by Fiona Faris
“Nae,” Duncan reared up, attempting to knock the sword from the laird’s hand. Marra cried out as the tip of the blade nicked her skin. She felt the hot blood trickle down her neck onto the ground. “Nae!” Duncan cried out. He carefully eased himself up off of her, making sure to leave her his sodden tartan for the sake of her modesty. “Dinnae harm her.”
“That, my lad, is entirely up tae ye. If ye do as I ask, nae harm will come tae her, and she will live in relative comfort with my son and I on the Isle of Skye. Defy me, and she will die a most terrible death.”
“Ye harm a hair on her head, MacDonald, and I will kill ye.”
“Ye are in nae position tae be makin’ threats, Duncan Campbell.” The laird laughed as he motioned towards Duncan’s naked state, his bits and pieces hanging out for all the world to see and admire. “Havin’ just lost half o’ yer clan does no’ leave ye in an advantageous military position either does it now?”
“How do ye ken such a thing so soon after…?” Duncan’s words faded as he realized the only truth that could be. “Ye have spies among our people.”
“Aye, that I do, and I will continue tae keep an eye upon yer activities long after we are gone. If ye so much as breathe in the direction o’ Skye with the intent tae take yer revenge or tae take my son’s wife from him, I will slit her throat. Either way, dead or alive, Jura will still be mine. Besides ye dinnae wish for the secrets o’ yer clan tae be revealed, now do ye?”
Marra and Duncan both tensed at the mention of secrets. “I dinnae ken that o’ which ye speak,” Duncan denied.
“Ah, but do ye no’, MacGregor.”
Marra nearly vomited in the grass, she was so upset by the laird’s revelation. “How do ye…?” she managed to catch herself before she finished the question.
“I ken no’ o’ which ye speak, MacDonald. The MacGregors were outlawed by His Majesty King James. As a loyal Jacobite, I would nao’ be party tae defyin’ such orders.”
“Mmm,” the laird studied Duncan’s face with knowing eyes. “Angus MacDonald kenned yer secret, and that is why yer faither, Fergus, had him killed.”
“My faither would ne’er…” Duncan began moving forward with fury, but stopped when Alexander clucked his tongue, turning the blade against Marra’s skin.
“I would be verra careful if I were ye, lad,” the laird warned. “Did ye honestly believe that yer cousin would have been able tae enact such a nefarious deed without his laird kennin’ it?” Alexander chuckled heartily. “Yer naive ignorance amuses me.”
“Angus MacDonald told me all about yer faither and their feud afore his death. Why do ye think he came tae me tae contract a marriage between our houses? We were about tae bring ye all tae yer knees and reclaim the glory of the Laird o’ the Isles. Provin’ that ye were MacGregors would have given us all that we needed tae persuade the King o’ the justice in our cause. Jacobites or nae, we dinnae need yer kind tae win our noble cause.” Turning his gaze toward Marra once more, he commanded her to arise. “Up, lass, and prepare tae be rejoined with yer rightful laird and master. Yer true husband awaits ye at home.”
Marra obeyed and arose from the ground, holding the wet tartan around herself. “James is no’ my husband,” she protested once more.
“Shall I kill this one then?” Alexander asked threateningly, moving the sword from Marra’s throat to Duncan’s groin. “One flick o’ the sword, and he will bleed out upon the ground before yer verra eyes.”
“Dinnae harm him,” Marra begged, picking up her wet clothes from the ground. “I will come with ye without any further argument. I swear it. Just dinnae hurt him.”
“Nae!” Duncan yelled in protest, moving forward, then stopped as the sword dug into his thigh.
Marra reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “Dinnae fight, my love. As long as ye live there is always another day. Take care o’ my people.” She leaned up on her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek, then moved forward to stand in front of Alexander. “I am ready.”
“As long as ye do yer duty tae my son, yer lover will remain unharmed. If ye shirk yer duties in any way, he will be killed instantly. Do ye understand?”
Marra nodded her head. “I understand.”
Alexander took her arm and turned to board the boat. “See that we are nae followed,” he ordered the warriors standing behind him. The men nodded and then moved to block Marra’s view of Duncan as she was drug away.
Alexander boarded the boat, pulling Marra along with him. When she turned to look back at the shore, she found Duncan had been tied up and left to lay upon the ground trussed up like a pig for butcher. “Was that necessary?” she asked gesturing towards Duncan’s bound, naked body.
“Aye, it was. Would ye rather I turn about and slit his throat?”
“Nae,” Marra shook her head adamantly. She knew that he meant every word.
“Verra well then.”
The MacDonald warriors boarded the boat as they shoved away from the shore and set sail for the Isle of Skye.
Chapter Thirty-One
Marra sat in the hull of the boat and watched as first Duncan and then the shore faded from view. She hoped that someone would find him sooner rather than later and set him free. What a wedding day! In the course of one day, they had been under attack, buried their kinsmen, gotten married, and then been assaulted. Now she was a hostage once more. I am practically back where I started, kidnapped and scared, only this time I am no’ alone. She eyed Alexander MacDonald with anger and distrust. She contemplated pulling his dirk from his belt and slitting his throat as he had threatened Duncan with, but knew that it was highly unlikely that she would be able to clear his sheath to do him any form of harm before he would have stopped her. Even if she had managed it, his warriors would have killed her on the spot. She was left with no recourse but to sit and wait.
As the beautiful rugged landscape of the Isle of Skye came into view, Marra’s heart sank. She had secretly hoped that she would be rescued before reaching the island’s shores. Once she was inside of the keep’s defenses, all would be lost. She looked over her shoulder and out to sea, hoping to find billowing white sails in pursuit, but found nothing. When the boat ran ashore, Alexander grabbed Marra’s arm and hauled her onto the rocky beach. He pulled her up the embankment and into the towering keep. Marching her through the front doors, he drug her through the great hall, up a flight of stairs, down a long corridor, and opened a door at the farthest end. Shoving her into the darkened interior, he shut the door after her, leaving her alone.
Marra trembled in the darkness for a moment before she got her wits about her and began to move, touching and feeling things as she did so. There was the tiniest sliver of light against the far wall, and she hoped that she would find a window there. When she reached it, she found the shutters to be barred from the inside. She pulled up on the wooden board holding the shutters closed, then laid it against the wall. Grabbing both window coverings by their rough wooden edges she jerked them open, flinging them against the wall with all of her strength, as if the mere action of it would somehow free her, sending her soul out across the sea. She found the window’s opening to be barred. She yanked on the bars to see if any of them were loose, but they were not. Clinging to the bars, she gazed out across the blue-grey empty expanse before her.
Duncan, my love, her heart cried out, but her lips remained silent. She feared that if she opened them even for a moment, even just to breath, that she would fall apart, deteriorating into sobs.
They had sailed all night to get to Skye and had arrived as the morning’s light had crested the horizon. The day dawned fully all around her now, filling the room with its light, banishing the darkness. What should have brought her hope, only brought her more pain. The light revealed the awful truth that had lain hidden in the dark. She stood in a room barely big enough to properly house a rat. A pallet lay on the floor with what appeared to be rotten moldy straw and a moth eaten blanket. A stained, dented metal pot sat in the corner, presumably to
relieve one’s self into. The tiny narrow fireplace sat empty with no wood or kindling in sight.
I am truly his prisoner. She surveyed her surroundings in dismay. So much for bein’ treated as the Lady o’ the Isles. I cannae imagine James bein’ aware o’ this and allowin’ it tae happen. The laird had claimed that James awaited her on Skye, but she had not seen him as she had been drug through the keep. Had he been present he would have surely intervened. Where is he?
Hours passed and nothing happened. Marra considered screaming out of the window for help, but Alexander’s threats to kill Duncan kept her silent. Not wishing to lie down on the disgusting pallet in the corner, she instead sat leaning against the cold stone wall, tightly wrapped up in Duncan’s tartan. It had been a miserable sea crossing curled up in its wet woolen folds, but the winds had eventually dried it out and now provided her with some warmth, a barrier between her naked body and the elements. Eventually she drifted off to sleep. Sometime later, a creaking sound echoed through the tiny room, waking her, and she turned to face the opening door. Alexander MacDonald entered and stood staring down at her. In his hands he clutched what appeared to be a lady’s dress. He tossed it to her where she sat, and she caught it midair. Several maids entered behind him with a wooden tub and buckets of water. Another man entered with wood and set to making a fire. When he was done, he exited the room, not looking at Marra once.
“Ye will bathe and dress yerself appropriately for a lady o’ this castle. Ye will swear tae me tae uphold the duties of such a lady and will no’ cause me or my kindred embarrassment or harm. If ye go back on yer word in any way, I will kill yer lover. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
Marra glared at him with such hatred she found herself wishing she could have shot flames from her eyes and consumed him where he stood. “Aye, ye have made yer terms verra clear.”
“Good,” he nodded curtly, gave the maids firm instructions not to let Marra out of their sight, and left the room, barring the door behind himself.
The maids stood staring at her uneasily. From the way Alexander had talked about her one would have thought she was a vicious, feral beast that one should never turn their back upon instead of the terrified victim that she was. The oldest of the maids stepped forward, squaring her shoulders and began to remove Duncan’s tartan from around Marra’s body in a very no nonsense fashion. Marra fought back, pulling on the woolen fabric to protect herself, but the woman was bigger and stronger than she was and easily pulled the tartan free, leaving Marra open and exposed for all to see.
“In tae the bath with ye,” the woman commanded, giving Marra a push on the back in the direction of the tub. Marra stumbled forward unwillingly. It was not that she did not need a bath, she smelled rather rank to her own nose, but it was the way in which Alexander and now the maid were going about it. The rebel in her reared its ugly head, and she wished to fight back for all she was worth. “Do ye wish yer love tae die?” the maid asked, standing behind Marra with her hands on her hips.
A picture of Duncan’s face flashed through her mind, and she shook her head. “Nae,” she answered stepping into the tub. The water was cold as if they had not bothered to heat it before bringing it up to her room. She shivered, but managed to keep from shrieking at the shock of it as she lowered her bottom into the frigid water. The maids stepped forward and began scrubbing various parts of her body from her head to her toes. There was not a portion of her that they did not thoroughly scrub clean. When they were done, Marra stepped out of the tub, and they briskly dried her off, leaving her skin red and sore. She donned the dress that Alexander had brought up for her, a simple grey and cream plaid skirt, with a grey woolen bodice. She lovingly picked up Duncan’s tartan from the floor where the maid had dropped it and pressed it to her cheek. It was made rough with sand clinging to its folds, but she did not care. It was a piece of him and that was all that mattered to her.
A scratching noise at the door heralded Alexander’s return. Entering, he walked over to Marra and unceremoniously ripped the tartan from her hands, throwing into the fireplace. “Nae!” Marra cried out, attempting to stop him, but she could not. The wool caught fire and burned slowly filling the room with smoke. “How could ye?” she whirled on him, raising her fists to strike at him.
“I would be verra careful what I choose tae do next if I were ye, daughter-in-law.”
“I am no’ yer daughter o’ any kind!” Marra’s rage threatened to consume her. “I would ne’er consent tae have a monster for a faither such as ye.”
“Ah, but ye did, remember, on the beach, tae save yer dear Duncan.” Alexander sneered at her in disgust as if she had chosen to lie with a pig instead of a handsome highland warrior.
“Where is James? I cannae imagine that he would agree tae this.”
“Nae, he would no’. That is why I have sent him away for a time tae see tae our business interests elsewhere. He believes that I have withdrawn my claim tae ye and left in peace. By the time he returns, ye will have perfected the art o’ actin’ the dutiful wife and will convince him that ye have changed yer mind and wish tae honor yer marriage.”
Marra wanted to scream from the rooftops that she would never agree to such a thing, but with the threat on Duncan’s life and the spies in his midst, there was nothing else she could do. He had made his terms quite clear, ‘Submit tae me or yer lover dies.’ Instead she said, “James will ne’er believe it. He kens I would ne’er leave Duncan o’ my own accord.”
“Aye, but Duncan is in nae place tae protect ye or yer people as was made clear by our simply walking in and taking what we wished from their shores. James will have nae choice but tae believe ye, for if he does no’…”
“I get it,” Marra interrupted. As she stood glaring at him, she wished she could bash his head in with one of the nearby buckets. She got a moment’s satisfaction as an image of his crushed skull flashed through her mind. She was not a violent person by nature, but recent events had brought out the worst in her. She wanted nothing more than to live peacefully with the man she loved, but she had been denied that bliss, and now she simply wanted revenge. I have been through enough, and I will have my blood price before this is o’er. She promised herself that whenever the first opportunity presented itself, she would kill Alexander MacDonald, no matter what it took, even if that meant her own life, for as long as Alexander lived, Duncan’s life was in danger.
Alexander studied her from her glistening red hair to her small bare feet. “Perhaps I will get an heir on ye myself,” he mused with lust in his eyes.
Marra recoiled in horror. “Ne’er would I consent tae such a thing.”
“Yer consent is no’ required, lass.” Alexander moved forward threateningly as if to act on his threat when another man came running into the room, whispered something into his ear, and then ran out again. “It would appear I am needed elsewhere. Perhaps another time,” he sneered with the promise of future harassment, then turned and left the room.
Marra collapsed onto the floor in a flood of relief. She had no way of knowing what message the man had brought, but she would be eternally grateful for the interruption. Marra turned to the remaining maids. “Yer laird is no’ but the scum o’ the earth. How can ye serve such a master?” The maids, refusing to answer, filed out of the room, taking all of their bathing accoutrements with them. “How can anyone serve such a man?” she asked the now empty room around her. She heard the wooden door barred once more and then nothing but silence and the erratic beating of her own heart.
She pulled the remaining tartan from the fire and stomped out the tendrils of flame that danced upon its surface, covering herself in soot. She laughed at her unkempt state, “So much for yer perfect lady, Laird MacDonald.” She spat out his name as if it were something putrid. The hysteria she heard in her own voice concerned her, but there was nothin’ she could do about it in her current situation. She was scared and alone, and it looked as if she was going to be that way for a very long time.
Duncan
will come for me. Nae matter what happens, I must believe in that.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Duncan lay tied up flat on his stomach, his face down in the grass. The night grew cold around him, and yet no one came. He had no way of knowing how long he lay there in such a state, but by the time that Ian found him the next morning, he was in a terrible condition. He had lain their in the dark, naked, cold, and alone, unable to move or cry out for help with the gag in his mouth. He feared for Marra’s life and could not erase the look of fear he had seen in her eyes from his mind. He began to understand how Marra must have felt when Lachlan had taken her and left her tied up and alone in the highland croft, but she had no real guarantee that she would be found in time. Duncan at least knew that he would eventually be discovered.
When Ian cut his bonds, Duncan was so stiff, he was unable to stand of his own accord. Ian had to go and fetch another man from the village and a blanket to throw over his naked body before they carried him up to the keep. Idonea was called and came to rub healing herbs into his skin in an effort to relax the taut muscles. Slowly she helped him to regain the use of his body, with great pain and effort. Once she got his muscles to working again, she covered his body in a soothing salve to relieve him of the many bug bites that covered his skin, including his most private places. As he had lain out there in the grass, the bugs had feasted on his flesh and blood. It had been enough to drive a man to madness, but Duncan had hung on in the hopes that, somehow, he would find a way to save Marra.
When he told Ian what had happened, the man went pale with fear and then red with rage. “I will kill him with my own bare hands!”
“Ye will have tae beat me tae it, my friend. I have a particularly unpleasant death in mind for Alexander MacDonald o’ Skye.”
