Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
A week had passed since the arrival of the wagons. Margaret refused to refer to any of it as her dowry, no matter how hard her sisters-by-law try to convince her otherwise.
Lizabet had insisted the furniture be placed in one of the storage rooms. She refused to burn them as Margaret had suggested.
The fabric, however, was a different matter. Margaret happily let them decide what to do with all of it, with one caveat: none of it could be used to make her anything. Not even a pair of woolens.
February was turning out to be just as blustery and damp as January had been, and Margaret was growing weary of staying inside. Her newly acquired nieces and nephews were also suffering the effects of being cooped up indoors.
Thus, when one morning dawned bright and sunny, everyone felt invigorated and blissfully happy. For those children old enough to be away from their mothers' sides and who could also walk on their own, she declared that this day would be a day of adventure.
She couldn’t have known just how right she was.
Aiden refused to allow Margaret or any of the womenfolk outside the walls of the keep without escort. She’d take an entire legion of men, if she had to, in order to enjoy some rare sunshine and a bit of fresh air.
Symon, Alyce, and Collin were just as giddy as she was. As soon as they were bundled up, Margaret led the way out of the keep. At the walls, she was met by Danial and David. Neither of them looked happy that they were chosen to be her escort for the morning.
Margaret offered them a warm and sincere smile. “I thank ye, gentlemen, for seeing to our safety this fine morn.”
Symon and Collin giggled at the exchange. “They are nae gentlemen,” Symon said. “They are warriors.”
John and Alexander grunted in unison. John offered Symon a little wink.
“Where is it ye wish to go?” John asked Margaret.
“Anywhere but indoors,” she replied cheekily.
Soon, the heavy wood-and-iron doors inside the massive wall were opened. Moments later, Margaret and her entourage of children and warriors were walking through.
Puddles of partially melted snow and ice littered the pathway. “Mind yer feet, children,” she told them as they walked along the path.
The sound of the children laughing and chattering with one another blended with the sounds of birds twittering all around them. While the air was crisp and cool, the warmth from the sun felt good on her skin.
For the first time in an age, she felt truly happy. She was truly beginning to enjoy these moments of happiness, and she was glad for them.
Their peaceful outing was soon disturbed in a most frightening way.
Margaret heard it first: the sound of a whip or belt slicing through the air, right before it smashed against flesh.
The sounds of cursing rent the air.
The men with her heard it too, their confusion rapidly turning to concern. Was someone beating an animal?
John turned to Margaret, his brow furrowed in a way that made Margaret’s stomach clench. “Stay here,” he commanded.
Everyone froze in place. The children looked worried as well as afraid. “Is someone beatin’ a horse?” Alyce asked as tears welled in her eyes.
“Alyce, stay here with the children,” Margaret told her. “Do nae leave this spot for any reason.”
As they reached the top of a small hill, Margaret heard an all-too-familiar sound, one that instantly filled her heart with fear. That fear burst outwards so profoundly
’Twas the sound of something or someone being beaten. Stopping dead in her tracks, she strained her ears to listen. A quick glance at David, and she knew he had heard it too.
“What the bloody hell?” David asked with his brows drawn in angrily.
Without speaking another word, they walked quickly towards the godawful sound. Margaret’s heart pounded in her chest as memories crashed inside her brain. Memories of her mother. Memories of the beatings she had received at her mother’s hard fists or as she wielded a razor strop.
Off the path, they trod through frozen bracken and coarse shrubs. Not far off their path was a run down cottage, with bare spots in its thatched roof. A small fire burned out of doors, with a heavy iron pot hung over it. In the unkempt, muddy yard, three goats and a cow roamed, untethered.
Margaret didn’t wait for David to take the lead. She splashed through puddles, her boots getting soaked through, not caring about the muddy earth or anything else. She ran around the cottage to the rear, the sound of a strop hitting something repeatedly growing nearer.
A man’s harsh voice grew louder as well. He sounded out of breath and furious. “Ye bastard! I told ye and told ye!”
For a tiny fraction of time, Margaret was immobilized by what she was seeing, just a few yards away. A rather large man with long, greasy-looking black hair was brandishing a leather strop. Sweat poured off his brow and the tip of his nose.
Something tiny—no, some one tiny—was drawn into a little ball on the cold, muddy ground.
The large, angry man raised the strop once more. It rent the air with a whistle before it landed with gut-wrenching force across the little one’s back.
She didn’t stop to think. Instead, Margaret reacted spontaneously to the situation. Danial was right beside her, heading towards the ugly beast who was beating what she knew to be a small child.
As she crossed the narrow divide, she spotted a large limb laying on the ground. She picked it up just as Danial called out. “Garrett!”
By the time the man turned to see who was speaking to him, Margaret was swinging the limb. It landed across his face, knocking him to his knees. Blood spurted from the gash in his forehead as he fell backwards, his legs twisting awkwardly. She let the limb fall to the ground.
Ignoring the man, she knelt before the child, her heart in her throat, her fingers trembling with dread and trepidation. At once, she could tell he was just a little boy. His shaved head was tucked into his chest, his scrawny hands covering his head.
His tunic was ripped open, displaying not only the red gashes from this beating but also large, ugly bruises covering his little back. So skinny he was that she could count most of his ribs.
Naught but skin and bones, as if he’d been starved for quite some time.
Her trepidation was immediately replaced with unreserved rage. Blood rushed in her ears, blocking out all the sounds around her. It also divested her of any bit of logic she possessed.
Still crouching, she spun on her heels to look for the bloody bastard who had inflicted this madness upon this poor, innocent child.
Danial was kneeling over the fool, talking to him. But she couldn’t hear what either of them were saying. The man was flat on his back now, his hand on his forehead as if he were trying to stanch the flow of blood.
A rage-filled growl began deep in her stomach. A heartbeat later, the growl escaped as she lunged toward the man, her fingers outstretched.
“I will kill ye with my bare hands!”
What happened after that was naught but a blur. David had grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up and away. What he said, she couldn’t hear nor remember. The next thing she knew, they were racing away and heading towards the keep, the small boy in David’s arms.
Symon, Collin, and Alyce were just where they had left them. “What happened?” Alyce asked, her eyes wide with horror. “Who is he?”
Margaret had no answers to give her. At least none that wouldn’t ruin her innocence. “I am nae certain, but we must hurry to the keep.”
Symon, ever brave and dutiful asked, “Do ye want Collin and I to fetch the healer?”
She had promised Aiden and their mothers that she wouldn’t let the children out of her sight. “Nay, lad. Danial shall do that.”
“I hope the little boy will be all right,” Alyce said, running as fast as she could.
“So do I, Alyce. So do I.”
David beat them all to the keep. By the time Margaret and the children entered, David was shouting orders as he thundered across the room. Taking the stairs two at a time, he took the boy straight to Margaret’s bed chamber.
Soon, half the Randall family was swarming in behind them, hurling questions Margaret couldn’t hear.
Someone brought washing cloths and drying linens. Someone else was placing a kettle of water on the fire in the hearth.
Margaret knew all too well how the motionless child must be feeling, not only in his heart but physically as well.
Someone slipped a stool under her as she sat by the bed and began to tend to the little boy’s wounds. It didn’t take much to tear the tunic away; it was naught but rags, old, filthy, and threadbare. Thus far, the child remained motionless. His eyes were closed, but his face was twisted with pain.
Carefully, and with Lizabet’s help, she rolled the lad to his stomach. The wounds and gashes were horrific. Criss-crossing his entire back, old marks blended with more recent ones, along with those inflicted this morn. Bruises of varying ages and sizes covered his back and buttocks.
Margaret’s stomach churned with a blend of fury, sadness, and disgust.
Someone had moved the bedside table closer and placed a bowl of warm water and a jar of soap upon it. Grabbing a washing cloth, she plunged the cloth into the warm water and wrung it out. For a moment, she imagined what she was actually wringing was that disgusting, vile man’s neck.
With trembling yet gentle hands, she began to wash away the blood. ‘Twasn’t until she noticed another set of hands doing the same that she realized she wasn’t alone. Lizabet was sitting on the bed next to the boy.
Their eyes met for a moment. No words need be spoken between them. They were each as angry as they were concerned for the little boy.
While they carefully cleaned his back, Lizabet said, “His name is Duncan.”
Duncan. What a good, strong name for a boy, Margaret thought. I pray the name matches his spirit, for he will need much strength to recover from this.
Muffled voices in the background slowly became clearer. She could only hear bits and pieces, but ’twas enough to make her grow angrier and angrier.
“I hadn’t seen the lad in months,”Annabella whispered.
“I had no idea he was abusin’ the boy,” Faith muttered.
“He will nae get a chance to do it again,” David mumbled angrily, to which Danial said, “I have a nice rope just waitin’ for Garrett’s neck.”
Grace was the only one who sounded like she had a lick of common sense. “I think we should let Aiden decide what to do with him.”
David and Danial grunted their disapproval.
’Twas Lizabet who spoke next. “Mayhap ye all should clear the room and send for the healer.” ’Twas more of an order than a suggestion.
Soon, the crowd was filing out of the room, leaving Margaret and Lizabet to tend to the child in peace.
“How old is he?” Margaret asked. ’Twas the first time she’d spoken a word since the ordeal began.
“Eight or nine,” Lizabet replied.
So young! He is just an innocent child!
“It looks like he hasn’t had a good meal in quite some time,” Lizabet whispered.
Margaret silently agreed.
“Prisoners of war are treated better than this.”
Margaret had no experience with prisoners of war, so she took Lizabet’s word for it. No one, no one, deserved to be treated like this. Save, perhaps, for the fool who had done this to him.
“Where is his mother?” Margaret asked in a harsh whisper.
Lizabet glanced down at the sleeping child first before answering. Lowering her voice even more, she said, “Eloiza died about three years ago.”
Margaret could glean from her angry expression and tone that there was more to it than she was comfortable saying.
Later, when they were alone, she would get the complete story. For now, she had to focus on the poor little boy lying in her bed.
Lord, please let me help this child.