Chapter 18

 

“My dear, might I speak with you?”

Margaret’s soft tones interrupted Elyssia’s conversation with Alice on their way to the kitchens. Elyssia had resumed her duties, finding comfort in the occupation and companionship of the servants. Her hand still burned with pain, but she needed to keep busy. Soon Tavish would banish her from the castle and establish her in an outbuilding as his whore, after which the members of the household may not be willing, or even permitted, to visit her.

Papa had always kept his mistresses far from de Montford Castle. They had lived in exile, the subjects of servants’ gossip and Mamma’s hatred. Though Papa’s bastards were given positions in the household, the chatelaine treated them poorly, the thin veil of respect which Papa demanded barely concealing the contempt beneath.

As a child, Elyssia had heard rumours of death—one of Papa’s mistresses struck down by a violent sickness too swift to be a disease. Unable to temper her curiosity, Elyssia had followed the servants to the cottage and watched as they dragged the bodies out—a woman and a baby. Whispers of poison echoed in the hall of the castle, the only change in her parents’ countenance a sly smile on Mamma’s lips and a blackening of Papa’s mood until, only a few days later, smoke rose from the chimney of the cottage once more; evidence of a new occupant.

Was this to be Elyssia’s fate now? To be set aside as a whore, waiting for the day when she, too, would be disposed of by a jealous wife and replaced by another who would serve the lustful husband?

A hand touched her shoulder, the iron-like grip sending a bolt of pain into her flesh before the woman relaxed her grip.

“Might I have a word? In private?”

The smile on Margaret’s lips almost reached her eyes, which flashed in the morning light.

Alice tightened her hold on Elyssia’s hand.

“You can have nothing to say that my sister cannot also hear. We have no secrets from each other.”

“Very well.” Margaret fell into step with them, reaching for Elyssia’s right hand which she touched gently, her fingers caressing the bandages.

“I want to reassure you that I will accept you in your position as Tavish’s mistress.” At the final word, Alice tightened her grip on Elyssia’s hand. Her sister had noticed the subtle change in Margaret’s tone. Margaret had her own demons to fight. She, too, would struggle to accept their circumstances. How was it that the men of the world had ownership and mastery over so many lives, yet the women must themselves be owned and mastered?

Margaret’s eyes hardened a fraction, an edge of steel underlying her soft voice.

“I trust you will accept my status as his wife.”

A gentle squeeze sent a needle of pain through Elyssia’s palm, and she winced and withdrew her hand.

“You must not show anger, my dear,” Margaret chided as if admonishing a petulant child. “Clan MacLean would never accept you—unchaste, English, and de Montford’s daughter. They call you whore and say you have cast a spell on Tavish with your body. Whether he wished it or no, he could never wed you.”

Elyssia pulled away, but Margaret raised a hand in a placating gesture. “Trust me, my dear, I understand your plight. As women, our lives are not our own. You think I wish to be confined in the role of a wife, my world restricted to running a household and bearing children? There is a whole world outside of Glenblane which I will never see, for I was not born a man. We must both bear our burdens with fortitude and accept them for the sake of others, not just for ourselves.”

“Do you love him?” Elyssia almost choked on the words.

“I have known and loved him all my life, as he has known and loved me. My duty is to help him govern Clan MacLean and give him sons.”

Margaret took Elyssia’s hand and pulled her close, kissing her on the forehead.

“I trust we understand each other.”

“Aye,” Elyssia replied. “Completely.”

Margaret’s smile broadened. “I’ll let you resume your duties while I return to mine.” She let go of Elyssia’s hand almost as if it burned her before taking her leave, her light footsteps almost inaudible as she disappeared into the darkness of the passageway.

Alice sniffed. “I don’t like her, Lyssie. She’s evil.”

“Hush, Alice!” Elyssia hissed. “How can you speak so? Few women would be so accepting of us. We must make the best of our life here, and we’ll need her as an ally.”

“He loves you.”

“But he’s marrying her. At least she has a kind heart.”

“She does not!” Alice cried. “She may speak kind words, but her eyes and soul betray her. They’re black and rotten.”

“What nonsense! To say such things here when we know not who may be listening? Are you so deficient in wits you cannot understand the danger in uttering such foolishness?”

“Think on what Margaret says to you,” Alice pleaded. “Always she speaks of how you’re called whore and the devil’s daughter.”

“Those are words she has repeated from others, Alice. Not her own words.”

“Are they not? Perhaps she manipulates others to her will?”

“Be quiet!” Elyssia cried. “Is this how you repay me for everything I’ve done to protect you? Your half-witted words may be the death of us.”

Alice flinched, her face turning ashen.

Half-witted—dear God! What had caused her to utter such foul words?

Alice began to shake, her jaw stiffening, eyes rolling in the manner Elyssia knew only too well. She pitched forward, and Elyssia caught her, but she could not hold her weight, and they crumpled to the floor.

For the first time in her life, she had spoken with cruelty towards her sister.

“Alice, I’m sorry. Forgive me. I spoke in anger. Dear one, I would give my life to protect you. Alice…”

Her sister’s body quietened, the jerks lessening in intensity until her breathing grew steady.

“Lyssie…”

“Oh, Alice, I’d do anything to have those horrible words unsaid.”

“All I ask is that you believe me,” Alice said. “I may understand little, but I hear much. I hear it in her voice.”

“What do you hear?”

“Mamma. It’s like Mamma with Papa’s women.”

Mamma—the proud, resentful woman who despised her daughters. Beneath the aura of the respectable wife and mother had lain a core of hatred; the will to remove all obstacles and inconveniences.

Margaret had all the appearance of beauty and tenderness and had tempered Callum’s anger. Or had she? What if she had been inciting his feelings instead? Softly whispered words could pierce a man’s armour more effectively than a sword.

Callum had cried so bitterly after his whipping, the tears of regret of a misguided child. But since he had risen from the sickbed, Margaret at his side, he’d resumed hurling insults at them. Alone and in pain, he had shown compassion, but now…

Margaret. Always it came back to her. Elyssia’s mind drifted back to the day they whipped her. Isla’s and Iona’s voices had pleaded for mercy; Arran’s voice had been laced with regret; Angus’s voice had been full of lust, and Callum had wept for his sister. Among them all, only one voice had remained calm and dispassionate.

* * *

“Tavish! Tavish!”

Two blasts of a horn echoed in the air. Someone had been sighted in the forest. Tavish called up to the lookout.

“What is it?”

“A man approaches!”

“Is he alone?”

“I can only see one man. He’s moving slowly, making no attempt to conceal himself.”

“Duncan! With me, quickly! Bring four others.”

Swords drawn, the six men approached the forest. A lone man emerged from between the trees, covered in scratches and bruises, his body filthy, plaid torn.

“Tavish…” As if uttering that single word had taken all his strength, he pitched forward, body spent.

His features were barely recognisable as the young clansman who had fallen in love with Flora and sworn to protect her; the man who had left with her, never to return.

Until now.

“Ewan.”

The virile young man was no more. His skin had a grey pallor, his once bright eyes now dull and sunken into the flesh of his thin, ravaged face. A scar ran across his cheek, destroying features once so handsome. He’d been popular with women but had eyes only for one. Flora. Did he know what had happened to her? Had he witnessed her destruction?

Yelling for Isla, Tavish carried Ewan into his chamber and placed him on the bed. He retched at the smell of filth and decay clinging to the young Highlander’s body. He lifted the torn plaid to reveal a deep wound which ran along his leg. The sweet smell of putrefaction and blackening of the skin surrounding it clawed at his senses, and he retched again.

He lifted his eyes and met Duncan’s steady gaze. His friend shook his head. There was nothing they could do.

“Flora…” Ewan’s voice erupted in a fit of coughs. “Where… where is she?”

“I’m sorry, Ewan. My sister is dead.”

Ewan nodded, and a pained smile puckered the scar across his cheek. “I wanted to see her one last time. To ask you for her hand.”

“I would gladly have given it.”

“Thank you…” he burst into another fit of coughing “…I take comfort from knowing I’ll soon join her. My sweet angel.”

“She waits for you,” Tavish replied. “Go to her with my blessing.”

The door opened, and Isla entered, carrying a bundle of bandages, Elyssia by her side.

“Master Ewan!” Isla cried.

Elyssia lifted Ewan’s shirt to inspect the wounds on his chest.

“Wolves,” she said. “Dear Lord! Look at these bites and scratches!”

Ewan’s body stiffened.

“You! Bitch! Get away from me!” He tried to sit, groaning with the effort. “What is she doing here?”

“Please, sir, I do not know you,” Elyssia pleaded. “You must calm yourself, so we can tend to you.”

“Don’t let her touch me! She’s the one who abused Flora!”

Tavish’s body stiffened. “What do you mean? Elyssia, what is he saying?”

She backed away, moving towards the door. Her expression, at first full of shock, began to change—to one of recognition, and finally guilt.

“Look at me, Elyssia.”

Lowering her gaze, she shook her head and spread her hands out behind her until she touched the door and fumbled for the handle.

“Don’t let her go!”

Before she could move, Duncan took her in his arms, holding her in a firm grip.

“Bring her close, Duncan. Let her bear witness to the truth from a dying man’s lips.”

Her body grew limp as Duncan pushed her towards the bed until she overlooked the dying man.

“Tell me what you did, woman.”

She shook her head, eyes brimming with false tears.

Ewan coughed. “Let me tell you.”

Tavish nodded, his eyes focused on the woman he thought he had loved.

“She gave the order, Tavish. Two of her father’s men held Flora by the arms in the middle of the hall, and she ordered them to strip her.”

“And then?”

“They tore the clothes from her body. That bitch stood and watched while they forced her to the ground. She… she addressed her father’s men, telling them that her father had no more use for Flora and she was now their property. She… she then…” Another cough burst from his chest, sending red droplets onto Elyssia’s gown—red to match Flora’s blood which her evil hands were stained with.

“She told them to fuck her. To fuck her raw until there was nothing left of her.”

A wave of nausea rippled through Tavish’s body, but he would not show weakness—not in front of his friend who was about to die, nor in front of the devil’s spawn he had almost given his heart to. He would not give the bitch the satisfaction.

“And what then?”

“They… they took turns in raping her, Tavish. One by one, while she screamed for mercy.”

“And what did she do while my sister was violated?”

“She stood and watched until they had finished with her. After they carried Flora away, she sat down beside her father and took her supper. I know not what she did then for I was taken away.”

Another fit of coughing and he fell back and lay still.

“Master Ewan!” Isla cried, but he did not respond.

Ewan was dead.

* * *

The cold hand of justice clawed at Elyssia’s heart. Finally, the dreadful truth had been revealed. Her secret was out, and Tavish knew the extent of her wickedness.

“Isla, leave us.” Tavish’s voice held a tone of eerie calm.

The door closed behind the old woman.

“Look at me.”

Elyssia shook her head.

“Look at me, bitch. ‘Tis the least you can do now I know the truth!”

She lifted her eyes. His green gaze was bright with grief.

“Is it true? Did you give the order for my sister to be raped by those men?”

Her head jerked into a nod. “Tavish, you must understand…”

“Understand what? That you’re responsible for my sister’s death? That you ordered her torture and took your supper while you watched the entertainment? My God! I thought Allendyne was evil, but he was nothing compared to you. I should have left you to rot in that Garrison, to spread your legs for every barbarian in the place. To think I suffered my conscience after I took you captive! I should have thrown you to my men, or better still, throw you to the dogs for men do not deserve to be tainted by your flesh. You filthy whore!”

He propelled himself forward and delivered a blow to her face, and her head snapped sideways with the force of it.

She staggered under the blow but made no move to fight back.

He closed his eyes and squeezed his hands into fists. Silence fell while his chest shuddered as he breathed in before exhaling with a sigh. When he opened his eyes, the hot fury had been replaced by pure hatred. Through gritted teeth, he spoke coldly and quietly.

“I thought I loved you. I was prepared to dishonour my clan by accepting you and your bastard. I thank God I discovered the truth about you before I succumbed to your evil.”

“Tavish, please, you must understand. I love you.”

“You don’t understand the word, woman. You’re nothing but a base animal. You’re worse than your father, worse than Longshanks himself, for you have come into our home and tainted us with your filth. Your father should have strangled you at birth.”

“Tavish…”

He turned his back on her.

“Remove this creature from my sight, Duncan. Lock her in her chamber with the half-wit until I decide what to do with them.”

Making no attempt to resist, she let Duncan take her arm and lead her out of the chamber. She would never forgive herself for what she had done all those years ago. Now Tavish knew of it, his hatred for her would never wane.

The Highlander of her dreams was gone forever.