Page 6 of The Plight of a Scottish Lass
“Perhaps it was not the wisest move, but a stronger woman would have protected the babe. I fault Tamsin, the lazy cow. If not for the gold I received, I would have never married her. She is too weak. Weak of mind, weak of nature. Leave her on the rock, and I vow to find myself a fierce wife, one who can swing a weapon and who will bring me many sons, not a bairn who cannot breathe. You know how difficult my life is, Odart, between my boss and my mother, the old witch. I cannot seem to make either of them happy.”
“I understand, but Tamsin does not cause you any trouble.”
“She does. Every day she doesn’t give me a son, my mother complains at me. I’m tired of listening to her.”
Tears dotted her lashes, but she forced herself to think of the vilest situation possible, anything to keep herself from crying. He did not deserve her tears.
Why had her sire chosen such a husband for her? There were so many men out there that she couldn’t comprehend why he would marry her to such a cruel person.
She knew why, much as she tried to deny the truth. Her mother died when Tamsin was young, and she and her sister had always been a burden to her sire. They lived far into the Northern Highlands, and the weather could be brutal, especially to a child. He’d left the two lasses with his sister for many years, but even her aunt wished to be rid of her once she’d grown enough for men to stare at her.
Her father had sat her down and spoke honestly with her in one of his few moments when he wasn’t befuddled with ale and whisky. “’Tis yer coloring, lassie. Yer hair is red, so red, like the shooting flames in the dark of night. But the worst part is your eyes. One blue, one green? They think ye are the devil sent by the fae. Too many colors.”
Raghnall had said, “She’s ugly enough, but I only need herto spread her legs. But it will cost you more because of the eyes.”
So, her father doubled his bride price. The deal was made, and she hadn’t seen her father or aunt again. And she had no idea what happened to her sister, Meg. She was only a year younger than Tamsin, so she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been forced to marry as well.
“Up there, Odart. On that rock that is its own island. No one will save her from there.”
Odart’s voice came out in a bit of a shriek. “That one? The small one?” Even her husband’s second couldn’t believe his cruelty if she were to judge by the tone of his voice alone. “But it’s low tide. High tide will totally obliterate the rock.”
She looked forward to getting away from the man.
“That is the one. The perfect spot for the bitch.”
The man cast a quick glance back at her. “She’s nearly dead now, Raghnall.”
“Then let the sharks have her.”
She said nothing, refusing to beg to stay with her husband. Losing the bairn had left her with little strength. The truth of it was that losing a bairn had saddened her in one respect, but there was a part of her that was relieved the child hadn’t survived. Growing up around Raghnall Garvie and his mother was not pleasant. No child deserved that type of punishment. How she prayed that someday she and Alana would find themselves free of the Garvies, both of them.
She had to conserve what strength she had left, because if there was any way she could survive, she vowed to return for her daughter. Alana was the only light in her day.
She sucked in a deep breath as the vessel slowed, taking a quick moment to assess the damage done this time. Still sore from the fist to her belly, she dismissed this as something women dealt with often enough. She’d heal. The only part of it that concerned her was that she still bled. Was it usual to bleedso much after miscarrying a bairn? She had no idea.
Add to that quandary the tales she’d heard that sharks were drawn by blood.
She had a dagger hidden in the fold she’d sewn inside her gown, but she doubted it would do much to protect her from a hungry shark. Using it on her husband would be a waste of time. He’d only turn to use it on her—cut her face, slice her breast. He’d threatened to do both many times. Her ankle was swollen from the fall she’d taken when Raghnall had punched her. He’d only hit her face once, then delivered two quick blows to her belly. He’d yanked her by the arm and that had swollen quite a bit, but she didn’t think it was broken.
She would survive. She had to for dear Alana. And once she had her, Tamsin would do whatever she could to please the man.
Anything to stop the beatings.
Chapter Four
Thane
Thane MacQuarie climbed up to the top of the cliff overlooking the sea. He loved to take in the fresh air, feel the biting wind against his face, even in winter. He stood on the highest point, his face lifted to the breeze as he turned toward the rolling waves. Being early summer, the air promised warm breezes at high sun, something he savored because this was his land, his cliff, his dirt beneath his boots. He’d worked hard to make it so.
How he wished that witch of a mother could see him now—chieftain of his own clan.
He’d show her how much he loved it here. He’d been forced to come here nearly eight years ago, a fact that had infuriated him many times but had also given him purpose. He would right the wrong done to him and his two siblings. His daily task was to arrange for a way to find the cruel woman and show her how wrong she had been, but he just hadn’t contrived a way to do it yet. His brother had told him he was afraid to find her.
On the contrary, he would rejoice when he found the bitch. In a way, his brother was right because if he ever saw her again, he’d probably kill her and be convicted of murder, his neck in a noose. That he could accept. To never be able to find her would be the worst, but he would prevail.
That someday would be soon. He could feel it in his bones.
His gaze narrowed at the ship that came into his line of sight. It was a small birlinn, bearing a sail and several oarsmen. But in the middle of the birlinn lay a bright object—much like the gown of a woman—though it was not moving.
