Megan Denby

by A Thistle in the Mist

  The post was one of many recently peeled by Rabbie in preparation for the new paddock he was building. Having nicely served its purpose, the heavy log slipped from Deirdre’s tenuous grasp and thudded to the ground. She breathed heavily. Her hands fluttered up to smooth at her hair as she peered over the side of the wagon. Rabbie was unconscious or maybe dead and Deirdre didn’t care which it was. She just wanted to get back to her bairn. She turned to her brother.

  He lay curled into himself. Scrawny arms shielded his head as he snivelled and hiccupped. The side of Deirdre’s mouth curled up to her nose in disgust. She reached down, grabbed his ear and yanked.

  “Argh. No more. No more.”

  “Get up, ye cowardly erse! It was the stable lad, Rabbie, what whacked ye. What is he, fifteen or sixteen?” she asked, her voice dripping with contempt.

  Sloan peeked between his splayed fingers. His head swivelled back and forth as he searched the surrounding area. Satisfied that his attacker was not waiting to finish him off, he lowered his hands.

  Deirdre’s cackle shattered the still.

  Sloan’s hands flew back up to cover his face. “Whad?” he mumbled.

  Deirdre doubled over, slapping her thigh. “Yer nose,” she snorted, “yer nose!” she howled again.

  Sloan dropped his hands. His nose was badly broken and swollen like an overripe tomato. Blood spouted from each nostril.

  “Verra fuddy.” He fished a well-used handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the damage. Grabbing the side of the wagon, he hauled himself up and glared at the unconscious couple.

  “Bluidy batard,” he muttered, his speech garbled by the swelling.

  Deirdre snorted again and Sloan turned on his sister, snarling: “When ye come up wi’ this plan, did ye forged Rabbie sleeps in the stable every nide?” He carefully daubed at his nose with the cloth. “Och, now we ha’ ourselves a widness.”

  Deirdre glared back at her brother, lips pulled back from her long teeth, “Go fuck yerself, Sloan. Ye didna think of it either.”

  Sloan’s eyes widened, his pale lashes white against the bruising that was quickly spreading around his eyes. He jumped as a groan sounded from the wagon bed. Rabbie, it seemed, was not dead after all.

  “Well, what are we goin’ to do the now? Rabbie saw everythin’.” Panic edged Deirdre’s voice and her dark eyes darted to the unconscious pair and back.

  Sloan stroked his jaw. “We canna ha’ any widnesses, ye ken.” He stared at Rabbie, eyes narrowed. “He’ll just ha’ to go wid her.” He wiped at the blood that had gathered on his top lip then carefully stuffed the corners of the rag up his nose, further distorting his speech. “I’ll ged some rope,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Satisfied with the new twist in their scheme, Deirdre guarded the pair, while Sloan searched the stable. Her thoughts slipped inward, her dark eyes clouding. Heath – the perfect, perfect wee angel was hers – at last.

  Sloan returned a moment later with a length of rope and a few rags. He climbed into the wagon and bound their hands and feet. Then he shoved the rags between their teeth and knotted the ends behind their heads, ensuring they’d make no noise if they awoke.

  Brushing his hands on his trousers, he turned to his older sister. The bloodied rag flapped as he spoke, “Och, I think as young Rabbie has just helped to make our story more believable.”

  Sloan’s voice interrupted Deirdre’s happy thoughts and she glared at him in annoyance, “What are ye bletherin’ about now, Sloan?” she barked.

  He turned and tested each rope. “Seems our poor Meara went mad wid grief after she learned Hannah was dead. She overpowered ye and escaped from the tower room. Then she ran to Rabbie here.” Sloan jerked his head at the inert form of the stable lad. “And we all ken the lad was smitten so he helped her escape.” Sloan wrenched on the bindings and smiled to himself as it dug into Meara’s slim ankle. “Ye didna stop her ‘cause ye were afeert for the wean... she was actin’ so crazy. And it seems Rabbie just decided to run off wid her.” Sloan nodded, extremely impressed with himself.

  Deirdre smiled uncertainly, not quite sure if she had understood her brother’s garbled words. The swelling made it almost difficult for him to articulate. Drumming her fingers against her leg, she darted a hungry look toward the castle.

  “Looks like I’ll ha’ to strike up a new deal wid old Captain McDougall.” Sloan yanked on Rabbie’s arm, rolling him over until he lay on his back beside Meara. Then he hopped down from the wagon and immediately winced as splinters of bone grated together in his nose. As the throbbing lessened, he grinned at Deirdre, “Bud the best thing is we get rid of Miss High and Mighty here and id didna cost a thing. Indentured servants ha’ to pay for themselves, ye ken. When Stable lad and Princess ged to the Canadas, they’ll ha’ to work til their passage is paid for.” He smirked, “That’s if they survive the crossin’.”

  The sky flared light as day for a moment and a second later an ominous rumble shook the ground.

  Deirdre stood, hands clasped tightly behind her back, her fingers working, a jerky smile twitching upon her lips. “Och, we’ve just about finished what we set out to do. We’ve got rid of our thievin’ sister and soon everything she had will be ours, just as Momma said.”

  Sloan nodded, watching his sister’s odd behaviour with cautious eyes. “Momma told me that bastard, Robert MacDonald, is as good as dead too and wi’ Meara and Hannah out of the way we can bring Momma home where she belongs.” Sloan lifted the tailgate and slammed it shut with a final ‘thwack’.

  The sky lit up again and an ominous rumble shook the ground. Trees shivered but stood their ground as the first drops fell.

  Sloan disappeared into the stable then returned with Maggie, Hannah’s gentle chestnut mare. He hitched her to the wagon, paused to reposition the rag then carefully climbed up into the seat. He looked back at his sister. “Now ye can get back to yer precious brat, but remember, wait til I ged back from Uig afore ye sound the alarm. We dinna want anyone to start lookin’ too soon.” He picked up the reins and peered up at the sky. “Looks like we’re goin’ to get wet.”

  Shadows covered Deirdre’s long face as she scowled silently at her brother. Brat! He was no brat! He was her perfect bairn. The wagon creaked into motion and Deirdre watched until her brother disappeared up the road.

  Her lips twitched then settled into a smile, the quivering veil of madness slipping down over her glowing eyes.

  Night creatures crouched in silence as the skies opened. Deirdre pulled her plaid over her head and retraced her steps to the castle and her waiting son as the rush of rain drowned out her toneless lullaby.

  FIFTEEN

  May 4 1809

  The tempest raged. Waves collided, tossing the insignificant ship back and forth. As water flooded the decks, the crew braced for the next onslaught. The captain stood lashed to the wheel, his face turned into the gale, a wild grin upon his face.

  “Is that the best ye can do?” he hollered, his words snatched away and swallowed by the ravenous storm.

  Below deck the world was aslant as Rabbie pitched forward again, lunging for Meara as she rolled across his legs. Despite his effort, her battered face bumped his knees and she moaned. Rabbie winced as his head bounced off the wall but he held fast to his precious cargo.

  With gentle hands Duntulm’s stable lad shifted Meara as the ship righted. He squinted down at the pale face then smoothed back the untamed curls, frowning at the bruises and swelling that marred her face. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved her, been enchanted by her beauty, her sauciness, her free spirit. He felt a fierce loyalty to his mistress. A lump of fury balled in Rabbie’s throat as he thought of the filthy coward who’d done this to her. Clearly, she had been beaten and he thought maybe she’d been drugged too. Hours had passed since he’d found her in the wagon and she still lay limp, lifeless, the storm flinging her about like a rag doll. He held her close and watched her chest rise and fall, not knowing what else to do.


  After he had been bashed in the head, Rabbie remembered nothing.

  He had awakened, bound and gagged on the deck of this ship, head throbbing, clothing soggy. Silhouetted by the russet streaks of early dawn, a fierce-looking face had filled his vision.

  Intense grey eyes had pored over his face. The owner of the eyes clenched a pipe between worn teeth. Long white hair was drawn back, from a creased, weathered face, and secured in a queue. Tufted brows framed silvery eyes that, after a scathing perusal, had locked with his. An old scar parted his right brow and ran down through his lid, slicing deep into his cheek.

  “Och, laddie, I hope ye had yerself a fine sleep cause it’s the last ye’ll be gettin’ for a time.” He swiped the pipe from between his teeth, leaned in close to Rabbie. “I’m Captain Duff McDougall and this is my ship, my Ghillie Dhu,” he stated proudly. “Now I dinna want no trouble from ye, ye hear? I bin told you and this lassie is nothin’ but trouble and I willna stand for it. Ye belong to me til I get my coin. Ye understand?”

  Rabbie nodded, though he understood nothing.

  “I dinna ken why yer trussed up and I dinna care what ye done just so long as we understand one another. Like I said, I dinna want no trouble. I’m goin’ to untie ye and the lass the now. Afore I do, let me tell ye lad, if ye gi’ me any hardship I’ll be tossin’ ye to the sharks.” He jerked his head toward the railing. “Ye understand?”

  Rabbie nodded again, understanding completely this time.

  The captain clamped the pipe between his teeth and squinted as the smoke curled up into his eyes. Squatting low, he loosened the gag with his thick, leathery fingers. Rabbie licked his dry lips and swallowed a few times. With painstaking patience the captain worked at the knots, finally freeing Rabbie’s hands and feet.

  His fingers and toes were numb and the pain along the side of his head thundered but Rabbie knelt beside the captain and helped to loosen the ropes that bound Meara. She was deathly still and her forearms were wrapped in bandages. When Rabbie turned her head to remove the gag, her bright curls spilled away to reveal her damaged face.

  A sharp whistle skinned the captain’s teeth.

  “What the de’il happened to the wee lass?” His voice was hard and accusing as he glared at Rabbie. “Did ye do this, man?”

  Rabbie felt the blood leave his face at the captain’s accusation. “God no, captain! I didna touch, Miss Meara. It was...” The captain held up his hand, silenced Rabbie then shook his head with disgust.

  “I dinna want to ken. Och, it ain’t none o’ my business but I can guess it were that boggin’ lump o’ shite that brung ye to me in the middle of the night; said he had a good deal for me.” The captain spoke to himself, shaking his head in anger. He turned back to Rabbie. “Like I said, I dinna want no trouble. Just take the poor wee mite down below wi’ the other indentureds.” He glanced up at the sky, ran a gnarled finger down the wicked scar. “There’s a storm brewin’ and she’s a mean one. Ye’ll stay below wi’ t’others til she’s done.”

  Rabbie looked up at the cloudless sky and back at the captain. Then he knelt to pick up Meara. The feeling had returned to his limbs and he easily scooped up the forlorn figure of his mistress.

  Captain McDougall limped ahead, bandied legs bowed from ankle to knee. Though his gait was slow, his glance was lightning-quick. Rabbie followed on his unsteady land-legs, unused to the roll of the sea.

  The captain bent and grasped a metal ring, opened a grated trapdoor in the floor of the deck. “I wish ye luck, laddie. Look after the wee lass now. I kent she’ll be needin’ yer help when she wakes. We’ve quite a voyage ahead of us afore we get to the Canadas. Mebbe ye’ll be lucky and be sold thegether.” His voice was gruff but not unkind.

  Rabbie cuddled Meara to his chest. “Do ye mind if I ask ye somethin’, Captain?” Rabbie’s voice was strong and clear, with no trace of the fear that was at that moment staining the armpits of his shirt.

  “Aye, speak laddie.” The captain took a long draw on his pipe and exhaled a slow neat ring that hovered momentarily above their heads, before drifting away on the breeze.

  “What are indentureds, sir?”

  “Och, laddie, Master McBain ga’ ye over to me for debts ye owe to him. You and the lassie’ll be sold as indentured servants when we get to the Canadas. Highest bidder takes ye and then ye’ll work til yer debt is clear; two, mebbe three years at the most.” The captain squinted at Rabbie. Pity shadowed the bright eyes as he took in Rabbie’s shocked expression.

  Rabbie nodded, disbelief rendering him breathless. “Aye, sir,” he answered, his voice barely audible.

  Captain Duff patted Rabbie’s shoulder reassuringly, “Hold fast lad, hold fast.”

  Clutching Meara to his hammering chest with one arm, he cautiously made his way down the ladder. He had no idea what lay in wait and stepped off the bottom rung gingerly before wending his way between countless bodies that lay strewn about like pebbles on a beach.

  He headed to an empty space and gratefully slid down. Propping his back against the wall, he draped Meara’s inert form across his lap.

  It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

  Like a massive school of herring, indentured servants packed the hold, the stench of fear thick on the stifling air. Furtive stares were cast his way for a moment before their glances slid away with disinterest, minds focused on their own misery.

  He rested his head against the wall and wearily allowed his eyes to close.

  He was in trouble. Big trouble.

  By now his mother, sisters and grandfather would have discovered him missing and they would be frantic with worry. Guilt washed over him as he thought of their anguish; Janet, with her new bairn and Alec at sea, did not need something else to fret about. Another miserable thought occurred to him. What tale had Sloan and Deirdre concocted to explain his disappearance? Would anyone even be searching for them? Rabbie swallowed convulsively, anxiety squeezing his gut. He knew his mother and sisters would never believe anything Deirdre or Sloan told them. On the other hand there was probably nothing they could do either.

  His immediate concern was Meara. The magnitude of his dilemma settled over him like a suffocating veil. A lad just turned seventeen and a lassie of twenty, virtually alone on the Atlantic, each breath of wind stealing them farther and farther from their homeland.

  He peered around the ship at the wretched lot that shared his quarters and silently chided himself. Things could be worse, a lot worse. The blow to his head could have killed him and then Meara would really be in danger, with no one to protect her. He squared his shoulders as he looked down at his pitiful ward. Captain Duff had been right. Meara would need him when she woke. She had lost her entire family and now her bairn. Duncan’s last words echoed in his mind. ‘Look after my lassie for me will ye, laddie?’ Duncan had entrusted Rabbie with Meara and his mother had taught him that honour was as precious as life itself. He would not let Duncan down.

  Somehow they would get back to Scotland.

  ******

  The captain’s mysterious weather prophecy had proven correct.

  The ocean boiled, divesting itself of huge breakers that crashed angrily into the hull. The man-made vessel was no match for nature’s fury and listed dangerously. Timber creaked and shouts rang out overhead as the Ghillie Dhu floundered helplessly. Droning complaints soon gave way to cries of alarm.

  Rabbie’s eyes restlessly travelled the room. He watched his fellow passengers roll back and forth with the pitch of the ship. A waterfall of sea water poured through the grate with each slant of the ship. He clutched Meara against him, mindful of her swollen face, as his own head repeatedly bashed against the wall.

  Buckets randomly placed around the hold were quickly snatched up as the rolling of the ocean emptied many a disturbed stomach.

  Meara stirred and moaned, her delicate brow wrinkled. Her hands fluttered, agitated, at her sides and she exhaled tremulously. It was the most movement she’d made
since boarding this floating hellhole, and Rabbie watched her intently, his breath held.

  Nature’s assault strengthened and the ship groaned, pitching violently. Meara’s forehead grew damp with perspiration. Rabbie felt his own stomach roll and reached for one of the putrid buckets.

  Just in time.

  ******

  Vomit exploded from my mouth, burned hot from my nose. I retched, bile shooting from my belly. My stomach heaved once more and I pulled in a shaking breath. With eyes closed, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, winced as my wrist bumped my jaw.

  The floor rolled, creaked beneath me with the unfamiliar sound of rushing water. A sour stench of puke and unwashed bodies prodded at my consciousness.

  I felt calloused fingers smooth my hair back from my face and gently pat my forehead. I squeezed my eyes tight, concentrated, willed my mind to stay empty. I didn’t want to open my eyes, didn’t want to remember.

  Something bad was waiting for me.

  Waves of dread washed over me, smothered me so that I couldn’t take a breath, so that I felt as though I might suffocate. I felt the gentle hands again, smoothing my hair over and over.

  Low-pitched conversation filtered through the haze that blanketed my brain. A child whimpered and a mother soothed. A man belched and somewhere close by a woman wept softly. Another person snored, while still another retched. I didn’t want to know where I was.

  Then the familiar cry of a baby pierced my heart and I opened my eyes.

  “Heath,” I croaked.

  “Shhh, shhh, Miss Meara. It’s all right, lassie. I willna let anyone hurt ye agin.” I tipped my head back and stared up into a face I hadn’t seen in a long time.

  Rabbie peered anxiously down at me. I noticed dully that he looked older, the plump boyish cheeks gone, replaced by raw cheekbones. He was pale, shining with perspiration and his lips were tight with worry. He reached down and his fingers closed over mine, squeezed gently. I looked down at the comforting hand. My hand remained limp in his and my eyes slid out of focus as horrific visions suddenly jerked through my mind.