He hadn’t thought of it that way before. His primary concern had been only to keep Muriel safe.
Ian and Rose cast glances at one another before turning back to Rodrick. “Ye must tell her the truth,” Ian told him. “Before someone else does.”
“Aye,” Rose agreed. “Although I am perfectly willin’ to accept the lass, others might no’ be so inclined.”
That had been his concern as well. However, it mattered not. If Muriel could not find acceptance here, he would take her away and find her a home where she could live in peace.
Muriel was more than just a bit apprehensive at meeting Rodrick’s chief, Ian Mackintosh. Though he was a handsome man with blonde hair and deep blue eyes, the scowl etched on his face told her that her wish to be turned away might very well come true. Whilst he scowled, his beautiful wife smiled at her warmly. Rodrick made the formal introductions before they moved on to the matter at hand.
Nervously, she stood in front of the long table whilst the man and his wife, studied her closely. Her stomach twisted into knots as her fingers trembled. Oddly enough she felt comforted knowing Rodrick was standing beside her.
Ian was the first to speak. “Rodrick has told us what happened to ye these past months.”
She felt her face burn with shame and lowered her gaze to the floor at her feet.
“We ken ye have had a most difficult time of it,” Rose added, her voice filled with concern and warmth.
“I would like to hear from ye, in yer own words, how ye came to be on Skye,” Ian said. He didn’t sound nearly as kind as his wife.
Muriel closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. The last thing she wanted to do was recount all that had happened to her in the past year.
“’Tis all right,” Rodrick whispered. “None here will judge ye fer anythin’.”
Muriel glanced at him with much doubt. Mayhap no’ here in this room, but out there?
“Rodrick speaks the truth,” Rose told her.
She took in another deep breath and began. “A year ago, we were livin’ in Edinburgh.”
“We?” Ian interjected softly.
“Me brother Charles and I,” she replied. “Our parents had both died the year before, so we had taken over the bakery they owned.” She and Charles had worked so hard to keep the bakery going, partially to honor their parents. “About a year ago, I was alone in the bakery. Charles was out fetchin’ flour. Two men came in.” Her voice began to crack at the memory of that night. They’d been tall, terrifying looking men. And from the moment they crossed the threshold into the shop, she knew. Knew instinctively they meant to do her harm.
Muriel explained to Ian, Rose, and Rodrick what had happened after that. They had subdued her, tied her hands together, placed a hood over her head, and absconded with her.
That morning, right before Charles left, they had argued because she had given one of the street urchins a loaf of bread. “We will never make a profit if ye keep givin’ everythin’ away,” Charles had groused. That had been the last time she saw her brother.
“After that, I was taken to Skye, to Kathryn McCabe-MacDonald’s home. She told me my father had borrowed a large sum of money from her before he died. I knew nothing of such a debt,” she told them. “But I was held and forced to work for them until Charles could repay our father’s debt.”
In comparison to Fergus and Anthara, living with Kathryn McCabe-MacDonald had seemed like a holiday. Though she had worked for Kathryn day and night, she hadn’t been abused. At least not physically.
“How did ye end up as prisoner to the ship’s captain?” ’Twas Rose who asked that question.
“A few months ago, Kathryn sold me to her brother-by-law, Fergus, and his wife, Anthara,” Muriel answered bluntly. “They sold me to Seamus Wallace, the captain.”
Purposefully, she left out the parts of how she had been abused, raped, and subsequently came to be carrying Fergus MacDonald’s babe. She was too humiliated to admit the truth right now.
Ian turned his focus to Rodrick. “And ye went to Skye,” he said. “Without notice or me permission.”
Rodrick stood a bit taller. “Aye, I did.”
“Would ye mind explainin’ why ye did such a thing?”
Rodrick felt stuck betwixt a rock and a hard place. Why had Ian waited until now to ask such a thing? “’Twas the right thing to do.”
Ian raised a brow and stared at him rather skeptically before Rose interceded. “Muriel,” she said as she got to her feet and came around the table. “Ye will be welcome here.” She placed a comforting hand on Muriel’s shoulder. “Now, come, let us get ye settled in whilst Ian and Rodrick speak.”
Puzzled, Muriel didn’t move. “There is more ye need to ken,” she said.
Rose simply smiled and urged her toward the exit. “Ye can tell me the rest of it whilst we walk.”
Muriel and Rose stood in the center of a small hut that was devoid of any furniture. “This will be yers fer as long as ye’d like,” Rose told her. “We built these little places more than a year ago, when we first returned. Most of the families have built themselves cottages, so many of these remain vacant.”
Muriel felt wholly uncomfortable at accepting the place as her own. “M’lady, as I have tried to tell ye, I do no’ think ye will want me here. No’ after ye hear the truth of my situation.”
“Before ye tell me yer story, allow ye to tell ye one of me own,” Rose replied.
Muriel was growing more frustrated by the moment. She didn’t want to accept this woman’s kind offer. She wanted to leave as soon as possible so she could begin the process of dying.
Rose did not wait for permission to begin her tale. “I have a sister. No’ a sister by blood, but a sister of me heart. Her name be Aggie Mackintosh. Ye will get to meet her soon enough.”
Sensing Rose was not going to stop until she was finished, Muriel folded her hands together and reluctantly gave the woman her full attention.
“Aggie Mackintosh be one of the strongest, finest women I have ever kent. She was strong, even at her weakest moments. Strong even when her father beat her – which he did often – even when the clan mocked and ridiculed her.”
Muriel’s curiosity was piqued. She had been raised by loving, caring parents and did not understand. “Why would her father beat her? And why would her own clan treat her poorly?”
Rose’s smile began to fade. “Aggie was the chief’s daughter. Her father, our chief, was as cruel and vile a man as ever walked the face of this earth. He treated her poorly. The clan apparently felt they had the right to do so as well.” Rose shook her head in disgust and let out a slow breath before going on. “When Aggie was all of ten and three, she was raped by a man her father held in the highest regard, though fer the life of me, I do no’ ken why. He was just as vile and cruel as Aggie’s da.”
Muriel’s heart began to break for the poor woman.
“That rape resulted in a babe,” Rose told her. “For nine long years, Aggie kept that secret. Only her mother knew the truth. Her mother passed the babe off as an orphan and raised him as her own until she died.”
Muriel’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief as she pressed her fingers to her mouth to suppress the urge to cry.
“For all those years, Aggie had to refer to Ailrig as her brother, no’ her son. But she loved him fiercely. She loved him more than she loved her next breath.”
Tears filled Muriel’s eyes. “How could she?” she asked without thinking.
Rose’s smile returned. “Because that babe was hers. No’ her rapist’s. Half of Aggie lived in that boy and that was the part she chose to focus on.”
“Was she no’ afraid he would end up like his da?”
Rose shook her head. “Nay, she was no’. Because she knew Ailrig would never ken who his blood father was.”
Muriel understood the point Rose was trying to make. But that did not mean she agreed with it. Her circumstances were different than Aggie’s, weren’t they?
“Blesse
dly, Aggie met and married a most wonderful man. Ian’s brother, Fredrick. They now have a daughter together and another on the way. Her son, Ailrig—he is eleven now—does no’ ken the whole truth of how he came to be. All he kens is that he is loved and cared for. That be all that matters.”
Muriel swiped at a tear and turned away. “I do no’ want this babe,” she admitted. “I ken that if I keep it, I will see its father every time I look at it.”
Rose placed a hand on her shoulder. “I ken all seems lost to ye at the moment, Muriel. But time can change a person’s heart.”
“It will no’ change mine. I do no’ even want to live any more.”
Rose turned her around to look her in the eye. “Do no’ say such a thing!” she exclaimed. “Ye have yer whole life ahead of ye.”
“What kind of life?” she cried. “I will be stuck with a babe I do no’ want. People will think me a whore fer havin’ a babe and no’ bein’ married! I did no’ ask fer this, no’ any of this!”
Rose drew her in for a warm embrace. “Of course ye did no’. But sometimes, God will give ye what ye need and no’ what ye think ye want.”
Muriel didn’t want to listen to such things. Her heart hurt too much and she felt as though God had forsaken her. Why should she put any belief into a kind or merciful God when He had allowed her to be raped and beaten repeatedly?
“Please, just think on what I have said fer a time.” Rose patted Muriel’s back. “Stay here, with us, and truly open yer heart and mind to the possibilities of what could be, no’ what might be.”
Muriel swallowed hard and nodded her head in agreement, even though she didn’t agree at all.
“And if, when the time comes fer ye to have this babe and ye are still determined ye do no’ want it, I be certain we can find her a good home.”
Her. Thus far, Muriel had not thought of the babe as him or her. A daughter? A daughter she might be able to accept. But a son? Nay, she could not ever accept this babe if it was a boy.
Muriel was given a pallet and blankets by one of the clanspeople. Someone else donated a small table and one chair. Rose assured her that soon enough they would have the tiny hut looking like a real home. Muriel truly didn’t care, for she didn’t plan on staying long. But she had made a promise to Rose to at least think about what she had said. Though she was quite certain it mattered not if she thought about things for a few days, a few weeks, or even a few years. The outcome would always be the same: she was not going to keep this babe. And she wasn’t certain she’d live long enough to even give birth to it.
But a promise was a promise.
Nothing in the space was hers. Nay, she did not mind having used items, for she was not the kind of person who needed fancy things. ’Twas more that she felt her life was no longer her own. She had nothing left from her childhood but memories. She was sure that anything left behind after she had been kidnapped was long gone.
Everything was gone. Nothing would ever be as it once was. ’Twas a quite sobering thing to come to that realization. For months she could think of nothing but returning to Edinburgh, to the life she once had. She and Charles could possibly reopen the bakery and start over.
But when she realized she was carrying Fergus’s babe, all those hopes and dreams and possibilities melted away like the last snowflake of winter in the hot spring sun.
Rodrick saw to getting her firewood for her brazier, and soon had a nice fire going. Muriel sat on the little chair, staring blankly at the flames.
“The evenin’ meal is about to start,” he told her. “I would verra much like to escort ye. I mean, if ye would like.”
She gave a slight shake of her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I be no’ hungry.”
“But ye have no’ eaten since we left the inn this morn,” he said. “Ye must eat somethin’.”
When she did not respond, he let loose a heavy sigh and left the hut. Muriel was thankful for the silence and the solitude remaining in his wake.
She thought back to her earlier conversation with Rose Mackintosh. Muriel knew Rose meant well and that she was trying to get her to see that something good could come out of her situation. Before the upheaval in her life, she had always been a happy, cheerful person. She always tried to find the good in every situation and in every person. But if the last months had taught her anything, ’twas that not all people were good. And sometimes, there was no bright light to be found in the depths of darkness and despair.
Oh, how she wished she could go back to being the happy young girl she was before. All of nine and ten now, she felt as old as dirt and just as ugly.
Looking about her new home was too depressing for words. ’Twas just as empty as she felt inside.
A knock at the door broke through her depressed reverie. A fissure of fear traced up and down her spine. Then she heard the words Rodrick had given her repeatedly since meeting him; Ye be safe now, lass. No harm will come to ye again.
Pushing away the fear, she went to the door, but before opening it, she asked who it was.
From the other side, she heard a woman’s voice. “I be Aggie Mackintosh.”
For a long moment, Muriel held a silent debate in her mind betwixt telling the woman to go away or letting her in. Undoubtedly, Rose had sent her to help cheer the newcomer up. Muriel didn’t want cheering up. She wanted to be left alone.
“I brought ye somethin’ to eat,” Aggie called through the door.
If Muriel’s assessment of Rose was correct—that she was a woman with good intentions who was also a bit stubborn—there would be no getting away from either her or Aggie. Reluctantly, she gave in and opened the door.
Aggie Macktinosh was not at all how Muriel had envisioned her. Her black hair was plaited around her head, framing a delicate yet beautiful face—even though one side of it was horribly scarred. Intense, gold-brown eyes were filled with nothing but warmth and concern. In her hands was a tray covered with linen.
Muriel stood back and invited her in.
“I was no’ sure what ye’d like, so I brought a bit of everythin’,” Aggie said as she placed the tray on the table.
“Thank ye,” Muriel murmured softly.
Aggie looked about the room and gave a slow shake of her head. “Och! I believe cells in gaols are better furnished than what they’ve given ye here!” she exclaimed. “If ever I mean to make a body depressed, I know where to bring them.”
’Twas odd, but Muriel liked her instantly and could not help but giggle at her comments.
“I be Aggie Mackintosh,” she said as she took a step forward. “I be verra pleased to meet ye.”
“And I, ye,” Muriel replied.
Aggie smiled warmly and took Muriel’s hands in her own. “I shall leave ye be now, so ye can eat and get some rest. ’Twas a pleasure meetin’ ye.”
That was it? She wasn’t going to lecture her or tell her how wonderful life could be if one only possessed the proper attitude? “Ye are no’ stayin’?” Muriel asked with a quirked brow.
“Have ye no’ done enough talkin’ and listenin’ this day?” Aggie asked with a tilt of her head.
Aye, she supposed she was tired of talking and listening. Mostly, she was just tired.
“I shall come visit ye on the morrow,” Aggie said. “And we shall see what we can do to make this hut less a hut and more a home.”
Chapter Six
Muriel’s first week living amongst the Mackintoshes and McLarens was somewhat busy, even if she didn’t venture out of her new home. Aggie and Rose visited her daily, and always with something new to add to her little hut. In no time, it began to look more like a home than an empty hovel. Soon, there were shelves on the wall—built by Rodrick—to hold dishes, a small bed instead of a pallet, and more chairs for the table. The two women, along with Aggie’s son, Ailrig, and Rodrick were her only visitors. She did not care yet to meet anyone else. Her shame was such that it precluded her from leaving the safety of the hut.
As much as she hated to admit it, she
liked Rose and Aggie. They were kind, warm, and generous. Not only with material things, but with their time as well. Aggie had even given her a new dress to wear. ’Twas a pretty green wool, lined at the hem, bodice and sleeves with bright goldenrod threads. She insisted ’twas a dress she had owned for an age, but Muriel didn’t believe it for a moment. There was not a stain or repair to be found on it. She was more than grateful to have something else to wear.
She had met Ailrig the morning after she arrived. He’d been every bit the gentleman, at least as much as any eleven-year-old boy could be. He had helped carry in the new furniture and other things meant for Muriel’s new home. He was so sweet and endearing that ’twas impossible not to like him.
Rodrick visited her at least twice a day. At first, his visits were short; he stayed only long enough to bring her a tray of food, or buckets of water, or wood for her brazier. But as the days went on, he began to stay longer and longer. With each visit, it felt as though something was left unsaid betwixt them. She was too tired to inquire as to what that something might be.
During those visits, Muriel came to know Rodrick better. She learned he had lost his parents and his only sibling, a sister, a long time ago to the black death. Rodrick didn’t have to speak a word for her to know the loss still affected him to this day.
Rodrick also preferred whisky over ale, but only in small amounts. I be no’ one to drink meself to stupidity, he told her one evening. She also learned that he had never truly felt at home until he came to live amongst the Mackintoshes and McLarens. She also learned that he preferred simple meals of meat pies or fish, savories over sweets. And she began to realize he had a good sense of humor.
They were taking a walk down by the stream one cloudy and breezy afternoon. The water rippled as if it were fighting against the slight wind that raked over it. All at once, the clouds parted and the wind died down.
“It looks as though summer has arrived,” Rodrick said.
Muriel agreed with a quiet nod as she glanced up at the sky. The sun felt good against her skin and she soaked up the warmth as she let her shawl fall from her shoulders. “Summer was me mum’s favorite time of year”, she said.
The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales Page 28