by Allie Borne
Moaning, for the first time Merianne became aware of the sound of her own voice. Not in her mind, but in her ears, she heard the discontented rumblings of her throat. All of the harsh feelings, noises, and light were not welcome. She moaned again and, as if by rote, her hand reached for a cover. Finding what it expected, her five-fingered ally flipped the sheet over her head as she attempted to return to the peaceful oblivion from which she had come.
“She is awake!” a piercing female voice sang from somewhere above. Merianne wished for an avenging angel to swoop down and remove the shrill, fluttering canary from her presence.
“Hush, she needs her rest. Leave us,” came a quiet, sweetly low voice. Her angel had arrived. Darkness returned; quiet commenced. Merianne snuggled into her feather tic and sighed, delighted. Sleep descended.
Redland watched the lump beneath the covers. The slight rise and fall of Merianne's chest was enough to tell him she had fallen back to sleep. Carefully, he peeled the sheet back from her face. She was still pale but the deathly dark circles under her eyes seemed to have lightened slightly. Pulling back the cover even further, Bryan removed the poultice from Meri’s shoulder. The angry red flesh around her wound had also faded to a prettier pink. Touching it, Bryan was relieved to feel cool skin and not the fire of infection.
Bryan would stitch the wound himself. He had insisted on waiting until any bad blood had passed from the injured shoulder. Bryan had seen too many young men brought down by a festering wound that had been closed up too early. Heating the needle in the fire, Bryan laid out his knife and thread.
He was sorry that Merianne had to be conscious during this procedure, but he was not willing to risk her life for the sake of escaping the discomfort. Meri was no stranger to pain, he reminded himself. She could bear what she must. Redland reopened the window drapery, allowing the midday sun to stream through the clear glass. Merianne stirred turning away from the light, then cringing at the pain in her shoulder.
“Merianne, Moh Creidh,” Redland crooned softly. He rubbed her temples and smoothed her hair out upon the pillow.
Meri scrunched her eyes tight, unwilling to wake and face the imperfect day.
“You must wake up now. I have let you sleep for two days. You must rise and eat and I must stitch your wound.”
At these words, Merianne’s eyes flew open to look at her accoster. “W-what?” she croaked, her throat sore from thirst and disuse.
“Wake up, Merianne,” Bryan ordered.
Merianne attempted to sit, then gasped, lying back in pain. Bryan propped her up gently with pillows, then helped her to drink her fill. Once sated, Merianne relaxed upon the pillows and regarded the accoutrements spread before her with a jaundiced eye.
“If it were not necessary, I would not insist,” Bryan began. “Tis no’ jest that the wound is gaping and would scar terribly. Tis large and must be closed for it to heal safely.”
Meri looked at her husband, processing what he was saying for the first time. “I will have a scar?” she asked, not at all happy with the prospect.
“A wee one, my dear, hardly a scratch. None will e’er see it...except for me,” at that Bryan smiled. He could not help but feel relieved at her recuperation thus far. Even the nauseous roiling in his stomach over the pain he would be inducing was not enough to lessen his spirits.
“Let me see it,” Merianne insisted. Redland did not argue. Instead, he peeled back the bandage and revealed the open slash next to Meri’s left arm pit. Turning her head, Meri’s face paled.
“Just get it over with,” she said, bracing herself.
Redland assessed her poise and approved. She had the same clenched jaw, determination that the hardened warriors of the battlefield. Yet, even some of them had given up the contents of their stomach. Bryan brought the chamber pot next to the bed.
“If ye need to be sick, let me know. I do no’ wish for thy shoulder to tear unnecessarily.”
Merianne nodded, but kept her face averted.
“Ye will need to lie back. It will be easier for ye to hold still and the stitches will be more even.”
Merianne sighed and allowed her husband to resituate her on the bed. Turning her face away again, she closed her eyes and tried to remember the way her Grandmama had looked in her dream. She had been young, younger than Merianne remembered her being in her life time. Her red hair had fallen about her waist in wild abandon. Merianne tried to recall what it was that her Grandmother had said to her.
She understood, she knew that Merianne loved her. That was the important thing.
Pain seared through Meri’s flesh-a burning, pinching sensation, as if she were being stabbed all over again. Merianne shut her eyes tighter, hoping to recall the image of her Grandmother. Instead, the shocked face of Sir Robert stared back at her, his hands full of bloody intestines.
Twas a nightmare. Sir Robert had not been disemboweled before her. In truth, she was fairly certain that she had not seen much blood at all. Only the shocked face was a true memory. The rest, pure imagination. Had she not seen her father’s farm hand bleed out a pig once, she would have no idea what intestines actually looked like. Merianne wondered if human entrails were similar to a pig’s. She guessed that they were.
“Relax yer shoulder,” Bryan encouraged. Merianne wanted to tell him where he could shove his needle but instead she made a conscious effort to let her shoulder drop away from her ear.
“That’s better,” Bryan responded as he worked. “Almost done...Did I ever tell you about the time I got this scar?” Bryan asked, pointing to the scar above his lip.
“Nay,” replied Merianne, looking at the scar with renewed interest.
“I was fifteen. Twas a dark and stormy night. My friends and I decided to play a tracking game in the woods. Two of us hid, leaving clues as we went. The other boys had to follow the clues to find us.
“We walked through the woods, breaking the ends of random branches as we went. Twas nearing time for the fall harvest, so Andrew and I had been planning on hiding in the wheat field. We sat there, the rain dripping and the lightening flashing for a good hour before we started to feel like they were never going to find us.”
“What did you do?” Merianne prodded, relieved to have a tale to distract her attention from the searing pain in her shoulder.
“Well, we decided to explore around the area, to see if we could find a more sheltered place. If they could not find us by the time the night was through, they would owe us a dare.”
“What is a dare?” Merianne asked.
“A dare is when ye do something another person tells ye to do. It usually requires some feat of bravery or humiliation. We were hoping to make them shew up fer sword practice bare as the day they were born. They would have never lived down that ribbing.”
Merianne smiled, despite her discomfort. “What happened, how did ye get hurt?”
“We came out past the barley fields and towards the cliff face-”
“By the cave to the falls?”
“Aye, but we had not yet discovered the entrance. Twas covered with moss and ivy, completely invisible, even in broad daylight. Still, we were hoping to find some sort of small cave or indentations, as the rock face is long.
“Andrew has horrible night vision but is braver than any man I ken. He ran head long into the rock’s face, knocking himself unconscious.”
Meri’s tinkling laughter echoed softly about the room. “I laugh only because it is clear that this story turned out alright,” Merianne said to Bryan’s quirked brow. “Please continue.”
“Aye, so I rushed to bend over him, to slap him awake. I was sore disposed to losing when we had managed thus far to elude our pursuers. Just as I was kneeling down, Andrew came awake, swinging. He had had a dagger in his hand, thinking to cut away at some of the peat moss and vines, to find a secluded cave. The dagger sliced right through my lip.”
Merianne gasped, covering her own mouth with her free hand in empathy. “There must have been blood everywhere.�
��
“Aye, there was. I was so angry, I kicked him a few times until he loosened his grip on the knife. Once he realized what he’d done, he gave me his shirt to staunch the flow of blood.
“We made our way down the cliff face, feeling for an opening. Near the end, we discovered the large crevice from whence you and I came the other day. Carefully, Andrew cut away a few vines and we slipped in, returning the green to its rightful place.
“About twenty minutes later, Robert and Ian came looking-
“Ian Cumyn?”
“Nay, Ian Murray, Robert’s older brother. He died four years ago this spring,” Bryan responded quietly.
“Oh,” Merianne returned in kind. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“So am I. He was a braw mon....I think that Robert never fully recovered. He blamed me, I believe, for Ian’s death. Ian was boisterous and outgoing. He did everything to excess. Before his death, he had taken to drinking. He and I went to Urquhart for a few nights to sell some sheep. While we were there, we celebrated our fortuitous business deal with a night at the pub. Ian became so drunk that I could not wake him.
“The next day, we rode home. He looked rough, but I had seen him like that before. We went directly to his homestead. The next morning, Robert found Ian in his bed, dead. Robert was inconsolable. He did no’ speak again for weeks. He barely ate. He nearly died then, too. I suppose yesterday was his way of forcing me to kill him. He didn’t wish to live anymore, at least not while I was enjoying my life as I have been.”
Merianne listened, grieved that life’s brittle nature had led four happy boys to such suffering and misery.
“Ye’re all patched,” Bryan winked at his wife, happy to change the subject.
“And what of thee, Bryan?” Merianne asked forthrightly. “Are your wounds on the mend?”
Lord Redland did not pretend to misunderstand. “We are meant to suffer in this life and to rejoice in the next. My pain has made me a better laird. It has taught me to take nothing for granted. Art thou no’ grateful for the lessons life has taught ye?”
“A thousand times, nay. I would give up all the wisdom in the world to have my father back. Tis a poor trade, indeed.”
Bryan smiled wryly down at Merianne’s lifted chin. “You need to get some rest.”
“I was resting before you woke me. Can I never please you?”
“Meri, ye can please me whenever ye choose.”
“On second thought, I do think I will take a nap,” Merianne giggled, scooting under the cover and squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Bryan shook his head, bent to kiss his wife on the temple.
The moment Merianne heard the soft thunk of the door, her eyes flew open. She was starving and her shoulder ached horribly. Now that the nausea had passed, she could think of little else. Briefly, she considered climbing from her warm feather tick and trying to dress herself with one arm-very briefly. She would be at the mercy of those around her to remember that she had not eaten in almost two days.
“Patience is not a virtue I possess,” Merianne grumbled to herself as she tossed Bryan’s pillow across the room.
“Full of energy already, I see,” Bryan laughed as he pushed his way back into the room.
“I-I thought you had left,” Merianne stammered.
“I did. I had sent Ruth to fetch you some whisky and porridge.”
“Porridge? Truly?”
“I am sure ye think ye would like meat and bread but thou hast no’ been well. Let us start with the porridge.”
Merianne rolled her eyes and allowed Bryan to lay the tray across her lap. After three small bites of porridge, she was full.
“Take a bit of whisky. Twill help loosen thy shoulder a bit,” Bryan prompted.
Merianne nodded and drank down the foul tasting liquor. Shivering in distaste, she looked up at Bryan expectantly. He smiled as he handed her a cup of cool water. She drank it eagerly.
The moment Bryan removed the tray from her lap, Meri scooted down into the quilt and closed her eyes. The stitches, conversation, and eating had drained her resources. She was asleep before she could think to say thank you to Bryan.
Redland did not mind. He was comforted by Merianne’s swift recovery. She would need frequent naps over the next few days. By the time she was recuperated enough to venture from the chamber, his brother would be back with news about the other ‘Meri.’ His Merianne could be spared the suspicious glances of the clan by being the confirmed mistress, once and for all.
Bryan shut the drapes against the light and softly closed the door behind him. Taking a key from his belt, he locked the door with a click. No one was to go in or out but he. Partly, he wanted to keep Merianne resting and free from scorn. Partly, he wanted to keep her safe. He trusted no one else to care for her.
Ruth had approached him just that morn to warn him that someone had tampered with her ointment. No one had been injured, as she had immediately smelled the musty odor of foxglove and disposed of the jar. Still, Bryan was resolved that no one would threaten Merianne again. He would make certain of that.
~ ~ ~
Sir Andrew strode to his own tent and ducked inside. Seeing Arthur sprawled upon his back, snoring like a gorged bear, he kicked him lightly in the ribs.
“W-what?” Arthur sat up, instinctively reaching for his dagger.
“It is me, old man. Get dressed. The Impostor is up to something.”
Arthur was instantly alert. “What has she done? Is Mary safe?”
“Aye, she is. She says that this other Merianne took something from the trunk and placed it in her hair. I say we search her, then tie her up.”
Arthur nodded. “We are far enough away now to keep her as prisoner, rather than the Laird’s betrothed. I think that keeping her tied would be in everyone’s best interest. I am sorry I did no’ take the threat more seriously. Tis possible the woman would be willing to do murder to get what she wants and avoid the bawdy house.”
“How could she possibly expect to rid herself of all of us and not be caught?” Sir Andrew whispered.
“I do no’ ken what she will try to do. If I were her, I would be focusing on escape.” Both men looked at one another and then toward the tents.
Scrambling from beneath their own, they nearly ran headlong into Mary. She stood stock still, her eyes round with surprise and fear. A wild haired red head stood behind her, pressing a tiny blade to her throat.
“It seems that you have all conspired against me,” the woman’s voice rang out, an octave above it’s normal tenor. “Tis unfair of you, really, to consider tying up the Laird’s betrothed. I could have you thrashed for this.”
“Give it up, Woman,” Arthur ground out in his thickest brogue. “Thou art no lady and are no' betrothed to my Laird. He is married, right and proper.”
The Impostor laughed hollowly. “I think thou wilt find that by the time we return, there is a new Laird in the Murray keep.”
Sir Andrew felt the cold snake coiling about his stomach. It had slithered up through his intestines and was now threatening to make its way to his throat. He would surely suffocate. His eyes had not left the shaking knife at Mary’s throat. He would kill The Impostor for harming Mary. He must get her to release his love. He must.
Arthur kept her talking, “and how do ye suppose that will happen? Lord Redland has a loyal following and a strong camp.”
“There are those within his walls that would rid themselves of him. There are those without that would rejoice and support the new Laird. Tis all planned. The plan will work.”
“Ye do no’ ken Lord Redland. You do no’ ken those loyal to him. Even if he is killed, they will follow no one but Sir Andrew,” Arthur contradicted. The moment the words were said, he regretted them.
“Do not look so horrified, old man. Do not think I have not thought of that,” the woman eyed Sir Andrew speculatively.
“I propose a trade. Mary, here, for Sir Andrew.”
“Never,” Arthur returned.
“I agree,�
� Sir Andrew barked, his words mingling with Arthur’s.
“Very well,” the woman said. “Drop your sword and come to kneel before me. Then I will release Mary.”
“I will no’,” Sir Andrew replied softly. “Ye give me no guarantee of her safety.”
“I will not split the maid’s throat. She means little to me,” The Impostor continued, scoffing.
“So ye say. We must work out a better trade,” Sir Andrew walked toward the woman, his hands held out in supplication. She stepped back, nearly pulling Mary off balance.
Mary stifled a yelp as the broken blade nipped at her soft flesh. “Ye are harming her!” Sir Andrew raged, helplessly. At that moment, The Impostor was hit from the side. She flew several feet, landing with an, “Oomph!”
The jagged metal slid across the packed earth, stopping with a clink against a rock lain by the fire ring. Struggling against her unknown assailant, Stella screeched in vexation.
“Help me, for God’s sake!” Aiden bellowed between blows. Arthur sprang into action, grabbing rope from his horse’s saddle and coming to help bind the woman. At the edge of the campsite, Arthur, and Aiden tied her up so tightly she could barely breathe.
“Ye’ll hang from the gallows for that trick, Missie,” Arthur ground out, controlling his fists from slamming into her pretty face.
The woman turned her head away from the two men, not honoring them with a response.
“Where did ye come from?” Arthur asked Aiden, grinning from ear to ear at the new tale they would have for the dinner table.
“Lord Redland asked me to follow behind, to keep my eye out for any trouble, just in case Robert and the woman, here, were plotting anything,” Aiden grinned back, equally glad that the altercation had ended in their favor.
“Too bad yer first fight to the death had to be with a lass,” Arthur laughed, elbowing Aiden in the ribs.
“I did no’ see ye or Sir Andrew handling her,” Aiden grumbled, miffed at the teasing he was sure to endure.