by J. L. Jarvis
Nellie stepped close to him, taking his hands in hers. “Laddie, will you look after Hughie? Charlie’s a bit too—Charlie.” She grinned and Callum nodded with a laugh.
“Aye, of course I will.”
Nellie peered into his eyes. “Bring them home to me safely. Promise me.”
“Nellie. I’ll do my best. You have my word.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Och, Callum, you’re a good lad.” Through her tears she added, “And you have a good wife.” She turned to Mari and hugged her, and then Callum. Before an hour had passed, they were waving to Nellie as she rode her pony and cart out of camp.
*
Callum was granted two weeks’ leave to recuperate, which he welcomed as a chance to be with his bride. He had offered to take her home to make things right with her family, but Mari sadly said no. She had already publicly disgraced them. Even if they were to accept a marriage outside of the Presbyterian Church, which in itself was out of the question, it would fan the flames of her scandal and make her parents’ life unbearable. She would not do that to them. That assumed they would welcome her home, given this final blow. Mari was sure they would not. In truth, they could not, if they were to stay in the good graces of the church. Callum had to agree. There was no question that her parents would oppose the marriage on principle alone. With him as the groom, it was worse. He was the stranger who practically kidnapped their daughter in the middle of a kirk service. How could they not be reluctant to see that man bring home their daughter as his wife? But he saw that she was homesick. Callum did not like beginning their life together under a cloud of estrangement from her parents. For now, though, he agreed with Mari to leave things as they were. So they set out with the rest of the dragoons for Edinburgh. When Callum was better, he thought they might journey on to St. Andrews, for a few weeks alone by the sea. But for now, his leg pained him and he needed rest.
Barely able to mount his horse, Callum did not ride with ease, but the aching was dulled by the feel of Mari’s body before him, softly molded to his.
On the way out of camp, they passed the twelve hundred prisoners taken in battle. They were tied, two-by-two, in a seemingly endless procession.
“Where will they take them?”
“Edinburgh,” answered Callum.
“But where can they put that many men?”
“I’m not sure. The Tollbooth cannot hold all of these men. There was talk of Greyfriars Kirkyard.” He stopped as Mari stared over at one particular prisoner, and the young man stared back with an accusatory gaze. As quickly as their eyes had met, the young man gave his head a subtle cautionary shake and looked away.
“Jamie,” she whispered. She took a breath and was about to call out to him louder.
An English officer rode within earshot. Callum suddenly took hold of Mari’s shoulder and chin and pivoted her about for a kiss. Mari struggled to speak, but he held her firmly in place until the officer had passed them. As he released her from his kiss, he murmured, “Quiet, lass.”
“But Callum,” she whispered, “I thought I saw Jamie.”
“If you did, you cannae speak to him now without putting yourself in grave danger.”
“From speaking to Jamie?”
Callum turned her to face forward again and spoke in low tones in her ear. “They think he might have been one of the lads who murdered Archbishop Sharp.”
“My brother? That’s nonsense.”
When Callum did not readily agree, Mari said over her shoulder, “Well it is. Jamie would never—Callum, how do you ken this?” Mari’s eyes widened as she studied Callum. “You knew he was alive.”
Callum did not speak or alter his expression.
She turned away. “But you chose not to tell me.”
“Lass, this is not the place to discuss this.”
Mari could not hide her dismay.
He leaned close to her. “Smile, lass,” he said quietly through a feigned smile. “People are watching.”
Mari looked about. There were soldiers all about them.
Callum spoke quietly. “I knew that he might be alive, but I had to be certain. It would have hurt you too much if it turned out not to be true.”
“And you think losing my faith in you doesnae hurt me?”
Mari’s words wounded. “Lass, in truth I could not tell you without revealing that he was a suspect.”
Mari stiffened as the truth hit her. “And that you were sent to my farm to find him?”
“Aye.”
“And do what?”
Callum said nothing.
“What were you going to do when you found him?”
Callum lifted his head and kept his eyes on the road straight ahead. “I cannae say.”
“You mean that you willnae say.”
His eyes hardened. “I said what I mean. I cannae say what I would do without knowing how I might have found him. Whether he had a gun pointed at me, or…”
“Or you at him.”
Callum tilted his head to acknowledge the possibility without voicing it.
“You let me fall in love with you, and all the while you were planning to kill my brother.”
Callum said, “Capture.”
Mari nodded bitterly. “Oh, capture—so that someone else might kill him.”
“Lass, you knew I was there on the side of the crown.”
“Aye, but I dinnae ken you were after my brother, or that he was alive.”
“Might have been alive.”
“Och! And that’s different, is it?” Mari shifted her weight, but, riding together as they were, she had nowhere to go. “You lied to me.”
“Withheld the truth.”
“I dinnae ken you. You’re a stranger to me.”
Callum took her bitter words with clenched jaw. “I am your husband, and you are my wife. I will not trade your safety for his.”
“Well, I would. And I’m glad he did not come home and fall into your trap.”
“Och, lass, you should wish that he had. When they ken who he is, what I say or do will not matter.”
*
When they stopped at midday, Mari slipped from the saddle. They had ridden together without words. Mari now seized this first chance to be free of the man she had married, and went walking alone. The prisoners were not far ahead, chained and seated. Keeping a distance lest she arouse suspicion, Mari walked along the line of the six hundred pairs of prisoners.
“Stay back with the other camp followers, Miss,” said a stern voice.
Startled, Mari turned to face a dragoon guard. “I was just walking.”
“Back with the others, Miss.”
Heading back, she spied Callum struggling toward her with his crutch, looking furious.
When he reached her, he took hold of her elbow and said in a hushed growl, “Take my arm and walk nicely, wife. I’ll not ask what you’re doing.” He guided her firmly along. Angry as she was, Mari could not bring herself to struggle against him, for the pain each step caused him was clear.
“Husband,” she said with near loathing, “I will find my brother.”
Her eyes caught the attention of one particular prisoner who held her gaze for several moments, and then looked away as a guard drew closer.
Callum gripped her elbow and tugged her away. He quietly scolded, “Think what you’re doing, lass! Do you want to wind up marching with them?” With reluctance, she walked on. “It was Jamie.”
When they were well past the prisoners, Callum paused to lean against a tree. Although he did not complain, his leg hurt him badly.
Mari said, “What if I had not seen him? Would you ever have told me?”
“Not until I kent it for sure. There was only suspicion that he was alive.”
“Which you did not share with me.” She stopped walking. “What else have you not told me? Is anything true, or were you just using me to find Jamie?”
“I married you, lass. Is that not proof enough?”
“No. After all, it’s not even a real
marriage.”
She took a step, but Callum grabbed her and spun her around with her back to the tree. Callum cursed his leg as he shifted his weight and leaned against her, with one arm on the tree. If Mari thought she had seen the anger of Callum MacDonell before, she was wrong. For this was an anger that quietly seared. Mari took in a fearful breath, worried by what he might do in this state.
He bent down. Pinned to the tree as she was, Mari flinched and looked off to the side, but he took her face and held it so she was forced to look into his eyes. She willed herself not to cry, and faced him with defiance. And with that, Callum kissed her. His thighs pressed against her. When her resolve softened, her lips followed suit. Callum’s hand slid from its hold on her face and slipped beneath her arm. He kissed her deeply and well past the point when her arms circled his neck and a small moan escaped from her throat. His hand slid down the sides of her breasts to her waist, and she arched into him. As his arm circled her waist, he pulled her against him until their two forms molded together. Before his own knees went weak, he gently pulled away, leaving Mari’s lips helplessly parted and breathless. She watched him with round, helpless eyes, unable to form words.
Callum’s fierce eyes glimmered with anger. “If this is not a real marriage, then that was not a real kiss.”
Chapter 11
For two days the prisoners marched until they arrived in Edinburgh. Jamie was imprisoned, along with the bulk of the Covenanters, at Greyfriars Kirkyard. There was no shelter there, but the Highlanders thought little of it. No Highlander reached manhood without having slept out in the open air. Snow and freezing temperatures made no difference. They would wet down their plaids, which would freeze and block out the wind. Having heard tales of this, Mari dreaded finding out what her Edinburgh accommodations might be. But Callum surprised her by bringing her to some rooms he had rented on the third floor of a merchant’s land on High Street.
“Oh, Callum!” she exclaimed as she rushed from one room to another. Large windows looked out over the street. The last room she found sported an iron bed with a thick mattress. She sat on it and sank into bliss.
“Eiderdown! Callum, it’s grand!”
The door latched with a click, and the mattress shifted as Callum stretched out next to her. He leaned on one elbow beside her and stroked the edge of her bodice. “Since we’ve been married, we’ve not had a proper bed to lie in.”
She looked into his eyes, which had a mischievous glint. “Aye.”
Callum sat up and seemed to be preparing to leave, much to Mari’s surprise.
“Well, I’m glad you clarified that fine fact,” said Mari, confused by his sudden inattention. She had not seen him removing his hose and shoes.
Callum turned and leaned over Mari’s feet. First he slipped off one shoe, and then the other, then one finger’s length at a time he slid her hose down until they lay pooled at her ankles and soon after slipped to the floor. Mari helped him unwind his plaid and let it fall in folds. Wearing only his leine, he knelt straddling her, taking care to favor his wounded leg. Mari took up the hem of his leine in her hands while Callum slid his palms up the length of her thighs. She drew deep breaths as she held onto his muscular shoulders, and clutched at his back while he touched her and fed her longing. The need to be one drove them together. And after their passion was spent they lay entwined, having gasped and whispered their passion until all that remained was to breathe in like cadence. In the midst of the hush that settled upon them their love bound them to one another. No matter what might befall them, that love would bide well and forever with them.
*
Mari tried daily to visit her brother, but no visitors were allowed. She left food for him each time, but suspected that he got very little of it. Callum’s clansmen were among those assigned to guard the inmates of Covenanter’s Prison. With Callum at home, they came often to visit. Mari soon made a habit of entrusting them with food and supplies to take back to her brother. She welcomed their visits, not only for what they could do for her brother, but for the way Callum’s spirits improved in their company—not only from the wee dram or two that they shared, but also for the laughter they gave him. Sometimes they brought news from home. Nellie had returned safely home to the Highlands, and all was well there.
Ten days had passed since they had arrived in Edinburgh, and the lads were over for supper with news. The Privy Council had issued an order offering liberty to prisoners if they would sign a bond promising not to take up arms against His Majesty again. When she heard it, Mari jumped with glee and threw her arms about Hughie.
“Does Jamie ken yet?”
“Aye,” said Hughie, smiling. “Duncan told him not an hour ago.”
Then Mari threw her arms about Duncan and kissed his cheek. Callum sat across the room with his feet propped up and watched, laughing as Duncan took Mari’s elbows and gently stepped back an arm’s length from her.
“Jamie’s going to be free!”
Hughie pulled out his fiddle. “This calls for a ceilidh!”
Duncan gave him a dark look.
“For Mari,” said Hughie.
Charlie swept Mari into a dance while Alex played the bodhran. Soon he begged off, claiming fatigue, but Mari saw through him. He wanted a drink. With gentlemanly flourish, he offered Mari back to her husband, but he declined.
“Oh, Callum, dance with me!” said Mari.
“No, lass, my leg’s not up to it.” He noticed Duncan leaning on the mantle, a drink in his hand. “Duncan, this fine lass needs a partner.” Callum held out Mari’s hand. Mari’s smile faded to see Duncan’s reluctance.
“Callum, no,” Mari said, her eyes darting toward the frowning Duncan.
Duncan surprised her by coming over and taking her hand. Mari smiled, and his frown nearly dissolved. They danced about the room. To Mari’s surprise, Duncan was a fine dancing partner. Whatever had troubled him was gone now. Mari’s joy seemed to spread to everyone present. Charlie took a turn dancing with Mari. In the midst of the song, Callum set down his whisky. It landed too hard, causing the music and dancing to stop. All turned toward him in silent expectation.
“Sorry,” said Callum as he took pains to slowly stand up. “I’m going to bed.” His balance faltered.
“Steady, lad.” Charlie laughed.
Alex chimed in, “Whisky willnae cure your leg, but it fails more agreeably than most.”
Everyone laughed except Callum, who stared with a look of confusion and then sank to the floor.
Charlie was closest. Still laughing, he knelt down to pat Callum’s cheek and drag him up by the armpits. His broad grin changed to alarm. “It’s not drink that ails him. It’s a fever.”
Alex and Duncan helped carry him to bed. As they set him down, his plaid folded over, exposing the putrid bandage covering his leg wound.
“Mari!” Duncan called out, but she was already on her way into the room. “How long has it been like this?”
Tears filled her eyes. “Over a week. The doctor said there’s no more we can do but keep it covered and wait for it to get better.”
“Or worse,” Duncan muttered. He left, and returned an hour later with a professor from the University’s College of Medicine. How Duncan found him and got him to come so quickly, no one knew or dared ask. A dirk poised at the poor man’s back would not have surprised anyone there, but there was none. He, in fact, seemed to have come quite willingly, which impressed Mari even more with Duncan’s skills for persuasion.
The surgeon applied a mixture of egg yolk, oil of roses, and turpentine to the wound. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on his progress,” he told them. Duncan showed him to the door and pressed something—money, Mari presumed—into his hand. Closing the door, Duncan turned to find Mari before him.
“Thank you,” she said, looking weary.
His reply was brusque. “What else would I do?” His mood changed as he looked intently at her. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He abruptly left, closing the door behind him
.
Callum remained feverish, barely talking—and then only in fits of delirium. The doctor came back daily; at what cost, Duncan would not say. Duncan, in fact, said very little, which did not go unnoticed by Mari. The one time he spoke at any length to her was the day after Callum fell ill.
“I’ve been guarding the inmates at Greyfriars Kirkyard.”
“Have you seen Jamie?”
“Aye. Sit down, Mari.”
This prompted immediate alarm. “Tell me.” She searched his eyes as she placed her hand on his arm. He looked down at her hand in annoyance. Remembering herself, she removed it at once.
“He’ll not sign,” Duncan told her.
Mari looked up, and then closed her eyes. She knew her brother. Although not surprised, she was deeply troubled. “No, he would not, even though it would buy him his freedom.”
“He refuses to sell his conscience for comfort. He’s one of the few. Your brother has strong convictions,” Duncan said with respect.
Mari buried her face in her hands. “First Callum. Now Jamie. It’s too much.” She wept as Duncan sat silently by. When she had calmed down enough to speak, she said, “How many are left?”
“Lass?”
“How many prisoners are left?”
“Of the nearly twelve hundred, a little more than three hundred remain.”
“What will they do to him?”
“I ken not. It’s best not to think of it until we know for certain.”
Mari looked at him gravely. “They could hang him.”
Duncan was reluctant to agree, but he would not lie. “Aye. Or transport him.”
“And what good will his conscience be then?”
“He did send a message.”
“What is it?”
“He asks that you not tell your parents. It would be better for them to go on believing he is dead than to suffer another death, should it come to that.”
“There is no chance of my telling them anything. I have written to them. They sent me one letter, their last. I’m not to write to them again.”
