The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution

by Lisanne Valente

  “We are several centuries earlier than Diana Gabaldon’s novels, and that ‘pile of stones’ over there is Mingary Castle.” Appoloin laughed quietly. “Come, Mairi, let me introduce you to the The MacIain, the clan chief of the Ardnamurchan McDonalds.”

  They walked proudly across the drawbridge and passed under the portcullis, entering the castle, where a contingent of Highlanders awaited them.

  When Mairi met The MacIain, she didn’t really know what to expect. Well, if she was honest with herself, she had hoped for a six foot four, red-headed Adonis. Instead, she now faced a five foot, eight inch man who had a body more in the shape of a dumpling.

  Taking a closer look, she could see she had done him a disservice, there wasn’t any fat on him; he just resembled an Oxo cube in larger dimensions.

  She also didn’t expect to be totally ignored when the introductions were discussing her in the third person!. When he spoke about her, rather than to her, she was ready to leave!

  “Will she be wanting us to run around after her like skivvies?” he said to Appoloin. “Coz Ah’m afraid we’re too busy a castle to be worrying aboot a wee princess who canny find her shoes.”

  “Er, standing beside you,” Mairi grunted.

  “She may have been used tae a lassie dressin’ her, well we dinnae have time for that either. We’ll expect her to pull her weight—and a fair weight it is. Ah’m a fair judge o’ lassies’ weight. I can tell they’re hefty when their thighs are as thick as my forearm. Ah wouldnae be wrong in guessing yer wife has thighs much larger than ma ane arm, an’ ah ken there’s a lot oh work she’ll be able to help oot wi, especially when she gets yon thighs workin’.”

  “Why, of all the…” Mairi spluttered.

  Appoloin smiled. At last, a reaction from her! Her experience in Betwixt, had left her quiet and saddened. It would be sometime before she returned to her happy self—if that was at all possible—but if there was ever someone who could prod, poke, annoy, and cajole, in the most irritating of ways, well, that would be the Pirate MacIain.

  “Ah think you lassie could help oot in the kitchens until you ken yer way aroond the shoap, that way ah’ll ken yer no gettin’ up tae any mischief.”

  “I wouldn’t get up to mischief!” she declared. “And if I did, it would be up to me.”

  The MacIain took a step towards her, and for the first time since they met, turned directly to face her.

  “It’s no up to you! If ma men are kilt because you’ve decided tae go on a wander, ah wouldnae like tae be responsible for your punishment, and aye, punishment yi’d receive. You’ll stay put, and if you should care to do what you think is acceptable, you’ll first inform my guard.”

  “I will not,” she insisted.

  “Aye, you will, because if you dinnae, ma men have instructions to kill anything leaving or coming into my castle that hasnae got my purmission. Are we kennit upoan what I say?”

  “She is definitely, ‘kennit’, my laird,” Appoloin said frostily. “If you would like to guide me to the kitchen, I would get my wife settled before we begin the more serious conversation that lies ahead.”

  “Would that be a conversation about me?” Mairi groused. “Because if it is, I want to be there and hear any decision you two might come to, when it’s my life!”

  The MacIain brushed her words away like he did those irritating midges, and after a while of staring at her, his bushy eyebrows down almost to the tip of his big, fat, red nose, he sighed and marched away, muttering something about “spoilt lassies and bloody Angels, buggering off and leaving him alone.”

  Mairi sullenly walked with Appoloin, he waited for her to say anything, but her mouth was in a tight line. He was delighted to introduce her to the cook, and quickly took his leave.

  Mairi felt totally out of her depth. The kitchen was generally the one room, in any house, she avoided. In her own home she ordered takeout. The only reason to venture into one, would be to put on a pot of coffee, make hot chocolate, or take a cool one from the fridge. Therefore, to now find herself in a kitchen in the sixteenth century, was hell in itself. There was no need to worry about whether or not she had led a good life and would end up in Heaven, the answer was clear. She had led a dreadful life and was now being punished!

  “An’ whit did yon mannie say yer name was, hen?”

  “It’s Mairi,” she answered quietly, trying to come to terms with finding herself in hell on earth. “Are you the cook?”

  “Och am no’ just the cook lass, am the chief of awe ’hings tae dae with the kitchen, an’ if am oanest—or if they yins upstairs are oanest, which they are nae—then they’d say I was the chief of awe ’hings tae dae wi’ the castle!”

  Mairi began to fidget while looking around the room. A few pots hung above one of the two hearths, each of which held a large grill fixed into the walls of the fireplace. Pots bubbled and hissed on one of the grills, while, on the other, a cauldron boiled and steamed. The heat coming from the fireplaces was making Mairi feel lightheaded; it was warm enough inside the kitchen to heat the whole castle.

  “Will yi stop skitterin’ aroont, lassie, and tack a seat. Yer givin’ me the heeby jeebies just watchin’ yi fash, standin’ there, dae’in nothin’. You must call me Jenny, lass, an’ we’ll get along like fleas on a cat.”

  Mairi’s mouth fell open, but Jenny ignored her surprised look and pulled a stool from underneath the worktop, then motioned for Mairi to sit. She was so relieved at not getting a task, even a simple one, she forgot to mention the name. Instead, she sat down quickly, then wiped the moisture from her forehead.

  How did these people work in this heat?

  “I know I’m in the way,” Mairi mumbled. “I’m useless in the kitchen. The only thing I can make is hot chocolate, and there’s no chance of me getting that for some time.”

  “Whit was that yi said, hen?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Mairi said downheartedly. “I was just remembering how much I liked chocolate, and that I won’t ever get it again.”

  The cook bobbed and flurried, confident in her surroundings, comfortable in what she was doing, and how to do it well. Although her body was slightly rotund, she moved like a ballerina, every position learned, every movement precise, and flowing. Adagio with a stir here, a touch there, some salt, more herbs, Allégro when instructing the serving girls. Mairi was in awe, as though she was watching a performance of Swan Lake.

  “Why think ye we havnae goat chocolate?” she asked, surprised. “We have got it, and we dinnae get it from yon land sae far awa’, that only oor bonnie laird can go to. We get it by regular means—oor pirate chief aye-ways brings me back a chookle o’ herbs and ma’ chocolate.” Mairi was beginning to pick up the nuances in the speech, but some words still stumped her. Then, she realised what “choke-lut” was, and a huge smile broadened across her face.

  “Ye ken, lass, we’re no’ so ignorant up here in the wilds oh Scotland? We hae poets and writers an’ awe kinds of fancy folk, fur-rever comin’ here tae the castle. Nae sae long ago we had a lovely wummin, aye, she was.” Jenny’s face softened, and her eyes searched for something she would long to see but in this world, would never find. “Aye, but she telt the best o’ stories.” Looking serious, her brows furrowed, she shook her head. “But we aye kent she wasnae from here, and she was either one of the wee folk, or an Angel.”

  Mairi’s eyes widened at “ane-jul”.

  “An’ just as she appearit, she was gone. So we kent she wasnae one of the wee folk.”

  Mairi shook her head, totally engrossed. “Of course not,” she agreed, then screwed her face up in confusion and asked, “Er, why was that? How could you ken, I mean know, she wasn’t one of the ‘wee’ folk?”

  “Aye, tha’s the question, aye.” Jenny began pounding and kneading the dough she had lain on the countertop. “Well, yi see, it’s like this, we kennit she wasnae one o’ the wee folk, cause she came here afore Samain.”

  Mairi was completely lost now. “What has
that got to do with not being a Fairy?”

  “Och hen, yi dinnae ken the wee folk very well, do yi? Samain’s their magical time, they come over here and have fun wi’ the lassies, or the laddies—and yi ken, lass, they’re no wee fairies. They’re no elves and pixies. They’re like us, like you ’n’ me, well, nearly, apart from the fact they can do all kinds o’ magic. They’re Fae, a race born frae the Angels.”

  “Well, I know they’re a race.” Mairi’s eyebrows creased, and she pursed her lips. “It’s just a bad habit I’ve got, calling them ‘fairies’. I didn’t mean disrespect.”

  “Am sure ah didnae take offense, lass,” she said seriously, without raising her eyes from the pot of food she was stirring carefully. “If I were you, though, I’d just make sure yi dinnae say it out loud in front of any fairy hill. They can hear yi, did yi ken?”

  “I still don’t understand why she couldn’t have been a Fae; surely she could have come here, even if it wasn’t Samain.”

  “Och, why wid she?” Jenny asked, now looking at Mairi as though she had no brains whatsoever. Mairi desperately wanted to prove she wasn’t dimwitted and was about to speak when Jenny continued, “Why wid she want to come over afore Samain? Well, that wid be, because she cannae, that’s why; even wi’ thay kings, up yonder, she couldnae.”

  Sounds logical, thought Mairi and waited for Jenny to continue her explanation.

  “If she was a Fae she’d be savin’ her strength fur awe the fun she’d be havin’—and, lass, she’d need a load a strength, fur the Fae party is a very long three days, and all the while, The Veil opens afore our very own eyes!”

  Jenny went back to her pastry rolling. “No, lass, she wasnae a Fae. She left us, afore Samain even arrived.”

  “We seem to have veered off track a bit. Where did she go?” Mairi was completely baffled.

  Jenny picked up a thick piece of smoothed wood, and began rolling the dough, and stopped after a few seconds, pondering Mairi’s question.

  “Well, now, ah dinnae ken that, lass. How’s me supposed tae ken a thing like that? All ah ken is she went fur a walk one dee an—” Mairi interrupted; she wanted to make sure she was understanding everything she heard.

  “She went for a walk one day? Can you remember which way she went?”

  “Och, hen, she went where awe-body kens nae to go, up yon hill, where the kings of stane are around their magic ring.” She flicked a crumb of flour from her apron, then mopped her brow. The heat in the kitchen was overwhelming.

  “You have standing stones here? Why is it I’ve never seen them?” Mairi was intrigued and handed Jenny the herbs she was indicating she needed.

  “That wid be, cause nane of us go up there, no’ unless it’s Samain.” She giggled naughtily.

  Made sense, Mairi thought… Not!

  “An’ that wiz it, nae mare stories oh flyin’ boats an’ boxes wi’ pictures that move.”

  “Eh?” Mairi said, what was going on? she thought to herself, then a little coyly. she asked, “Can you remember the lady’s name?”

  “Aye, oh course ah kin. It was the Lady Diana. But we a’ kent she was really the Angel Diana, fae the land oh Gab-ill-doan.”

  “Gabaldon?” squeaked Mairi. “And she… went through the standing stones.”

  “Well, all a kin tell ye, hen, is, one day she was here, tellin’ her stories tae all of us, an’ then she wiz away, poof… goan.”

  Well, I never thought, Mairi told herself.

  “That’s no’ the rub of it, though she disappearit with oor bonnie Doogie an awe. I’ll tell yi honestly, It was a sair fecht to find oor bonnie laddie had gone away with her, but we should have kent it, they didnae have eyes for any yin but the other.” Jenny sighed, and a sweet smile graced her sweat-beaded face. “Aye. She walked in an’ oor laddie’s eyes lit up like a church candul. Ah hope in the Gab-ill-doan hoose, way up in the Heavens, they’re lookin’ at that box an’ can see doon here tae us, an’ ken that we miss the pair oh them.”

  Well, I never, Mairi thought, again totally astonished. “Tell me, Jenny, your husband wouldn’t happen to be named Ian, would he?”

  “Whit are yi talkin’ about, lass? Have yi lost yer marbles? Ma man’s no’ called Ian.”

  Mairi smiled to herself when she heard, “Ee-yan”.

  “That’s fair disgustin’,” she said indignantly, preparing to march away.

  Mairi touched Jenny’s arm, immediately contrite, hoping to make amends for the faux pas she had made, although unsure of what it was she had said to cause such a reaction. She started to speak, but was immediately interrupted. “Ian’s ma son, yah daft gowk, ma man’s called Zaffie.”

  “Zaffie?” asked Mairi hesitantly. “It’s no’ a—I mean, it’s not a very Scottish name, is it?”

  “Och, but that’s just his ‘Nick’ name.”

  Mairi was astounded when Jenny’s form began to alter, her body shifting into that of a young girl. The lines on her face disappeared, the colour of her eyes darkened, and she became a much younger version of herself. Her hair, which had previously been held underneath a scarf, now fell to her waist. She reminded Mairi of someone. Someone who had cowered… a frightened… No, it couldn’t be!

  “What is it you recall, Mairi?” she asked, as though from a distant dream.

  The moment disappeared and Jenny was back, stirring the pot, ordering everyone around before turning to her work surface, where she hammered another lump of dough, grabbing and pulling it. She spoke as though in a huff, “My Zaffie is named after the Angel Xaphan.”

  Mairi let out a gasp, and held onto the worktop to stop herself from falling over, as a tidal wave of shock hit her.

  Xaphan, the Angel who had saved her.

  Xaphan, the Angel who had died as he saved her.

  “Xaphan?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Aye,” Jenny whispered, and she lifted her head from the crushing and pushing of the dough at last, to look directly into Mairi’s eyes. They were the eyes of the girl Jinny, who had cowered in the bedroom of the London townhouse, in the eighteenth century. The eyes of the frightened girl held back by Ariel and Harviel when her body had been possessed by a demon.

  “My Xaphan saved me as well, Mairi.”

  *

  Mairi found a routine for the next couple of weeks and discovered she was comfortable with the Castle way of life. They worked hard, had little time to play, but the camaraderie and friendship she enjoyed, made her feel as though she was part of a family.

  Mornings consisted of breakfast with Appoloin, before he left to train in the lists with the young warriors within the castle. She would dress herself, Baglis had disappeared again. Although she missed the funny little lady’s ways, she took pleasure in dressing herself, but it was getting more difficult with every day that passed.

  She would make her way to the kitchen and peel whatever the cook had left for her. Her bulge was becoming increasingly larger every day, yet nobody questioned or commented on her rapid pregnancy.

  In the evening she and Appoloin often sat in their room and ate a light supper, sharing the conversations of the day as Mairi ate Appoloin’s plateful of food.

  “Why is it The MacIain doesn’t talk in the Gaelic?” she asked one evening.

  “Because he speaks Scots.”

  “You mean English?” she said, confused.

  “Mairi,” Appoloin said as he looked at her curiously, “please, never ask The MacIain that. You would seriously anger him if you refer to his tongue as being English. They speak ‘Old Scots’ in this part of the country. The Islands and Highlands are more the Gaelic speakers.”

  “Then how is it I can understand him and he I? It’s not as if I speak ‘auld Scots’.”

  “Well done! Spoken like a true Scotsman.” Appoloin laughed.

  Hormones and God knows what else burbled and cooked inside her. She had had enough of the joking, enough of the “poor ignorant Mairi”, and she could feel the anger rise inside her. Her nails stretched
like talons. She knew it was wrong, but enough was enough. Why could the bloody Angel not just answer her questions without a sneer or a laugh or a put down? And then it was too late to say or do anything other than “I’m sorry”, while Appoloin, in total shock, held onto his scratched and bleeding leg.

  Oh, he was not particularly surprised by her reaction. He laughed when she turned her pert little nose in the air and folded her arms across her chest, her spine straightening in outraged dignity.

  Nor was he surprised by the fact he’d been scratched. He’d been goading Mairi for days now. Any response he could incite would be better than the lump of confused and hurt Mistdreamer who sat or walked around in a complete dream most days. No, the fact he was actually bleeding from the wounds she had inflicted upon him was his concern.

  Lost in his own contemplations, he didn’t hear Mairi’s groan.

  When she let out a scream, he lifted his head in query.

  She was watching a trail of water run along the floor beneath her. She raised frightened eyes to him. “I think my waters just broke.”

  Before Appoloin could answer, she let out a loud, agonising yell, obviously in deep pain.

  Appoloin had no idea what to do and just stood there staring at her.

  “What are you standing around for?” Baglis asked as she bustled beside him. “Get your dear wife undressed and onto the bed.”

  “Aaaaaagggghhhhhh!” Mairi yelled.

  Baglis smiled. “It looks as though you’re going to be a daddy today, Appoloin. Angel births are very fast, it won’t be long. Now move those fancy pants of yours, and do as I say.”

  Two hours later, Mairi lay in bed dressed in a fresh gown. Baglis got a couple of girls to change the sheets, while she bathed Mairi and the newborns. Appoloin had regained some of his colour, but still appeared to be in a complete state of shock.

  “Come see your boys, Appoloin,” Mairi said and kissed the top of each tiny head. He stood back, in complete awe. This wonderful woman had gone through agonies and birthed his sons and now looked as fresh as a daisy. While he looked as though he’d been dragged through Hell’s gate and into the fiery pits.