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“I do,” I said, defiantly.
“Oh? Then understand that I’ll sate myself then give you to my men to use, too. And when I finally return you to your father, you’ll be so well trained that you can contribute to the family fortunes by selling your charms to men for coins.”
With anger and more primal emotions burning my cheeks, I said, “I understand what a whore is, my laird.”
At last, the chieftain did smile, then nodded to his sniggering men. “Ye heard her. Release the father, and take the girl.”
Without looking back at me again, the laird mounted his horse with an athleticism that belied the effort, then rode far ahead, leaving me in the company of his warriors.
I tried to say goodbye to the children, but the leering warriors grabbed me up and threw me into the saddle. “Papa!” I cried as they rode off with me. But the last thing I saw was my father’s disgust as he turned away from me, happier to put his face into the dirt, surrounded by his sheep. And
though I’d saved his life, I feared he might never call me daughter again.
~~~
Eilean Donan is a castle on an island, and the Macrea is its constable. I expected to find him there, once we cross the mist-damp footbridge and pass into the stronghold. Held in the saddle by one of my chieftain’s warriors, I caught my reflection in the rippling waves of the loch, and I looked more anxious than I’d ever been. But more resolved, too. After a life of doing as I’d been bid, of being dutiful, of obeying my father, I felt the strangest sense of freedom even though it meant I would now obey a different man. Even though it meant passing into the moss-covered walls of an impregnable castle from whence I might never escape…
The laird wasn’t waiting when I got there, which surprised and unnerved me. “You’ll sleep in the servant’s quarters,” one of the warriors said, giving me a small shove as he surrendered me into the care of a mousy little housemaid wearing a frilly cap. Given his tone—and the darting gaze of the maid—I expected to find a dirty berth, cold and miserable. But instead, I was taken to a tiny room inside the castle with a pretty window, myrtle-wax candles that burned a lovely scent, and a bed finer than the one I had at home.
It reminded me that the people who lived in the castle—even the least of them—lived better than a crofter’s daughter. An impression made even stronger when I was brought some tea, a bowl of stew and bread. It was finer food than I ever had at my father’s table, and I was surprisingly hungry. I ate every bit of it—slathering the bread with fresh churned butter.
And then it sank into the pit of my belly like a stone.
What had I done? I hadn’t any choice in agreeing to the laird’s terms. He would’ve killed my father and then I might have ended up some man’s whore anyway, just to keep the children fed. I’d only done what had to be done, and the sin was not mine in giving consent but, rather, the sin belonged to the laird who asked it of me. And yet…the fact that the laird thought I was the kind of woman who might be suitable as a whore—did that not speak against me? If he had looked upon me and seen the virtuous girl I’d always been, loyal to him and to the clan, perhaps he’d have shown some mercy without this wicked bargain. So what flaw in my nature had he discerned that led me to this place?
I was still struggling with these questions when the mousy maid came to bathe and dress me in a pale white shift. I’d never been bathed by anyone but my mother when I was a child, of course, and the experience made me shy. I wondered, of the maid, does she know what I have promised the laird? Does she feel sympathy for me or contempt?
But all she squeaked was, “Rose oil.”
She looked sorry for having said even that much to me, as she rubbed a bit at my wrists and the base of my throat. After that, she dried my hair until it gleamed copper in the looking glass, and tied it for me with a blue bow. Finally, she dabbed upon my lips the lightest rouge, and brushed it upon my cheeks too.
“Thank you,” I said, though I’d never worn cosmetics before, and found them to be garish. She didn’t answer and I had the strangest sense that she’d been forbidden to speak to me at all.
When she turned to go, I asked, “Aren’t you going to take me to the laird?”
Carrying away a bucket of the wash-water that seemed too big for her tiny frame to manage, she eyed me over one shoulder. “You think the Macrae will receive ye like a lady in the hall? Nay, he’ll come for ye when he wants ye, and that’s all ye must ken.”
With that, she shut the door with a thud and latched it on the other side. And when no one came for me again until the next morning, I began to fear that the laird meant not to ravish me, but to imprison me.
“Breakfast,” the mousy maid said, setting down a tray for me of eggs, blood sausage, biscuits and a pot of honey. And when I took a bite, I noticed the maid’s brown eyes fall longingly upon my plate.
I’d been locked alone in this room for nearly a day now—alone for the first time in my whole life, without any little siblings clinging to my skirts—and I half-feared I’d lose my mind if it went on even another moment. “I haven’t much of an appetite,” I lied, hoping she’d stay. “…if you’d like to share some with me.”
“Couldn’t,” the maid said, her eyes darting to the door.
I took a bite of the biscuit, a tender crumb pinched between my fingers, and moaned in pleasure. “It’s quite tasty.”
“Would be better with the honey,” she said, softly, looking as if she might just give in.
I broke a piece of the biscuit off, and dipped it for her. “Here you are…but I don’t know your name.”
She bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant to answer, so I quickly give over half the biscuit to her. “Brenna.”
“Did you miss breakfast to tend me, Mistress Brenna?”
She gave a squeak of laughter. “I’m no mistress. And I had me some oatmeal this morning, but not such good victuals as the laird ordered for you.”
Something inside me squeezed at the thought the laird had given any thought at all to my breakfast, and made me feel strangely hopeful. Then one taste of the honey upon my finger…and I tasted heather. Could he have remembered our meeting all those years ago? Surely not. I doubted that he even remembered my name. But the thought that he might…it warmed me. Made me somehow less terrified. And it left me hopeful he hadn’t simply forgotten about me to leave me moldering in this room.
