Chapter Eight
Meg
Meg knelt on the bank and dipped the linen square into the burn, wiping her face and neck with the cool water, finding it so refreshing that she nearly cried. She’d been traveling for three days and had no idea where she was going.
She’d found a cave to sleep in last night, which had been a massive improvement over the last two nights, but her situation was becoming tenuous at best.
She had no food left, and while she’d found some berries along the way, it was hardly enough to fill her belly. To say she was starving was an understatement. There was no alternative. She’d have to use her axe and kill a rabbit or something.
But then she’d have to skin it, something she hated with such a passion that she’d often done it without looking. Tamsin had done it for her for many years, but Meg had been forced to do it a few times after her sister left.
Meg had taken care with her axes, separating them so she could grab one quickly if she were attacked. Last eve, she’d lain in the cave thinking about her dear sister, wondering how she would go about finding Tamsin when she had no idea where she lived other than on an isle with a man named Raghnall Garvie.
Tamsin had been upset when her sire had announced her betrothal in nearly the same way he’d done with Meg. He entered their hut at the end of the day and announced that Tamsin’s husband would come for her the next day. Poor Tamsin had been up most of the night going back and forth between fearful and hopeful. Having never met the man, she knew it could be the beginning of a wonderful life for her. Meg hoped that her sister was happily married and would be easy to find.
She’d pulled out the bracelet made of the thick blue yarn that she’d loved, but she hadn’t worn it in a long time. They’d vowed only to wear it when they were together. It sat tucked inside the small sack attached to the belt on her tunic, but she’d peeked at it often to make sure it hadn’t fallen away. The bracelet was her most prized possession.
Once she was finished refreshing herself, she headed back to the path, but hearing a few horses coming toward her, she chose to hide in the trees until they passed. Dressing as a lad helped her be inconspicuous, a plan she’d hoped to protect her from the wandering eyes of passing men. Her hair was tied in a plait and pinned up inside the hood of her mantle, completing the image, or so she hoped.
The horses on the path carried a family of six. They spoke of the market near the kirk, not far from where they were.
That gave her hope, and the first plan she’d ever felt confident about popped into her mind. She’d go to the market, buy herself a hunk of bread, then travel on to the kirk, hoping that there would be a kind soul inside who would help her find the way to Ulva. Perhaps they’d allow her to sleep on a pallet in the stable for one night. Priests and nuns would surely help her, would they not? She prayed they would.
Filled with hope, she waited until the group was out of view, then headed down the path toward town. Sure enough, in less than an hour, she found herself at the edge of a market where multiple vendors sold their wares.
She walked amid the busy area in the village center, looking at all the goods: ribbons, fabrics, weaponry, bread, chicken legs, jewelry, boots, and beans. She’d never seen such a selection. Years ago, their parents had taken her and Tamsin to market, but it hadn’t been this large. They’d bought ribbons, thread, and fabric, among other items, but they enjoyed the crowd.
Moving over to the baker’s stand, Meg chose a quarter of a loaf and paid the vendor, then bumped into a man standing directly behind her.
“Where’s your father?”
Not trusting the man, she said, “Over there.”
The baker called out to her. “Stay away from him.”
Once the man took his leave, she stepped back to the booth and leaned over to the baker, doing her best to drop the tone of her voice. “Which way to the kirk?”
The baker said, “Down that way. I’ll warn you, lass, if you are alone, speak to no one and go there quickly. I see that you have tried to disguise yourself, but you are the kind of lass that cannot hide it, so you must make wise decisions to protect yourself. The kirk is the best choice for the night. They’ll allow you to stay the night. There are some who love to steal a bride on market day. They’ll be gone on the morrow.”
Appalled at such a possibility, she mumbled, “Many thanks.”
Moving down the path, she stayed to the edge, as far away from groping hands as possible. Nearly to the kirk, she passed the last stand, but then stopped, noticing that the vendor appeared to be selling maps.
Their mother had taught Tamsin and Meg how to read, something Meg loved, but she’d died before the two girls had become experts at it. Forming words and writing had been difficult, but her father had once shown them how to read a map.
Stepping over to the vendor, she said, “Do you have a map that could show me how to get to Ulva?”
The man chuckled and said, “Ulva? You have a way to go, lass.” He opened the map and said, “Here we are in the land of the Scots, not far from the Highlands.”
She peered over his shoulder, picking out the wide mass of land, then a strip of something with upside-down V s on it. “What is that?”
“Water. That’s the Firth of Lorn and the Sound of Mull. This is how you’ll have to do this. You’ll have to go to Oban, hire a spot on the ferry to Craignure, then somehow get yourself to the other side of the Isle of Mull.” He paused to show her exactly where he meant, waiting to see if she understood.
She did. And it frightened her.
“Do you have coin for the ferry?”
“I do.”
“Why are you going to Ulva, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I wish to visit my sister. She lives on Ulva.”
“Then you need to take the ferry to Craignure. I would advise you to go to Clan MacVey or to Duart Castle once on the Isle of Mull and ask for an escort to the ferry that will take you to Ulva. You’ll need to get a horse.”
“But I have one. I hid her in the trees over there.”
“Aye, but you probably will not have enough to pay for your horse on the ship.” He told her the amount, and she scowled because he was correct. She could pay for herself, but not her sweet mare. What would she do with her?
“When you find your escort, they’ll take you to the other side of the isle for the ferry. But you’ll have to go around Ben More.”
“Ben More?”
“The mountain. That’s why I would go to Clan MacVey. They are a good clan, and they’ll help you.”
“How long to get to Oban from here?”
“Half a day, lass. Go to the kirk. It is too late for you to be out alone. Go quickly before it’s dark. There are too many unsavory characters waiting for young lasses to get lost.”
“Many thanks to you,” she said, moving through the crowd to grab her mare and head in the direction of the street that held the kirk. Along the way, one man tried to grab her horse, so she pulled out her axe and held it over her head, ready to bring it down on his hand. “My horse, you thief.”
The man ran away.
That was enough of an experience to set her heart to racing, so she hurried out of the crowd to find a spot where she could mount the animal, then galloped toward the kirk, reaching it a quarter of an hour later. Grateful to see a stable in the back, she led her horse around, willing to sleep inside on a mound of hay just to stay out of the rain. Drizzle started right as she stepped inside.
A man with kind eyes came over and asked, “May I be of assistance, lass?”
“Will they allow me to stay one night?”
He looked at her trews and then brought his eyes back up to hers. “They will if you are willing to help in the kitchens. One eve’s work for one night’s stay.”
“I consider that fair. Will you take good care of my horse?”
“Aye. If you work, I’ll feed her. If not, I’ll put her in the meadow behind here in the morn.”
“Fair enough.” Meg stepped away, nearly ready to fall over from exhaustion and the intensity of her pounding heart.
“Use that back door and ask for the cook. Her name is Mabel.”
“My thanks to ye.” After kissing her horse on its head, she headed into the back of the large kirk. It was much bigger than the one she’d attended with her mother.
Mabel welcomed her into the kitchen, passing her a basket of vegetables to cut, so she set to her work. Mabel was one of those who would talk, no matter if anyone listened. “These are for the pottage on the morrow. We have a wee bit of lamb to add some flavor. Once you have finished, you can take the chamber down the stairs and to the right.”
“In the cellar?” Meg thought that odd, but what did she know about what took place within a kirk this size? “How many chambers in this building? I’ve not seen one this large before.”
That question gave Mabel enough to talk about for the next hour as she explained every chamber and its use, along with who lived inside. Meg did her best to pay attention, but she was so tired, she cut her finger with the knife. Fortunately, she was nearly done.
Mabel rushed to her side and peered at the cut. “Och, well. You’ve done a fine job, so you may take to your chamber. There’s a well where you can gather a basin of water. I’ll get your food ready once you return.”
Meg filled the basin outside, wishing she could wash her dirty hands with her soap, but it was in her sack that she’d left in the kitchen. She rinsed them, but it didn’t stop the blood from flowing. Once back in the kitchen, Mabel directed her to a chamber, so she took the basin first with her bag. When she returned, Mabel gave her a linen square and a bowl of vegetable soup with a small piece of bread and a glass of mead. She thanked the woman and did her best to make it down the staircase without spilling anything.
Fortunately, a torch illuminated the way at the base of the staircase, so Meg turned to the right and stepped inside a chamber that held four cots. No one else was inside, and it was cool, but it would suit better than the wet ground. The rain came harder as she settled herself and did her best to wash her hands and face. The rhythmic beats hitting the door at the top of the stairs soothed her, reminding her of counting her numbers. Her mother had taught her daughters of the importance of being clean, so she used the soap liberally, finding the aroma more calming than the patter of raindrops. When she finished with her ablutions, wrapping her finger, she foraged and found blankets in a chest, something that made her sigh. Sleeping in a cave was cold, and she’d honestly had enough of it.
Once she’d cleaned up to her satisfaction and returned everything she could to her bag, she found a candle to light from the torch, then closed the door. She’d cleaned her undergarments at the burn, but found they were still damp, so she hung them on a couple of pegs on the wall. Curling up on one of the beds, she covered herself with a blanket and fell fast asleep.
Running away was exhausting, but far better than marrying an ugly old baron.