I searched Janet’s face.
“I think yer goin’ to ha’ a bairn, lass.”
The words echoed in my ears and I felt my fingertips go numb.
A bairn? A bairn?
Jumbled thoughts crowded my head as I struggled to comprehend. Janet’s arm tightened around my quaking shoulders.
“That’s why ye’ve been so ill and tired of late and,” She paused and looked down at my middle, “and that’s why ye gowns are gettin’ snug, lassie.”
I tore my eyes from her face and slowly looked down. My belly strained at the fabric of my gown. In wonder, I placed my hands over the swell.
“Blessed Lord!” Everything started to fall into place; the nausea, the weight, the fatigue. “Oh Lord,” I whispered.
“The Lord had naught to do wi’ this!” Mary giggled.
I looked from Mary to Janet. “But I was only with Duncan the one time, I mean, well just on our weddin’ day,” I stammered, feeling my face grow hot.
Boisterous laughter erupted from Mary. “Och lassie, as the mother of three, let me tell ye, it only takes the one time!” Her face turned red and her shoulders shook with delight.
I felt like a fool but Janet hugged me and whispered in my ear, “We shall be havin’ our bairns about the same time.”
I tipped my head back to stare at Janet and she nodded. “Aye Meara, I’ve been sufferin’ from the same ailment.”
The kitchen came alive, like a coop full of clucking hens. Hysterical laughter and tears of joy rang from within the warm room.
******
Outside the kitchen door, another member of the castle carefully stepped away and leaned against the wall. He rubbed at his ear and thoughtfully digested the bit of information that had just been handed to him.
The corners of his mouth slowly curled upward, his empty belly suddenly not so important. Anticipation added a bit of a jaunt to his weaving step as he turned back the way he had come and hurried to share the news.
******
The foreboding that had plagued me was soon forgotten and replaced by the most wonderful feeling of hope and joy.
Duncan’s baby. Our bairn!
The smile had not left my lips since Janet and Mary’s revelation. I was on my way to my chambers to write a message to my husband but first I had to find Hannah.
I jogged through the main floor of the castle, pausing to poke my head into each room. I finally found my little sister in the great room where she was just beginning to polish the silver with Edme.
“Hannah, come quickly. I need to talk to ye, lassie!”
Hannah glanced up in surprise as I took hold of her arm and started to drag her from the room. “Sorry, Edme,” I hollered over my shoulder to the bewildered servant, “We’ll be back soon!”
“Meara, are ye daft? Deirdre’ll have my head!” Hannah protested.
“Just come, Hannah! I’ve the most wonderful news.”
Hannah hesitated but my excitement was contagious and linking arms we scurried up to my chambers. Pulling her into my room, I pushed the door closed and leaned against it, breathless with exertion and excitement. Then I sprang forward. “Help me there, will ye?” I asked Hannah, as I reached over my shoulders to unbutton my dress.
Hannah’s fingers made short work of the row of buttons. “Is it Duncan then? Is he on his way to get us?” she asked, eagerness rising in her voice. “I’d better change my gown as well.”
My dress rustled to the floor and I stepped out of it. “Nay, Hannah.”
Disappointment shadowed her delicate face.
“Nay, it isna’ Duncan, lass, but it is something just as good! Here.” I took her hand and pressed it to the soft rounding of my abdomen. “Feel.”
The play of emotions across her face made me smile as confusion was replaced by comprehension and last of all by disbelief. “Are ye...?”
She wasn’t able to finish her question as I squealed, “Aye, lassie. Yer goin’ to be an auntie!”
She threw her arms around my neck and I enveloped her small frame as we danced a crazy jig around my chambers, our delirious giggles bouncing from the walls. As we passed the mirror, I wiggled from Hannah’s arms and peered at my reflection. Standing sideways, I pulled my chemise tight to my belly and inspected the changes in my body.
My breasts pressed at the material and my belly protruded ever so slightly. How had I missed this? It was so obvious now. My heart swelled with wonder at the thought of the life nestled within me. I met Hannah’s eyes in the looking glass and we shared a teary smile.
A commotion suddenly sounded in the corridor. I had no time to retrieve my dress before the door crashed inward.
Deirdre filled my doorway, her rage spreading like a disease to every corner of my room. Her eyes burned with an unnatural light and I could not help but be afraid. She advanced on me, moved forward and closed in on me.
I stumbled back and crossed my arms protectively over my middle. A cold hand slipped into the crook of my arm and I felt Hannah at my side.
“So! It’s true!” Her lips were the only part of her face that moved as the words grated from between her teeth. Her dark eyes left my face and crawled down my body. I felt the heat of her gaze as it came to rest on my belly and my hands slid down of their own accord.
Sloan’s face skulked into view as he stole a look over Deirdre’s shoulder. His mouth gaped, his moist tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes touching my exposed flesh with an intimacy that angered me and lent me a shred of courage. “Get out, both of ye!” The pitch of my voice belied my fear.
“Nay, Meara. How many times ha’ I warned ye? This is it. Yer finished. Yer a hooer and that child ye carry is a bastard. Ye’ve shamed yer family.” Spittle flew from her mouth with each clipped word. “Ye’ve spread yer legs one too many times.” She paused for a moment then lowered her chin while her lids drooped over her shining eyes. “Yer young laird’ll ne’er ha’ ye now!”
“Yer not my family!” I yelled, as I backed away. “I’ve shamed no one!”
With long strides, Deirdre crossed the room, grabbed my wrist and began directing me toward my door. I tried to shake free, dug in my heels but Sloan trapped my other wrist and helped his sister drag me from the room.
Hannah followed, tearfully protesting. She grabbed Sloan’s sleeve but he shook her off as easily as he had wee Daisy. She took hold again and without pause he backhanded her. I screamed as she took the full force of the hit across her cheek and crumpled to her knees, stunned. Sloan laughed, “Well, there’s some life in ye after all. I wouldna guessed.”
Writhing and bucking against their hold, I looked over my shoulder at the small form of my sister. She stared up at me, eyes wide with horror, a red welt marring her cheekbone.
“Hannah. Haaanaaaah,” I shrieked. Deirdre and Sloan towed me down the corridor as I strained to see my sister through a film of tears.
We arrived at the landing at the same time Mary and Janet reached the top of the stairs. Deirdre halted our progress and held up her free hand. “If either one of ye tries to help her, Robert MacDonald will die, and you and yer families will be turned out.” The ominous warning rattled through us all.
I gaped first at Mary, then at Janet. “I’ll be fine,” I managed, my voice shaking badly.
Janet started forward but Mary put a restraining hand on her arm. She looked down at her mother’s arm, then back to me. Her amber eyes filled with pain, “I’m so sorry, Meara.”
“Just see that Hannah’s all right,” was all I managed before they jerked on my arms and I stumbled forward. Conscious of the life I carried, I stopped fighting.
“Dinna hurt that lassie!” Mary hollered after us.
Deirdre halted, her grip tightening painfully on my arm. Slowly, she turned while I peered over my shoulder. Mary stood at the top of the stairs, her hands on her hips, her small round body quivering with emotion.
“I said dinna hurt that wee lassie!” she repeated between clenched teeth. Janet put a ha
nd on her mother’s shoulder but Mary took a step toward us.
“I suggest ye both return to the kitchen if ye hope to keep yer positions,” Deirdre answered tightly before turning back to me. I held Janet’s bleak eyes with my own until we rounded a bend in the hallway and she was gone.
We came to a door at the other end of the corridor. Keeping one hand gripped tightly on my arm, Sloan reached out with the other and yanked it open. It protested with a groan then screeched open, the hinges rusty from lack of use. Deirdre went first and dragged me while Sloan pushed from behind, our progress slow up the narrow flight of stairs.
I knew these stairs like the back of my hand but I didn’t make our progress any easier.
As we neared the top, Deirdre groped around until she found the handle of another door. It creaked inward. My arms were released and I was given a rough shove from behind so that I fell to my knees.
I sheltered my eyes from the sudden glare. Gradually I grew accustomed to the light that poured in through the windows that encircled the room. The tower room, my childhood playground, sprang into focus and it became clear to me then that Deirdre had been biding her time, patiently waiting for me to slip up. The room had been cleaned, the toys piled to one side. Somehow they had brought up a narrow cot, a night stand and a wardrobe. Everything stood in readiness, waiting for me to blunder and I had unwittingly complied.
Massaging the circulation back into my wrists, I turned.
The door swung shut, followed by the sound of a newly installed bolt sliding home.
TEN
February 1809
Hannah
Duncan galloped across the moor astride Tormod, wind snatching the dark waves from his forehead. He found me seated beneath the thistles, nestled low on a carpet of heather. His teeth flashed white in the sunlight, the dimple cleaving his cheek. Sliding from his horse, he strode toward me and I admired the bulge of his thigh muscles at the edge of his kilt. I looked up into his eyes and my face flooded with warmth at his rakish grin.
His gaze moved to his son and his smile softened.
I looked down at the cherubic face. Black curls framed the curved cheeks of our bairn. His pink tongue moved in rhythm between parted lips as he suckled in his sleep.
Tormod snorted and our son’s lids flew open, his body stiffening, thick lashes fringing the moss-green eyes. I rocked him, murmured softly, and he drifted off, his warm body relaxing in my arms once more.
Duncan knelt beside us. The breeze carried his familiar scent to me and I inhaled. Cupping my face in his hand, he leaned in and kissed me, his lips lingering, gentle on mine. We smiled at one another then our heads touched as we looked down at our sleeping child.
“May I hold him, lass?” His low-pitched voice was filled with awe and I carefully passed our baby into his waiting arms. Love for my husband and son, welled up in my heart and overflowed.
Without warning, clouds scudded overhead, veiling the heat of the sun. I turned and peered down across the moor. Shadows darkened the valley. The wind picked up, filling my ears with an unearthly wail. At once I was cold. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and goosebumps laid claim to my flesh. Drawing my shawl, I turned back, reaching for the baby’s blanket.
My hand froze mid-air, my eyes pulled to the myriad of stains on the front of Duncan’s shirt. I stared, the scream of the wind penetrating my skull. I looked next to the unkempt, broken nails that tipped the fingers that stroked my baby’s cheek. Before my eyes, Duncan’s tanned hands twisted into sharp claws.
My baby slept peacefully, oblivious to the terror that suddenly grabbed hold of me.
I tore my eyes from the hands and gaped up into the face.
Sanity trickled away.
“Noooooo!” I howled, the inhuman cry ripping from my breast.
The arms that encircled my son were not Duncan’s.
The serpentine eyes that stared back at me were not blue.
Sloan. My God! Sloan!
Sour breath wafted into my face as my uncle grinned at me. Chunks of his face slowly fell away to reveal the white bone beneath.
I lunged, grabbing for my child but he was just out of reach. Sloan’s leering smile mocked me. I reached again and again, my fingers closing convulsively on empty air, my frenzied sobs having no effect on Sloan.
My baby woke and cried out, his tiny fists flailing.
“Blessed Lord. Nooooo. My baby. NOOOOO!”
I clawed at the walls of my nightmare, tore through the dark to light, my screams echoing in my ears as I opened my eyes.
As usual, my pillow was wet with tears and sweat drenched my body.
With desperate horror, I slid my hands down. Oh Lord, thank you, thank you. I let go of my breath and cupped my rounded belly with shaking hands. As if to reassure me, tiny feet tapped up at my splayed fingers.
With a well-aimed kick, my belly jumped then became still again. “Ah, my wee bairn, I love ye,” I croaked, my throat raw from the screaming. The trembling eased until hiccups were all that remained. Still, jagged fragments of my nightmare taunted from the shadows and the dread would not leave.
This dream had become too familiar to me over the past three months. Dreams of my husband and child ruled my sleep. But more often these sweet visions ended with Duncan disappearing and though I tried again and again, I could never quite reach my baby. Sloan, the demon of my slumber, appeared each night to snatch away my child. Sometimes though, it was Deirdre.
Shaking my head, I willed the dark images away but the sense of unease persisted.
It was a dreary morning in early February. My twentieth birthday had come and gone. On this day the sun had not yet penetrated the clouds, nor, I thought, was it likely to. Though I was surrounded by windows, a tomblike pallor gripped the room. Last night’s fire had burned down, leaving behind a small pile of ash. Winter’s icy fingers slipped between the chinking and snatched away the lingering heat.
I sat up, wrapped my quilt around me and studied the design of my prison for the umpteenth time. The stone walls curved in front of me and around behind me, enclosing me in their unending embrace. Faded tapestries hung, musty from the walls. Shabby rugs were scattered randomly about the cold floor. I had lined up my old toys neatly on one shelf of a bookcase that overflowed with books. These books, some just common prayer books, were my only companions. I had read most of them during my months of confinement.
I looked back at the toys, at the elaborate dollhouse crafted by Da.
Memories of that long ago Christmas morning brought a smile to my lips. Da had been so excited, his huge laugh ringing through the castle as Mother smiled by his side. I had been about eight and Hannah five. Da had sat on the floor with us, a great bear of a man, delightedly revealing the little secrets within the dollhouse. Though I had been young, I remembered the adoration in his eyes as he watched us.
That same Christmas, Mother had crafted a doll for each of us. Mine had coppery hair and green eyes and Hannah’s had yellow hair and blue eyes. Somehow, with her patient cross stitch, she’d captured our expressions. I’d fallen in love with mine right away and it had accompanied me everywhere, indoors and out. I remembered playing with that doll in the tower room, ironically now my prison, until it was quite grubby.
I looked at my much-loved doll. A chunk of hair was missing and long ago one of the shoes had been lost. In contrast, Hannah’s doll appeared almost untouched, flaxen hair smooth, little shoes intact, not a smudge of dirt, much like my sister herself.
I yearned for the life that had been stolen from us. Leaning over the side of my bed, I reached for Hannah’s doll. It smelled of dust and disuse but the wide blue eyes stared back at me with an eerie life of their own. I smoothed the hair and straightened the gown then hugged her to my chest, wishing desperately it was Hannah in my arms.
I had been captive in the tower for almost three months. Despite Deirdre’s watchful eye Hannah had managed to sneak up for regular visits albeit from the other side of the door. Wi
th me locked away, everyone was tiptoeing around Deirdre lest they be next. Hannah assured me Daisy was fine, sleeping with her every night now but pining outside my chamber door every morning. I missed my trusty fur ball, missed her ‘good morning’ kisses, her bright, eyes and her special way of cuddling close whenever she knew I was sad. With lots of idle time, I looked forward to hearing Hannah’s voice on the other side of the door. However the visits had become sporadic and I hadn’t heard from her in several days. Her last visit had left me feeling worried. It was something I couldn’t pinpoint exactly, maybe the flat tone of her voice, or the hesitancy with which she answered my questions. She’d sounded different, hopeless somehow. But there was something else in her voice too... sadness... desperation? And this is what troubled me most. I was helpless behind the heavy door and so frustrated. I felt certain Sloan was bothering her again but she’d carefully evaded my questions.
The baby moved. A small foot pressed down on my bladder and forced me from the warmth of my bed. Another strong kick sent me scurrying for the chamber pot. I watched, intrigued as wave-like motions rippled beneath the skin of my swollen belly. How I wished Duncan was by my side to share in the wonder of our child.
Oh Duncan when are ye comin’ home to us, laddie? I asked myself.
After Duncan’s first letter I had heard nothing more from him. I had written many letters to him that I’d entrusted to Hannah. She in turn had passed them on to Rabbie and I felt certain Rabbie would find some way to get them to Duncan.
Rabbie had recently sent me a message that war had broken out at Corunna in Spain several weeks past. The much repeated prayer played through my mind. God, please, please let it end soon. Please keep my lad safe and send him home to us. We need him so.
Lifting the jug, I poured fresh water into the basin. As I lathered my hands, a hollow knock sounded on the door. Hungry for human contact, I hastily dried my hands on the front of my night dress and rushed to the door.
“Good mornin’, Edme!” God! Was that my voice that sounded so pitiful?
Megan Denby Page 14
