Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 176
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"But I was young, and it wasna easy. David Chisholm--perhaps ye've seen him in the village. He's marrit these six years. David wanted me, and I wad ha' taken him. But he didna suit my faither, and sae I did as I was tolt, and turned my face awa' fra him. And there were others." She looked up at Elizabeth. "Ye wadna believe it tae see me now, but the lads liked tae see me weel enouch.
"But it was aa for naucht. My faither let it be kennt that nane o' them wad do. They aa thoucht he wanted a title for me, or a rich man, anither fortune tae add tae his own. They didna ken the truth o' it, that he wad see me married tae a Catholic, or no' at aa. Wi' time I tired o' waitin' and said that I wanted tae be wed, but he wad tell me tae bide a while longer. "Soon ye'll ken him, yer guidman." He said it sae oft, and I trusted him. Fool that I was.
"And then came Lammas Fair. I went doon tae the village wi' Simon, for he luved naethin' better than a fair in summer. I begged Jean tae come, too, but she couldna get awa'. She gave aa the servants leave tae go, but she must stay behind wi' wee Jennet, for the bairn was puirly.
"And a fine evenin' it was, warm and bright and the smell o' fresh hay sae heavy in the air, and there was music. Mick Lun played the fiddle and there was a pennywhistle and a bodhrân, too. That was when the auld minister was still in Carryckton, and he didna mind a bit o' dancin'. That's how I met Walter, ye see. He fetched me tae the dance."
She paused, her breath coming a little faster now. Elizabeth leaned forward, but she held up a hand. "Let me rest for a moment," she said. "And then I must tell the rest."
For a while Elizabeth watched the cloud shadows chase each other across the rippling barley, waiting for Isabel to find the strength to tell them this story she did not really want to hear. She felt the need to reach out and touch Nathaniel, but she held back for fear of making Isabel feel all the more isolated.
"Perhaps ye willna believe me, but he didna tell me his whole name, and I didna ask," she continued after a while. "It was naethin' tae me but a flirtation. The others were afraid o' my faither, but this stranger wi' a clever tongue and a quick foot didna seem tae care that I was the laird's dauchter, and that pleased me.
"When it was time tae be awa' hame, he tolt me he wad spend the nicht in the hayrigs were I tae promise tae come the next evening and dance wi' him agin. And I gave him that promise, but naethin' else. No' even a kiss.
"Simon and I, we walked up the brae singin' and laughin'. It had come tae rain, but we were in high spirits and didna mind. Do ye ken where the road turns sudden like and dips around a great outcroppin' o' stone?"
Nathaniel nodded.
"Aye, weel. He was there, waitin' for us."
"Walter?" Elizabeth asked.
"Moncrieff," said Isabel. "Angus Moncrieff, stinkin' o' whisky. I can see him still by the light o' his lantern, though I've tried my best these five years tae forget. And he stops us, Simon and me, and he says "The whore and the whoreson, what a lovely pair.""
Isabel had been watching the countryside pass by the window as she spoke, but she turned now to look at Elizabeth, her patchwork face drawn tight in remembered anger. "He called me a whore, untouched as I was."
Nathaniel's look of skepticism had been replaced by one of unease. "You don't have to tell the rest of this if you don't want to."
"But I do," said Isabel dully. "If Faither Dupuis is already gone, then ye must be my confessors." Her voice was very weak, but she smiled. "Why are ye surprised? Did ye think that marrying a Campbell makes me less o' a Catholic? I thoucht at first I could leave the church behind, but then I fell ill and ever since I've had a yearnin'-- Ye wadna understand." She stopped herself.
Daniel squirmed and fussed on Elizabeth's lap, and she was glad of the distraction. Isabel did not know about Contrecoeur, but should they tell her? She cast a glance at Nathaniel and he shook his head very slightly.
Isabel took no note, wound up again in her story.
"Angus Moncrieff called me a whore tae my face. But I was innocent, and that gave me the strength tae stand up and call him a liar. It was a mistake, drunk as he was. His face went aa still and white, and he stepped closer tae us baith. I remember that Simon was shakin' and sae was I, I suppose. And Moncrieff says in a voice sae soft and fine: "I saw ye wi' Breadalbane's bastard, pressin' yersel' against him, lettin' him put his hands on ye. Did ye spread yer legs for him under the corn rigs, or did he cover yer back like the bitch in heat ye are?"'"
Elizabeth rocked Daniel closer to her and made herself listen.
"He was fu' drunk, but I wasna afraid --foolish lass that I was. I wad ha' laughed in his face at the idea o' a Breadalbane come tae the Lammas Fair in Carryckton, if he hadna called me a whore. I raised my hand tae him, and he struck me doon, and Simon too when he came tae help me. And I shouted at him: "Wha gives ye the richt tae raise yer hand tae me, Angus Moncrieff? Wha are ye but my faither's factor, and perhaps no' much longer that?"'
"He smiled at me then and in perfect calm he said, "I'll marry ye yet, and then I'll teach ye richt and proper wha yer faither canna be bothered tae teach ye." He looked at Simon then, cowerin' on the road, and he said "Ask the whoreson's mither what a guid teacher the laird is when he's got a willin' lass as pupil.""
"But it was aa for naucht. My faither let it be kennt that nane o' them wad do. They aa thoucht he wanted a title for me, or a rich man, anither fortune tae add tae his own. They didna ken the truth o' it, that he wad see me married tae a Catholic, or no' at aa. Wi' time I tired o' waitin' and said that I wanted tae be wed, but he wad tell me tae bide a while longer. "Soon ye'll ken him, yer guidman." He said it sae oft, and I trusted him. Fool that I was.
"And then came Lammas Fair. I went doon tae the village wi' Simon, for he luved naethin' better than a fair in summer. I begged Jean tae come, too, but she couldna get awa'. She gave aa the servants leave tae go, but she must stay behind wi' wee Jennet, for the bairn was puirly.
"And a fine evenin' it was, warm and bright and the smell o' fresh hay sae heavy in the air, and there was music. Mick Lun played the fiddle and there was a pennywhistle and a bodhrân, too. That was when the auld minister was still in Carryckton, and he didna mind a bit o' dancin'. That's how I met Walter, ye see. He fetched me tae the dance."
She paused, her breath coming a little faster now. Elizabeth leaned forward, but she held up a hand. "Let me rest for a moment," she said. "And then I must tell the rest."
For a while Elizabeth watched the cloud shadows chase each other across the rippling barley, waiting for Isabel to find the strength to tell them this story she did not really want to hear. She felt the need to reach out and touch Nathaniel, but she held back for fear of making Isabel feel all the more isolated.
"Perhaps ye willna believe me, but he didna tell me his whole name, and I didna ask," she continued after a while. "It was naethin' tae me but a flirtation. The others were afraid o' my faither, but this stranger wi' a clever tongue and a quick foot didna seem tae care that I was the laird's dauchter, and that pleased me.
"When it was time tae be awa' hame, he tolt me he wad spend the nicht in the hayrigs were I tae promise tae come the next evening and dance wi' him agin. And I gave him that promise, but naethin' else. No' even a kiss.
"Simon and I, we walked up the brae singin' and laughin'. It had come tae rain, but we were in high spirits and didna mind. Do ye ken where the road turns sudden like and dips around a great outcroppin' o' stone?"
Nathaniel nodded.
"Aye, weel. He was there, waitin' for us."
"Walter?" Elizabeth asked.
"Moncrieff," said Isabel. "Angus Moncrieff, stinkin' o' whisky. I can see him still by the light o' his lantern, though I've tried my best these five years tae forget. And he stops us, Simon and me, and he says "The whore and the whoreson, what a lovely pair.""
Isabel had been watching the countryside pass by the window as she spoke, but she turned now to look at Elizabeth, her patchwork face drawn tight in remembered anger. "He called me a whore, untouched as I was."
Nathaniel's look of skepticism had been replaced by one of unease. "You don't have to tell the rest of this if you don't want to."
"But I do," said Isabel dully. "If Faither Dupuis is already gone, then ye must be my confessors." Her voice was very weak, but she smiled. "Why are ye surprised? Did ye think that marrying a Campbell makes me less o' a Catholic? I thoucht at first I could leave the church behind, but then I fell ill and ever since I've had a yearnin'-- Ye wadna understand." She stopped herself.
Daniel squirmed and fussed on Elizabeth's lap, and she was glad of the distraction. Isabel did not know about Contrecoeur, but should they tell her? She cast a glance at Nathaniel and he shook his head very slightly.
Isabel took no note, wound up again in her story.
"Angus Moncrieff called me a whore tae my face. But I was innocent, and that gave me the strength tae stand up and call him a liar. It was a mistake, drunk as he was. His face went aa still and white, and he stepped closer tae us baith. I remember that Simon was shakin' and sae was I, I suppose. And Moncrieff says in a voice sae soft and fine: "I saw ye wi' Breadalbane's bastard, pressin' yersel' against him, lettin' him put his hands on ye. Did ye spread yer legs for him under the corn rigs, or did he cover yer back like the bitch in heat ye are?"'"
Elizabeth rocked Daniel closer to her and made herself listen.
"He was fu' drunk, but I wasna afraid --foolish lass that I was. I wad ha' laughed in his face at the idea o' a Breadalbane come tae the Lammas Fair in Carryckton, if he hadna called me a whore. I raised my hand tae him, and he struck me doon, and Simon too when he came tae help me. And I shouted at him: "Wha gives ye the richt tae raise yer hand tae me, Angus Moncrieff? Wha are ye but my faither's factor, and perhaps no' much longer that?"'
"He smiled at me then and in perfect calm he said, "I'll marry ye yet, and then I'll teach ye richt and proper wha yer faither canna be bothered tae teach ye." He looked at Simon then, cowerin' on the road, and he said "Ask the whoreson's mither what a guid teacher the laird is when he's got a willin' lass as pupil.""
