The Blackhouse Bride

by Fiona Monroe

  All at once, her determination to confess her feelings and guilt calmly broke down, and tears overcame her. She had not wanted to cry in front of him, it seemed a pathetic kind of pleading for mercy.

  She felt Angus's hand on her elbow. "Bridie," he said in a low voice, "if you loved this Lord John, why did you care what I did?"

  "But I did not love him. I never really did. You are my husband. I loved you."

  "Bha?" he said, repeating the past tense with a frown.

  "Tha." She corrected it with the present. "Tha gaol agam ort."

  It was the first time she had said it, and it was the first time she had really known it.

  He enfolded her in an embrace that felt desperate in its strength, pressing her head against his shoulder.

  "But you seemed disappointed in me," she continued, confused but unable to stop a spark of hope kindling in her breast.

  "Disappointed? Never, until I saw those letters."

  "In my housework - when Oighrig would take over, and do it so much better than me."

  "I didn't like her to be around. I didn't want her in our home at all. I tolerated it because I thought she was of use to you, nothing more. Bridie, I didn't marry you to have a housekeeper. I don't care about any of that. I'll hire a maid if you don't like the work."

  "No! No - I want to look after you. Well, just a little help, perhaps, so I might have a little time for study."

  He let out a breath. "Of course. I asked for a wife with wits and learning, then made her mistress of a blackhouse with no moment's ease from dawn til dusk. Dr Menzies would have something to say to me."

  She did not contradict him. She would not be so impudent as to agree with him either, so she stayed as she was, nestled against him, warmth beginning to spread through her.

  "I always loved you," he said gruffly, into her hair. "From the moment I set eyes on you in the rain."

  Her heart sang. She could not help it. She could not help hope, either, when he was holding her so fiercely and playing with her hair with one huge, tender hand. "I'm sorry," she said again. "Please... please forgive me, a dhuine."

  He let go of her at last, cupped her face in one hand, and looked at her seriously. "I forgive you... but I have to punish you for this, Bridie."

  "I know."

  "It's too serious a lapse for me not to. It's my duty as your husband to chastise you."

  "I know... I want you to. I deserve it. I want to pay for my wickedness, and be truly absolved."

  "Aye. Well, you may not think that way in a few minutes' time. Come through here. Let's get it over with."

  #

  For all her brave words, and her grateful heart, Bridie went through with him into the cuilteach on legs that were weak as water and that same heart knocking against her ribs. As ever, though the sun was still bright outside, the bedroom area was in almost total darkness. Only a little sunlight filtered through gaps in the thatch, and over the top of the leabaidh-dhuinte from the living area. Angus lit a candle on the table by the bed, and it cast its usual dull yellow glow.

  She could hear, muffled but close beyond the thick drystone walls of the blackhouse, the shouts of some of the township children at play, and the distant chanting of the women as they sang an òran-obrach, a rhythmic working song. The drama around Oighrig had died down quickly.

  Out there it was light and there was still a last breath of summer on the air; in here, it was dark and enclosed and smelled of peat smoke and the lye she used to wash the sheets and the dried lavender she used to counteract it.

  Although it was too gloomy to see it clearly now, she had managed to get a good look at that belt while they had been in the living room. Indeed, she was very familiar with it, for he wore it most days and oiled it to keep it flexible. It was wide, thick, heavy, embossed with a pattern and looked fearsome as an instrument of discipline.

  He folded it over, round the silver buckle, and flexed it thoughtfully a couple of times.

  "Over the bed," he said, shortly.

  There was only one way of lying over the bed, because of the way it was constructed; she sank to her knees beside it, and leaned her body sideways across the mattress and quilt. The frame of the leabaidh-dhuinte was higher than an ordinary bed, so that she could not quite kneel when her stomach was over the edge and her legs dangled awkwardly. She found purchase with her toes in the rushes to support herself, aware the position raised her backside high and vulnerable.

  She was not sure what she had expected, but her stomach gave another twist as she felt Angus lift her skirts in one decisive sweep. Cool air touched her bottom and thighs, and she realised that he was going to apply the belt to her bare backside. He tucked the skirts around under her waist, as if he meant to do it thoroughly.

  She had never taken a hiding on bare skin before. And her father's strap seemed a small, light thing compared to this belt. She remembered, too, what her father had said about Angus's arm being stronger than his own.

  But then, she had never before in her life done something of which she was really ashamed. It was not merely hiding the letters, and writing to Lord John in secret when she ought never to have communicated with him again. It was how she had succumbed to nothing short of lust, in those moments when she had not resisted him; knowing quite clearly in her head that their union could never be an honourable one, she had given way to passion nonetheless. She had found the strength, or Providence had granted her the strength, to spurn him before she could be dishonoured, but she condemned herself in her heart because she could not be dishonest with herself.

  "Angus," she said, tremulously, her cheek against the coverlet.

  "Well?"

  She had been on the point of confessing all of this in detail, and then she bit the inside of her lip. He didn't need to know.

  "I truly am sorry," she said, instead. She meant that too, though it was not what she had meant to say.

  "I don't doubt it, but you'll be sorrier still when I've finished."

  He leaned the flat of one hand into the small of her back and pressed down quite hard, and in her peripheral vision before she closed her eyes she saw him raise the belt to the full extent of his arm.

  She resolved, however much it hurt, not to let a sound escape her. Her father had always insisted that she take her punishments in humble silence, and she wanted to show Angus how deeply she respected his authority by submitting to this well-deserved chastisement without a murmur. She also did not want the villagers to hear her cry out. But at the first searing lash of leather on unprotected flesh, she almost screamed out loud. It was so very much more painful than her father's strap across her skirts. She heard a gasp escape her, and she bunched the bedclothes in her fists and clenched her teeth against the second stroke, which followed as soon as he could swing his arm back.

  He did not pause, for remonstrations or for effect. He laid the belt rhythmically and relentlessly across her bare backside with all the force of his strong arm, and she was helpless beneath the rain of lashes.

  After five or six, her resolve began to crumble. She started to gasp aloud, then whimper and moan, and then to sob. By the time she had lost count of the strokes she had quite forgotten any idea of being humble or quiet or dignified, or even of wishing and deserving the punishment. Each scalding bite of leather on her already-blazing bottom, and across her upper thighs made her cry out.

  At last, after the edge of the belt caught her under the soft part between her buttock and thigh in a particularly excruciating blow, she cried, "No! No more, Angus - oh, please stop."

  He did stop, to her astonishment and gratitude. She heard him take a few steps back, breathing heavily. He had really exerted himself. She collapsed forward on the bed, trying to control her tears, kneading the quilt with both hands in an effort to stop herself from reaching back and rubbing at her aching, stinging backside.

  "Bridie," he said, his tone dark. "Will you tell me the truth?"

  "Yes - yes!"

  "Did you give yourself to th
is man?"

  She was silent for a moment, gasping. Then she said, "I was a maiden on our wedding night, Angus. But he - he kissed me - he touched me in intimate places - and for a time, I let him and I didn't - dislike it, though I knew he could never marry me."

  He was quiet for so long that Bridie wondered, sobbing anew, whether she had said the right thing. Her nether regions throbbed so badly that she thought at this moment she might never sit comfortably again.

  Eventually, he said in a heavy voice, "That happened before we were wed. I cannot chastise you for it."

  She swallowed. It was terrible to imagine the belt landing again on a backside already so hot and sore, but shame was burning her soul as fiercely as the weals burned her bottom. "Please. I deserve it."

  "Very well then. I'll give you half a dozen more for unchaste behaviour."

  She buried her face in the quilt and screamed as the promised six lashes were delivered, harder than all the others and quite deliberately aimed from the top of her buttocks to nearly the back of her knees.

  "There we are, a bhean." With great gentleness, he lifted her to her feet and then into the leabaidh-dhuinte. "All over with, and now we can start anew."

  At last, Bridie was able to rub at her backside in an attempt to quell the sting. She lay on her stomach with her skirts round her waist, letting the cool air do its own work, while Angus stroked her hair. Despite the pain, there was a great peace and joy in her heart.

  After a few minutes of affectionate silence, Angus rolled her around and kissed her deeply. She gave a little yelp of surprise as her bruised bottom was pressed to the mattress, but it was soon clear that Angus cared very little about her comfort in that respect. In the middle of the day, with work to be done and the folk of the township milling around outside, he took her with vigour and abandon and with no regard at all for her tender backside.

  Very soon, Bridie forgot to feel it also.

  Chapter TWENTY-ONE

  She caught her first glimpse of the famous castle, high on its rock, while they were still some miles from their destination. The trap turned a bend in the road and there it was, unexpectedly, lit by a sudden shaft of spring sunlight.

  Now they were passing through a cobbled archway into the heart of the old part of the city, where the University was. It was not the fashionable quarter, Angus had explained; the well-to-do had abandoned Edinburgh's Auld Toon in favour of the vast, smart, golden suburb built across the newly-drained Nor Loch.

  "It means, at least, we can get decent rooms near the top of a good building, or what used to be a good building," he had said, without enthusiasm.

  But as soon as Bridie saw the wide High Street, thronging with crowds, and looked up at the soaring tenements either side, her heart lifted of its own accord. She had never seen so many people all at once, not even in Aberdeen, and she had never even imagined buildings as tall as these.

  Angus was maintaining a show of being mildly disgruntled. "You'll hate it within a week," he said. "You'll long to be free in the open air, under the open skies."

  "Angus... it's only for a year, for now. Sir Duncan said that we can always go back. He promised not to burn down our house." She smiled. "And you might not get on with Professor Fairbairn, or the position might not suit you in other ways. But let's - see if we can make a success of life in town, for now? You as an assistant professor and I as an irregular student?"

  He glanced sideways at her and said gruffly, "I would not have agreed to Fairbairn's proposition at last, if it hadn't been for that, you know. To give you the opportunity to study here."

  "I know. I'm - more grateful than I can ever express." Suddenly she found there were tears in her eyes, tears of sheer wonder and love, and she turned her head so that he should not see them and think her foolish.

  A winter in Baille nam Breac had not endeared her to the life, though it had not proven as bad as she had feared. In fact there had been times, when she and Angus were closed up together in the blackhouse against the snow and icy winds - all outdoor work impossible, nothing to do but huddle together with their books or shut themselves up in the leabaidh-dhuinte - when the compensations had seemed almost worth the endless cold, and the isolation, and eventually the desperately monotonous diet.

  She had endured it all without complaint, but Angus had divined her discontent nonetheless. And when he surprised her with the news that he had finally agreed to his old professor's persistent offer of a position at the University, on condition that his wife could study there on an unofficial basis, she knew that no woman had ever had a better husband.

  "I shall learn Greek, and Latin, and philosophy," she enthused. "And carry on my translation of Hamlet into the Gaelic."

  "Aye, well. As long as my supper's ready on the table every night."

  She laughed. There was a maid waiting for them in these decent rooms near the top of a once-good building, she knew; and just as importantly, shops a step away where bread and pies could be bought ready-baked, meat ready-boiled and vegetables that someone else had harvested and prepared. And laundries, all vying for her custom. She would never neglect her domestic duties, but she would still have plenty of time free for her studies.

  The street broadened out as they clopped slowly along, Angus steering the pony cautiously through the throng of foot-traffic. It looked like they were approaching the very heart of the city, for she could see a handsome stone market cross dominating the middle of the thoroughfare.

  Angus pulled up the reigns and halted the pony in front of a shop almost directly opposite the cross.

  "Messers Baillie and Begg," said Angus impassively. "Booksellers. This, a bhean, is home for now."

  "We're living in a bookshop?" said Bridie, confused.

  Then she followed Angus's gaze upwards, and she saw that like its neighbours, this building had a shop at street level and many storeys of tenements above. Her neck creaked as she craned to see where a young girl in a maid's cloth cap was leaning perilously far out of one of the uppermost casements, smiling and waving.

  "We're living above a bookshop!" she said, laughing. "You didn't tell me that."

  "I thought I'd leave it as a surprise. I thought you'd like it."

  "I do - I do like it."

  She had done her time as a blackhouse bride. Perhaps they would return to the Highlands someday, but for now, life was opening out in front of her and she had Angus to thank for it.

  In the middle of the bustling street, with a maidservant they had never met watching eagerly from above, she threw her arms around her husband and kissed him.

  The End

  Maryse Dawson

  Maryse Dawson was born in England but now lives in western France with her family. When she's not writing, she spends her time visiting the beaches and surrounding countryside.

  She has always enjoyed reading romances and loves history, so began writing a few years ago to include domestic discipline in her stories.

  You can find Maryse on Facebook at:

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  Don’t miss these exciting titles by Maryse Dawson and Blushing Books:

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