Glenna smiled back. “Well enough, thank ye.”
Brenda crouched by Nessa’s feet, then sat, apparently planning to stay in place. Nessa’s smile was gentle, almost apologetic. She spoke to Brenda but her eyes held Glenna’s.
“There now,” she said. “Ye’re fine, aye?”
Brenda nodded quickly, but Glenna couldn’t help noticing how the girl rocked in place, staring straight at the floor as if hypnotised.
“What did ye see, Brenda, my love?”
“Sergeant Jennings,” she whispered.
Nessa flicked her eyebrows at Glenna, communicating silently. “There now, pet. We’ve spoken of Jennings. All ye must do is keep yer eyes down an’ give the man a curtsy, then walk around. He only needs to think he’s the king is all. Costs ye nothin’ to do that.”
Brenda nodded again, still rocking. Nessa shrugged at Glenna. “Shall we find some breakfast then, Brenda? A wee spot o’ parritch wouldna go amiss.”
Staying in Nessa’s shadow for the first two days seemed the wisest course of action, and from that vantage point Glenna quickly decided her place among the women, instinctively following their lead when it came to the fort and its guards. Lorna and Nessa seemed to have been there the longest, and they all knew the ins and outs of the place. They were kept relatively busy, cleaning up after the soldiers when necessary, working in the kitchen, sewing and doing odd jobs. Occasionally Aline was called away when an injury happened.
At other times the women were left to themselves. Glenna adopted one spot along the wall, on the other side of the women’s cell, where she’d sit and think by herself. It was the only time she had enough alone space around her that she could grieve and talk with Dougal. In a hidden gesture of rebellion, she used a rusted nail she’d found to carve their names into the bottom of a post, large enough that she could read it from a few paces away. Glenna loves Dougal. She cut the letters carefully and cleanly and read them to herself every time she walked near.
“For you, my love,” she whispered and kissed her fingers, then set them on the letters. “Ye’re only gone in the flesh. I feel ye wi’ me still. Never leave.”
CHAPTER 31
Teaching a Lesson in Humility
Less than a month passed before Sergeant Jennings came to their cell, bearing news. “You ladies are shipping out tomorrow,” he informed them.
Glenna and the others exchanged puzzled glances.
“How’s that?” Lorna demanded, her usual snarl unsure.
“You are to go to the colonies, work for folk out there.”
Glenna studied the sergeant’s expression, searching for a better explanation. His eyes shifted slightly in her direction, then flicked away.
“Work?” Glenna asked.
“They call it indentured servitude,” he said, his words cold and emotionless. “The folks in the colonies require workers. You are criminals. Therefore, you shall work for them.”
There was no need to argue the question of their being criminals. They were criminals based on their nationality, and there was nothing any of them could do to contest that. They were indeed guilty of being Scottish. Glenna’s stomach clenched, and she felt suddenly dizzy as the ramifications of what he’d just said came to her. She couldn’t get on a ship again. The memory of the only other ship she’d known came to her and the reek hit her like a punch. She choked, clutching the wall to keep her balance. No one noticed. They were still asking questions of Jennings, but he had no more answers to share.
“Have we a choice?” Nessa asked wryly.
Sergeant Jennings snorted. “No. You go or you hang. Look,” he said, looking slightly sympathetic and gesturing vaguely around the empty walls of their cell. “It can’t be worse than here. Look at how you live. Like animals. The six of you are dirty and half-starved. At least there you’d have something different.”
No one agreed with him, but no one disagreed, either. In truth, he was right. Glenna would go mad if she had to live here much longer. It reminded her far too much of the cold stone walls of Tilbury Fort. There at least she’d had Joseph, Dougal, and John as companions. Here she had only these women with whom to live, and she had never had to do that before. Glenna’s whole life had been spent in the company of boys and men, never women. She didn’t understand them and they didn’t seem to understand her, either. And though there were male prisoners here as well, they were not permitted to mix. It was a strange feeling, not fitting in with one’s own sex.
What could it be like, living in the colonies? More of the same? No. The sergeant had mentioned work, and here they did practically nothing. Work of what kind she didn’t know, but Jennings might be right. Work anywhere might be better than existing in this miserable island of nothing.
Later that night, Glenna stepped outside the cell, tired of listening to the women and their silly talk that went nowhere. For an hour or so, she sat in the cool evening air by the carving of their names, knees bent within the circle of her arms, staring up at the wash of stars. Their light was uninterrupted by even one cloud and its brilliance flooded the yard. The moon was practically full, and the thought made her sad. She loved full moons, loved what they did to her: helping her see the magic in everything around her, making her laugh at things she didn’t usually see as particularly funny. More than that, she loved what they did to Dougal, prompting him to puff like a cockerel, strutting as if to impress her. She chuckled. As if he’d ever needed to do that. There was no one in Glenna’s heart but him, never would be.
God, she loved him. She caught her breath, surprised by the unbidden jerk to her heart. She loved his eyes, those lips, the strength of those always warm hands. His heart had owned her from the first time they’d spoken, when she’d still been Aidan, and all she’d ever wanted was to be near him. Her Dougal had a heart so big she had always feared she’d never completely fill it. But he filled hers until it overflowed, making her into a person almost worthy of him. She still loved him now that he was dead, though she felt incomplete. Sometimes the sensation of loss was so intense it was as if someone had reached within her and yanked out whatever she needed to move forward. It was more than her heart. It was . . . more.
She sighed and dropped her chin, staring at the dark gray homespun of her dress and plucking at its rough fibres. The material was worn and stained, but stubbornly surviving. Glenna was so tired of fighting. Every heartbeat prompted her forward, though her body wanted to collapse, roll into a ball, and leave life behind. What was the point of continuing if all life ever brought was pain and strife? She tried not to cry these days. She didn’t want to appear weak. Not around the other women, not around Jennings. But oh, it hurt. Sometimes during the day she could almost forget about him, distracted by whatever inane job the soldiers assigned to her. But he was usually there somewhere, watching, his bright blue eyes always interested in whatever she did. For all those years he’d watched her, and it had always been a thrill to know she fascinated him as much as he did her.
No, there was no one in Glenna’s world but Dougal. And that meant there was no one left. She ran her thumb lovingly over the carving of his name and stared up at the sky, letting tears trickle down her cheeks, but she didn’t make a sound.
That’s how she was sitting when she heard a whimper. She frowned and peered around the yard, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The place was dark, the only light coming from a few flickering lanterns hanging on the walls. She heard it again, but this time the sound formed words.
“No, please,” she heard. A tiny sob, afraid to be released, unable to be contained. And not something Glenna could ignore. “Please don’t.”
She wiped her cheeks and got silently to her feet, then crept toward the pitiful sound, taking care to stay out of the spill of moonlight. The voice was coming from the other side of the armoury, a long gray building suffused with the stink of gunpowder. Glenna slid her hand along the wall until she reached its corner, then glanced behind and around her, making sure she was the only one to have heard
the sounds. Then, very slowly, she edged her face around the corner and peered toward the sound.
It was Brenda, the young, nervous girl Glenna thought was a bit mad. She could only tell by her voice, because she couldn’t see the girl’s face. It was hidden behind the bulk of Sergeant Jennings, who was stripped down to breeches and shirt. He had her pressed against the wall and the tips of her fingers curled around his arms, gripping defensively. His voice was a low growl from where Glenna stood, the hungry noise of a predator, proud of his catch.
An involuntary shudder passed through Glenna. No, she didn’t understand women. But she understood men, and she understood what it was like to be on the wrong side of a man’s violent intentions.
Fortunately, Jennings appeared to relish the foreplay, terrifying Brenda with low threats while she squirmed under his grip. He hadn’t yet gotten far enough in the proceedings that Glenna couldn’t do something about it. The stone wall felt wet against Glenna’s palm. She wondered absently if it was slick from dew, then realised it was only her own sweat. She stared at Jennings, chewing her lip as she did so. When she’d first arrived, she had felt beaten, vulnerable, and lost, too intimidated to take him on. Now that she knew him better, she knew she could kill him if required. If she did this thing, she would have to do it right. Dougal had shown her how.
Then again, if she killed him, she wouldn’t have to worry about the colonies. She’d hang.
On the other hand, if she only injured him, he could accuse her, resulting in a similar punishment. How could she disable a man but leave him unable to talk about it?
Glenna smiled, remembering another lesson Dougal had taught her. A quick, effective lesson in humiliation. Granted, it had been easier to practice when Dougal wore his loose breeks, or his kilt, or nothing at all. Glenna watched Jennings’s sturdy body before her, seeing how his breeks clung to his body. It required very little imagination. She squinted a bit, studying her quarry, then crept closer, staying purposefully out of Brenda’s view. She didn’t want the silly girl to give away the game. Glenna was going to have to move very quickly and with great precision when she did this.
She stopped a foot away from Jennings, breathing as quietly as possible. Not that it mattered. The man’s hoarse voice never stopped spouting vile suggestions. In order to do this right, Glenna needed him to face her. She closed her eyes and pictured Dougal, wishing he could hear her, wherever he was. Help me wi’ this, would ye?
She took a breath for courage and dove in, tapping Jennings on the shoulder. “Pardon me, Sergeant.”
Everything happened very quickly after that. Jennings spun in place, eyes wide. Glenna swung her hand up hard between the man’s tight breeks and squeezed. He made a high-pitched, squealing sound and his eyes bugged out. Glenna felt his weight sag against her hand, but she didn’t let him collapse. Not yet. Instead, trying not to breathe through her nose, she brought her face close to his.
“Ye have no right to interfere wi’ this woman or any other, Sergeant.”
“I’ll see you hang,” he wheezed, then convulsed slightly as she tightened her grip. Oh, what a weakness these men had. Thank ye, Dougal, my love.
“I dinna think so, my lad. Rather embarrassin’, this, is it no’? Ye’d have a time trying to explain how a wee thing like me”—she released her hold and he fell helplessly to the ground—“brought ye to yer knees. Wouldna look good on ye, Jennings. I canna see ye gettin’ any type of promotion wi’ this on yer record.”
Jennings, on all fours in the dirt, glared at her. His eyes still leaked tears, his pale face was slick with sweat. In his eyes swam pure hatred, and she was suddenly relieved they’d be sailing the next day.
She held out a hand to Brenda, and the girl was instantly pressed against her side, thankfully mute. “I’ll just take the lass back to our warm, inviting cell, shall I? An’ we’ll all forget this ever happened. After all, we’re on a ship in the mornin’. We’ll no’ be able to get ye in any trouble then. Come, Brenda, let’s to bed.”
CHAPTER 32
Back to the Sea
In the morning Brenda offered half of her breakfast to Glenna. “Taing, Glenna,” she whispered.
Glenna shook her head. “Ye’re welcome, but there’s no need for that. I’m only glad I could help.”
“Please,” Brenda insisted, pressing the offering into Glenna’s hand.
After they’d eaten, the prisoners were taken into the yard, where they bunched together like cattle going to market. Brenda clung to Nessa’s arm, hiding behind her whenever possible, and Nessa continued to smile at the others in an attempt to ease the fears of everyone, including herself. Bonnie hugged herself, as she often did, but only her eyes moved, sliding warily from side to side and taking in the activity around them. Glenna changed her mind. Not cattle, she decided, but deer. Frightened, confused, cornered, and helpless.
No one made any speeches or informed the prisoners about what was going on. The soldiers seemed to know, though, for they barely spoke as they went about their business. Eventually the prisoners, men and women alike, were sorted into lines. The women were kept together, which was a kind of relief, though it did nothing to expel the worry clinging to their nerves. Nessa did her best to reassure the others, telling them all would be well, but only Brenda seemed to be listening. Except Glenna couldn’t tell if the girl really was listening, because her scared, flickering eyes seemed everywhere at once.
The women stayed together, keeping pace with the men as they marched for hours toward port. The cries of circling, diving gulls, their arched wings startlingly white against a clear blue sky, were the first clue that they were drawing near. Then the air changed, becoming thicker with its essence of saltwater and fish. When Glenna smelled the sea, bile rose in her throat. Her heart raced when she spied the masts looming ahead, like fragile crucifixes rolling on an endless sea. They reminded her of a graveyard, and she fought the urge to bolt. The soldiers wouldn’t be patient on a day like this. They would kill any prisoners attempting escape.
But the ship terrified her to the soles of her ragged shoes. Some might breathe in the heavy salt air, find adventure in its scent, but Glenna smelled hell. The prison ship she’d survived with Dougal had stunk of the defeated, its floors and walls covered with the muddy waste of prisoners. Under that filth, beneath the slippery floorboards on which they’d tried to maintain their balance for so many months, the stream of salt air had constantly flowed, a reminder that even if she had been able to escape the morass of starving, dying pariahs, there was nowhere she could go.
When the ships came into view, rolling over a sea laced by white-tipped waves, a mixed reaction bubbled among the prisoners. Fear was prevalent: fear of the unknown, or at least of the little known. Rumours had flown about the colonies, about how they were inhabitable for civilized folk, how they were overrun by cannibalistic savages and wild beasts, all of whom waited hungrily on the shores for fresh meat from overseas. Glenna tried to imagine it in a different light. Out of necessity, she started to picture this wildness, to see the hidden glens and forests, and the image of Aberfeldy came to mind, bringing with it bittersweet memories of her life with Dougal.
She didn’t think she was afraid of the new world. Because of her life in the woods with Joseph, then later with Dougal, she knew more than most people did about how to stay alive in the wild. She sensed opportunity. All she would have to do was get her lay of the land, then escape whatever this indentured service was. Then she’d be all right. She’d survive. She’d build a life after that.
But to get there, she would have to step on deck, then submit to the inevitable plunge into the hold. It was like asking her to go back to the men who had killed Dougal and ask them to do it again.
Aline came alongside Glenna and they walked awhile without speaking. Aline was a little taller than Glenna and probably in her late forties. She seemed a smart woman, but one who held secrets very tightly to her chest. Well, who didn’t these days? It was only that while many of the oth
ers mourned all they had lost, seeking support and sympathy, Aline kept quiet. Glenna liked her company, as she liked Nessa’s, though she always preferred to be alone.
The prisoners followed the road down a slope, headed toward the docks, and Glenna fought the lump in her throat. She would not cry. Would not. But oh, how her feet ached to turn the other way and run. Every muscle bunched, wanting to go, to slither through the others and vanish into the familiar blackness of trees and rocks.
“Ye’ve been to sea afore, I reckon,” Aline said.
Glenna glanced at her, startled. “Aye, I have. How do ye ken that?”
“Yer face says so. I’ve been there as well. I ken what it is ye dinna wish to see again.”
They walked without speaking for a few more paces, the road crackling beneath the worn feet of dozens of prisoners. Over a hundred men and women, Glenna guessed. Half of the number who had been onboard the other prison ship, but that didn’t mean it would be any better. The ships ahead of her looked slightly smaller than the other one, though that could have been her imagination.
“They’d catch ye an’ hang ye if ye ran, aye? Ye’d no’ get far.”
Glenna snorted, impressed at how well Aline could read her thoughts. Her mind flickered with a long-ago memory of Dougal, confessing to her that he could hear the thoughts of men. Ah, Dougal. “I wonder if a noose would be preferable to that ship.”
“No. I dinna suppose it is.” Aline frowned and shook her head, observing Glenna closely. “I’d ne’er choose certain death over a possible chance at life. Never.”
Glenna frowned at her, curious about this sudden philosophical discussion. “An’ ye’ve had occasion to choose before now?”
“I have.”
Questions pressed against Glenna’s lips, but she held them back. If Aline wished to share, she would. In her own time. It wasn’t as if Glenna had told any of them about her life, either. All they knew about her was that Dougal, whom she called her husband, was dead, and she’d been arrested after felling a deer. Nothing more.
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