Molly in the Middle

by Stobie Piel

  Molly followed. The sight opening to her came from both her dreams and nightmares. Lavishly attired humans sat beneath parasols, served by other humans. And there, all around, everywhere, swarmed Miren's sheep.

  Lady MacCallum stood shrieking. Her son stood beside her, offering reassurance. A fat woman who looked like Blossom sat in a big chair beneath a black parasol. At her feet were several . . . house pets. They were tucked in around her skirts, but not one barked or misbehaved.

  Molly ignored the sheep as she studied the large woman's pets. Their situation surpassed a dream. They came in all sizes. Some with scruffy coats and big eyes. One large collie struck Molly's eye. Brown and white, of a similar type to her own, but larger. Fuller coat.

  Two on a leash resembled Muffin. But even they didn't bark.

  Muffin barked. She hopped up and down beside Lady MacCallum, growling and yipping in a manner that suggested she was, once again, out of control.

  Molly growled to alert Flip to the danger. He paid no attention to Muffin as he focused on the sheep. Herding them here wouldn't be easy.

  "I did understand that it's usual for sheep to be leery of people." The woman who resembled Blossom spoke again, still calm. "Now, this variety seems to have no fear whatsoever."

  Her voice held a graceful accent. Quite beautiful, really. Not constipated like Brent's, nor shrill like Lady MacCallum. Molly wanted a better look. She eased through the sheep and made her way toward the woman.

  "Your Highness, these beasts will be removed. Brent!"

  "The shepherds have arrived, Mother."

  All eyes turned toward Miren and Simon. Even the house pets took note of their arrival. Simon stood with his hands on his hips, blowing his whistle. Flip spun around the far side of the ewes and attempted to edge them back. Blossom had no interest in leaving. She'd found a large, elaborate potted plant, and she was feasting.

  Huntley, sheared and naked among the others, found green plants on a plate and took a slow, thoughtful bite.

  Someone needed to take charge. Flip had more than he could handle. With all the screaming and shrill cries from Lady MacCallum, and high-pitched yips from Muffin, Flip couldn't hear the whistle signals anyway. Molly looked around for Nathan. He stood near a group of females.

  Young females. They clustered around him, seeming more afraid of the sheep than the situation warranted. You'd think a pack of wolves set in. Molly didn't like the look of Nathan's companions. One light-haired female clutched a tiny white dog as if the sheep might threaten its life. She clung to Nathan in ludicrous fright.

  Nathan didn't seem frightened. He just shook his head, but he was smiling. Miren didn't look amused. She looked very small. Her hands clasped in front of her body as if in protection.

  Something had to be done. Molly made her way to the center of the party and stood in the middle of the thronging ewes. She nudged Huntley from the gentleman's plate. Hecomplied. She eyed Blossom as the fat ewe made her way between potted plants.

  Blossom neared Muffin's position. Molly hesitated. Only Blossom was stupid enough to tangle with that little fiend. Molly barked a quick warning. Muffin braced, then leapt toward Blossom. She growled, snarled, then dove toward the ewe's leg.

  Blossom squealed in fright, then spun away. The wretched mosquito hung on, her teeth gouging into Blossom's hind leg, just below the hocks. Anger blazed in Molly's soul. Passion clouded her senses. She bounded through the sheep and guests and house pets, and knocked Muffin from Blossom's leg.

  Blossom hobbled away, and Molly set herself to face Muffin.

  "Stop her! That vicious hound is after poor Muffin again! Brent, get your gun!"

  "Now, it does seem to me that the noble little collie is protecting her flock . . ." Molly caught the soft words. Ridiculous words, but flattering. She held her ground. Muffin snarled.

  Something large and black and strong came to her side. Flip. Molly's blood ran faster. He had heroic tendencies, after all. Flip growled. Muffin wasn't stupid. She squealed, tucked her tail down, and fled.

  "Well, now. That seems to be settled."

  "Your Highness, please forgive"

  The fat woman chuckled, a soft and graceful sound. "There's no need for that, Lady MacCallum. This has been a most interesting interlude."

  "Glad I am to hear it, Your Extreme Eminence." Simon sounded cheerful as he approached the queen. "The thing is, you people are getting in the way of our sheep. So if you might, well, pocket yourselves together, we'll just round them up and get them on back to their field."

  Lady MacCallum gasped. "Mr. MacTavish, you have exceeded"

  ''Of course. What a good suggestion." The queen rose and led the guests to the manor. The young females picked their way through the sheep daintily. Brent assisted his mother.

  Nathan followed the others. He positioned himself at the far end of the guests, his arms folded over his chest. Molly had never seen him look happier.

  The queen assembled her house pets and nodded to Simon. "Proceed."

  Simon took a breath, resumed his whistle, and blew. Flip worked in quick darts. It wasn't easy. Huntley had discovered an abandoned plate of greenery and proved unusually stubborn. The ewes cooperated without much resistance. Blossom limped behind them, shaken by her encounter with Muffin.

  The little rat meant to kill Blossom. Molly endured an unexpected surge of sympathy. Blossom had been enjoying herself. She'd found her dream, a field of potted plants. And Muffin turned it into a nightmare.

  Molly knew a predator's mind. Now that Muffin knew where the sheep were, she would be a threat. Flip would have to be on his guard. Molly might even lend a hand . . .

  Nothing in her evilest dreams had prepared Miren for the devastation of Lady MacCallum's garden party. The Queen of England stood plastered against the manor wall so Simon could collect the sheep. Mercifully, they seemed to be cooperating.

  Flip rounded them up and edged them around the manor. They would exit, and Miren would sneak away in the night and pretend this awful series of events had never happened. It had started with jail. No. When she first met Nathan MacCallum.

  She didn't dare look at him. She knew he was there. One glance had told her he wore a long black coat and a white shirt. She knew he looked tall and handsome, and that his hair was still too long.

  He looked better than a nobleman.

  A damp glob of dirt dropped from her hair to her eyebrow. Miren smudged it away. Her sackcloth dress was torn from her ankle up to her thigh. Miren tried to pinch it together as she eased back from the party.

  "Young woman . . ."

  Miren froze. The queen spoke . . . to her. She wondered if beheading was still an option to the English crown.

  She turned. The queen was looking at her. "If you don't mind, dear, I would like a word with you."

  Miren looked at Simon. He bowed and hurried after the sheep. "I'll move them on back, lass. You just . . . um." He turned and departed, and he didn't look back. No doubt he didn't expect to see her alive again.

  Lady MacCallum positioned herself by the queen, clutching Muffin to her breast. She looked evil and triumphant. Brent stood beside her, looking stiff. For the first time, Miren noticed that he wore a Stewart plaid kilt, argyll socks, and an elaborate brooch pinning another tartan over his shoulder.

  Miren fought an urge to groan. Her own Lindsay plaid neared black with mud, the red and green had faded. Miren stood motionless. Highland warriors didn't wear pressed kilts. They wrapped blankets around their bodies to stay warm. They chose certain colors to prevent annihilating each other in a raging battle.

  She was a Highlander. How many times in Scotland's past did the brave Highlanders face the far greater English legions? Anything less dishonored her ancestors.

  Miren took seven steps toward the queen, then stopped. Molly came to her side, and stopped, too. Miren took a tight breath, then curtsied. A girl giggled. Miren cringed.

  "You're a Scottish lass, I see."

  The queen had moved. She stood rig
ht in front of Miren. Miren straightened and looked her in the eye. Queen Victoria wasn't beautiful in pictures, but her presence far exceeded beauty.

  She was smaller than Miren, and clothed all in black. Thequeen had remained in mourning since her beloved husband, Albert, died in 1861. She wore a white lace cap over her brown haira dour image, but the queen didn't look sad. Her eyes twinkled, as if the advent of Miren's sheep had provided enjoyment.

  "I am a Scot, yes . . ." Miren had no idea how to address the Queen of England. Your Extreme Eminence didn't seem quite right.

  Queen Victoria smiled. "You are to call me 'Mam.'"

  "Mam."

  "You wear the Lindsay plaid. Is it your own?"

  Miren's eyes widened in surprise. The queen's interest in Highland customs hadn't been exaggerated. "It is my father's plaid, Mam."

  "It's one of my favorites."

  If the queen was furious, she concealed it admirably. She seemed maternal, protective. After the utter humiliation and catastrophe of her loose sheep, Miren found Queen Victoria an oddly comforting figure.

  Lady MacCallum was far more intimidating. She stood, imperious and outraged, beside the queen, ready to smite Miren from existence. "You are to beg Her Majesty's pardon, young woman, and be gone."

  Miren bit her lip. "I am covered in the deepest shame for my actions"

  The queen held up her hand. "You are covered in mud, child, but no shame." She held up a white handkerchief and wiped it over Miren's cheek. The handkerchief came back stained with dark mud and grass. Miren wanted the world to open now and swallow her whole.

  The queen wasn't finished. She fiddled with Miren's loose hair and extracted several blades of grass. She plucked a wad of Huntley's wool from her dress. "There. That's better, isn't it? Tell me, child, what were you doing with those fine sheep?"

  "Shearing, Mam."

  "I hadn't realized the procedure to be quite so . . . lively."

  "I expect it isn't, generally."

  The queen peered down at Molly. Molly wagged her tail and looked eager. Miren held her breath. Dogs of all sizes waited for their regal mistress. Miren thought of Molly's battle with Muffin. If she tangled with the queen's pack . . .

  "What a beautiful little collie you are!"

  Miren puffed a breath of relief. "Her name is Molly. She's been with me since she was a wee pup."

  "What a good dog! Protecting your flock and your mistress." The queen looked as if she wanted to pat Molly, but the constrictions of feminine undergarments must have held her back. She bent slightly and smacked her lips. Molly hopped up, placed her front paws on the queen's dress, and panted cheerfully.

  "Molly, no"

  "Oh, that's all right, my dear. Such a pretty dog." The queen bent enough to pat Molly's head. Lady MacCallum glared.

  "Her breeding is uncertain, of course, Your Majesty. A Scots dog is usually mixed."

  "Those are the hardiest kind, Lady MacCallum."

  Muffin issued a perky yip, but the queen ignored her in favor of Molly. Miren cast a pertinent glance Lady MacCallum's way. She couldn't resist. Lady MacCallum glared back with such hatred that Miren stepped back. The woman wasn't just offended. Like her dog, she had no control within.

  The queen didn't notice her hostess's savage temper. She patted Molly again, then turned her attention back to Miren. "The Highland Blackface seems to be an independent sheep variety."

  "That is true." Miren's voice came with a small groan.

  The queen cast a thoughtful gaze along Miren's smudged, tattered body. "It appears they got the best of you today. But one wonders how you received mud into your hair. Perhaps they are too aggressive for a lovely young lady to handle."

  Miren gazed upward, beyond the treetops. "It wasn't their fault. I lost my temper and grabbed one of the ewes. Our shearing wasn't going especially well, you see."

  "I see."

  "I caught one, and I didn't let go, because I was mad that they wouldn't cooperate. She crashed into the gate, and Blossom saw a way to the potted plants"

  "Blossom?"

  "The ewe that Muffin bit."

  The queen's brow furrowed in disapproval. She clucked her tongue. Queen Victoriamatronly, kind, and politestood like a large, soft shield before Miren and made pleasant conversation. Miren didn't like the English, she resented ages of domination like many Scots. But quietly, to herself, she vowed never to forget a widow's kindness.

  "Poor ewe. I trust she'll recover admirably."

  "I'm sure she will. Blossom is a sturdy ewe."

  "So you were helping your father. Admirable . . ."

  Miren's brow furrowed. "My father?"

  "The gentleman who withdrew the flock."

  "Simon isn't my father. He was helping me . . ." Miren's voice trailed off as the queen arched her brow.

  "Then who are you?"

  Lady MacCallum tensed visibly. Miren suspected they were well on their way to a scandal. She didn't know what to say.

  "Miss Lindsay is my fiancée."

  The queen turned. Lady MacCallum turned. Muffin growled. Miren's mouth dropped open and stayed there as Nathan walked smoothly to her side. He smiled casually as he slipped his arm over her shoulder.

  A sharp hiss escaped Lady MacCallum's parted lips. "No"

  Miren forgot the queen. "Fiancée? Since when?"

  Nathan dropped to his knee, seized her hand, and kissed it. "Since you bombarded Lady MacCallum's garden party with your pirate sheep . . . Before I had the chance to make the announcement, my sweet angel."

  Miren tried to close her mouth and failed. "You and I need to have a talk."

  "Will you marry me or not?"

  Miren looked around at Lady MacCallum's astonished guests. The pretty girl who had hovered at Nathan's side dropped her little white dog. Brent stood with his mouth agape, looking pale and fragile in his starched kilt. Lady MacCallum looked more like a flame than a woman. Her long face was white, her lips squeezed and tense.

  Queen Victoria beamed. Tears even filled her luminescent eyes. "There is nothing quite so dear as two hearts that finally beat as one. But tell me, Laird MacCallum . . . Why wasn't your fiancée included in the day's festivities?"

  A good question. Miren waited for Nathan's answer. Nathan didn't hesitate. He cast a loving glance her way, which she didn't believe for a second. "We thought it wiser to refrain from announcements before my inheritance was officially approved."

  "It is approved now."

  A cool wash circled inside Miren. Of course. He needed the monarch's backing to fully establish his inheritance. He had it now. An odd way of getting it, true.

  The queen clasped her small hands together. "This is the Scottish way, and I am humbled to be a part. But, dear child, you haven't answered your beloved."

  He was scheming. Miren knew it. He had no intention of marrying her. She wasn't sure how she knew it, except that Scots were practical, and knew better. She met his eyes evenly. He had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen, but they were scheming.

  "I should answer him, shouldn't I? I can't imagine why I might say no . . ." The queen sighed, and Nathan started to rise, both taking her words to mean yes. Miren pinched his hand and directed him back to her feet. "Of course, there are a few things we need to establish first."

  Nathan looked suspicious. Good. "Whatever you ask, my sweet."

  "I'll need you to contact my uncle Robert in America, so that he may come to our wedding."

  Nathan looked relieved. "That poses no problem. I'll send word to him at once."

  He started to release her hand, to rise. Miren squeezed his fingers. "Not so fast."

  His suspicions returned, doubled. A satisfying situation, if ever there was one. "Yes, dear angel?"

  "Children. I will want several."

  He tried to smile. Miren remembered his fear of taking another's life into his hands. "Naturally."

  "Seven, at least. Seven little persons who will quite closely resemble yourself." Meaning they would pillage h
is mansion, disturb his peace, and wreak general havoc. Miren liked Nathan's sudden discomfort. She found herself wishing the image she portrayed were true.

  "As many as you desire. What else can I promise you, my darling?" The way he said "promise" revealed quite clearly that it was a promise not to be kept. Miren's lips curved.

  "Our wedding date . . ."

  His eyes flashed open, revealing a brief surge of panic. He resumed his doting smile. "Tomorrow?"

  Good response. She admired the agility of his mind. He'd turned the tactic, and caught her off guard. "Not quite that soon. I need time. A good deal of time."

  Those sweet brown eyes glittered. "You'll have it."

  They were fencing. Miren began to enjoy the battle. She wasn't flustered or heartsick like a pining, infatuated girl. She recognized his tactics, and joined them. Because I am a Highlander.

  "One more thing . . ."

  He glanced up at her from the corner of his eye. "What would that be?"

  "Shearing."

  "Shearing?"

  "Simon and I are having a small amount of trouble concluding the procedure. As my affianced, and beloved, I'm quite sure you'd be pleased to assist."

  "Now?"

  "I was thinking that might be desirable, yes."

  Nathan's eyes narrowed slightly. She'd caught him right back. "As you wish." He paused as Miren tapped her finger to her lips, waiting for a further display of affection. "My precious . . . angel." He spoke through clenched teeth.

  Miren presented her hand for another kiss, which he dutifully accepted. Perhaps with less enthusiasm this time. "Then, yes, Laird MacCallum, I shall be honored in the most extreme sense of the word to become your wife."

  Queen Victoria applauded, and Lady MacCallum's guests joined in. The queen's companions seemed genuinely enthused. The Duke of Argyll and his wife were laughing, happy, though the young "eligibles" clapped with very small effort. Brent applauded in his usual stiff fashion, but he wasn't smiling.