Chapter 17 #2
“I woke up one night and he was there . . . in my bedroom . . . on top of me.” Her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue.
“Even now I remember the smell of whisky and smoke. I couldn’t move.
He held me down. He forced me. I tried to scream for help, but he had his filthy hand over my mouth.
And when he was done, he told me I was to say nothing.
If I was so stupid as to go crying, he’d deny it. ”
Morrigan didn’t know if she was the one who reached for Isabella or if it was the other way around. But she was once again enclosed in her protective embrace.
“His family would never believe me, he told me, if I accused him. They’d throw me out on the street.”
Even now, nine years later, she still lay awake in bed at night, listening. She should have heard him coming. She should have been prepared to do something. How could she have been so na?ve? So trusting? So weak?
“I’m so sorry this happened to you, my love.”
The rush of words could not be staunched now. She had to say them all. “I ran away that same night. I took by bag and my coat and left my grandparents’ house with only a few coins in my purse.”
Morrigan knew where she was going. She had to get back to her father.
He was the only parent she had left. The only person in the world she could trust. She walked all night and most of the next day.
She caught the mail coach at an inn in some village.
She sat eyeing every person she saw, fearful they meant her harm.
That they knew her secret, and that shame .
. . that guilt . . . terrified her. She was alone and vulnerable.
Before she reached Edinburgh, she swore she’d never be defenseless again.
The two women sat on a bench side by side. Morrigan spoke of her worries and vulnerability, of a child who was lost.
“I was exhausted when I finally arrived at our house in the city. By then, my father had received a message from my grandfather that I’d gone missing. But he had no idea why.”
“Did you tell him?”
The words hitched in her chest. “I had to. I felt so . . . so broken. I needed help.”
Isabella leaned her forehead against Morrigan’s. Their tears mingled and landed on their joined hands.
“What did he say? What did he do?”
“He said he was going to fix it. He was going to take away my pain.” As if he could, she thought bitterly. “He took me to a husband and wife, close friends of his in Edinburgh. People he said he trusted like no one else. I was to stay there until he returned.”
“He went to Perth?”
She nodded. “I never saw him with such rage. When he packed his pistol, I knew what he would do. He intended to go and kill Wemys. Part of me was happy. But I was also afraid. He was so angry. I worried that he’d never come back.”
By the time Archibald Drummond arrived at Perth, Wemys was gone.
No one knew where he’d disappeared to or when he’d return.
Morrigan never knew if her father told her grandparents what was done to her.
Or what had caused their twelve-year-old granddaughter to run away in the middle of night.
Or why was it that he was angry enough never to speak to them, or go back there, or say their names ever again.
“He never fixed it. He couldn’t. How could he take away my pain? My fear? After he came back, his solution was for us to forget it. To pretend it never happened. He thought I’d heal with time. We moved. And we moved again. That’s how we ended up in Wurzburg.”
Isabella caressed her back. She kissed her brow. “Six years I was married to your father, and he never told me. But I’m here for you now.”
They stood together, wrapped in silence and each other’s arms, for a long time.
“What do you want to happen now?” Isabella asked finally.
Morrigan realized the heaviness was beginning to lift off her.
The fist squeezing her heart was beginning to ease slightly.
She knew Isabella understood that no one could make the past go away.
No one could fix it, as Archibald had intended to do.
Morrigan needed help, but the decision of what to do had to be hers.
“I want Wemys to suffer.”
“He is.”
“I want him to die slowly and painfully.”
“He will. There is no escape for him.”
“I think I know why he wants to speak to me.”
“Knowing that death is imminent triggers regrets in many people,” Isabella said, wiping the tears from under Morrigan’s eyes. “They want to be forgiven for the sins and the crimes they’ve committed.”
“I won’t forgive him,” she said passionately. “Never. And I don’t care to hear why he did it. Or why he felt he had the right.”
“Never think you need to see him or speak to him. Just say the words and I’ll have him moved back to the village.”
Morrigan shook her head. “He’s dying. That’s enough.”
“There must be something I can do for you.”
There was. Morrigan had already thought about it. “I’d like you to make a deal for me.”
“What kind of deal? With whom?”
“With Wemys,” Morrigan told her. “I want you to tell him that I am not playing his game. Whatever is left to his miserable life, he can spend it alone, stewing in his fears of what lies ahead for him. I’ll not spend it at his bedside, listening to him drone on and on. He gets only one visit from me. One.”
“Are you sure?” Isabella’s brow was furrowed with concern. “You don’t need to do this.”
“But I do. I can’t let the Chattan brothers hang because that horrible man isn’t willing to reveal information he has,” Morrigan told her. “The deal I am asking you to make is that he give Mr. Grant the information he needs first. Those are my terms. I’ll not speak to him unless he helps.”
“And if he agrees?” Isabella asked, still sounding unsure. “You’re willing to see him?”
“I will,” Morrigan decided. “I’ll meet with him. But, devil take me, I’ll never forgive him.”