by J. L. Jarvis
Without taking his eyes from the approaching horsemen, Jamie said, “Ellen, give me your Bible.”
“Jamie, no.” She clutched his hand. They both knew that the mere possession of a Bible would put them in danger. They could be called upon to swear an oath renouncing everything they believed in—everything they had sworn before God to uphold. If they did not swear it, soldiers had the legal authority to kill them on the spot.
* * *
Ellen was carrying the only bible among them. Mari had accidentally left hers at home. She and Jamie had bickered about it after leaving. When she realized she’d forgotten her Bible, Mari had taunted him with wide eyes. “I’ll just share with you, Jamie.” She’d grinned at his glare, knowing that sharing a Bible afforded her brother the chance to touch Ellen’s hand, which was as much intimacy as could be had in a kirk service—even if that kirk service was held in a field.
Mari continued to torment him. “Of course, I’ll need to sit in the middle to be able to see it. My eyes are so weary from sewing.” She put her hand to her brow with a pitiful sigh.
“Och! Brilliant! You’d have me court Ellen with you in the middle!”
With feigned sweetness, Mari said, “But Jamie, are you not there for the worship?”
“Aye, to worship my Ellen ‘neath the braw moon and stars.” He glared at her sideways. “With my daft wee sister between us!”
Mari had grinned broadly, thoroughly satisfied to have irked her brother.
* * *
But now, as three Highland dragoons approached, there was only one Bible that concerned him.
“Ellen, give it to me,” Jamie told her with quiet urgency.
“I cannae, Jamie. I’ve already hidden it.”
Knowing full well what she was risking, she met his eyes and showed him the depth of her love in a look. His expression pled for what could not be, for the dragoons were upon them. It was too late for the Bible to change hands. Jamie gripped Ellen’s hand and pulled her beside him as the dragoons came to a stop.
“Good evening,” said Jamie, with dark caution in his eyes.
Two of the soldiers dismounted, while one remained on his horse. The three men were a fearful lot, with skin mottled and leathered by their austere existence, but it was their leader who made Mari shudder. He had the features of someone who might have been handsome in his youth. But his nature had etched brutal lines in his features, from which two eyes reflected a cavernous soul. To Jamie he said, “It’s a bit late to be out for a walk.”
“It isnae too late for us.”
The dragoon’s tone sharpened. “Where are you going this evening?”
“Home.”
“Where is that?” asked the second. He had the look of a man who had fought hard battles and survived with even harder emotions.
“Dunross,” said Jamie as he eyed the Highlander.
“Dunross?” asked the leader, dismounting.
Jamie nodded warily.
“Search them,” he ordered his men as his eyes went from Ellen to Mari.
One soldier wrenched Ellen from Jamie’s grasp, while another circled and grabbed hold of Jamie from behind. Mari lurched toward them.
“Stay back!” commanded the one on the horse. With his pistol aimed at Ellen, he said, “I’ll shoot them both.” Mari warily did as directed.
In the struggle, Ellen’s Bible dislodged from beneath her jacket and fell to the ground.
“What’s this?” asked Ellen’s captor with a smirk.
Jamie lunged toward him, but the heftier dragoon had his arms hooked about Jamie’s from behind. Jamie struggled in vain.
The one on the horse aimed his pistol at Ellen.
Helpless, Jamie clenched his teeth in terror for Ellen.
“Will you swear allegiance to the king and acknowledge him as head of the church?”
Ellen steeled herself with steadfast grace and was silent.
“Say it, Ellen,” said Jamie in a low voice. “They’re only words.”
Tears shone in her eyes as she looked at him. “Jamie, I cannae.”
The dragoon twisted her arms further back with his iron grip, and spoke in her ear. “Swear allegiance.”
The leader studied her for a moment and then said, “Never mind. She can swear by her actions.” He dismounted and pulled out his flint and steel. “There’s a chill in the air. Start a fire for us, lassie.”
He thrust the flint and steel at her. Reflexively, she took them with trembling hands. He gestured toward the Bible, which lay on the ground, the wind whipping its pages. Her captor released her with a shove to the ground. “Light it.”
Ellen’s back stiffened.
The leader echoed the command. “Light a fire for us, lassie.”
When Ellen did not respond, the leader grabbed her chin in his rough hands and pulled her up to face him.
“No,” Ellen whispered.
Jamie watched with horror.
Mari saw her chance. All were focused on Ellen. Mari bent over and lifted a large rock with both hands. She was close enough to strike the man holding Ellen.
“Set it down.” The leader clamped his arm about Mari’s waist. She let the rock drop on his foot. He cried out a curse. She pounded her fist back to his groin and took off in a run. In a few strides, he caught up and lunged for her, knocking her down to the ground. She tried to scramble away, but he climbed over her and took hold of her hair. She reached behind her neck and grasped his wrist. She tried to roll over. She fought with her nails and teeth to be free, but he pinned her face down to the ground with his body.
Mari lay beneath him, unable to see. Ellen screamed, and Jamie let out a deep wail. “Do what you will to me, but leave her alone,” pleaded Mari.
He replied with a backhanded slap that struck her ear with a painful ringing. She lay still, trying to work through her pain to think what to do next. A rough hand took hold of the folds of her skirts and pulled up. Jamie called out Ellen’s name. A shot sounded.
The man on top of Mari shifted his position as he lifted his head to see where the shot came from. Sounds of a struggle subsided, followed by rhythmic grunting that made Mari’s stomach convulse. A single sob came from Ellen, and then another shot fired.
“Your turn, minx,” said the dragoon as he flipped her onto her back like a rag doll in his brutish hands. As he did so, Mari felt the hard shape of his dirk. As she put her arms about him, she slid his dirk from his belt and completed the embrace with the dirk in her hand. He moaned with pleasure and reached up with one hand to paw at her breast while his hand clutched its way up her thigh. Bile heaved to her throat.
Feeling her spasm, he said, “You like that, do ye?”
He let out a grunt as she thrust the dirk into his back. When he cursed, she pulled at it to strike him again, but it stuck. He reached back for her hand as she freed the dirk. With a thrust, she sank it into his side. He wrapped his hands around her neck. As he tightened his grip, she gasped and choked. His mouth opened. Sounds came from his throat, the beginnings of words never finished. His grip loosened and he fell upon her, limp and unconscious. She pried his hands from her neck, panting for air.
Hearing his grunts through the darkness, one of the others laughed. “Kilgour, need some help over there?”
Mari pushed and squirmed until she was free, then she slipped silently out of earshot and ran into the night.
Moments later, she heard hoof beats behind her. She rolled down a peat hill. There was a cave not far away. Behind, a voice cursed the soft peat that was slowing the horses. At the foot of a brae was a burn. Once there, she would know her way. She and Jamie had played here as children. As soon as she heard the water trip over the rocks, she knew she did not have far to go. Following the sound to the water’s edge, she soon gained an advantage by being on foot. She deftly maneuvered along the bank, over boulders and around gnarled trees. Not far ahead was a small cave. Just as the horsemen were nearly upon her, Mari slipped inside its moss-covered entrance, edging her
way to the back of the cave. Cowering against the cave’s wall, she forced herself to take slow, quiet breaths as she listened to the men, now on foot, leading their horses outside the cave.
* * *
Just after dawn, Mari stepped inside the farmhouse. Margaret rushed to her. “Marion! Where is Jamie?”
“Mum.” She had been strong through the night, but no more. With the helpless face of a child, she said, “Jamie’s dead.”
When the story was told, her mother sat in her rocker and stared at the fire, while tears pooled in her father’s eyes as he sat at the table and stared at his hands. It was a good while that passed before anyone spoke of what had to be done.
“I must tell Ellen’s family,” she said.
“Aye. Bring her father and some men to help bring the twa souls home to be buried.”
“Father, you ken we cannae. The English Royalists willnae let Covenanters bury their dead.”
A deep sob came from Margaret as she wept her first tears.
Archie said, “Och! I willnae leave a child of mine on the moors for the crows.” He stopped, unable to compose himself.
“No, Father.” She rushed to take hold of his hands to console him. “We must wait for the gloaming. Then we’ll go find him. ‘Tis no but a few miles from here.” Her eyes teared.
“We used to play hide and seek there. Och, how we’d go crawling and climbing. I hid last night in a wee cave Jamie found years ago. It saved my life.”
A long silenced passed.
Archie tamped down his emotions. “Tonight, then.”
3
The Minister’s Son
Thomas Blackwell arrived with his mother. He carried a basket of oatcakes, chicken pie, jelly and tea, which he handed to the maid as they all took seats in the sitting room.
“You’re very kind, Mistress Blackwell. Thank you,” said Mari’s mother.
“Not at all, Mistress Thomas.” She laid her hand on Rowena’s for a moment in silent sympathy. As she withdrew it, she said softly, “Reverend Blackwell is gathering men to go out after dark and bring Ellen and Jamie back home where they belong. They will wait until dark, to avoid suspicion. The Highland Host are all about us. No one is safe.” With a sharp intake of breath, she stopped, her eyes darting about before settling on her clasped hands in her lap.
Rowena nodded. “Aye, ‘tis a truth we ken well.”
Mistress Blackwell said, “Your Jamie was a brave martyr.”
“I’d rather he were alive.”
The maid arrived with tea. While Rowena started to pour, Thomas spied Mari through the window and excused himself.
Once outside, he approached her, taking care to arrive at a suitable distance from her so as not to prompt tongues to wag. “May I walk with you, Marion?”
When his eyes met hers, his thirsty gaze lingered too long to mistake what lay behind them. “Where are you going?”
“I thought if I walked I might keep my mind off of it.”
His lips parted, but the question that burned from his eyes was not forthcoming. “May I walk with you?”
Mari hesitated. To go walking together would draw notice, which they had both worked to avoid.
“I cannae let you go walking alone after—they’re all around us, Marion. It’s not safe, and well you know it.”
With a nod, Mari went on her way walking with Thomas beside her. In silence, they followed a path that led over a hill and past a small copse of trees. When they were well out of sight of the farm, Thomas took Mari’s wrist and led her into the trees, out of sight. Pulling her into his arms, he cradled her head in his hand and planted kisses on her forehead. “My dear Marion. I’m sorry.” A long while passed as Thomas stroked Mari’s hair back from her brow. He touched her hairpin and her hair tumbled free.
Mari looked up in sudden shock, as she reached up to put her hair back in order.
His hands grasped her wrists. “Don’t.” Burning eyes bore through hers. “Let me touch but your hair as it falls in long strands over your breasts.”
“Thomas! You musn’t speak like that!”
Thomas slowly coaxed her hands to rest on his shoulders, and her reached round her neck and combed his fingers up her scalp, through her hair to the ends, guiding the strands to the front as his fingers released the ends gently to land on her breasts. “Och, Marion, you’re a beauty.” He breathed in as he leaned close and whispered in her ear. “You’re mine. You know that you are.”
She lifted her chin as his breath warmed her ear. A tear slipped down her cheek. “My brother and Ellen have died. Thomas, how can I think of anything else?” She took a step back on weak knees and found her back against a tree.
“Let me comfort you, Marion.” Thomas pressed the full length of his body against hers. “‘Tis right that you should come to me. For you’re mine, and you know it.” And he combed his fingers once more into her hair and he pulled her to him. “You belong to me. Say it.” His body insisted before his voice did, and he put his mouth on hers and his tongue in her mouth.
Against thought or will, her lips parted to his as a thrill shot through her. His hands were on her, drawing her closer as he kissed her until her head swam. Her heart ached as an image of Jamie’s dead body flashed through her mind. Mari gasped at the thought. Thomas stiffened against her. “Marion, you’ve been mine since that day you gave yourself to me. Let me have you again.” He fumbled with the cloth that covered her corset, slipping his fingers inside, but not reaching the tips that he sought. His voice edged with frustration, he said, “Take it off. Let me touch you.”
His insistence made her uneasy. She tried to move away, but was pinned against the tree. “Thomas, no.” Pressing her palms to his chest, she tried to wriggle free, but he had her securely pinned with her arms in his grip and his body against hers.
“But you liked it before,” he whispered, as he kissed her neck. Pressing his groin against her, he slid his hands down to her skirts, clutching and pulling the fabric to get underneath.
“We should never have done it. If the church elders knew-”
“But they don’t. And they’re not here now, are they?”
“But it’s wrong. What you want is for husbands and wives, which we’re not.” She looked boldly at him.
He would not meet her eyes. “Do you think I would marry a woman who thinks she can lead me around like a bridled horse? Well, I’ll marry when I’m ready. Don’t force your will, Marion. I’ll marry when I’m sure that you love me enough.” He took a step back.
Mari put her clothing and hair back in order as he talked.
“The Bible speaks of a virtuous woman. You’d do well to read it and study it well, for you’re lacking some traits that a future minister’s wife needs to have.”
Her last vision of Ellen haunted her mind, and the thought of being touched now sickened her stomach. She had loved Jamie and Ellen, and now they were gone. What right did she have to give in to pleasures of the flesh? How many times had she heard Thomas’s father preaching about the wages of sin? How could Thomas continue to ask this of her when he knew it was wrong? She said, “Perhaps I am not the virtuous woman you would wish me to be, but to ask it of me now isnae virtuous, either.”
Thomas scoffed. “I’ve been patient with you, but you vex me sometimes.”
As he said it, his face took on the look of his father while preaching.
Mari could not absorb what she was hearing. “I vex you?”
“Aye, woman, you do.” He looked stern and unyielding.
In that moment, Mari saw her future with him, being told of her failings by a man who would never see his. It took her breath. When she could speak, she said, “Jamie and Ellen are dead. You found me in a moment of weakness. I’m sorry for that. Please show some respect for the dead, if you won’t for my wishes. Jamie wouldae approve. I willnae do what you wish on his grave.”
Her words silenced him, and his eyes grew cold and dark. Turning, he offered his arm. Mari shook her head. “We shouldnae b
e seen touching.” She lowered her eyes for a moment, and then turned toward her house and walked back alone.
4
Crying the Banns
May 4, 1679
Two weeks after Jamie and Ellen were buried, five Highland dragoons in gray waistcoats and plaids rode southwest from Glasgow atop pale gray horses. The officer in charge sat tall with broad shoulders and a comfortable confidence. From his blue bonnet, dark hair was pulled into a tie at the nape of his neck. Looking straight ahead, he spoke to his men, who flanked him two on each side. Keeping pace with the ensign’s brisk canter, they rode with abandon, invigorated by the bracing wind that swept over the moorland. Rounding the top of a gently sloped hill, they came upon the ashen remains of a Beltane fire from a few days before. Charlie flashed a broad smile. It was, by far, his most dangerous weapon. He cocked his sand colored head as though deep in thought, but a mischievous grin lurked just beneath the surface. “Alex?”
“No,” Alex summarily answered, for he knew what was coming. Alex was older by a year, with the mighty build and bearing of a formidable warrior, which made him an unlikely subject to tease. But everyone has a moment of weakness at some point in his life. For Alex, there had been only one—one which Charlie remembered in brilliant detail.
“Hughie, you remember, do you not?”
“No, I saw nothing,” said Hughie, holding up a flexed palm to distance himself.
“Och, aye, now I recall, Alex.” Charlie took his time, grinning broadly. “Remember, Alex, when you drew the oatcake marked with coal?”
Even Duncan, the quietest of the group, had to suppress a snicker.
Charlie went on. “Three times. You only had to jump over the flames three times. But you just about did a damned sword dance over the flames.” He smiled with unbridled pleasure. “‘Twas a braw dance, that was, laddie.”