She wanted to tell him to choke on his money, but she stopped herself, knowing very well how much something like that would help.
“You are not like other servant girls,” he said, studying her. “Daft, silly, idiot creatures. No, you are not like that at all. You look at me like one of these birds.” He waved vaguely at the cacophony before them. “Like an eagle.” He nodded, and punched the arm of the chair with his forefinger. “An eagle, fierce and unafraid. Will marriage to any man suit you? I wonder.” He paused, started to turn away, then added, “I can see why Aodhàn….” He stopped, then made a sharp gesture with one thin, pale hand. “Bah!”
That night, she stood in the corridor outside the parlor, eavesdropping. Aodhàn leaned on the fireplace mantel, one boot propped on the grate. She heard nothing untoward for quite awhile. He and his father spoke of Mingulay, of the weather, of Barra and the crofters, of Oxford and the competitive infighting between the students, and of places they missed in Edinburgh.
Kenneth finally broached the subject she’d hoped to hear more about. “The chit Lilith told me today she’s promised to Daniel Carson,” he said. “She says they’re soon to marry. So you see, your fine little romance with the scullery maid is all in your head.”
Lilith saw Aodhàn’s fingers whiten against his whisky glass. “I don’t care what she said. Lilith is going to be my wife, and you’d better get used to it.”
“I’ll cut you off without a penny to your name, boy!”
“No you won’t.”
“Don’t test me!” Kenneth struggled to rise.
Aodhàn crossed to him, pushing him back down. “Euan,” he said. “The laudanum.”
“I have it here, sir.” Kenneth’s man came forward with a bottle and a spoon.
“Listen to me,” Kenneth said. “I forbid you to speak to that trollop again. I’ll send her back to Barra tomorrow. If you spoil my plans, I’ll get rid of her— permanently!” He was coughing badly now. Blood dribbled into his handkerchief and his voice hoarsened.
“Rest, Father,” Aodhàn said. “You’re making yourself ill. Everything will be just as you want it, I promise you.”
That mollified the old man. “We’ll find you an heiress,” he rasped. Euan gave him a spoonful of medicine and bent, so Kenneth could put his arms around his valet’s neck. Euan lifted him as he added, “We must do it quickly. I want to hold a grandchild before I die.”
Lilith made her way upstairs before she could be discovered.
The next day, Kenneth kept to his bed, and in the late afternoon Faith told Lilith she didn’t need her for anything. “Go explore,” she said. “See if you can find any trees besides that one.”
Lilith took care to make sure of Aodhàn’s whereabouts first. After noting that he was writing at the desk in the parlor, she left, walking the other way so he wouldn’t see her from the window.
She returned to the cliffs on the western side of the island, which she’d fallen in love with. The wind almost always blew on Mingulay, and she loved that, too. Clouds were building, and the wind turned chill and blustery.
She crossed the frayed horsehair bridge over to Lianamul, a high, sheered-off sea stack where crofters grazed their sheep. At the farthest edge, she sat, dangling her legs over the edge, and pondered what she’d heard in the parlor the night before. It threw all her carefully constructed opposition toward Aodhàn into disarray. He’d told his father he meant to marry her? That was not the action of a man seeking a meaningless physical dalliance with a servant.
She felt the restless tumbling of the sea, coupled with a demanding whisper of wind against her face and a snow-white crescent moon rising as, on the opposite side of the sky, the sun descended. The music coiled in her blood. She could no more ignore the call than she could stop her breathing. At first she merely swayed, back and forth, but it wasn’t enough. She had to stand, to dance there at the edge, dance for the moon. She entreated the spirits of the air to come out of the clouds and join her. She could almost see their faces, just beyond her reach, pale, cold, beautiful, drawing her onward, outward. Just as she reached beyond the safety of land and into empty space, she was gripped from behind and jerked backward.
Crying out in surprise, she turned to find Aodhàn holding her. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Keeping you alive!” he shouted.
She took in his terrified expression, felt his hands gripping her shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. He pulled her from the edge, and only when they stood near the center of the sea stack did he release her and swipe one trembling hand through his hair.
“I— I was only dancing,” she said. But thinking back, she realized the voices of the sea and air had mesmerized her into leaning so far out she might not have been able to return.
He may have saved her life. He obviously thought so.
Straightening, he took a deliberate breath and slowly released it. He shrugged and shook his arms as though trying to get the blood flowing again. “Are you cold?” He removed his coat and draped it around her shoulders.
“Surely you have better things to do than follow me about, sir,” she said.
“No.” He smiled briefly. “There is nothing better than this.”
“Your father made it very clear what he thinks of me. Have you told him there’s some romance between us?”
“Of course I have. You’re going to be his daughter, and soon.”
She released an angry sigh. “Christ Almighty. Daniel’s going to be my husband.”
His lips whitened. He grabbed her arms and shook her.
“Release me at once!” she cried.
“You will marry me, Lilith.”
“I will never marry you. We both know what you want.”
He released her and stepped away, running a hand through his hair again. His jaw clenched. She sensed him trying to tamp down his rage. “I will marry you right now,” he said. “I will go with you into the village and we’ll fetch the priest.”
She scoffed. “And send your father into an early grave.”
“He won’t die. He wants grandchildren too much.”
“This is daft. It’s getting cold. I’m going back. Good night, Mr. Mackinnon.”
“Let me walk you.”
She sighed, but made no argument. The wind was beginning to bite and it was nearly dark. She smelled the rain coming.
The rope bridge flapped violently. Lilith caught her breath as she crossed it, holding tightly onto the rough handholds. The crossing went much more slowly than it had before.
They went up the hill separating the cliffs from the rest of the island and as they descended the other side, she slipped. Aodhàn caught her arm and didn’t let go. “Careful,” he said. When they came to the rear of the cottage, his grip tightened and he pulled her under the eaves, behind a cascade of ivy. He brushed her windblown hair behind her ears and ran two fingertips over her cheek to her mouth. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve been crude. Overbearing. I’ve never been patient. Give me another chance, Lilith.”
“Another chance for what? I’m a servant. You’re… not. I dust your furniture. That’s as close as anything will ever get between us. I may no’ be rich or titled, but that doesn’t mean I can be used as if I don’t have any value.”
His mouth worked, but he said, “If I swear I won’t bring up the subject of marriage anymore, or touch you at all, will you allow me to show you a few of the most beautiful and hidden spots on the island?”
“Your father didn’t bring me here to have a holiday,” Lilith said. Why was she standing here talking to him? He wasn’t holding onto her— she should leave immediately. Yet she lingered.
“What if I arrange for a chaperone?”
“A chaperone! Who has time for such things?”
“Your mother, if I say so.”
“My mother would be the first to tell you she has better things to do.”
“I’ve already asked her. She wants to go. Would you deny her an afternoon of pleasure
?”
“No.”
“Well, then. Tomorrow, if the weather is better?”
* * * *
Faith had very little to say about their outing, only that the day was pleasant, and that they should take along a basket of food. Aodhàn obligingly carried it and they descended to the village, where he arranged to have the use of a sailboat, for, he claimed, the west side of Mingulay was something to behold, and today the sea was calm enough to allow them to do so.
“Such rare conditions shouldn’t be wasted,” he said, smiling at Lilith as he put the basket into the dinghy that would transport them to the little sailboat anchored in the bay. He held out his hand to assist Faith, but she held back.
“Mam?” Lilith asked. She held out her hand too, so Faith would feel steadier. She’d always been oddly afraid of water.
“I know I’ll get seasick,” Faith said.
“Look how smooth and mild it is.”
“Not enough for me. You go on. It’s fine.”
“I don’t know.” Lilith hadn’t considered that her mother might change her mind about going. Uneasy, she said, “I’ll go back with you.”
“Not necessary.” Faith didn’t even glance at Aodhàn as she waved. “You’ll enjoy it, you like those cliffs. You should see them from below. Go on.”
Holding up the edge of her skirt, she turned back toward the village.
“Lilith?” Aodhàn said, his tone noncommittal.
She hesitated, but, in the end, accepted Aodhàn’s hand and climbed into the dinghy. Something told her he’d meant what he said about never forcing her, and she did want to look up at the western cliffs.
The Lamb
* * * *
April, 1845
XII.
“You’ve been here before?” Lilith asked.
Aodhàn peered upward as they passed Lianamuil, this time from below. “Aye,” he said. “Sometimes I’ve come here during holidays.”
“Instead of going home?”
He met her gaze. “There are times I prefer to be alone.” Turning back to the high cliffs on their left, he said, “I climbed these.”
She examined his face, trying to see if he was lying. “How?”
“Ropes, patience, skill— maybe a hint of madness. Folk have been climbing them for as long as they’ve had hands and feet.”
The boat glided into ominous shadow. Aodhàn dropped the sail and took up the oars. Lilith held her bonnet to keep it from falling off as she craned her head backward.
They entered a keen-edged split, which Aodhàn told her was called Bagh na h-Aioneig— Bay of the Steep Promontory, and she had to admit his pronunciation of the Gaelic was quite good. The air here was chilly; the shrieking of countless birds bounced and echoed. It was an eerie place, the opaque black rock rising sheer above them, unimaginably high, like the torso of a colossal ancient god. Lilith imagined him gazing down upon them with austere remote indifference, born of agelessness and invincibility.
She stared upward to the far off summit. “I stood there,” she said, half-disbelievingly.
“Aye,” he replied softly. He rowed out of the shadow and guided the boat southwards; strong southbound currents carried them swiftly along. “There’s a cave I want to show you,” he said. They passed more cliffs, some with great hollowed out caves, and he rowed them through an echoing dark tunnel with an arched roof, like a cathedral ceiling. Bird shit whitened everything.
The cave he sought came into view. As he steered them toward it, Lilith heard, below the sound of waves washing against stone, a faint, anxious bleat. She rose onto her knees, gripping the side of the boat, and saw, not far from them, a soaked, limp, wad of fluff— a lamb in the water.
“Oh,” she cried. “Aodhàn! Go closer, go closer!” She only realized she’d called him by his Christian name as he obediently sliced the water with an oar, veering them toward the animal.
She reached over the side and plucked the lamb from the water. It released another pitiful sound, along with a trail of watery blood from the corner of its mouth.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, cradling it against her. It was mortally wounded— she sensed there would be no hope of rescue here.
“It must have fallen from above,” Aodhàn said. He rowed them to the cave and with one strong swipe of the oars, pushed the prow up onto a shelf of sand. Leaping out, he dragged the boat farther up, and when it was secure, held Lilith’s elbow and her waist, steadying her as she climbed out, still cradling the lamb in her arms like a baby.
She hardly even glanced at the surroundings. It was an unremarkable cave, shaped like a half-moon, with a sand, rock, and shingle floor. A cairn of sea-smoothed rocks sat near the back, where, perhaps, it escaped being swamped at high tide. She dropped to the sand, speaking softly to the injured lamb. It was hard to tell what had happened to it when it fell. The collision with the water from so high up had probably injured it inside. It grew weaker by the moment; if she hadn’t supported its head, it would have dangled almost lifelessly. Its eyes opened and closed, more and more slowly. She could only hold it, speak to it, stroke it, and weep over it, hoping to ease its passing.
Aodhàn dropped beside her and stroked the lamb as well. She glanced up at him, and was surprised to see a sorrowful expression.
“I wonder how often this happens,” he said.
She brushed at her eyes. A few moments passed, and the lamb stopped breathing, which was a relief— at least it no longer suffered.
“It’s gone,” Aodhàn said. He put his hand on her forearm, then her shoulder. She looked up to his face, blurry through her tears, but the anguish was clear. It softened her; she only realized she’d touched his cheek when she saw her fingers there, against his skin; she quickly withdrew them, startled and embarrassed.
He took the lamb, and when she started to rise, pushed her gently down again. “I’ll do what’s necessary,” he said.
Using one of the oars, he dug a grave at the very back. As he picked up the corpse to place it in the hole, she turned away, not wanting to see, and allowed the movement, the light and shadow, the whisper of the sea, to take over her mind.
He returned. Sitting next to her, he put his arm around her shoulders.
She knew she shouldn’t allow such liberties, but he kept the embrace impersonal, the same sort of comfort a stranger might offer. She felt so heartsick she ignored her internal warnings and rested her cheek against his shoulder.
They sat that way for a long time, as sunlight traced across the water.
“I’ve watched the sea every day of my life, but it’s never right,” she said. “It’s never the right color. It doesn’t smell right. When I close my eyes, the sea in my mind is blue and green, shot with light, water you can see through, not this heavy dark wall. The sea in my mind is made of rainbows; even though I dive deep, it allows me to breathe, and it’s warm— not like this sea.”
His arm tightened, drawing her closer.
“I’ve always felt I’m in the wrong place, the wrong time.”
“There is no right place for you and me anymore,” Aodhàn said. “We’re adrift, aimless, with no answers, no path to follow. I don’t know if there is a purpose anymore, or if we’ve been cursed to do this without end, for as long as the sun rises and sets.”
Though his answer made little sense, Lilith felt he understood what she was trying to say.
If only it wouldn’t wound Daniel, she would like to spend more time with this man.
The tide rose. Heavy swells crashed against the cliffs. They climbed back into the boat and Aodhàn rowed them away from the dark, immutable cliffs and sad cave, out into bright sunlight. Lilith watched the slight mound at the back of the cave for as long as she could, and whispered, “Rest well,” as it fell out of sight. Poor wee thing, all alone, with only one, maybe two, humans to mourn it. And its mother, who would search for it and never know what happened.
Open sea brought a helpful wind; the sails filled and carried them around the southern ti
p of the island and back to the bay beside the village.
“Time for our picnic,” Aodhàn said, after he’d tied the sailboat to its buoy and helped her into the dinghy.
She hadn’t realized it until he said so, but now that he did, she felt the sharp pangs of hunger.
“It seems only right to eat it,” he said. “Since your mother went to the trouble of preparing it. Shall we go up on the hill there? Càrnan, it’s called. The day is so clear, I think we can see Barra, and over to the lighthouse on Berneray as well.”
“Aye,” she said. “If you like.”
They passed the cottage on the way up. Sarah, hanging wet bed sheets out to dry, waved, then stood and watched them for a moment or two.
Perhaps she wondered what had happened to their chaperone, and was arguing with herself over what she should do about it. In the end, she went back inside.
There was a bottle of wine in the basket, a joint of mutton, cheese, and new-baked bread. There was even a covered dish of pretty little mince pies sprinkled with sugar.
An almost cloudless sky did make it possible to see the humps of every island to the north, and over to the imposing cliffs of Berneray, with its gleaming lighthouse.
The wind was just right, more a breeze that cooled them from their climb. Puffins and gulls came over to visit and beg. They put on quite a show, which gradually lightened Lilith’s mood and sent her laughing.
She would remember the lamb though, and think of it. It was all she could do.
Aodhàn took her by surprise when he clasped her hand and kissed it.
“No— don’t,” she said, pulling free.
He frowned. “I thought we were past all that,” he said.
“We can never be. It’s impossible.”
“You’re forcing yourself to be like every other insipid female I’ve ever known. I hate it! Admit the truth. You know you want to be with me.”
She stared at him. She wouldn’t lie, but he was only half right. She didn’t want to be with him as much as she wanted to honor her word to Daniel.
The Moon Casts a Spell: A Novella (The Child of the Erinyes) Page 5