Across Captive Seas

by Michele du Barry

  “And me,” Scott reminded her. “I’m his father and he stopped crying for me. Why didn’t you tell me he was teething? I could have—”

  “If you were ever here and didn’t stay out all night, you would have known. As it was,” she gave a shrug of her shoulders, “I thought you didn’t care.”

  “Not care—about my own son! You know—”

  “All I know,” she cut in, “is that you don’t care about your own wife so why should you care about the children?”

  “You are mistaken,” Scott said sitting down beside her and shifting Robert in his lap. The baby lay looking up at him, curious about his unusual presence during the night.

  “I don’t want to quarrel now.” She tried to edge away from Scott, acutely conscious of his arm resting on the back of the sofa behind her, but she was already sitting as far away as she could.

  “Do you think if I put him to bed he would fall asleep?”

  “You could try,” said Angela, “but he would probably start screaming again.”

  “I’ll chance it.” Scott got up and placed Robert in the crib and he immediately started howling. “All right, all right!” Picking him up again Scott sat back down smiling ruefully. “You were right, Angel.”

  He heard her quickly indrawn breath and glanced up to find Angela’s cheeks pink and her eyes downcast. He hadn’t called her his pet name in weeks and her heart fluttered alarmingly. All it took was one word from him to make her start wanting him all over again, her resolution to hate him dashed to pieces. If they were alone and Scott touched her now, she knew she would dissolve against him, irrevocably lost.

  Her attitude didn’t go unnoticed by Scott. So she still cared. Then why the anger and the tears? Why the total rejection of him? Scott’s fingers curled into Angela’s heavy hair, warm against the nape of her neck, playing havoc with her emotions.

  “Stop it,” she snapped trying to get up, but Scott fastened his fingers tightly and wouldn’t let go.

  “Don’t run away, love, we haven’t talked in such a long time. I think we need to have it out. We cannot continue on in the same way. It’s not good for us or the children.” There, he had made a start to it. “And at least with Robert here we won’t end up shouting at each other.”

  He had called her love, as if he really meant it and his eyes were dark and tender, the way they used to be. Scott’s hand moved caressingly against her neck shooting tremors of pleasure down her spine. Angela twined her shaking fingers together to keep herself from losing all control.

  “Let’s talk, sweetheart,” Scott said soothingly, aware of her inner agitation. “Tell me what’s been troubling you.”

  “Your mistress!” she blurted out unexpectedly.

  “What mistress?”

  “The one that has taken my place in your bed, that’s taken you and your love away from me!”

  Angela’s eyes brimmed with tears and her lower lip trembled. Scott lifted her chin with a finger and as she met his golden gaze the tears spilled over, crystalline drops against the velvet softness of her cheeks.

  “I love you,” Scott stated simply, wiping away her tears. “There is no mistress, only you. You are my mistress, my wife, my only love. You are my life!” His words had the clear ring of truth.

  “But. . .but. . .” Angela could hardly speak, so overwhelmed was she by his declaration. “You haven’t made love to me in over eight months!”

  “Nine months, one week, and three days,” he said with a sad smile. “Shall I tell you how many hours, minutes, and seconds? And all of that time I wanted and loved no one but you! I dreamed of lying on your yielding body, tangled in your long hair, of losing myself in your softness. . . .”

  “Then why, why didn’t you? Please tell the truth. I could forgive you anything if you only want me again. I don’t care if you have a harem in the next room. Just send them away and take me to bed and love me!”

  What could he say to her now? Should he tell her the truth? She was such an adorable little fool—as if anyone could ever take her place! And a mistress; where in the world had she come up with that idea? From her own fertile, overactive imagination. But if he was in her place he might have jumped to the same conclusion.

  “I want to—more than anything in the world—but I can’t!”

  “You can’t? But I don’t understand.”

  Scott’s face was an agony of indecision. “What I mean is. . .that. . .I can’t make love to you.”

  Angela clapped a hand over her open mouth in astonishment. “Oh, Scott! Why didn’t you tell me?” She was on her knees on the sofa throwing her arms around his neck. His arm circled her waist and her cheek was soft and hot against his. Scott could feel her tears again and the trembling of her fingers as they stroked his hair. “My poor darling! What happened—an injury or illness? Did you see the doctor?”

  He almost laughed. She thought he was impotent! He opened his mouth to tell her it was ridiculous and then shut it again. Angela was giving him the perfect way out. If he told her the truth—that she shouldn’t have any more children—she would seduce or tease him into loving her anyway. But if she believed him incapable they could live together in peace without all the old bitterness. They could have a Platonic affair and he wouldn’t ever have to worry about her leaving him. All it would take would be one little lie, and he would be doing it for her own good.

  “Yes. I saw the doctor—several doctors—but they all said the same thing. I will never be able to. . .” Scott let his voice get overemotional. “Please, Angel, I can’t talk about it anymore. I feel so humiliated!”

  Angela sat back on her heels, looking into his eyes, love and tenderness welling up out of her heart like a fountain. Poor Scott—to have something like that happen and keep it a secret all these months. It must have been torture for such a potent, vigorous man. Then she thought of what it would mean to her. No more lovemaking, ever. Could she stand that? Yes, she told herself, she could stand anything as long as he loved her. To reject him would crush all their hopes.

  “Darling, please don’t feel like that. You can talk to me—I’ll understand.” Then in a rush of emotion, Scott, I’m your wife—I love you!”

  She threw herself against him, her small body shaking and her wet face against his neck. Angela loved him! The words Scott had waited for years to hear were finally out. He ached to pick her up, carry her to their room and. . . .No! He stroked her hair and shoulders instead, almost glad Robert was there staring at them out of round eyes; their chaperon. The warmth he felt inside from her simple declaration of love was incredible.

  “Angel, Angel,” Scott whispered huskily. “Just knowing that you love me is enough to live on for the rest of my life. Shh—don’t cry—we will be happy. I promise you!”

  Angela’s lips blindly found his and clung and clung until Scott thought he would go mad with wanting her. At last he had to gently push her away saying, “Please, love, you’re only frustrating both of us.”

  Angela sat down beside him, her head resting wearily against his shoulder. She had her husband back, not wholly but almost. At least now there wouldn’t be silence and suspicions between them. They were free to love each other even though one facet of their married life was gone.

  Scott’s laughter rang out brittle, hollow in the silence of the night. His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he said, “That damned flag! It worked. It made you my wife. It granted me my heart’s desire and then the malediction took away our happiness.”

  Life went on, and Angela lived from day to day. She didn’t want to look back into the past at things that had been, or forward to the future—to things that could never be. They occupied separate rooms by agreement; each knowing the frustration sleeping together would bring. And in a way they were happy, in every way that mattered, she told herself over and over again, while her heart whispered something else, longing for the closeness physical union would bring.

  Their summer days were full of activity and laughter, and at least they had
the children. They seemed doubly precious now. They went boating, hiked and picnicked all over the countryside taking advantage of the too short season. The children and Scott were as brown as berries and Angela glowed with health and vitality. They even went on an expedition to lovely, forested Glen Affric and spent a week camping in tents under the open sky. They hunted and fished and took baths in the countless streams, shrieking and laughing in the freezing water.

  The Highlands once again had a magical aura, now that the mistrust and apprehension between Scott and Angela had evaporated. And she could still believe in fairy tales, but not the ones that ended happily ever after. Nothing ended like that. Angela thought often of the Bratach Sith and when she did she shuddered at its malevolence. It shadowed her life and she began to believe that it was responsible for their disastrous turn of fortune. Scott had tempted the fates and the three goddesses of destiny weren’t ones to ignore a dare.

  Angela stood at the open window in her room. The children had been in bed for hours and the castle was settling down for the night. The sun was a gigantic, distorted red ball on the horizon that couldn’t quite make up its mind to go. It had lingered, sinking slowly, too slowly into the ocean.

  She had watched for half an hour and still it stayed, Glimmering a red path across the ocean and gilding the clouds with color. Summer was strange this far north, it took an eternity for the sun to set and when it did the gray twilight waited to greet midnight. But Angela knew where the sun went; it loitered just beneath the edge of the ocean and a few hours later popped up again in a different place. The nights were short, just the opposite of the long dark winters.

  Angela was tired yet she couldn’t sleep, so she watched; there was nothing else to do. She was hot and her skin felt as if it was too tight for her body. She could sill feel Scott’s good night kiss on her lips. Going to another window Angela looked into the courtyard, leaning her cheek against the cool stone wall.

  Deep shadows lay like black velvet on the ground and the round tower glowed as red as blood in the reflected rays of the sun. She stared and it seemed to move and shimmer in the changing light. That awful evil thing was in there, high beneath the pointed roof showering down plagues on them all.

  With a loud exclamation Angela stripped off her robe and nightgown and grabbed a dress from the armoire. Her fingers trembled and she couldn’t reach all of the looks so she threw a shawl around her shoulders and rushed from the room. She only stopped downstairs to grab a candle and a key, and then flew out into the twilight.

  She would rid Seafield Castle of its winze once and for all! The key creaked in the lock and Angela entered the tower pausing to light the candle. The small point of light barely pierced the gloom but she started up the stairs. They were worn and treacherous, but she hurried on. Once she tripped and banged her knee painfully on a step and she rubbed it briskly before proceeding.

  At last Angela reached the summit. She paused panting with the exertion of the quick climb. Throwing open the door to the balcony she stood back pressed against the wall as the sun’s last light turned the Bratach Sith scarlet. “Don’t touch it!” Scott had told her, repeating its ancient myth. It would bring catastrophe to whoever laid a hand on it.

  Angela stared. Did she dare? “Yes—yes!” she cried rushing at it, tearing the flag off the wall. No more would this anathema overshadow their lives.

  Scott had touched it and disaster had occurred, but she wasn’t afraid. What else could it possibly do? It had already wrecked their lives. The thin, worn material ripped easily and as she shredded the flag the silk made a sound like the wind rushing through the trees—almost like moaning. Angela worked with intensity tearing it into a hundred pieces. When she had finished sweat was beaded on her forehead and upper lip, and she bundled the strips of silk into her shawl.

  The sun was gone now leaving in its wake the gloaming. Angela slammed shut the door and went down the stairs, this time more slowly. If she fell, at least it wouldn’t be far on the spiral staircase. She held the candle high and her shawl tightly in the other hand.

  As she reached the courtyard the wind almost caught the shawl from her grip. Dark, angry storm clouds whipped in from the Atlantic—clouds where half an hour before there had been none. A powerful gust blew Angela against the door, bruising her shoulder and extinguishing the candle. She threw it down and held the shawl tightly in both arms.

  She could smell the rain in the air as she struggled against the gale. Her loose hair lashed stingingly against her face and eyes blinding her and her skirts twined around her legs. She had to get inside; she must burn what was left of the Fairy Flag.

  Angela tripped falling full length on the pavement, the shawl wrenched from her hands. She dragged herself to her hands and knees and watched horrorstricken as the silken shreds were caught in a whirlwind and hurled straight up into the black sky. They were luminous against the darkness—hundreds of pieces twirling in a mad dance, each like a tiny, individually waving flag. She gaped mesmerized until the last one vanished, her blood running cold in her veins.

  Scott looked up startled as the front door was thrown open and Angela blew into the great hall like an autumn leaf. Her face was so pale that her shocked eyes seemed dark in comparison and she was all disheveled as if she had been caught in a hurricane.

  Angela ran terrified to the haven of Scott’s arms. They closed around her so strong and protective, and she knew that as long as he held her nothing would ever be allowed to hurt her.

  The storm raged for three days wreaking havoc and leaving destruction in its path. Roofs were ripped from cottages, windows smashed in, trees uprooted. Several fishing boats never returned; sunk with all hands. In some places the ocean swept in, drowning animals and people, covering fields. The great hall was littered with the pallets of those who had sought sanctuary from the tempest. They left in a trickle picking up the shattered remains of what was left behind.

  Angela blamed herself for the storm and the lives that had been lost. She should have known better than to try and destroy a legend. Instead of burning the flag as she had intended the wind had snatched it away—to she didn’t know where. Scott only laughed and told her she had an overactive imagination. The storm would have come regardless. It helped a little though when he discounted the whole incident as a coincidence.

  Things slowly returned to normal and the people of Dornie were grateful to the beautiful lady of Seafield Castle who freely provided materials to rebuild their homes and lives. All they had to do was let it be known as to what they needed and somehow she found out, her purse was never empty.

  Mist gathered in the pockets of the hills, twining like gray ribbons through the trees. The odor of peat smoke hung heavy in the air, its pungent smell would always remind Angela of Scotland. She waited impatiently for her horse to be readied, looking out over the loch. The water was as smooth as polished pewter reflecting every detail. There wasn’t a ripple to disturb the image and as she stared she had the strangest sensation that the reflection was the reality and she swayed dizzily as if the whole world was suddenly upside down.

  Angela had just missed Scott and called to him as he rode off, but the fog absorbed her voice and he didn’t hear her. She would try and catch up to him if the stableboy would ever finish. Finally she swung up onto her horse and rode over the vaulted bridge connecting the island castle with the mainland. Even on the cobblestones the horse’s hooves could hardly be heard, muffled by the dismal weather.

  The dove gray of Angela’s riding habit blended perfectly into the day, rendering her almost invisible. She headed in the general direction Scott had taken, but in no hurry now. The day closed around her like a soft wool blanket. She rode for some time, straying from the path and plunging between the trees that were covered with dew-spangled spider webs.

  Angela saw Scott’s horse in a small glen through a screen of green glistening branches. She would surprise him, she thought smiling mischievously, wondering what he would say as she popped out of the
trees at him. Slipping from her horse she tied the reins to a low hanging branch and skirted the clearing, stopping abruptly as she saw them, not ten feet away.

  Panic erupted violently through her whole being and instinctively she crouched down, peering aghast through the bushes. The woman’s hair was the color of a flame and the voluptuous curves of her body pressed into Scott’s, his brown head bent to hers. As they kissed his hands strayed over her pressing her full hips against his and she broke away from him laughing provocatively. She began unbuttoning his coat with one hand while the other caressed his body intimately.

  Stop it, Angela told herself, rush out and confront them now before. . . .But suddenly they were ripping at their clothes, urgency apparent on their faces. Angela tried to move but couldn’t; it was as if she had turned to stone. She watched them petrified, as in a dream viewed trough the sheer, gray silk of the mist.

  Astounded, Angela stared at their nakedness—the woman tall and statuesque, her large, firm breasts crushed against Scott’s chest. As the red-haired woman moved to spread out her cloak on the ground, Scott half turned and Angela knew the truth—that he wasn’t and never had been impotent!

  He was tall, rapier-thin, and magnificent as he moved with lithe purpose, falling heavily upon the woman on the ground. It should be me, Angela thought, as their bodies merged—once it was me! Constricting bands tightened around her throat choking off any sound she might have made.

  Her mind ceased to function as she watched the man she loved powerfully possessing the woman with total concentration of body and mind. The muscles rippled beneath Scott’s skin at his exertion and his face was buried against the pointed mounds of her breasts. Then the quick release, hoarse moans blended with cries of delight, and Angela put her hands over her ears, blocking out the sounds of their passion.

  It happened so quickly; over in less than fifteen minutes. They dressed and Scott mounted his horse pulling his lover up behind him and riding off. The scene was etched into Angela’s brain as if with acid and she still crouched, frozen in the same spot, her eyes open wide, staring vacantly at nothing. How long she stayed there she didn’t know, but when she finally moved she was stiff all over, her muscles protesting at the sudden movement.