When Fate Dictates

by Elizabeth Marshall

  “Yes, of course I will be fine,” I replied, noticing that he had shaved already.

  “I will arrange for us to keep this room a night longer,” he said, moving toward the door.

  “What would you like me to do whilst you are out?” I asked, shocked that he planned to leave so soon.

  “Anything you wish, just don’t leave the room, I am not yet sure how safe it will be.” With that he left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Stunned I sat up, looked around the room and wondered what I was supposed to do for the rest of the day. Coming to no suitable conclusion I lay back in the soft warmth of the bed and slept. I was awoken some time later by a knocking on the door. Grabbing the covers and pulling them under my chin I called out. “Come in.” Two young girls lumbered through the door with a wooden tub. I stared at them, eyes wide with surprise.

  “What is that?” I questioned.

  “It’s a tub of warm water. Mr. Brun had us bring it up so as you can bathe.”

  With a rustle of skirts they dragged the tub, carelessly sloshing water over the majority of the floor. Then giggling childishly, they dumped it firmly in front of the fire. They stood, expectantly, wringing their hands in anticipation of a tip. I shook my head angrily. “Be gone with you before I have cause to make a complaint about the mess,” I said sharply.

  I could smell the sweet perfume of lavender oil as I stood naked in front of the tub. Slowly I slid one foot into the water, gasping in surprise at the wonderful feel of the warmth as it rose ever higher up my calf. I gradually slipped down into the water, running my fingers lightly over its surface, watching it ripple and swirl around my hand. I sank lower until the warm, sweetly perfumed liquid covered me completely. My eyes closed in delighted pleasure as I arched my body, draping my head backwards through the water, soaking my hair with the sweet perfume of lavender oil. The water swelled in the tub as I pulled myself up, my hair tumbling carelessly over my naked breasts. Cupping both hands and filling them with water, I splashed it lavishly over my face, and then rubbed fervently at my cheeks to remove the weeks of travel dust and grime. I lay back in the water, my head resting on the curve of the tub and deeply content, I allowed myself to be lulled into sleep.

  “Christ!” A deep voice cursed behind me. My eyes flew open as I sat up and shot round to see Simon standing in the doorway. He kicked the door shut behind him. My arms went instinctively to cover my breasts. I stared at him as he moved slowly into the room. Forcibly, he flung the sheet off the bed and dropped it in front of the tub. “Cover yourself with that,” he demanded, turning his back to me. He stood facing the shutters, legs slightly apart and arms crossed. I grabbed the sheet and hastily wrapped it around me, walking slowly toward him.

  “Simon, I am sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn’t think you would be back yet.” His face was stern as he turned to me, a frown furrowed his brow and a dark shadow crossed his face as I met his eyes. Embarrassment rose up my neck and into my cheeks. His eyes stared darkly into mine. “I am sorry,” I repeated, lowering my eyes to the floor.

  “Get dressed,” He snapped. “I have bought you a new gown, put it on.” He raised his arm and pointed to the door where a box lay abandoned on the floor.

  “I will be back for you in twenty minutes, and then we are going out, make sure you are dressed.”

  I nodded obligingly and went to the door to pick up the box. He strode past me, opened the door and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Mortified, my eyes swam with tears. I wrapped my arms around myself and allowed the tears to pour down my face.

  ******

  CHAPTER 6

  By the time he returned I had dried my eyes and dressed. I stood motionless as he entered the room, noticing immediately that he too had changed and now wore a long dark overcoat and hat. “Did you manage alright with the dress?” he asked sharply.

  Lowering my eyes I nodded. “Aye, thank you Simon, it’s the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. I love it.”

  “You love too easily,” he mumbled. His eyes were dangerous and searching as they surveyed the garment. Made from fine burgundy silk, its skirt hung long and graceful from my hips, the bodice low and revealing. I crossed my arms protectively as his eyes lingered on my breasts. For a long moment we stood looking each other. Then he turned suddenly and made for the door. “I am taking you to meet an acquaintance. You are to behave as my wife, do you understand?” I hurried after him, gathering the drapes of the dress as I did.

  Simon flung open the door of the tavern. The air was still and heavy with the smell of tobacco smoke and stale ale. The smell smacked me in the face as we entered the room and I gasped, unable to catch my breath. “Oh, I am so glad you could make it,” hailed a smartly dressed man, waving a broad-brimmed hat at us from behind a mass of bodies. I took Simon’s arm, feeling suddenly afraid; he squeezed my hand reassuringly.

  “Don’t worry. Just do as I tell you and follow my lead,” he said, striding confidently across the room toward the waiting man. “Joseph, may I present my wife.” The ease with which the words rolled off Simon’s tongue took me by surprise. I shot him a startled glance, noticing a glimmer of humor in his eyes as I did.

  “I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brun,” he said, bowing politely.

  “And I you, Sir,” I replied as confidently as I could, wondering if I ought to curtsey. Concluding, however, that this was probably not the time to acquaint myself with a new skill, I settled instead for a courteous smile and a nod of the head.

  “My dear, this is Joseph Marshall. Joseph is a merchant.”

  I smiled and nodded politely. Casting an inquiring look around the room, Simon located a free table and led us toward it. I settled into a chair next to Simon, accepting a mug of ale. The two men huddled across the table; talking at length about ships, trade and the great deal of money that was to be made from them. I sat quietly in the chair, realizing that both men had all but forgotten my existence. The evening dragged on with further talk of money and sea adventures; none of which I paid any attention to. A single wax candle burned steadily, casting a soft yellow light over the table’s dark wooden finish. I accepted refills of ale to my mug, ate heartily from the bowl of warm soup they placed in front of me and sat watching the candle as it sank closer and closer to the tabletop. Eventually, Simon rose from his chair, shook the hand of his companion and bid him good night. I sighed heavily with relief as we left the stale air of the tavern for the fresh, salty air of the city night. The ale had gone to my head and I swayed slightly against Simon as we headed away from the tavern and down the crowded street back to the inn.

  “Corran, my dear sweet, Corran,” he said, his eyes twinkling with adventure and excitement in the moonlight, “We make a very fine team, you and I.”

  Back in the room of the inn, Simon removed his long black coat and flung it onto the bed. He sat down at the table, reached for his flask and offered it to me. I took a sip of the whisky, shuddering as its heady fumes caught the back of my throat. I passed the flask quickly back to Simon, who drank deeply from it, filling his mouth with the liquid and sighing contentedly as he swallowed it. “That tavern ale is alright but there is nothing to match a good whisky.” He raised his arms, putting his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. He watched me intently, his eyes fixed on my face. I shifted uneasily on my feet, grabbing hold of the back of the chair in an attempt to keep myself from swaying. I leaned heavily against the chair for support, lowering my head to look across the table at Simon. A smile crept slowly over his face as I looked down at him, my eyes fighting to focus. “You know,” he said eventually, “I do believe you are drunk, lass.”

  He rose from his chair, pushing it roughly backwards and stepped around the table. Putting his hands around my waist for support he guided me to the bed. Lifting me onto the mattress, he removed my boots and put them neatly on the floor next to the bed. “Sleep now,” he said, tossing a plaid on top of me. “You will have a
stinking headache in the morning.”

  I woke to a churning in my stomach and pounding head. Rolling onto my stomach, clutching my forehead in my hands, I groaned. “Dear God what is wrong with me?”

  “You have a hangover,” he smirked in amusement. I did not move to look at him but buried my face in the pillow, praying the throbbing in my head would stop. “I have a meeting this morning; I will be back shortly.” I heard his footsteps on the wooden floor as he made his way toward the door. He paused briefly before opening it. His coat rustled as he pulled it on, then the door slammed shut and I shuddered as the sound resonated through my head.

  I don’t know how long I slept but when I woke it was to nothing more than a dull ache in my head. I sat up cautiously, looking around the room for Simon. Of course, he went out, I thought dimly to myself. Oh heavens, what must he think of me? I sighed deeply, filling my lungs with as much air as I could. Looking around the room for the jug, I slowly got off the bed. I filled a bowl with water, washed, tidied my hair, straightened my dress and felt generally better for it. Opening the shutters I stood at the bedroom window, inhaling deep breaths of air and watched the people of the city go about their daily lives. Sailors, crippled beggars and peddlers shouted their wares; wealthy gentlemen like Mr. Marshall and ladies dressed in fine silk filled the street. I stayed at the window for a long time, just watching the people come and go beneath me and wondered as I did what lives they lived.

  Then I saw him: the Red Coat from the glen with the copper hair. I swayed against the window, pressing my palm flat against the stone sill, as I fought to clear the image in my head. I could see his face in the firelight, the bayonet in his hand, dripping with the blood of my friends. I slammed the shutters shut and sank to the floor. “Oh dear God, what about Simon?” I whispered desperately. “What if he finds him here?”

  Simon returned several hours later slamming the door behind him. I leapt to my feet as he entered the room. “Feeling better lass?” he said, breezing into the room as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Simon, he is here... one of the Campbell men... from that morning in the glen, the one with the red hair,” I stammered in panic.

  He nodded, “I know.”

  “What are we going to do Simon?” I said, my hands trembling with fear.

  “It’s alright, Corran.” He moved toward me, taking my hands in his and leading me like a frightened child to the chair. “Sit down,” he said.

  “Ask me nicely,” I snapped, my fear abruptly replaced by annoyance.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Very well then. Corran, will you please sit with me and hear my plan?” he said, chuckling loudly. We sat opposite each other at the table. Simon held up his flask, a sparkle glinting in his eyes. “Do you want some?” he teased.

  “No, thank you,” I replied, lowering my eyes to avoid having to face him. “Will you just tell me what you are thinking?”

  He slowly raised the flask to his mouth and took a sip, watching me out of the corner of his eyes, deliberately keeping me in suspense. “Do you recall Joseph Marshall?” I nodded, realizing that the man’s name was one of the few things I did remember from last night. “Well you may also recall that Joseph is a merchant.” My face must have betrayed my lack of comprehension because Simon paused, sighed irritably and rubbed his head. “Do you know what a merchant is?”

  I didn’t have the faintest idea what a merchant was, nor did I have any memory of being told that Joseph was one. “I have no recollection, Simon,” I said, having no option but to admit my ignorance and alcohol-induced memory loss.

  “Well a merchant is someone who trades things,” he paused briefly, taking another sip of his flask, “with other people in the hope that he might make some money.”

  I nodded. “So Mr. Marshall sells things and makes money from their sale?” I replied sarcastically, thinking that he had no need to explain the matter as though I were incapable of basic comprehension.

  Seemingly unaware of my growing annoyance, he continued undeterred. “Aye, that he does Corran. But Joseph doesn’t sell just anything. He sells things from foreign countries, like Africa.”

  Not having the slightest idea where this place was, I was relieved when he moved swiftly on to an explanation of where Africa was. Followed by an in-depth description of how long it took ships to get there and the dangers involved in the journey. By the time he had finished I wondered why, even for profit, anyone would want to travel six months in such dire conditions.

  “Joseph has a ship leaving port for West Africa in a week.” He looked seriously into my eyes, holding my gaze he continued, “If we want it the ship is ours to travel on.” He finished swigging the last mouthful of his drink.

  “You must be joking?” I said, casting him a sharp look.

  “Well, you must admit the idea holds a certain attraction?”

  I shook my head, confused. “No, not really, what attraction could you possibly see in traveling to West Africa?”

  “Because... it will take us away from here and give us a chance of a future. We could make enough money on this trip to see us right for life,” he said steadily.

  “Do we have a week Simon? Should we not try and leave the city now, before the Red Coat finds you?”

  “Never mind about him Corran, he will not be a problem to us.” The color drained from his face and his eyes looked down. His brows furrowed and as I watched him I understood with horror the meaning of his words.

  “You are never going to kill him?” I asked, my voice trembling and low.

  “I have no choice. Either I see him dead or he will see me dead. I know which one I prefer.” he said gravely.

  “But why Africa, Simon? It’s so far away, can’t we just go to France?”

  He shook his head. “No, France is not an option for me. I am a soldier of the English King and that won’t hold much sway in France.”

  “Are you a sailor then?” I asked, confused.

  “No lass, I am not a sailor but my father is, and this man Marshall knows my father.”

  “But you told him we were Mr. and Mrs. Brun.”

  “I told him I had sailed with my father, as a hand on one of his ships. He doesn’t know we are related. My pa has stories aplenty to cover his adventures at sea and I only needed to repeat a few details from one to have the man take me seriously. It was an easy story to tell.”

  “What would you do on the ship then, if you can’t really sail?”

  “Well that is the beauty of it. Mr. Marshall isn’t looking for a sailor but a negotiator, so as long as our captain doesn’t die then we will be fine. What I am really needed for is to keep an eye on some cargo and keep the captain’s eyes off it.”

  I cocked my eyebrows in suspicion. “I think that the goods you are to sail with and sell are not legal?”

  He smiled across the table at me. “And I think, wee Corran, that you are quick to catch on.”

  “Simon, exactly what will I do on this ship?” I asked.

  “Ahh, well...” he said, as though he was not quite sure what to say to me. “You will act as my wife,” he said simply.

  Far from satisfied with this answer, I tried again. “Exactly what is that going to entail?”

  He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know for sure, but there is never a shortage of jobs on board ship. The women folk usually tend to the sick, so I guess you will be able to give a hand with that.”

  I nodded, slightly more satisfied with this reply. Simon raised his arm and kneaded the muscles at the back of his neck. “I have something to do and I must do it tonight.” His look told me what it was he had to do.

  “Are you going to find the man with the copper hair?” I asked, my eyes wide with fear and concern. “What if you get hurt Simon, or what if there are more than just that red-haired one here?”

  “He is the only one we need fear now. I will sort it Corran, don’t worry, I promise you it will be fine.”

  Unconvinced I shook
my head, sickening panic filling the pit of my stomach. “No, Simon, please don’t do it, there must be another way.”

  “I don’t want to do it but whilst he is alive we will never be safe. I have no choice in the matter.” He pulled out his dirk and held it steady in his hand for a few moments.

  “It won’t be painful lass, he won’t know a thing of it, I promise.”

  He put his coat on and made to leave, and I watched in fear as he closed the door. I whispered softly, “I love you Simon.”

  Seconds later the door opened a crack and he popped his head around the opening, the hint of a smile on his lips. “I told you before Corran, you love too easily.”

  ******

  CHAPTER 7

  Again I was alone in the stone walled room. I opened the shutters a crack and watched the street below. Night had fallen and with it the fervent activity of the city had declined. I could hear the ramblings of the tavern folk and the cries of the beggars but all I wanted to hear was the sound of Simon’s footsteps on the landing outside our room. Hours passed and still he did not return. I closed the shutters and went downstairs to order two bowls of soup and a jug of ale, which I took back up to our room. They sat on the table untouched. I stoked the fire, wrapped myself in my plaid and curled up on the hearth, praying that God would send him safely back to me. I was awoken by a flurry of activity on the street outside the bedroom window. I ran to the shutters, flinging them open to see what was going on.

  A man shouted but I could not make out what he had said. Then I heard a group of men right below my window.

  “It’s a Red Coat, that’s all I know.”

  “Well I hope they get the bugger that killed him.” Another with a slightly higher pitched voice said. “I heard it was another Red Coat that did it,” came a deeper, more familiar voice, but I had no time to consider it, as my legs gave way and I dropped to the floor. My heart raced as I suddenly became aware of it thundering in my chest.