by J. L. Jarvis
She arrived there to find soldiers in plaids—Highland dragoons roaming the grounds as if it were their right. Other royalist Highlanders had descended upon nearby farms and estates, but her family’s farm had escaped notice. But that was before Jamie and Ellen were killed. Now both their families were suspect. Five men were to be quartered here, and her family would have to house and feed every one of them.
Mari rounded a corner of the byre and bumped into a Highlander. Others were standing nearby, looking as though they’d had a few drams. Even though they were not the dragoons from the moor, they were royalists just the same. The sight of them brought a flush of panic to her face as the feelings returned of her last evening with Jamie and Ellen. Her heart pounded. Had they been sent to finish the job they had started? She told herself it could not be. They would have been waiting for her, not standing about drinking whisky and laughing. But she could not gain control of her fear.
“Easy, dearie.” Alex steadied her by taking hold of her shoulders. She had bumped into him, and seemed about to stumble. She pulled free and continued on her way.
She was soon flanked by a soldier on either side, arms hooked in hers. On her left, Charlie said, “Dinnae mind my friend there. Alex has spent so much time reiving cattle, he dinnae ken how to woo a real woman.” He laughed and dodged a smack on the back of his head from Alex.
She glanced nervously from one to the other.
“Charlie, dinnae frighten the lass,” Duncan said gruffly.
“Dinnae be daft!” Charlie grinned and began to sing. Alex joined in. Hughie picked up his fiddle and played. Charlie took hold of her waist and whirled her about in a dance. She grew dizzy and gripped his arms just to stay balanced.
* * *
It's of a shepherd's daughter,
Kept sheep on yonders hill.
A squier's son came riding by,
And he fain would have his will.
You and I, you and I,
He fain would have his will.
"He took me by the hand,
And by the silken sleeve,
And gently laid me on the ground
Before I gave him leave."
You and I, you and I,
Before she gave him leave.
"Since you have had your will of me,
Pray tell to me your name,
That when my baby it is born
I can call it by the same."
You and I, you and I,
Can call it by the same.
"Sometimes they call me Jack," said he,
"Sometimes they call me John,
But when I'm in the fair king's court
My name is Sweet Will-yum."
You and I, you and I,
Can call it Sweet Will-yum.
* * *
The men were stomping and singing and passing her, spinning, from one to the next as they danced. She tried to pull away, but could not get free. This was what the minister called promiscuous dancing. She had been cautioned against it since she was a child. If anyone saw her, she would surely be called before the kirk to answer for this sinful display. The savage Highlanders laughed as the bodhrun beat quickened. A tear slipped down her cheek.
Abruptly a pair of strong hands gripped her dance partner’s shoulders and pushed him aside. Alex whirled about and pulled back his arm for a punch, but a fist caught his jaw unawares and he staggered back a step, and then lost his balance and fell to the ground.
Callum took her hand firmly and guided her protectively behind him. She followed his lead, at the same time relieved yet unsettled by his sudden presence as she steadied her breathing. She did not want her heart to leap just because he was near. Women were not supposed to feel such desire! But the strong shoulders in front of her fell at eye level, and made her want to lean closer and breathe in his scent, touch the leine that hung over his back, and feel the skin underneath it.
“This lady isnae for the likes o’ you lot, ken?”
“Aye,” came their submissive replies as they exchanged glances. When those looks hinted at grins, Callum quelled them with a glare.
Still sternly eyeing his men, he said, “They’ll not bother you again, lass.” Barely glancing at her, he looked back at the men to deliver one more look of warning.
He offered his arm. Mari hesitated, but seeing his men looking on, she took it, both for protection and so she would not humiliate him in front of the men he had just rebuked for her sake. But his touch made her nervous. She rested her hand on an arm that was hard with muscles. And it was warm. Callum guided her around the corner of the byre and stopped, turning to her.
“Lass.” The deep voice he had used with his men was now gentle. His eyes softened, but maintained a cautious reserve. “Dinnae judge them too harshly. The lads were only having some fun. They didnae mean to upset you.”
“Aye, well—” She stopped herself before saying that they had indeed upset her. Instead, she forced a nod of acceptance as she took a step backward. “Good evening.” She set off in brisk strides toward her house.
“Lass!” he called after her. He lowered his voice and said to himself, “You need not run from me. I’ll not harm you.”
The heavy door closed.
7
Not Forgotten
“Is that you, Marion?” asked her mother.
“Aye.” Having escaped to the safety of her home, Mari feared, from the tone of her mother’s voice, a request would soon follow.
“Sally is ill. Would you please do the milking?”
Mari inwardly groaned, but said in a pleasant tone, “Aye, Mum.”
“But mind you, stay clear of those Highlanders.”
“Aye.”
She stood at the door for a moment, heaved a sigh, and set out for the field, where she gathered the cows and led them back to the shed. Before long, Callum was there, too conveniently timed for mere chance. He grabbed a spare milking stool and sat beside her. Mari cast a deliberately indifferent glance, and began milking the poor cow with marked vigor and flushed cheeks, yielding little milk but increasing frustration.
“Easy, lass.”
Gently, he put his hands on her wrists, which she slipped away quickly. His amusement showed only in his eyes, which settled on her for a moment, unseen. He took over the milking and yielded much better results.
Now fully vexed, she said, “I’ve been milking cows since I was a wee child. I think I must ken how to do it by now.” She refused to look at him except for his hands, upon which her eyes rested.
“Aye, but you looked about to pull the teats right off of her.”
Her head snapped toward him. Now flustered, she glanced away just as quickly. She could not let him see how he affected her.
“You’ve got to help her relax so the milk will come down.”
A blush tinted her cheeks. “Do you think I dinnae ken that?”
He cast a gentle grin toward her, but refrained from comment. The Highlander then proceeded to stroke the cow’s udder with his palm. His hands were large and well formed, and his touch was gentle. Mari’s mood softened, the realization of which unsettled her more. She got up and moved on to the next cow, where she fought for composure.
A long while passed before either spoke. Mari lost herself in the rhythmic spraying of milk into the pail. Callum finished the first cow and moved on to another. Mari listened, but would not watch him walk by.
The late afternoon sun was nearly gone when Callum finished. Mari was not quite done with her last cow when he sat down beside her.
“I’m sorry about the dancing. The lads meant no harm.”
“Aye, so you said.” She stopped milking and looked at him. She wished she had not, for his eyes held a power that disturbed her. She lowered her eyes, only to notice his lips and recall how they felt when they had kissed. Steeling herself, she said, “We dinnae indulge in singing and dancing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He studied her in a disquieting way.
Mari returned to her milking. “
Our ways are very different from yours in the Highlands.” She said this as much to herself as a reminder that he and his men had invaded her home with their wild Highland ways. They were different. They could never be anything to each other—not that she had ever thought they could.
“We are nae as different as you think.”
His voice resonated too close to her ear. Deep and rich, its timbre weakened her. She missed a beat in her milking. “Aye, we are, and there’s no changing that.”
She got up to empty her pail. He took it, and she let him carry it for her. Then she chided herself for having done so. Everything was too easy with him. Every touch, every look, and every word that he spoke won her heart before her will could prevent it.
“Lass, I’m not your enemy.” But as he said it he looked away, for he knew he was wrong.
She flashed a look of triumph and said, “You are my enemy, and you ken it. You Highlanders moved into our homes as if you belonged, but you dinnae belong. We dinnae want you here, and we’ll never forget what you’ve done!”
“I have a duty to my clan, and this is part of it. I willnae apologize for that.”
“How could we lowlanders possibly matter to you or your clan way up there in the Highlands?”
Anger flared as he interrupted her. “I might ask you the same. What did we matter to you when thousands of Campbells—your fellow Covenanters—marched into our homes? And your people did not merely quarter there, as we are doing here. They killed our women and children and laid waste to our glen. And we have not forgotten. You’ve suffered a loss, and I’m sorry. But you are not alone in the suffering of losses.”
Her eyes flashed in protest, while at the same time her feelings of guilt kept her silent.
His eyes met hers directly. “My mother watched your blessed Covenanters destroy everything our family owned. Then they murdered her mother. When her father fought back to defend her, they murdered him, too. My mother was spared because she ran into the hills and escaped them. But other bairns and their mothers were killed. And what had they done to deserve it?”
Mari said, “I dinnae ken about that. The Covenanters I know are good men who fight for our freedom to worship.”
“By destroying ours? Lass, I dinnae care a whit about whether you pray to that hedgerow over there. But while your Covenanters hide behind the skirts of religion, they are plotting to bring down the monarchy, and that I cannae abide.”
“I have not heard talk of that.”
“Aye, well it may not have made it to your wee world here, but it’s there just the same.”
His arrogant tone made her bristle. “In that case, our ‘wee world’ can hardly be worth your trouble. So why are you here?”
“Because our chief called us to serve.”
“He calls, and you fight—without question?”
“The more trust a man has, the fewer questions he need ask.”
“And you trust that what you are doing is right?”
“Aye. It’s a matter of duty and honor to my chief and to our king.”
“Aye, well that sounds very manly, but explain to me this: Monarchs go back and forth—from Catholic to Episcopal to Presbyterian. If the king is divinely appointed by God, then why cannae God make up his mind which church he should go to?”
He took firm hold of her shoulders and looked as close to anger as she had seen him. “Say what you will to me, but dinnae let others hear you talking like that. Some might call it treason.”
She quashed an unsettling fear as she lifted her chin and spoke her mind. “Whisht! That’s a convenient answer when you’ve not got a real one.”
His eyes hardened. “A real answer? Here’s my real answer: Your Covenanters slaughtered my kinsmen and now threaten my king, and I will fight back.”
“They may have been Covenanters, but they were not my people. How can you blame me for that?”
“How can you blame me for the death of your brother and friend? And yet I see it in those bonnie green eyes of yours, lass.” His frank gaze bored through the fierce indignation that brightened her eyes and colored her cheeks.
Her lips parted. The sight transfixed him. “Marion,” he said tenderly, lifting his eyes to meet hers.
“How did you ken my name?”
He glanced off to the side. He had been sent to find James McEwan; he knew every name in her family, as well as her neighbors, but he could not admit that to her. So he said, “I’ve heard them calling you that.”
She studied him for a moment. “Oh.”
His eyes searched hers. She was wholly uneasy. They’d met when she was at her weakest. He knew too much about her. And now, just by looking at her, she felt his gaze through to her heart. She could not let him affect her so. Chest pounding, she turned away and picked up a pail of feed for the chickens as though he were not there.
“Mari—”
She kept walking.
He called after her. “Mari will suit, I suppose, as I willnae be given time to say more.”
Had she not been so distraught, she might have smiled as she went outside to feed the chickens.
8
Traitorous Heart
When, some while later, Mari was obliged to return and complete her chores, she entered the byre and exhaled in relief to not see him.
“I would have a word with you.”
Mari flinched at the sound of the quiet, firm voice from the shadows behind her. She turned around to find Callum, arms folded, leaning casually against a timber post.
She let her eyes meet his. A mistake. His gaze burned into hers. She diverted her eyes to the empty chicken feed pail in her hands. To set it down in its proper place would bring her nearer to him, so she clutched it tensely. Dusk was settling in, cloaking them both in its shadows.
“I cannae talk with you here, or anywhere for that matter.” She quickly glanced at him, but the way he was staring at her made her more ill at ease. She impulsively pivoted away, but he grasped her wrist before she could escape. The pail dropped with a shallow clang. She froze, unwilling to turn toward him. Twisting her hand, she tried to free herself, but he pulled her gently yet firmly to face him. When her eyes met his, he frowned to see her expression. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the thrum of her heart in her ears. He studied her hand as he held it.
She hated the way that with only a touch he dissolved the emotions she wielded against him and drew others she could not control. She tried to slip her hand from his to escape, but he held it and stroked it with his other hand.
“Let me go, please,” she said weakly. She looked about to make sure no one was watching. He is your enemy. Your brother and dear friend are dead! But her logic rebelled. He did not do it, any more than I killed his kinsmen. We both share similar grief and lack similar guilt. But still, we are opposed.
“Mari.” He paused, searching for what to say next that would not set her into flight. In an effort to distract her and put her at ease, he said, “Do they call you Mari?”
“No.”
“Then I will.”
“Sir—or rather, Soldier… ”
She was flustered, which gave him hope. He regarded her with quiet confidence. “Ensign.”
“Ensign,” she said, but then paused, blushing as she forgot what she had wanted to say.
“MacDonell. Although, after I’ve been kissed, I tend to answer to Callum.” A grin tried to form on his lips, but he checked it.
“Ensign MacDonell, you asked for a word with me. Now that you’ve had it and more, would you please let me go?”
He stared at her hand for a moment, then looked away with a troubled expression. “I must tell you something.”
“No, please do not. What happened before was a mistake. There is no more to say.”
He frowned, even though he agreed. “It’s not that.”
He stopped himself before blurting it out: Your brother is alive. He had not planned it, but his good sense seemed to fail in her presence. He wanted her to know there
was hope. He had the power to ease her grief. And yet, what if her brother were not still alive after all? He could be mistaken. He struggled to make his thoughts clear. Did they have solid proof? Who in St. Andrews really knew James McEwan? What if someone, under threat of torture, had offered up his name, knowing he was dead? People did desperate things to avoid torture. What better way to appear to cooperate and yet not put another at risk than to say that a dead man had done it? If he proceeded to tell Mari that her brother was alive and it turned out not to be true, he would cause her more grief. And if James were alive, why had the lad not told his own family? If he did not want his family to know, did Callum have the right to tell them otherwise? Callum could not help but question his own motives. What would he more likely ease, her suffering or his conscience? No, it was too dangerous. There were too many questions attached. To speak now, without knowing the answers, could yield unexpected and uncontrollable results. He was not ready to risk Mari’s heart or the lives of his men. Suppositions were dangerous things.
Mari said, “If you have something to say, please say it now, before someone sees us.”
He loosened his grip on her wrist and stroked the edge of her sleeve with his thumb while he searched for the words. In a quiet voice, he said, “Mari,” and lifted his eyes to meet hers with a smoldering look.
Unable to hold his gaze, she glanced down, now spellbound by his thumb as it stroked the folded edge of her sleeve. “You are too familiar, sir. If someone saw…”
With a reluctant nod, he withdrew his hand. “Forgive me. You’ve bewitched me.”
She swung her arm to slap him, but he caught her wrist neatly and held it. “If I’m to be struck, I’ll first ken the reason.”
“You accused me of witchcraft and disguised it as flattery.”
He was nonplussed. “I said what I feel.”
“As though I were to blame for your lack of control.” As she said it, the heat rose to her face. The mere thought of control or lack of it implied emotions she could not properly think, let alone speak: carnal emotions that scared her, most of all because she felt them, too.