Megan Denby

by A Thistle in the Mist

  “There’s a good lass.” His voice calmed, soothed the panicked child. “Be still now, Molly. Listen to me, hiney. I am goin’ to take ye back to yer Mum. What do ye say, lassie?”

  Molly nodded and tightened her stranglehold on Rabbie. “All right, Rabbie.” Her voice wavered but she bravely blinked away her tears.

  Rabbie swam back to the ship, towing the child at his side. Gratefully, he accepted the rope that was tossed to him. Then he peered earnestly into the child’s eyes. “Would ye like a piggy ride, wee Molly?”

  With a tremulous sigh, she nodded solemnly. “Yes, please.”

  “Hold on tight now, lass.” With Rabbie’s hands guiding, Molly climbed onto his back and clasped her hands around his neck.

  “Well now, ye ha’ fine strong hands there, Molly girl, but I think yer stranglin’ me.” A giggle tickled his ear while her hands relaxed a little. Then Rabbie gripped the rope and hand over hand, he gradually climbed back up to the railing, his arms quivering with exertion.

  Several hands reached over to pull the pair aboard while a cheer went up through the crowd. Molly flew into her mother’s arms. With much backslapping, an embarrassed Rabbie quickly slipped away to find Meara.

  As he weaved his way through the well wishers, the captain appeared at his side. A large hand reached out and clapped his shoulder. “That was brave of ye, lad.” The silvery eyes held quiet admiration. Rabbie felt the familiar warmth creep up his cheeks and ducked his head, annoyed at himself.

  “It were nothin’ Captain. Anyone would ha’ done it.”

  “Aye, lad, but no one else did now, did they?” He pulled a bundle from under his arm and deposited dry clothes into Rabbie’s arms.” Without another word, the captain limped off.

  Clutching the bundle, Rabbie shook the water from his eyes and scanned the deck for Meara.

  She had not moved from her spot and when he strode over to her side her green eyes were as vacant as ever. It appeared she had missed the excitement. The midday sun burned hot and her freckles stood out against her pink cheeks. She had shed the jacket completely now and it lay forgotten at her feet. Her upturned breasts were outlined against the thin material of her nightgown. Rabbie guiltily averted his eyes. It was too hot for the heavy coat but she could not stand on the deck in just her nightdress. He’d ask the captain if he had anything Meara could borrow. “Miss Meara, will ye be all right for a few minutes while I change into some dry clothes?”

  She half-turned to look at him with eyes that were not quite focused. She did not say a word about his drenched clothing or dripping hair. “Aye, Rabbie.” Her voice was wooden, her smile blank.

  He looked quickly in the direction of the gentlemen and was relieved to see that O’Flynn was not among them. He would be quick! Then he hurried down the ladder to the empty hold and rapidly shed his wet clothing.

  He held up a huge pair of breeches, undoubtedly meant for someone twice his girth. Shrugging his shoulders, he stepped into them. Yanking his belt from his own wet breeches, he hurriedly threaded it through the loops. The last thing he needed was for his breeches to slip to his ankles while up on deck. He’d made enough of a spectacle today. His boots were soggy but he was just relieved to feel his dirk still pushed down inside. The shirt he’d been given was too small and clung to his damp chest. He took no notice and hurried back up the ladder, anxious to get back to Meara.

  He poked his head through the opening and his chest tightened as he spied Sean O’Flynn sidle up to Meara. The ever-present mug of whiskey lay momentarily abandoned on the railing nearby.

  As he flung himself from the hold, Molly and her mother stepped into his path. Molly smiled shyly up at him and her mother held out a slender hand.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon sir, but ‘ow can I ever thank you? You saved my girl.” Her voice was as thin as her wispy frame. Hollows of grey encircled the kind eyes and she held her mouth tight, as though in pain. She clutched her baby in one arm and the other trembled as she held it out.

  “It were nothin’, Miss Sarah. Just glad I could help.” Rabbie took her hand as he anxiously peered over her head at Meara.

  “Don’t you have something to say, Molly?” The mother glanced expectantly down at her daughter as she hoisted the baby up on her hip.

  Seawater still dripped from Molly’s chin as she stared solemnly up at Rabbie. “Thank you for the piggy ride.” She held out a small hand and in spite of himself, Rabbie grinned and squeezed the hand.

  “No more swimmin’ by yerself now, right lassie?” Molly’s lips spread in a big smile and she squeezed his hand back.

  “I won’t, Rabbie.” Rabbie’s eyes darted back to Meara as Molly and her family turned away.

  O’Flynn leaned in beside Meara, foppish head bowed, thick lips to her ear. He whispered something while his ringed fingers crept up. Rabbie watched horrified as the stubby fingers plunged down the front of Meara’s bodice.

  Rabbie hurtled across the deck.

  Meara did not make a sound but raked a deep path down O’Flynn’s face with her nails. Four crimson lines seeped dark and wet. Sean snatched his hand back, his bejeweled fingers flying up to his wounded cheek. He gaped at the blood that smeared his hand.

  “Jaysus! You’ve cut me, yer feckin’ bitch!” Every voice stilled as his curses rent the air.

  “Next time ye touch me, Mr. O’Flynn, I’ll kill ye.” Her voice was deceptively polite, pleasantly venomous. Her green eyes flashed a challenge, sharply in focus now.

  Bloodshot eyes widened then narrowed with fury, just as Rabbie slid across the deck. O’Flynn backed away from Meara and turned on Rabbie snarling. “Yer keep dat crazy hooer away from me, yer hear?” He held his hand to his cheek as he shoved his face close to Rabbie’s. “She wanted a ride. Why else would she parade around half-dressed? Everyone knows she’s an eejit.” He spun his finger loosely at his temple.

  Rabbie drew back his fist but the intended blow was halted by steel-like fingers that trapped his hand. Captain McDougall stood at his side, his face inscrutable and his hand inflexible as he lowered Rabbie’s fist. Ice-blue eyes scanned O’Flynn’s face. “Well now, looks as if ye’ve had a wee mishap there, Mr. O’Flynn.” His eyes turned hard and his voice dripped with sarcasm as he continued, “Mebbe if ye weren’t partakin’ o’ the whiskey so early on the morn, ye wouldn’t ha’ fallen into the wee lassie’s hand.”

  O’Flynn flushed purple. His wide face, the colour of a ripe plum, looked as though it would burst from his corded neck. He sputtered a protest as his cronies howled with laughter. Without moving his head, the captain glanced sideways and Rabbie was sure he saw a quick wink as the weathered fingers loosened their vice-like grip on Rabbie’s hand.

  “I think it might be best if ye retire to yer quarters the now, Mr. O’Flynn.” The captain’s voice was syrupy, sleek with mock sympathy, “Ye may want to nurse that wound.”

  Sean O’Flynn’s face appeared to swell, the small pig-eyes bulging dangerously. Blue veins ballooned on his neck as he glared at his peers then back at the captain. “She wanted it, Captain. I was jist obligin’.” He reeled drunkenly, his Irish brogue slurred.

  The captain dropped all pretense of civility. “Mr. O’Flynn yer insultin’ a lady and yer makin’ an erse of yerself. I’m bannin’ ye to yer quarters for the rest of the voyage,” he ordered, his voice slicing the summer day like a hot knife cutting through butter. “Now go!”

  Sean glared at Meara. “Feckin’ crazy bitch!” Then he spun around and slunk away, the arrogant strut noticeably absent. He paused at the railing and swiped up his mug. Whiskey sloshed over the sides, staining the deck as he staggered away. Sidestepping a stack of crates, he reeled sharply. The mug slipped from his hand, shattered on the deck. Shards skidded in every direction. He kicked at the broken glass and slouched off to his cabin.

  The excitement over, conversations resumed and the passengers wandered away, though many eyed Meara with new interest.

  “Thank you, Captain.” Meara’s eyes
were crystalline, as clear as the sea that swayed beneath, as she stared at the captain.

  He held his great hand out to her. “My pleasure, lassie. Ye let me ken if he gives ye any more trouble. He’s full o’ the talk, that one.” Then he squeezed her hand briefly and limped away.

  They watched the captain’s uneven gait then Meara turned to Rabbie. “Rabbie, can ye ever forgive me for bein’ such a wretch? Ye’ve been so kind, lad.” She stared down at her bare feet, cheeks stained pink. “I’ve... I’ve been so lost.”

  Rabbie leaned down and retrieved the jacket. “Nay, lassie, there’s nothin’ to be sorry for. Yer losses are more than most could bear. I’m just glad to see ye back.” He held the jacket out and she slipped into it. “I think mebbe we should ask the captain if he has any gowns ye might borrow.” Meara nodded, clasping the front of his altered jacket tight. Rabbie slipped his arm around her shoulders.

  As they stared out to sea, small waves rippled the calm. The flapping of the canvas signalled the return of the wind and the ship surged forward once more.

  ******

  The moon showered the floor of the hold in a crisscross pattern of the trap door and drew my tired eyes. Sleep would not come. All around, air whistled and droned from slack lips. Stomachs rebelled against the spoiled fare and gas exploded with such frequent bursts I felt sure I might perish from stink.

  I stared longingly at the strands of moonlight, hungered for the tang of fresh sea air. If only I could slip up to the deck for a few minutes, clear my head, formulate some sort of plan. Then maybe sleep would come.

  I peered around the room. Was I the only person awake in this endless sea of bodies? Even Rabbie snored peacefully – he deserved to. I suspected he’d spent many sleepless nights watching over me. I felt guilty for the trouble I’d caused. He’d remained at my side from the beginning. And how had I repaid him? By wallowing in my own grief.

  To think it was that cad, Sean O’Flynn who’d snapped me out of my despair. The thought of that lecherous dandy and his groping fingers made my skin crawl. Deliberately, I forced his inflated face from my mind and instead thought of my husband.

  Lord, how I missed Duncan! Dancing blue eyes and a flash of white teeth cascaded through my head. A ripple of longing shivered down my spine as I thought of that long ago morning spent in our wedding bed. His warm fingers had stroked my body until it had hummed. His lips had burned a trail of sweet kisses across my newly awakened skin. His hard body, his strength. God, how I needed him! He had to be alive! He had to! I could not let myself think otherwise or I would be lost. The love we had shared had produced our wee Heath... Heath now at the mercy of Deirdre.

  I stifled the moan that crept up my throat. Good thoughts. I would only think good thoughts. There was no more room for self-pity. I needed to take control. I would return to Scotland, to my husband and son. Heath would be fine until I returned. I remembered Deirdre’s softening when she held Heath. She would be kind to him. She would love him. I had to hold on to that.

  My thoughts took me back to the day, in the kitchen, when Deirdre had plucked wee Flossie from my arms. I had seen kindness in her face. I was sure of it. She’d seemed almost human to me then, almost motherly. She had tried to cuddle Flossie but Janet’s daughter had wanted none of it. I remembered the anger in Deirdre’s eyes as she shoved the child back into her mother’s arms. I pushed the hot surge of panic down as I thought of Heath. The gentle look of love when she held Heath in her arms was what I clung to. The feverish unhinged look that lurked in her eyes, I shoved to the back of my mind. No, I could not allow myself to dwell on that.

  Very carefully I sat up, searching for movement, any sign that someone else shared my insomnia.

  Rabbie’s snores chuffed softly. To my left, Molly slept in the crook of her mother’s arm, her sweet face relaxed. Her baby brother suckled at his mother’s breast, his struggling murmurs bringing a lump to my throat. The bairn was tiny, underweight and his mother, Sarah, seemed unwell. She vomited regularly, had lost an alarming amount of weight, and slept a great deal of the time while others cared for her daughter. I feared the wee lad was not getting the sustenance he needed and still weeks stretched ahead of us. What would become of them?

  I darted a look back to the grate.

  Now.

  As I stood, the hem of my borrowed gown brushed Molly’s face. Bleary eyes snapped wide then drooped back to half-mast. I touched my finger to my lips. Her mouth curved up slightly and she put a dimpled finger to her lips as well. Then she slipped a thumb into her mouth and her lids gradually continued their descent until she slept again.

  Crouching low, I picked my way through the mass of sleeping bodies.

  My bare feet made no noise as I crept up each rung of the ladder. The top of my head skimmed the door and cautiously I peered up through the opening. There didn’t seem to be any movement on deck.

  With no thought as to the consequences, I reached over my head and pushed against the trapdoor. Using both hands and the top of my head, I strained. My shins pressed into the wooden rungs as I sought to keep my balance. The grate began to move, slowly, inch by inch. Then with a scrape of metal on metal, it opened wide. I froze, held my breath.

  Silence.

  I scurried up onto the deck, hurriedly lowered the door, bearing the weight of the metal so it would not screech.

  Then I peered around. The deck shone white in moonlight. The fresh breeze smelled like heaven after the stink of the hold. I scanned from one end to the other. I could just make out the first mate. He stood at the helm, his back to me. Tipping my head, I peered up through the billowing sails to the crow’s nest.

  No one.

  I crept over to the railing, heart in throat, blood roaring in my ears.

  I ducked behind a stack of water barrels then consciously relaxed my hunched shoulders. Hungrily I filled my lungs with the balmy air. The moist spray cooled my face, dampened my hair. Closing my eyes, I tilted my face back and revelled in the solitude, the earthy smell of oncoming rain.

  At once the ugly hand of guilt squeezed my belly in its fist and visions of Heath filled my mind. Exhilaration seeped away. How could I stand here feeling good? My son was literally an ocean away, in the arms of a lunatic.

  The air felt cold and I opened my eyes. Fog rolled across the surface of the water, eerie shapes receding like a charcoal sketch.

  What was I going to do?

  Rabbie reassured that we would write home the minute we landed and ask for help or at least let his family and Duncan know where we were. We could appeal to the captain and explain to him what had happened. He seemed to be a man of integrity. Maybe he would help us, maybe even take us directly back to Scotland.

  But no, this was his livelihood. He was going to make money from the sale of his indentured servants. Why would he help us, two penniless strangers?

  Perhaps I could promise him payment when we returned to Scotland. Yes! Da was a very rich man. I could offer him double what he might make for us.

  But Da was gone. Deirdre. Sloan. How would I get past them? Where was Da’s money?

  Christ’s blood!

  They had destroyed my family, taken so much that could not be replaced. I would speak to the captain in the morning, appeal to his sense of decency. This decision, pathetically insignificant as it was, brought me a small measure of comfort.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, felt the residue of the sea salt that tangled the strands and longingly envisioned a warm bath. Sea water and lack of soap left much to be desired. The captain had kindly supplied me with someone’s cast-off gown. It was a lovely shade of amber but had belonged to someone much shorter and heavier than myself. It hung from me like a tent and barely reached my ankles. Cloying perfume was locked within the threads but it discreetly covered what my nightdress had not. How had I been so unaware as to prance around on deck in that flimsy garment?

  The fare of spider-infested biscuits and salt pork mixed with my sad state of mind had stripped the meat
from my bones. My milk had long since dried up and my breasts sat high and small once more. I had only nursed Heath once.

  How was he getting his nourishment now? An ache of longing surged through my breast. Janet, I was sure, would offer to be a wet nurse for my bairn, but would Deirdre accept her offer?

  Damn Deirdre and Sloan to hell! I swore silently.

  Narrowing my eyes, I peered into the night. A wall of rain moved slowly, distinctly toward the ship, tickled the surface of the ocean with a soft, rushing patter. The wind crept up, grew stronger, fresh moisture heavy on its breeze. The canvas sails snapped and The Ghillie Dhu, with a sigh of resignation, jumped forward with a groan.

  I inhaled, tasted the cool as it rolled across my tongue.

  Abruptly, the earthy bouquet was obliterated by the infestation of unwashed body. And something else – a sour tang, eerily familiar to me. I froze and slowly turned my head.

  Fingers clamped across my mouth. Heavy gold rings bit into my lips. My scream was muffled, silenced by the sweating palm that squeezed relentlessly.

  The familiar odour?

  Whiskey.

  SEVENTEEN

  June 3 1809

  The End of the Irish

  The rain reached us, plump drops that should have refreshed. Had it been pellets of ice I wouldn’t have noticed.

  I felt the cold of metal at my throat, felt my skin grow slick with rain and sweat.

  I stood frozen, didn’t dare move. Hot, whiskey-soaked breath fanned my ear. Sweat dribbled from my armpits, ran down the centre of my back. The sprinkle of rain suddenly grew stronger, filled my ears with a rushing.

  “Never fecked a half-wit afore,” he said, in a clear Irish brogue. A menacing snicker cut through the rain, intimately caressed my ear. “S’pose one kont’s as good as another.” Another snigger. “Even the kont of an eejit.”

  My blood slowed, thickening to ice in my veins as I understood his intent.

  The pressure on the blade increased and I felt my skin give, felt the tip puncture the hollow at the base of my throat, felt the warm of blood across my collar bone. Weakness surged through my knees and I swayed.