Fergus had come here in hopes of finding a new housemaid. One that he could use and one that his wife would find no objections to. Due to the reputation he’d garnered on Skye, most young women refused to work in his home. Deciding it best to leave the island in search of a suitable young woman, he had stopped here to eat and rest a bit before resuming his search.
But now? After eavesdropping on the conversation at the table next to his, he felt more than just warm. He was downright giddy as he reran it over and over in his head.
“I never thought I would see the day that Rodrick the Bold would dote after a lass nor a babe,” the older of the two men had said. “But see it I have, with me own eyes.”
“Ye jest,” came the reply of the younger man with long blonde hair and a scar running across his forehead. “It can no’ be the same Rodrick the Bold I ken from his days with Clan MacElroy.”
“I tell ye it is!” The old man argued before taking a long pull of his ale. “He walks around showin’ the bairn off to anyone and everyone.”
The younger man whistled and shook his head in disbelief. “She must be a fine woman, to make Rodrick hang up his sword.”
The older man laughed heartily. “She must be, fer the babe be no’ even his!”
“What?” The younger man asked as he leaned in closer. “How can that be?’
The older man shrugged his shoulders. “I do no’ ken who the babe belongs to, but it be no’ Rodrick’s. He came back last year, havin’ rescued the lass from some ship captain. Stole her right off the Isle of Skye, he did.”
That had been when Fergus’s ears perked up like a wolf hearing the scurrying feet of an unsuspecting rabbit. Ship captain?
“Aye,” the older man nodded when the young man whistled again. “Captain Wallace, I believe his name was. I was told,” he said, leaning across the table to share his secret, “that the captain bought the lass off Fergus MacDonald. Right angry, Wallace was, fer he had no’ had the time to enjoy her as he wanted.”
“Did Wallace go after them?”
The old man gave a nod and a wink. “Fer a few days. But he had to turn back, fer they could no’ delay any longer.”
Fergus downed his mug of ale and did his best not to smile. His gut told him Muriel’s babe was his.
Oh, how his father and brother were going to eat their pride!
His father’s edict said nothing about the legitimacy of an heir. Not one word. His mind raced with images of his father’s crestfallen face when Fergus would present his new grandchild to him. “I have sired a babe,” he would tell him. He would, of course, feign a great amount of fatherly pride toward the bastard babe. But he had to wonder if his wife would accept his cast off as her own? Of course she would, he mused. Anthara wanted a babe of her very own, more than she wanted anything else.
This babe would be all the proof they needed that their lack of children was her own fault, not his. She would have to accept the cold hard truth of it. And when she did, she would be so busy tending to her new child, so filled with joy that she would look the other way while he had his fun.
He tossed a few pieces of silver on the table and quit the tavern. He had to return to Skye and gather a few hardened men who would not balk at taking a babe from its screaming mother’s arms. As he all but skipped back to the ferry, it suddenly dawned on him that he did not know if the child was a boy or a girl. It did not matter. All that mattered was that he had in fact sired a child.
Och! Me da and brothers will rue the day.
Chapter Fifteen
Rodrick stood in the gathering room, looking into the worried eyes of his laird. They had just finished listening to two young men who patrolled their borders give them most disconcerting news.
“Ye be certain ’twas Randalls that attacked?” Ian asked.
“Aye,” said the one name Thomas. He was a tall, gangly man, with long light brown hair and blue eyes still filled with astonishment and fear. “Ten of them,” he added.
Ian’s jaw was clenched, his eyes filled with fury. The Randalls had just raided their southeastern border. Thankfully, no one was killed, but one of his men was seriously injured. The reivers had made off with five head of cattle to boot.
They could ill afford any losses at the moment, whether it be men or precious livestock. For more than a year now, they had been busy rebuilding all that Mermadak McLaren, their former laird who was now burning in the bowels of hell, had torn asunder. It would be years before they could breathe with any amount of relief. Years of hard work lay ahead before the clan would ever get back to the fine, large a clan it once was.
This raid could not have come at a worse time.
Ian looked at Rodrick. “I say we visit the Randalls,” Ian said. “And get our bloody cattle back.”
Rodrick nodded in agreement. He looked just as mad as Ian. “We need to make certain the keep is guarded well,” he said. “The Randalls might be usin’ this as a means to attack while we are away.”
Ian nodded, his lips pursed, his brow drawn into a hard line. “The bloody bastards!” He ground out.
Rodrick grunted. “They be more mercenary than anything,” Rodrick offered. “There be somethin’ off about all this.”
“We have never had issue with the Randalls before,” Ian said. “I never thought them allies, but I never felt the need to worry over them.”
“Ye worry over everyone,” Rodrick said. “Unless they be yer blood kin, ye should trust no one.”
Ian turned his attention back to the two young men. “Go, get a meal and a wee dram to settle yer nerves.”
The two men cast wary glances at one another before Thomas asked, “What then?”
Ian glanced first to Rodrick before answering. “Then prepare yerselves fer battle.”
Rodrick hated to leave his wife and daughter for any length of time. He most especially did not wish to leave them alone after the Randall raid. Who knew what the sons of whores were up to. The raid could have been a means to inspire an angry retaliation that would leave the keep and its people weak and unguarded. But neither Rodrick nor Ian were foolish enough to make such a mistake.
Muriel could not hold back her tears. “I ken it be selfish,” she told him. “But I do no’ want ye to leave us.”
He kissed the top of her head as he pulled her to his chest. “Wheest now, lass,” he whispered. “I shall be back on the morrow.”
Truth be told, he was glad she would miss him. Aye, ’twas undoubtedly a selfish thing to think and feel. But it had taken them months, nearly a year, to get to this point in their relationship. No longer did she balk at hugging him, or telling him what was in her heart. She had yet to give him the words he so desperately wanted to hear, and as yet, they had not consummated their marriage.
“Ye promise?” she asked him.
“Aye, I do so promise.”
Randall men were easily bought. There was very little they would not do for a bit of coin. Little still for even larger amounts. With the Bowie clan having laid down their weapons and thieving ways and now busy with farming, it left a gaping hole of sorts in Scotia. The Randalls were all too eager to help fill the gap left behind by the Bowies’ departure from lives of crime.
Leon Randall, the chief of Clan Randall, was as desperate a man as any. After years of failing crops, of raids upon their lands, there were more cobwebs in their coffers than coin. Therefore, when he was visited by one Fergus MacDonald and his promise of coin in exchange for a few nefarious bad deeds, he could not say no. He had too many mouths to feed. Too many people counting on him to get them through yet another miserable winter.
Therefore, in the spring of 1358, he set his plan in motion. They would raid the Mackintosh and McLaren clan in hopes of drawing out enough of their men to set the second part of his plan in motion.
If everything went well — and he could only pray that it would — in a week’s time, he would have enough coin in his coffers to see his people through the next two years. That was all he wanted; to keep
his people from starving.
Aye, desperate times often call for desperate measures.
Before dawn the next morning — after tearful goodbyes with their wives — Ian Mackintosh and Rodrick the Bold led a small contingency of men out of the gates of the Mackintosh and McLaren keep. Rodrick was not even out of the gates when the deep ache of missing him settled over Muriel’s shoulders. She stood for the longest time, watching them ride away until the men were naught but specks on the horizon. ’Twas not until she returned to their home that she let the tears fall. And fall they did, like spring waters over the Mealt Falls.
These feelings of longing and worry caught her completely off guard. Muriel hadn’t expected to miss her husband as much as she did. But ’twas undeniable. She missed him to the point of a deep, physical ache.
A question — which was at first, quite horrifying — loomed before her as large as the Aonach Beag mountain. Had she fallen in love with her husband?
As she sat near the brazier, with Cora sleeping contentedly in her arms, Muriel allowed herself the chance to think on it. Would it be such a bad thing to love her husband? He was a good, kind, decent man. A man who had been nothing but good to her for the better part of a year. Rodrick had the patience of Job when it came to Muriel. Not once in all these many months had he ever made a demand of her. Not even a simple request had fallen from his lips as it pertained to anything physical betwixt them. Nay, he hadn’t pushed, nor insisted nor begged.
Suddenly, the question of whether or not she loved her husband did not seem so horrifying. Nay, it left her with such a sense of calm and peace that it stunned her.
Muriel began to think of her conversations with Aggie Mackintosh, those many months ago. “I had given ten years of me life to the man who raped me,” she had told her. “I realized one day that I did not wish to give him another moment.”
Were it that simple? To simply free oneself from the past? To once and for all set aside the fear, the shame and guilt and move on with your life?
Looking down at her sleeping babe, Muriel began to weep again. Cora. This tiny, innocent, beautiful babe had been born out of an act so deplorable, so ugly and harsh that it hurt to remember it. How could something this innocent have come from such an ugly deed? It didn’t seem possible or even logical, but ’twas true all the same. Cora was precious, sweet, and innocent. She represented hope for the future.
Aye, it still stung, still hurt to think of all those times Fergus had hurt her. It still made her stomach churn with disgust at the memories of those awful moments. But oddly enough, Muriel didn’t feel quite as guilty or ashamed now. Nay, she had not asked for any of those things to happen to her. She had not been a willing partner; she had been a victim. A victim of fate, circumstance, and Fergus MacDonald.
Months ago, she had prayed for her own death, in order to escape the shame and horror. Back then, she wanted nothing more than to lie down and die, so that she could finally forget. But now? Now, she was a mother and a wife. Mother to a babe she had never believed she could love as much as she did. And wife to a most remarkable man. A man, she was now certain, she loved.
Rose and Aggie had been correct when they assured her that everything would change after she gave birth to her child. Muriel smiled warmly and shook her head slightly. ’Twas a pleasant surprise to realize they had been right.
Muriel did her best to keep herself busy in hopes it would make the day go by faster. With wee Cora strapped to her chest in a sling, Muriel busied herself in her gardens for most of the morn. Pulling out offending weeds and watering those plants that needed it took up very little of her time.
She spent the rest of the day tending to her babe and cleaning their little home, which was already immaculate by most people’s standards. That eve, she dined in the keep with Rose and Deidre Mackintosh and their wee ones. Of the five men who left that morn, only three were married. While Rose and Deidre did their best to present themselves as happy, Rose knew they were missing their husbands just as much as she.
“I imagine they will be back by the evenin’ meal on the morrow,” Rose declared while she fed bits of beef and vegetables to her son. He was an adorable babe, not quite a year old yet.
Deidre agreed with a nod and a smile. “Sooner if I ken our husbands.”
Muriel knew that Rodrick could take care of himself, as well as the men who rode with him. Still, she worried. What if they came upon dozens of Randalls? How could five men defend themselves against such a number?
Hearing her babe whimper pulled Muriel from her quiet reverie. She put Cora to her breast and smiled.
“She be a beautiful babe,” Rose told her with a warm smile.
Deidre agreed, offering up her own warm smile. “I feel sorry for Rodrick,” she said.
Rose and Muriel were confused by her declaration. Muriel felt her face grow red with shame, as her mind raced for possible explanations. Was Deidre referring to the fact that Cora was not Rodrick’s?
“What do ye mean?” Rose asked with a raised brow. She looked angry and fully prepared to put Deidre in her place.
“Och! When that wee lass is old enough to discover the lads and the lads take notice of her?” Deidre giggled as she held up a cup of milk for her son to drink from. “Och! Rodrick’s hair will turn white with worry!”
Relief washed over Muriel. There had been nothing harsh in her sympathy for Rodrick. Even Rose looked relieved.
“Our men will be home before we realize it. And I reckon ’twill no’ take long for any of us to wonder why we missed them,” she said cheekily.
Deidre giggled in agreement.
Muriel, while she understood the playfulness in Rose’s comment, could not believe there would ever be a time she would find Rodrick bothersome. She loved him too much.
For the first time in months, Muriel was alone in her bed. She missed having Rodrick sleeping next to her, the sound of his gentle breaths, and even the feel of snuggling up against him. On this cold spring night, she put Cora in the bed with her in hopes it would take away some of the loneliness. Quietly, she prayed that God would bring Rodrick back to her soon and without injury.
She took a measure of comfort in knowing the sgian dubh Rodrick had given her was tucked under her pillow. Though she seriously doubted there would be a need for it this night. After all, she was safely ensconced inside the walls of the keep.
Rodrick had promised to teach her how to defend herself. ’Twas something they would begin upon his return. She looked forward to learning how to not only use the sgian dubh but also how to use her own hands if ever she was put in such a situation. ’Twas doubtful such an occurrence would ever happen, but ‘twould still make her feel more assured, and even safer.
With her babe next to her, she listened to the sounds of the fire crackling softly in the brazier as the spring winds howled and blew against their little home. Home. My, how her life had changed since Rodrick walked into it. Muriel felt safe here and even fulfilled. Rodrick and Cora had brought a measure of happiness into her life that at one time, she was certain she could never attain.
Caressing Cora’s plump cheek with the back of her index finger, Muriel could not help but smile. “I love ye, me wee sweet babe. Yer da and I shall always protect ye, no matter the cost.” ’Twas a declaration and promise she had heard Rodrick make to the babe since the day she was born. And ’twas one Muriel fully intended to keep as well. “As long as there is a breath left in me, I shall make certain no one ever does to you what was done to me. And yer da will do the same.”
Feeling confident in that promise, Muriel finally drifted off to sleep, thinking of her future with Rodrick. “I shall be a good wife to ye, Rodrick” she promised herself.
Realizing just how much she did in fact love her husband, she made a decision. As soon as Rodrick returned, she was going to give herself to him fully. Oddly enough, thinking about it did not set her heart to pounding with fear. Nor did it make her feel disgusted.
Rodrick was a good, kind,
gentle soul. Undoubtedly, their joining together would be much like him: sweet and gentle and tender.
She drifted off to sleep, with visions of her husband holding her in his arms, of him whispering his affection and adoration for her. She would finally give him the words that she’d been holding on to for far too long. She loved him, and it was high time he knew it. Thinking of Rodrick’s arms wrapped around her, and how he would respond when she finally told him, made her feel warm and at peace.
At some point — whether ’twas hours or only moments later, it mattered not — she was torn from her peaceful slumber by a hand clasped tightly over her mouth. Terror enveloped her to the point she could not move or even try to scream.
“If ye try to scream, we will kill yer babe first, then ye.”
The croft was bathed in muted darkness, with only the embers from the brazier to light the small space. Muriel didn’t know the man who had his hand over her mouth and a cold blade pressed against her throat.
Her heart pounded against her breast as panic set in. Cora! She screamed silently, frozen with fear and dread.
“Ye do as we say, and ye both shall live, aye?”
She couldn’t see his face, for ’twas too dark. Naught more than a terrifying silhouette, a black shadow in the night. Unable to speak, she begged and pleaded silently for mercy for her daughter.
Someone else was in the hut with them, another dark shadow who bent over the bed and lifted Cora up and away. Nay! Nay! Nay! Muriel screamed silently. Do no’ hurt me babe!
“Nod yer head if ye understand,” the voice scolded.
Muriel nodded her head rapidly as she watched the man carry her babe into darkness.
“Good,” he said. “Now, ye are goin’ to get up and ye are comin’ with us. Mangus will be holdin’ yer babe until we are far away from this keep. Ken that he will no’ think twice about plungin’ his dirk into yer wee one’s heart if ye do anythin’ to keep us from escape. Nod yer head again if ye understand.”
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