Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The housekeeper led them to their rooms, and upon arriving at the door, she waved them in.

When John followed Marie, the housekeeper stopped him with her hand on his shoulder. "Ye can't be sharing a room with a woman ye have not wed. 'Tis not proper."

Marie glanced back as John glared at the housekeeper. "Aye, of course. 'Tis not proper."

He turned but gave a last glance at Marie as he left her alone.

She supposed it seemed better this way, a chance for them both to reflect on all that had happened.

The housekeeper eyed her for a moment, then shut the door firmly.

Marie did a full circle of the room, different than hers in the future and not even Brielle's room with the built-in stone bench facing a window. This room didn't exist in the future. Smaller, with no fireplace and a small slit for a window that only held a hide over it. She suspected the wind blew the rain and cold into the room directly onto the bed.

Marie crossed and sat on the bed, more of a straw-stuffed cot if she were honest with herself. The boning in her bodice pinched, and she reached behind her to pull out the lengthened ties, pulled hard on them, and wiggled until the pressure eased around her chest.

She sat in a room alone. Finally free from all the pressure of the last couple of weeks, Marie let loose. A tear escaped and another. A sob came, and more tears rolled down her cheeks. Marie curled up on the bed and allowed the dam to be free. All her pent-up fear of being kidnapped, the worry of Clarke hurting her, the need to escape, and her desire for John to rescue her all poured out in one long, freeing bawl. Sob after sob burst free, and her heart felt raw, her soul stuck, and her mind lost.

After some time and a few sniffles, Marie remained alone. She lay there and found comfort in the solitude, one with herself.

A tapping at the door woke Marie. She must have dozed off. Still in her stained, dirty dress, she slowly rose, crossed to the door, and opened it expecting the housekeeper again. Lady MacDougall stood with a smile and clothing folded over her arm.

Marie stood back, inviting the lady to enter. "M'Lady."

Lady MacDougall entered with a maid who followed, carrying a pitcher and a cloth.

The room not being very large, Lady MacDougall turned close to Marie and signaled the maid, who set down the pitcher and cloth on the bedside table, the only other furniture in the room beside the bed. "John MacArthur assures us ye are his friend."

Once the maid stood upright, the lady waved her out.

Lady MacDougall stood still as she glanced over at Marie. "Kidnapped by a priest." She huffed. "Well, I am certain ye are not up for a social call." She set the clothing on the bed and waved to the pitcher. "Some fresh clothes and something to wash with." The lady passed her and, at the door, turned and held the handle. "Dinner is at sundown in the grand hall. While John MacArthur claims ye're betrothed, my husband refuses the claim as no contract is signed." She eyed her again. "Such a shame the lot us women have in life, is it not? Whether we tell the truth or lie, it's up to the men to decide our fates." She shook herself. "If ye need a friend, my name's Anabelle. Ye may call upon me anytime, Lady Marie."

The door clicking shut announced she left Marie alone. Alone again.

Marie stepped to the pitcher. A sliver of soap sat on the linen, and the water felt warm. After the last weeks on the road, a wash and clean clothing became a welcome gift—given from an unlikely ally.

****

Marie entered the great hall for dinner, fresh, clean, and feeling like a new woman. The crowd shuffled about. Marie, familiar with the seating hierarchy, strode to the front, intent on reaching John at the dais. She spotted him and waved, which he returned. When his attention shifted to her, Laird MacDougall turned and glared.

He waved to someone, and a guard stepped before her. "I do believe yer seat is over there." He nodded his head to the center table amongst the villagers. Her gaze followed his nod, and people crowded the middle table filling it. She glanced back at John, who argued with the laird. Her gaze slid to Lady Anabelle, who shook her head. No support would come from her. Well, it remained only for a short time, till they traveled to the future, and sitting with people from the past should prove interesting.

She tried to sit near the front, but a man slid on the bench.

Marie moved down the long table and stepped over the bench only to have a woman stop her with her hand. "'Tis my seat beside my husband."

Marie moved farther down the table, and people blocked another two attempts to sit. She found herself nearly at the end of the table, and as she glanced back at the dais, she bet an entire football field remained between her and John.

As she sat down, the call for prayer came, and she stood again. The clergyman gave a short blessing, followed by murmurs, and everyone sat. Servants bustled about carrying platters, but nothing came to her table that she expected. The servants would serve them last being at the end.

She turned to the lady beside her and spoke, but the woman gave Marie her back.

She glanced at the man across from him, who glowered as he sucked his teeth.

Not to be deterred, she spoke aloud. "My, this is so nice. I've traveled so much, and to have a full meal will be a treat."

The man across from her huffed.

The woman on her other side leaned over. "Aren't ye the woman from the priest? The one who killed Dougie?"

Marie gasped. "I didn't kill John's father. The priest did!"

The man before her huffed again.

Platters set before them with trenchers interrupted the exchange, and with the distraction as well as the arrival of needed nourishment, Marie chose to eat in silence.

She reached for the bowl of stew, but the container passed around. When it came to her, she tipped the bowl. Only drops and some lumps slipped out. Half a loaf of bread was before her. Marie turned to the woman who asked if she killed Dougie, and the woman returned her smile. When she turned back, her bowl was half full. Her gaze snapped to the man before her, who glanced away. So, the rumor mill was busy already, and she wasn't even here a whole day. At least some villagers were charitable.

The laird stood and called attention to all in the hall. "Clan MacDougall, we mourn the passing of our great ship captain and his wife. But we also welcome his son, lost for some time, and returned to the bosom of his family. We welcome John MacArthur." John stood and nodded as the women clapped and the men stomped or beat the tables in tribute to him. His gaze roamed the room, and when he squinted, it finally settled on her. A smile passed his face but vanished when Laird MacDougall slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over.

The laird called out again. "A toast to Dougie, his wife Katherine, and their son, John." Everyone raised a cup, and all shouted, "Slainte'!"

The laird called again. "A story. I need an elder to entertain me. Lift my heavy heart with a good tale!"

All sat, and an older man stood and shuffled to the dais. "M'Laird, in honor of Douglas and Katherine, The Warrior and Lost Lover. I'll tell the tale of the lost lovers."

The people in the hall erupted in cheers, stomps, and the pounding of tables.

The laird yelled, "Silence! I wish to hear this story. I haven't heard it in a long time." He waved to the bent man with the white hair. "Proceed, Hamish."

Hamish and a good tale—memories of her and Brielle at the Dunbeg pub flitted through her mind and warmed her heart. Marie settled into her seat, looking forward to a good tale from the past. She hoped it was one she didn't read, a new story to share with Brielle and add to her collection upon her return home. Home, the future, soon.

Hamish bowed before his laird turned to face the crowd, and his voice started softly. "An unfortunate female wanderer took up residence in a dark vault among the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey. For some time, many in the village wondered about her strange behavior because, during the day, she never left. When night fell, she would emerge from this miserable habitation and wander from house to house in the village, begging for food and clothes. She obtained necessities from their charity and lived in the abbey ruin." A woman in an abbey made Marie nervous, but she stifled it—a coincidence only.

Hamish strolled between the tables, his voice raising as he warmed into telling his tale. "At midnight, each night, she lit her candle and returned to her vault. She assured her friendly neighbors that a spirit arranged her habitation during her absence. She described him as a little man, wearing heavy iron shoes, which he trampled on the clay floor of the vault to dispel the damps. He required her to stay during the day to pray for her lover's return." Marie understood praying for a lover's return. Her gaze shifted to John, whose eyes met hers across the large space.

He quickly turned, his kilt flared and his arm flung out. "Some village people regarded her with compassion from her far-fetched tale, thinking she possessed a deranged mind. But some of the cruder villagers feared her behavior, claimed she became possessed by the devil, and treated her poorly by denying her assistance. The reason she adopted this extraordinary manner of life she never explained."

He shrugged at the last bit, then continued his stroll, coming closer to Marie. "It was later believed she stayed underground all day because she gave a vow to her lover. During his absence, she vowed never to look upon the sun until his return since he promised his return would brighten her soul." Why was he walking toward her? What did this have to do with her? Her gaze shifted from Hamish to John as he leaned over to see her better.

Hamish stopped next to Marie. She had turned as he told the story and nearly faced the back of the bench. Now this wasn't a coincidence. He did this on purpose. Her breaths came faster as heat flashed over her body.

Hamish stood beside her as he spoke. "Sadly, her lover never returned, leaving her alone. She never would behold the light of day again. Many claim the spirit who kept her in her prison was no one other than the spirit of her lover's father, haunting her as he blamed her for his son's death." Everyone in the hall turned their gazes upon her. The weight of so many became hard to bear, but Marie straightened her back and returned the glares. She scanned the room, and her eyes landed on John, who looked ready to kill. Was it her or Hamish John was upset with?

Hamish's voice continued softer. "The Dryburgh Abbey vault, or rather dungeon, in which this unfortunate woman lived and died, goes by Leannan Caillte, lover lost. With which her gloom many claimed caused her disturbed imagination, and few villagers dared enter the area by night."

Hamish strolled back to the dais. "They say her ghost walks the ground at night, calling for her lover. Leannan caillte, Leannan caillte, Leannan Caillte."The last, he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled out as if calling across the loch.

Hamish momentarily paused as he lowered his hands and gazed across the room. "She cries into the night. She searches for her lost love, and many a man who wanders too near at midnight never returns."

Hamish strolled the rest of the way to the dais and turned to face the crowd as he spoke. "A priest visited the village and told all who would listen…

" ‘And on all hills that shall be dug for the place of God.

No fear shall be cast upon anyone on his hallowed ground.

For there you shall bury all fear, hiding it from the doom of man.

This is our cross to bear.' "

Marie gasped, but her reaction became drowned out by the crowd's roar at the finishing of Hamish's tale. The quote was the same as the priest chanted over the crosses. Was this a sign?

Chatter from around her broke through the noise.

The woman beside her spoke loudly. "They say she died a lover's death, one lonely with a broken heart."

The man across from her slammed his hand on the table. "Bah, the hag got what she deserved. The real story says she betrayed her lover, and the father's ghost caved in the vault, burying her alive."

Buried alive. Marie's breaths came short, and her vision dimmed. The clergyman approached her and patted her on the shoulder. "I understand ye've had a trial, my dear. Maybe ye should stop by for some counsel tomorrow?" But the words never reached Marie, or they didn't register. All she saw was the dirt piling in and the priest screaming from above.

Her fingers grazed the dirt as more dropped upon her face. She clawed the walls repeatedly as the soil packed under her nails, but she didn't care. Grime landed on her head, stuck in her hair. She leaned back and tried to find fresh air, but more dirt fell.

Marie shifted away but bumped into the woman beside her, who shoved her back. She jumped from the bench and moved away as someone grabbed her. When she turned, she stared into the clergyman's face.

She stretched toward the opening again, like a lost soul who reached for heaven, but a shout answered, "Women are the temptation placed on the earth to foul men. You shall pay the price of the priest's sin. Die, whore!"

She jerked away from him and stumbled into people on the bench behind her as she cried out.

The soil covered her chest, pressed in, and she struggled for air. She couldn't stop the dirt's fall, and the mound trapped her arms. She couldn't reach her face. Earth piled around and covered her. She drew in a breath but couldn't. Left suspended, her lungs desperately burned as she tried to breathe.

She lay on the floor, among the rushes, and curled into a ball.

Strong arms grabbed her. She screamed and struggled until a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

The sea fairy swam fast away,

Safely over the wave and sea.

Gave her heart to her human love,

Will she ne'er come back to me.

The male timbre was familiar, and his scent, male musk mixed with the salt of the ocean familiar as well.

Will ye come back to me?

Will ye come back to me?

Better loved ye canna be,

Will ye come back to me?

John held her in his arms as she shook. He slightly rocked as they sat on the floor. John spoke softly the poem he recited when she experienced the nightmare. When he came to comfort her as he had now.

Marie tilted her head till she saw his eyes, and tears threatened to fall.

He brushed her hair away from her face. "Donna, worry Marie. I have ye."

Awareness came back, and the people in the great hall stood and stared.

Lady Anabelle approached, bent beside them, and her hand touched John's arm. "Let me take her to her room, John."

His arms tightened around her, his refusal she felt build.

Laird MacDougall stepped behind Anabelle. "John, allow the women to do their work. Let them care for the infirm woman."

John's arms loosened, and he picked her up as he stood. His arm around her waist held her steady.

Anabelle smiled as she transferred Marie to her side.

They made for the stairs as murmurs from the crowd filtered in. "Poor lass, gone with her mind she is."

Another few steps and another comment flitted to her. "The priest who took her abused her. She said he killed Dougie, not her."

She allowed Lady MacDougall to take her upstairs and into her room, numb to all around. All she wanted was to sleep and wake back home. Home and John.