by Fiona Faris
“Please, dinnae tell them what happened. I dinnae wish tae bring shame tae me family,” the maid begged on a sob.
“Ye have done nothin’ wrong, lass. There is nae shame tae be had by ye. ‘Tis the bastard who harmed ye that bears the shame o’ his actions, actions which the Earl will answer tae God for as he burns in fiery torment for all o’ eternity.”
“Please, Me Laird.”
“I will nae tell them, lass, but ye should do so when ye are ready.”
“I thank ye, Me Laird.”
The girl’s dark brown eyes peered up at him as limpid pools of tears, her dark brown hair hung about her in riotous disarray from her attempt to fight off the Earl. She was covered in cuts and bruises from being wrestled to the ground. Red marks turned to dark bruises around her neck in the shape of a hand. She would have to tell her parents. There was no possible way that she could hide what had happened to her from them, and if she had the misfortune of finding herself with child, everyone would know. “Dinnae thank me, lass. I fear ‘tis but a brief reprieve.”
James left the girl in the cook’s capable hands and went out to make sure that all had gone without further incident in getting the Earl off the island. He found William standing on the shore watching the dinghy being rowed back toward the ship with the Earl in it. James came to stand beside him. “How is the lass?” William asked.
“Frightened, hurt, ashamed, angry… Cook is helpin’ her tae bathe away the bastard’s stench.”
“Ye should have let me run the bastard through. Some crimes are worth hangin’ o’er.”
“Aye, but I cannae risk throwin’ our people tae the English, nae matter how much the man deserves tae die.”
“And what o’ the Sassenach lass? Are we nae already riskin’ our people tae protect her?”
“What would ye have me do? Hand her o’er tae the man who just raped a lass?”
“Nae, I wouldnae, as ye well ken; but if we are already in danger o’ the English decendin’ upon us, then what is the death o’ one more bastard?”
“Everythin’ when he has a ship full o’ men ready tae report his death tae the nearest garrison.”
“So, what are we tae do? Nae be men for fear o’ the English descendin’ upon us? Are we nae tae defend our own women now?” William’s hand clenched around the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles were as white as seafoam. The muscles in his jaw and neck strained with anger.
“William,” James warned.
“Laird…” William sighed, attempting to calm the storm within. “I dinnae care for this dancin’ with shadows and prancin’ about in fear.”
“Nor do I, and if it were but ye and me, I would have killed him meself, but it is nae just ye and me. Who would protect the lass from further rape by the English had we slit the Earl’s throat? Who would be there tae protect her if we are hangin’ from the end o’ a rope?”
William growled in displeasure. “I dinnae like this, James. I dinnae like it at all.”
William turned and walked back to the castle, leaving his men behind to watch the ship. James followed. When they entered the kitchen, they found the lass bathed and sitting by the fire to dry. The cook greeted them by the door. “How is the lass?” William asked her. It was clear that he felt for the girl’s plight. James knew that he felt somewhat responsible, they both did. It had never occurred to them that the Earl would move so quickly to fulfill his lusts. He had not even made it to his room before attacking one of their women. What beast cannae wait for a willin’ lass tae sate his lust? No matter how long he lived, James would never understand how a man could hurt anyone in such a fashion.
“The lass was intact, and now she is nae. This is nae somethin’ she will be able tae hide as we are nae the only ones aware o’ what has happened. Her family will find out. Ye should nae have promised the lass that ye wouldnae tell her family. Should it nae come from the laird what has happened under his own roof? I fear that there will be trouble because o’ this. The lass’ faither is nae a forgivin’ man.” The cook spoke with downcast eyes in a display of submission even as her words chastised. “The lass will ne’er find the courage tae tell her family on her own, but when her faither is told he will demand blood.”
“I will deal with the faither when the time comes.” The cook bowed her head in acknowledgment of James’ words and turned back to tend tae her duties.
“Ye cannae risk losin’ the support o’ any o’ yer men,” William reminded.
“I am aware o’ the difficulty, but there is nae tae be done for it now.”
William stood watching the girl weep in silent thought. “Perhaps there is still yet somethin’ tae be done tae assuage her faither’s anger. If ye were tae find the lass a husband, would it nae promise an alliance instead o’ a rift?”
“Aye, ‘tis possible, if it were someone found tae be loyal. Who do ye propose?”
“Meself,” William answered, to James’ surprise.
“Ye would willingly take the lass as wife?”
“I should have ne’er allowed the bastard Irishman out o’ me sight. ‘Tis me duty tae protect all in this castle, and I failed. It is the only honorable course left tae take, short o’ the man’s head bein’ served up tae the lass on a pike.”
“This from the man who swore tae ne’er wed e’en though I commanded it?”
“Aye.”
“Ye are an honorable man, William. I thank ye for yer willing sacrifice for the sake o’ the clan.”
“’Tis the lass that has made the sacrifice.”
“It is likely that she will nae wish tae be touched by any man after what she has endured.”
“Aye, ‘tis nae for such matters that I wed her. If I wish tae slake me lust, there are many willin’ lasses tae do such upon.”
“Aye, for ye it is e’er so.” James studied William’s face. “And ye are certain o’ this?”
“Aye, I am certain.”
“I will put it tae her faither upon the morrow. For now, let us speak with the lass and see tae it that she is willin’ tae take ye as her husband.”
William chuckled. “Aye, she may do well tae refuse.”
“Nae, there is nae better man for it.” James clapped his friend on the shoulder. “She would be fortunate tae have ye as her husband.”
“Let us hope that she feels the same, for her sake, and the sake o’ the clan.”
“Let us hope.”
* * *
Elizabeth sat in the corner of the croft watching Andrew MacDonald’s family. She was confused and angry about James having left her without a word. He had made love to her and then left her. She knew that what they had was a thing of impermanence, but she had not expected to be abandoned with so little care that not even a goodbye had passed between them. Her head had not ceased to pound with pain since her incident on the rocks. She once again suffered from dizziness when she attempted to move about of her own accord. It was this dizziness that had kept her from walking back to the castle just to spite James’ order for her to remain. If he did not wish me to remain in the castle, the very least he could have done was to return me to Samuel and Agnes, not leave me here with strangers of whom I know naught.
She fumed silently at his disregard for her, and yet her thighs still ached to have him return to nestle between them. Her need for him made her all the angrier over her situation. Andrew had told her that the laird had left on important business at the castle, ordering her to remain in Andrew’s care until his return. What business could have been so important that he could not have taken the time to speak to me of it himself?
As she sat and watched Andrew’s family, she began to grow envious of the life that they shared, so full of love and warmth. Andrew and Elspeth MacDonald were loving parents. As she healed, Elizabeth began to aid them with the care of their children and the household. They welcomed her with open arms into their home even though they had had little choice. Were my family ever such as this? My dreams tell of another story. One of hatred, violen
ce, and even murder. How will I ever leave such a place as this island to return to such horrors as that which echo from my past?
When she thought of being forced to return to England, it brought tears to her eyes and an aching of the heart that would not ease no matter how much she wished it so. Leaving the Isle of Skye and its people would leave a giant hole in her spirit. Leaving James would rip out her heart. Might it have been better to have been swallowed up by the sea than to have known such love and never be allowed its comfort again? I do not know.
After a week had passed without any word from James, Elizabeth determined that she had impinged upon Andrew’s hospitality long enough. There was barely room for his own ever-growing family in the one-room house. When her dizziness passed, she did not feel that she could rightfully take up any more space. When she announced her intentions, Andrew attempted heartily to convince her otherwise, but she would not give way; however, he argued with such force that she felt it best to wait until all had gone to bed before she departed. Once all were sleeping, she slipped out of the house, borrowing one of Andrew’s horses, and rode out into the night.
Chapter Eighteen
“She did what?” James roared at Andrew MacDonald’s pronouncement that Elizabeth had defied his orders and left the clansman’s house in the night. “Did the lass nae learn her lesson the first time, nearly dyin’ in the storm?”
“Perhaps if the laird had spoken a word tae her before his departure, she might not have felt his absence so keenly?” Andrew risked James’ wrath with a slight chastisement, older man to younger.
“There was nae time. Needs must that I return tae the castle in all haste in order tae protect her. I sent word through ye. I couldnae return as it is likely that the Earl has spies upon the island in spite o’ all that has been done tae keep him from doin’ so. He didnae appear tae me tae be the sort o’ man tae accept the word nae. I dinnae wish tae lead him tae her.”
“Is it nae yer intention tae return the lass tae her people?” Andrew asked, a confused look upon his face. “Was that nae yer desire all along, Me Laird?”
“Aye, it was, and I shall do so when we have discovered who she truly belongs tae. I will nae turn her o’er tae a depraved man who rapes the innocent and does nae ken honor.”
“Then tae whom, Me Laird? Do ye nae fear the retribution o’ the English by keepin’ her from them?”
“Aye, there is great risk in protectin’ her, but as she is under me care, it is me duty tae see that she comes tae nae harm.”
“How will ye do so now? I dinnae ken where she has gone if she didnae return tae ye here.” Andrew’s brow furrowed with concern. “Elspeth and the bairns are beside themselves with worry for the lass. She didnae bid them farewell, and she left behind everythin’ that we gave her but took one o’ me horses. I dinnae ken what it means that she is nae here, but it cannae be good.”
“Nae, it cannae be good. If we set about on a hunt for the lass more than the pretense o’ a search that we do now, then the Earl will be informed that somethin’ is afoot. I cannae risk leavin’ the castle with a ship o’ Sassenach’s so near. The same is true o’ William.” James studied Andrew’s face for a moment in thought.
“I will go and search for her, Me Laird. Nae one will take note o’ an auld man such as me.”
“First inquire o’ Samuel and Agnes. She may have rejoined their house. If she is nae there, take Samuel with ye. Divide the island among ye and draw as little attention tae yerselves as is possible.”
“Aye, Me Laird. And if we should find her?”
“Take her tae me grandmaither’s auld croft and keep her there until I can rid meself o’ the Earl and his men.”
“And if she is determined tae leave?”
“Do what ye must, but dinnae harm her. Dinnae allow her tae run away again.”
“Aye, Me Laird.” Andrew bowed then left the castle to do as bidden.
James watched him go and then summoned William to his side. “Elizabeth ran off in the night.”
“Again?”
“The first was nae o’ her own makin’ as she was nae in her right mind and didnae recall how she had come tae be out upon the rocks. This time I fear that I am tae blame for nae havin’ words with her afore I departed. I fear in me rush tae protect her, I have unintentionally harmed her, and possibly our efforts tae keep her safe by such a thoughtless action.”
“Ye had her in yer bed, then left her without a word?”
James closed his eyes in aggravation at himself. “Aye, I did.”
“Ye will be fortunate if she does nae run ye through, then go cryin’ off tae England on the verra ship that ye seek tae protect her from.”
“Aye, in me haste tae protect her, I have acted the fool. I have sent Andrew and Samuel tae seek her out and tae take her tae me grandmaither’s auld croft. Have ye ascertained if the Earl has managed tae slip spies ashore tae pursue his own search?”
“Nae one has been seen o’ yet.”
“Keep a vigilant eye.”
“Aye, Laird. What o’ the other business? Have ye decided who tae send tae inquire o’ the lass’s family?”
“Aye, I have sent a letter tae Duncan askin’ his aid in the matter. He has agreed tae send Ian MacDonald o’ the Isle o’ Jura tae see tae the matter. He is tae report directly back tae us what he learns o’ her family.”
“And what o’ the Irishman? Have ye found someone tae send to Ireland tae find out more o’ the man that holds such a threat tae the lass?”
“Yer future faither in law has agreed tae go. He seeks vengeance for his daughter but understands the risk o’ killin’ the man outright. ‘Tis a brave lass that ye are tae wed. I didnae believe that she would have the strength tae tell her faither o’ what befell her o’ her own accord.”
“Aye, nae only that, but it was she who convinced her faither tae give ye his obedience in the matter. The man was ready tae kill anyone that got in his way afore she made him see reason.”
“I am certain that yer betrothal helped tae ease that passage.”
“Aye, her faither was well-pleased tae have his daughter promised to the Laird’s Keeper. In him ye will have a loyal friend for life for givin’ him the opportunity tae seek vengeance in this way. Ye couldnae have picked a better man for findin’ the worst there is tae ken about the Irishman. When does he leave?”
“Upon the morrow. He didnae wish tae leave his daughter as she healed until she was able tae care for herself. I have sworn that she will have our protection every moment of his absence.”
“Aye, me men will nae leave her side.”
“Have ye decided on a day for the weddin’?
“Nae as o’ yet - the lass needed time tae heal - perhaps on her faither’s return.”
“Aye, I will see that it is done.”
“I thank ye, Me Laird.”
James shook his head. “Nae, ‘tis I that needs to thank ye.”
William smiled. “The longer I ken the lass, the more I like her. Isla has proven herself tae be a strong lass o’ keen mind - a fittin’ bride for any man o’ worth.”
“I am well-pleased tae hear it.” James clapped William on the shoulder in congratulations. “’Tis good tae have a care for one’s bride.”
“I only wish it were so for ye, lad. Ye have sacrificed much in the name o’ our people, and they will ne’er ken the true cost o’ it.”
“Let us pray that they ne’er do.”
* * *
Not knowing which was the better course of action, whether to return to the castle, to Samuel and Agnes, or to leave the island altogether, Elizabeth decided to remove herself to the cottage that James had told her once belonged to his grandmother. Remaining there would give her time to think about what she should do. Andrew had expressly commanded her not to return to the castle per the laird’s order. Even if he had not commanded such a thing, Elizabeth was not certain that she wished to see him after his poor treatment of her. She had not expected a commitment from him as suc
h a thing was impossible, but she had expected courtesy and respect, perhaps even friendship. She had gotten none of these things.
She knew the general direction of the cottage and was able to find it with relative ease. When she arrived, she took her frustrations out on cleaning the house. She had taken some food from Andrew’s home, and James had left a small amount in-store at the cottage. It would be enough to tide her over for a time, but not for very long. She would need to decide as to the best course of action as soon as possible. Had it only been a matter of pride, she would have overcome it, but it was not. It was a matter of the heart and such things were not easily dispensed with.
She had a moment of guilt for making him worry about her; but it passed in favor of having control over her own person, even if only for a short time. Were she to alert him as to her whereabouts, he would send her wherever he wished with little to no regard for her feelings on the matter. I have played the harlot, and he has deemed to treat me as such. I will not give him the satisfaction of dictating to me where and with whom I am to live. At least not until I have decided such for myself. It is my life, what little of it I can remember, and it is time that I began to treat it as such. I must begin to make choices for my own future, absent James. I will be without him completely and permanently soon enough. I must get used to it.
