The Maclarens (The Regiment Family Saga Book 1)

by CL Skelton

  None of them had seen their womenfolk for many months, not since they had sailed from Tilbury on a three-year overseas tour. Britain and their Highland homes seemed like another world. Oh, there were mountains, but they were not green and beautiful and living; they were grey and brown, dry and dead.

  Their few casualties had all been incurred at night. All of them had been among the forward pickets, that outer ring of the double circle of sentries which was posted around their camp every evening as the sun went down. No one liked the job, and in the confines of their quarters in the fort, the old sweats who had been there before would advise the youngsters to spend their time on guard lying down, keeping still, and waiting for their relief.

  ‘It really was the damnedest thing,’ said Lieutenant Farquhar.

  He was speaking in the marquee which served them as a mess. He was referring to the unfortunate Major Chisholm.

  ‘As orderly officer I was about to make my rounds of the forward pickets, and Ian said he was coming along with me. A Company were on pickets today. Just as we were approaching the second post, there was a single shot. Nothing else, just the one. There was no one in sight and the poor chap went down. Of course, I ducked and crawled over to see what I could do. He was bleeding quite a bit and I strapped him up with my field dressing, got hold of the sentry ‒ Patterson from A Company ‒ and we carted him back here to have the surgeon patch him up. The bullet had gone clean through his left lung. He was out most of the time, but he came round for a couple of minutes, looked at Patterson and said, “James, what the devil are you doing here?” Just as if he knew the fellow. The rest you know; they shipped him straight to Lahore this evening. Anybody heard anything more?’

  Nobody had. This was the first major casualty that they had had, and the incident was immediately followed by a column at company strength going out to search the area. They all knew that this exercise was a waste of time. They did not see anybody and they knew that they would not see anybody. They came back empty-handed, of course, but with the knowledge that they had done their duty.

  A week later, they heard that Chisholm had been ordered back home and that he had announced that he was resigning his commission. In a letter to the colonel, he explained that he really had no military ambition and he would be much happier back on his grouse moor near Perth. But he did promise at the same time to offer shooting to the officers of the 148th whenever they were in Scotland, and to keep the mess supplied with grouse whenever it was in season. This happening created a vacancy in the regiment for a major, and back in Scotland, as soon as he got the news, Sir Henry pulled strings in the War Office and got the appointment for Willie Bruce.

  Each casualty or attack was followed by a punitive expedition into the hills, mounted by two companies. There they selected a village, usually at random, and burned it. But it was always the same. When they arrived at the village, it was empty, and within an hour the crude dwellings had been razed to the ground. The men detailed to do the job then marched back to their frontier post wondering what the hell they had accomplished.

  At long last their relief arrived. The 33rd Foot, a Yorkshire regiment, took over from them and they set out on the journey east. The first night, they bivouacked outside Peshawar, and three days later arrived at Rawalpindi. Another month passed before they arrived in Lahore and were established in the cantonments where they would be performing garrison duties for the ensuing months. It was the beginning of August when they got there, and the ladies had already left for the hill station at Simla. It was arranged that the officers would take leave in groups, those who had wives in the hill station being allowed to go first.

  It was not without a feeling of guilt that Andrew looked back upon the period between his marriage and their arrival in India. Both Maud and Emma had produced sons for Willie and himself. The babies, only four months between them, looked so alike that they could have been twins. Andrew had grudgingly presented himself at the christening of Donald Bruce and had given Maud twenty sovereigns for the child. Not that he had any desire to increase the Bruces’ fortune, but he felt that he had to do it.

  Andrew had discovered, almost to his surprise, that he enjoyed sex, and that while he and Emma were no experts in the matter, they had managed to make their bed a satisfying experience. But then she was six months pregnant and had, some time ago, taken to sleeping in a separate room, which she would occupy until three months after the confinement. As for Andrew, he had accepted Emma as a relief and comfort, despite the fact that he was still beset by fantasies of Maud. He believed that the pleasant physical relief which he experienced with his wife would become an ecstasy beyond description if he could only … But that was another story.

  As for Willie and Maud, they had married and their child had been born as predicted, less than eight months after their nuptials. Willie had been commissioned shortly after their marriage and had been accepted in the officers’ mess as something of a novelty, their first ranker officer. Even Colonel Macmillan had gone out of his way to make Willie feel at home. Only Andrew had remained cool in his manner towards him.

  Willie’s gentleness towards Maud expressed itself in many small ways. He would pluck a flower on his way home from the barracks, whenever possible a single rose, and he would hand it to her shyly as he came through the door. At first, he accepted her pregnancy as a valid reason why she found sex abhorrent, and after Donald was born, he understood that a waiting period was necessary. Maud was distressed because in her more rational moments, she knew that she could not find fault with her husband and she did try to please him. Occasionally, she would offer him her body, and when he took her, she would be there gritting her teeth and praying for the act to finish. Willie was all love and kindness towards little Naomi, for whom he had developed a great affection, and with the help of Sir Henry’s lawyers, he had arranged that she take the name of Bruce. There was no apparent reason why both marriages should not have been successful, each in its own way.

  Maud was totally devoted to her new child, but had regretfully been unable to breast-feed the infant. Not that this had proved any great problem. Among the ladies of the Establishment, wet nurses were de rigueur, and it had been a simple matter to find one on the estate for the baby Donald.

  Little Donald was over two and a half months old when they took him to the church at Beauly and gave him his name, and after the ceremony they repaired to the local hotel to pay homage to the time-honoured custom of wetting the baby’s head. It is probable that that was where it had all started. Emma, of course, was not present, and Maud had looked at Andrew and Andrew had looked at Maud too often and too long, and though no word passed between them, Willie Bruce had seen them as they gazed at each other.

  He was surprised to find that he was not surprised. He knew what he had subconsciously suspected, ever since Maud had agreed to be his wife, that she had taken him because she could not have Andrew.

  The first time it had happened had been on the hill in the heather. Their meeting had been accidental, or almost so. Andrew, who had spent a great deal of his free time walking the hills, had almost instinctively tended to take his walks in the direction of Cluny Cottage, and it was on the fourth or fifth occasion that he had actually met Maud. She was alone; he knew that Willie was orderly officer that day and consequently could not be in the vicinity, and they had recklessly and unreservedly made love.

  The following night, when Willie returned home and approached his wife, she had a headache. The next night she had a headache again, and then again, and then Willie began to wonder. In the mess, Andrew began to avoid him even more than he had done previously, and when he spoke to him, he never looked him in the eye. However, the thrill of illicit love drove Andrew to seek out Maud more and more. He used his position as adjutant to issue an order that no officer could exchange duties with another, a common practice, without Andrew’s prior knowledge and approval, and this was never easily obtained. Somehow Willie always found himself on duty on those days when Maggie Bu
channan would not be at Cluny, for Andrew still avoided Maggie.

  This state of affairs could hardly go on for ever. One evening, Willie returned home after a spell of duty. Maud was sitting in the bow window watching the fine rain which was making little rivulets on the panes.

  ‘Do I no get a greeting from ma wife?’ he asked tersely.

  ‘Oh, hello, Willie,’ Maud replied tonelessly and held her cheek up so that he could kiss it.

  Willie seized her by the chin and kissed her full on the lips.

  ‘Willie, please! Maggie might come in.’

  ‘Where’s Naomi?’ he asked, ignoring her.

  ‘It’s eight o’clock; she’s in bed. Willie, have you been drinking?’

  ‘I had a dram before I left the mess. What’s for supper?’

  ‘Lamb chops. Maggie couldn’t start cooking until you arrived, so they’ll be about ten minutes.’

  ‘Just time for a dram, then,’ he said, going over to the sideboard. ‘You want one?’

  ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ she asked, ignoring his offer.

  ‘When I think I’ve had enough, I’ll stop. I dinna need any advice.’

  Willie took his whisky, watching Maud intently and in silence as he sipped it.

  ‘Willie, is there something wrong? You seem to be behaving rather strangely tonight.’

  He was about to say something, but Maggie came into the room to tell them that supper was ready.

  They ate their meal, as had become their habit, almost in silence. When they had finished and Maggie had cleared away, Willie went through to the kitchen.

  ‘Maggie,’ he said, ‘awa’ home to your ma. You can come back in the morning.’

  He went back to the sitting room and poured himself a large whisky.

  ‘Where’s Maggie?’ said Maud.

  ‘I’ve sent her home.’

  The children were upstairs in bed and asleep, and for all practical purposes, he was alone with Maud. He drank his whisky and then returned to the decanter and poured out another. All this time he was watching her, never taking his eyes off her. She, embarrassed by his scrutiny, tried to take refuge in sewing, and when that failed to work, picked up a book, opened it, and pretended to read, but all the time she was aware only of his stare. He did not seem angry; if anything, he seemed cynically amused. But he did not speak, and she felt that she wanted to scream if only to break the silence.

  ‘You’ve had a hard day, I suppose,’ he said, echoing the words with which she had greeted him.

  ‘Well ‒ you know …’ she replied.

  ‘No, Maud,’ he said. ‘I don’t know, and I’d be grateful if ye would tell me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she said, afraid of his tone. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Did you see Andrew Maclaren today?’

  His tone was casual, but she started at the mention of Andrew’s name. ‘Why do you ask?’ she said.

  ‘No reason. I ken he’s in the habit of walking a great deal and just wondered if he might have wandered in this direction.’

  ‘Why this way rather than any other?’

  ‘I think,’ said Willie, ‘that ye should be the one to tell me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell, nothing. I have had enough of this ridiculous conversation. I think I shall go to bed.’

  ‘Aye, lassie,’ said Willie. ‘You’ll go to bed, all right.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You’ll have no headache tonight.’

  ‘I ‒ I ‒ haven’t been very well lately.’ She was getting frightened.

  ‘I’m well aware of that,’ he said. ‘And I think I know the cure. Stand up.’

  ‘Please let me go to bed.’

  ‘Stand up.’

  ‘Don’t you start ordering me about, Willie Bruce; you don’t own me.’

  ‘Oh, but I do. Stand up or I’ll drag ye up.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Well,’ he replied, and his tone was casual, ‘if ye must know, I’m going to have ye.’

  ‘How dare you talk to me like that!’

  Willie did not reply. Instead he got up, walked across the room, and stood towering over her. ‘Get up, Maud,’ he said.

  ‘Willie, please ‒ please ‒ you’ve had too much to drink. You ‒ you’re not sure what you’re doing, you ‒’

  ‘I ken exactly what I’m doing and so do you,’ and he grabbed her arms and dragged her to her feet. ‘First,’ he said, ‘we’ll have a look at what I’m getting.’

  ‘Willie, you can’t do this, you’re mad!’

  ‘That is quite possible. Take your clothes off.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing,’ she hissed.

  ‘All right,’ he replied. ‘I’ll help.’

  He took her dress by the shoulders and with one powerful movement spread his arms wide. The thin silk garment ripped down the middle and fell to the ground.

  ‘Now,’ he said, and started to unbuckle his kilt.

  As soon as he released her, she ran to the fireplace and grabbed the heavy brass poker. ‘If you come near me, I’ll kill you,’ she screamed.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ he said calmly, walking towards her, and as she raised her arm to strike, he seized her wrist and twisted the poker from her hand.

  She fought and scratched and spat at him like a wild animal.

  Then he took her.

  At first she continued the fight, scratching and clawing at him until suddenly her body went limp beneath him and she started to moan, quietly, and then louder, with her breath coming in great gasps. This was something that she had never experienced before. She never knew that it could be like this, brutal, animal, and voluptuous rapture.

  When he had finished, she lay there on the floor gazing at him, unable to speak, triumphant in her defeat. He left her and went over to the decanter and poured out another whisky.

  ‘Now’s your chance,’ he said, and he stood facing the wall. ‘If ye want to hit me wi’ yon poker, ye can do it while ma back’s to you.’

  ‘Oh, Willie,’ she said. ‘Oh, my darling.’

  ‘If ye dinna,’ he said, ‘get upstairs and into bed. Maybe I’ll want more.’

  ‘Don’t be long, my darling. Please. Hurry.’ And she went out of the room.

  Half an hour later, he came upstairs and took her again. Then he got out of bed and started to dress.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she said. ‘Can’t you stay with me?’ She was lying there, soporific, satiated, and sensually satisfied as never before. ‘Come back to bed, Willie.’

  ‘If ye want me, I’ll be in the mess.’

  After he had gone, Maud lay in bed luxuriating. She was not worried. He would come back, he had to come back. He had to do it again. She lay there trying to recall the passion of that which she had never experienced before, wondering how her body could be capable of such joy, until finally she fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

  But Willie did not come back. Not the next day, or the next, or the next, or even the day after that. It was over a week before he set foot in the house again. When eventually he did, his manner was cool, correct, and offhand. Maud, who had welcomed him without a word of reproach, was worried. She was worried because at last she really wanted him as she had never wanted any other man in her life, and there he was, her own husband, making no approach to her.

  Perhaps, she reasoned, he was ashamed of his behaviour. Perhaps if she could show him that there was no resentment on her part, then it would be all right. As they sat together, alone in their gas-lit sitting room, he reading with a glass of whisky at his elbow, and she with an open book on her knee and not looking at the words, she knew that she must try.

  ‘Willie,’ she said, ‘shall we go to bed?’

  ‘Awa’ you go if you’re tired,’ he replied, not looking up.

  ‘I’m not tired,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t thinking of sleep. I thought you might like to come with me.’

  He smiled, that slightly cynical smile which
he seemed to reserve for her. ‘I didna have that in mind.’

  Then she tried to be frank with him. ‘Willie, it’s all right, you know. I’m not annoyed about what happened last week. It was wonderful.’

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ replied Willie, and turned a page of his book.

  ‘Put that damned book down!’ she almost screamed.

  ‘No,’ he replied calmly. ‘And this book is no damned; it is Pilgrim’s Progress.’

  She stood for a moment breathing heavily, and then snapped at him, ‘If you don’t want me, then why do you bother to come home at all?’

  He laid his book down and looked at her. ‘I’ll tell you, Maud. Firstly, because it is my home, too, and secondly, there’s another reason. If I don’t spend time here, if I am not with my wife on off-duty nights, there will be talk. Mind you, as far as I am concerned, I don’t give a damn what they say. It doesn’t worry me. But I do give a damn about the good name of the regiment. I’m an officer now, and one day I am going to be a general, so I’ll have no scandal attached to my house.’

  The hurt was greater than if he had struck her across the face. Without another word, she gathered up her things and went to her room, knowing that he would not follow.