had been so delicate and tiny in every way. Even her voice was small. He oft had to strain to catch her words.

  In his dream, Juliette put on those mittens, and they fit her to perfection. Then, while still wearing them, Juliette made a loaf of bread. That was something Helena would never do. She never cooked, but if she had felt so inclined, she’d never have cooked in her best mittens.

  The most poignant dream he’d had thus far was the one involving God. God patted his shoulder and said he’d made up his mind. Tam was to live. But there was a condition: he must never marry again. Any woman that got close to his heart would wind up dead. His mother, his sister, and now Helena: all dead. Tam told God he agreed to these terms. He promised God he would stand up to the king and stay single.

  Tam closed his eyes. There was nothing to be done now but wait and see if he survived. As he drifted back to sleep, he thought of Juliette and whispered, “I will find you. No matter where you are, I will always find you.”

  Chapter 11

  Juliette stumbled. A tree root the size of a horse’s head was poking out of the ground. If she’d looked, she would, of course, have noticed it, but she wasn’t watching the ground. Instead, her focus was on Ness, the woman pulling the rope and yanking her forward. Ness felt Juliette fall and looked back with a scowling face. Juliette could see from her hateful expression that she thought Juliette witless and inept. Ness turned again, pulling Juliette along and not waiting to see if her prisoner was injured or even able to walk. Juliette stumbled again, feeling the new cuts amid the older grazes and the deep bruising from the sea.

  When they arrived at the shoreline, the wind lifted and tugged Juliette’s hair while the gusts snapped the damp folds of material against her legs. Her waterlogged clothing was such a weight to carry around. She’d oft watched sheep at home struggle to walk under the burden of wet fleece. Now she knew how they felt. She was thirsty again too.

  Ness pointed to the
shellfish lying on the sand. When Juliette looked, really looked, she saw that shellfish were everywhere. The few times she’d visited the seashore, she’d simply held up her skirts and stepped over the shells, trying to keep her fine leather boots dry. Now, all she could see was food—so much food—lying around and waiting to be eaten. Muscles were attached to rocks and to everything below the tideline. They were particularly numerous in the small rock pools left behind after the tide left for the day.

  Ness put one grass basket down and stood back, gesturing for Juliette to get to work and fill the thing. It took naught but a moment. Juliette looked up at Ness hoping she’d pleased her, but the woman stared back with dead eyes. Peering into the basket, Ness tossed out a few shells that were already closed.

  Ness’s hand movements were more expressive than her face. The angry whip of her arm said, Hurry up and fill the gaps.

  “I’m thirsty,” Juliette tried in English, then in French. “J’ai soif.”

  Ness must have understood because she jerked her head hard and responded, “Travail, puis boire.” Work, then drink.

  Ness lurched forward, dragging Juliette. Ness was short, but she was strong and stocky. There was no denying the fact she’d done hard, physical work all her life. She hadn’t gotten that strength and stamina from sitting idle. Ness pulled Juliette to the waterline where the damp sand met the incoming waves. Ness pointed out the small bumps of risen sand. Then, using her feet, she shuffled about like a scratching dog, moving the sand, and uncovering a few cockles. Ness gestured for Juliette to do the same. Then she waved her hand in a manner that meant: Now you bend and pick up those cockles.

  Juliette could do naught but stare. More food. How easy. Up until now, she’d no idea that these riches were here. Quickly, she filled the woven grass basket, but this time she carefully chose the shells that opened and closed and looked alive. If she ever managed to escape, she’d now know how to find food at the shoreline. Irrational as it was, she almost wanted to thank Ness, but then she remembered Angus.

  “Soif. Thirsty,” she repeated, hoping that Ness would agree she’d earned a drink.

  Ness smiled, a smile that was cold and mean. Mayhap she liked the idea of her captive suffering. It would serve Ness right if she fell into a parched heap and died.

  Ness then showed her how to wade into the water near the rocks, and, holding a rock high above her head, bring it down over an oyster. Ness demonstrated first. With one swift blow, the oyster fell from the rock. Of course, Juliette was the one who had to dip her arm into the freezing water and find the fallen oyster.

  Ness also pointed out the prettier, smoother-shelled limpets, but they were even harder to knock off the rock. When Juliette had a bash, she pulverised the shell, yet the limpet stayed put. Of course, when Ness had a go, the limpet fell in one piece straight into the basket. The limpets didn’t see Ness coming. The woman was like that; she crept up on you like smoke.

  It took Juliette a lot longer to fill the third basket with oysters and limpets. Ness sat and watched the sea for a while, but then, as oft happened, she grew impatient and snatched the stone from Juliette’s hand. Juliette feared that Ness was going to clout her for not being fast enough. But no. Not yet. Instead, Ness simply dislodged a few oysters and helped herself to a fresh feast. And she didn’t offer Juliette any. It was not that Juliette expected consideration. As far as Ness was concerned, Juliette was the lowly servant girl. Ness had the knife and the power. Juliette was naught more than an annoying, dumb stray dog.

  Juliette decided, there and then, to survive. No matter what, she would survive this ordeal. She’d always been single-minded and had always managed what she set out to do. Hadn’t Pa said so? Stubborn as a mule and bloodier minded than a stout after an egg. Once, she’d stayed awake all night just to see who really was stealing the precious eggs from her father’s henhouse. And even though she was as tired as the dead in the morn, she had her answer. That’s stubbornness for you!

  The thief was Vienna’s new spaniel. Juliette couldn’t tell Pa the truth about the missing eggs, though. Pa had not wanted the troublesome pup in the first place. Juliette was forced to make up a story to explain away the missing eggs. She told Pa that she’d stayed awake all night and caught his thief. She made up a wonderfully creative story that pleased her own ears but not Pa’s.

  She told her father that mice were to blame. She said one very clever mouse snuck into his henhouse, picked up an egg, and then lay on his back, gripping the egg to its stomach. Then, working as a team, the second mouse grabbed hold of the first mouse by his long tail and pulled him out of the hen house in the same way a man haul’s a boat by a rope. Juliette thought it was an ingenious tale, but Pa was unimpressed. He said what he oft said in such situations: “I should have had sons.”

  It took a long while for Juliette to collect limpets because the blighters refused to part with their rock. Worse still, the few she did collect, Ness stole and ate straight from the shell. While Juliette worked, she imagined seafood soup. She’d never held seafood in high regard afore, turning away from it at every chance. But her fickle stomach had had a change of heart. Now, she could think of little else other than a steaming broth of limpets, muscles, and oysters.

  Lastly, Ness showed her what sort of seaweed to collect. The stuff looked like dark-green lettuce but smelt strongly of the sea.

  When Juliette finally straightened her back and rubbed her aches away, her skirts were as wet and sandy as if she’d just come ashore. Still, she knew she’d done well, even if Ness wasn’t about to praise. Ness did not believe in praise. Instead, she scowled and shook her baskets, making lots of disagreeable noise. It was Ness’s way of saying: Pathetic girl. But Juliette had learned something else from Ness that late noon: Ness was reluctant. She was very reluctant to get her arms, or anything else, wet. Ness was afraid of water. That was something. She, Juliette, the one who was the useless-at-all-things Sassenach, had been tossed from her boat and had survived a fair amount of time in the open sea, in a storm no less. More than that, she’d swum to shore—sort of.

  With a renewed sense of worth, she pointed to herself and said, “Jet nage en pleine mer,” meaning, “I’m the woman that can swim in the open sea.”

  Ness scowled, but no disparaging noises rolled from her tongue that time.

  This seaside foraging was rewarding. It might even have been fun, under other circumstances and with someone, anyone other than Ness, for company.

  “Boire?” Juliette prompted again, ever hopeful for a drink.

  Ness clicked her tongue. It was her way of saying that, if left to her, the annoying English woman wouldn’t be given a drink ever again. But Juliette was starting to realise that Ness had to let her live. It was what the Irish men wanted.

  Ness thrust her leather-skin bottle at Juliette. Her hands shook when she fumbled with the leather stopper. She hated that Ness got to see how weak and thirsty she really was. Ness allowed her three glugs before pulling the container from Juliette’s mouth.

  That water must have reminded Ness that the bottle needed refilling because instead of heading back to camp, they took a long detour. They cut inland to where the bracken and brambles grew thickest. As they walked toward the dark, moss-coated spongy ground, Juliette felt the water beneath her boots. A little further on, she heard the gurgle of water rushing over the stones.

  The water was clear to look at and, best of all, did not smell of the sea. Indeed, it had an air of fresh greenery about it. Juliette lay down on her stomach and, cupping her hands, gulped handfuls of water. Ness was yelling at her again, but it did not matter. Ness was always yelling, and if she did it in Irish, then Juliette couldn’t be expected to understand. She carried on drinking. While drinking, Juliette thought about the barrage of Gaelic spilling from her captor’s lips. Why did Ness not speak French to her? Mayhap Ness could understand French, but not necessari
ly speak it, at least not more than a few words hastily cobbled together.

  Ness had attempted to keep her poor French hidden. That fact might be useful later, or it might not. She continued to drink and didn’t stop till she felt something sharp scratch her neck. Ness had the tip of her small blade pressed into the fabric of her dress.

  Ness thrust the bottle at her, and she dutifully filled it. All the while, the angry Irish woman stared. She shook her head, too, and said something that sounded like chance, the French word for luck. Ness pointed at her and said, “Chance Sassenach.”

  Chance? Hardly! Juliette did not feel lucky. If she angered Ness, Ness might just slit her throat and then pretend to the other Irish outlaws that Juliette had tried to escape. Look what they’d done to Angus. And where was Tam? Why wasn’t he in the cave with the other Highlanders? Chance, indeed! How was she lucky?

  But she’d been supremely lucky about one thing: Vienna was safe and under the protection of the king. For that, Juliette knew she’d be eternally grateful to God. Vienna would never have been strong enough to survive the shipwreck and certainly not the wild Irishmen. They’d take one look at Vienna’s beautiful face and claim her as wife.

  Feeling like a beaten and broken bear tied to her owner, Juliette trotted behind Ness, following her back to camp. Three of the Irish outlaws were back at camp lazing around the flames. Juliette asked Ness again for the drinking bottle, asking first in English and then again in French. Juliette pointed toward the back of the cave. Kenneth and Angus must be in dire need of a drink by now. But, of course, Ness simply repeated her favourite word: na.