We went door tae door, speakin’ tae the occupants of each house about the loss of m’wife. The villagers had closed their homes against the winter storm, news was nae travelin’ as it would in the summer months. After a time Margar led me intae the tavern tae once more inquire about Kaitlyn. They paid her more respect, but still had nae news. I bought Margar a whisky for the trouble and we discussed m’next step.
She explained tae me that the fortress was held by one Sir Colin Campbell, and that he was building a tower house. She even kent the year — 1551. I took a deep breath. Twould be almost six years afore the origin of the vessels. Och. I bought us another round of whisky. She told me Sir Colin and his family were residin’ there during the construction. She kent a great deal about the business of the Campbells, much like Madame Greer two hundred and fifty years from now.
I was invited tae shelter in David’s home, she told me it would be best for receivin’ news on m’wife, but I was concerned about being away from the fortress. I felt sure now twas the only place Kaitlyn might be.
So I mounted m’horse. I would present m’self at the fortress, with business for Sir Colin. If need be, I would pay him handsomely in exchange for information about Kaitlyn.
Thirty-one - Kaitlyn
At dawn I was nudged awake by a strong kick from Mary’s foot. As soon as I got to standing, I said, “Please, I need something to drink, please, Mary, water.”
She shoved me into the hard wooden chair, catching sight of the back of my skirt, wet. She yelled long, scolding and furious — I was stupid. I was ungodly. I was supposed to be a grown ass woman but I had peed on myself. The baby was screaming his head off in the corner of the room. She smacked me across the face — twice. Then stalked off, returning a moment later with a pewter cup half-full of water. It was not enough at all. She thrust forward a small hunk of bread. I choked the bread down first and then slammed the water. “Please, more, I need more for the milk.” I gestured at my breasts. “And where do I go to the bathroom?” I gestured something whooshing from between my legs and she fiercely pointed against the wall behind me. I hadn’t seen it from my corner, but that was the only spot in the room that it was hidden from. A chamber pot out in public. I peed trying to hold my head down in shame.
The baby was really screaming his head off by now. I wondered where his mother was... was she okay? I guessed he was about four weeks old. Smaller than Isla. Ugly. Which I hated to say because he might be an orphan. And wouldn’t there be someone, somehow to feed this baby? Why me? And was I now being forced to do this? Could I leave? And where would I go?
I returned to my hard chair and Mary brought the baby and I nursed him again, right and left. I watched and listened as Mary and another woman talked, and figured out the bairn’s name was Duncan. Then, as soon as he was done, he was immediately taken away.
I was told, not in words I understood, but in gestures, to get over to the corner and hide so no one would have to see me.
I lay in the corner, but it was too cold to get comfortable. I sat up, trying to position myself so my tartan would cover both my shoulders and my legs. I watched Mary come and go, but always when she was gone, I could hear her yelling at someone close-by.
About mid-morning, she came at me again. I cowered, but she yanked me to my knees and shoved my face into the wall, she clasped my hands together, like to pray, then smacked me against the back of my head. As if to tell me to do this from now on.
She actually didn’t need to ask me twice, prayer might be the only hope I would have. I prayed for hours.
Another woman swept into the room. I took furtive glances over my shoulder. She was small, well-dressed, wearing thick tapestry-like fabrics. She was the only one wearing clothes that looked warm enough. By listening I learned she was called Lady Katherine. She was young, but with hawkish, pointed, pinched-lip, irritated expression. Worse than Mary’s. And Mary’s was fucking terrible.
Mary looked afraid of her actually, which made me pretty happy. I took small hidden peeks as the new lady stalked over to Duncan’s cradle and looked down into it with an expression best described as distaste. Then she scooped him up, crossed to the only comfortable chair in the whole room, and sat down with Duncan in her lap.
I continued to face the wall, until, curious, I peeked again and caught her glaring at me. I looked away but it was too late. She stood up, yelling about something.
Mary, bowing and acquiescing, turned the chair around so Lady Katherine wouldn’t have to see me. She sat for a few more minutes, then stood, deposited Duncan back into the cradle, and left the room.
Mary came over in a full screech. It sounded like, “How dare you?!” But I couldn’t be sure. And I didn’t know how I dared because I had no idea what I had done.
She yanked my hair back, screamed in my face, and then using my hair dragged me to the chair and made me feed him again.
I was praying in the corner, my forehead pressed to the wooden timbers. I couldn’t see cracks, but it was cold as hell. Another woman entered, she wore a plain skirt with an apron and her shoulders were wrapped with a woolen shawl. She was carrying a very, very tiny baby. She and Mary spoke to each other at length. I took small glances, the baby mewled and cried, sounding like a newborn, but also a weak newborn.
The newborn’s cries made me desperate — to feed it, to help it, to soothe it. My forehead had a groove from pressing it against the wall, the palms of my hand had marks from my fingernails. I was so freaking hungry. I wanted to plan my escape, to fight my way from the room, to murder fucking Mary, but hunger gnawed at my stomach and I couldn’t keep my mind straight.
Head to the kitchen, I told myself, charge out the door.
But not in the snow.
Not without a weapon.
Not without a clear plan.
And there wasn’t a clear plan, there was hunger — baby-crying, skin-crawling, heart-breaking, mind-fucking, desperate starvation. Cry cry cry wailed the newborn. My milk let down wetting my front. Because I wasn’t a superhero, I wasn’t even a terrible arse. I had been the kind of girl who could do shit and now I was a leaky, weak mess, brought to a weak-ass cowering breaking point.
What would Hayley do?
She wouldn’t let this bitch touch her, that’s for sure.
I sighed. But, truth be told, as amazing as she was, without her gun, without food, without water, without a pair of fucking boots, she would be a lot like me, just trying to survive.
Thirty-two - Kaitlyn
The new nursemaid sat in the comfortable chair and fed the newborn. Mary never yelled at her or manhandled her. She seemed respected. My knees hurt so freaking bad. Pain shot up my legs. I tried to concentrate on the wood my forehead was pressed against. Up close there was a knot shaped a little like a lima bean, but with the surrounding rings, it also looked like a monkey swinging from a branch, it gave me about three minutes of distraction before my pain and agony broke through again.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped from my knees, sat on my arse and shook out my legs. I shook them hard. I tried not to look around, to keep my eyes downcast, cowering, maybe if I didn’t look up Mary wouldn’t notice I—
She bustled across the room, screeching, and I thought, this bitch is going to wake all the babies. If I had a fucking dirk I would stab her through, and if I were ever in court over it I would say, “In my defense, this was my life — nurse babies to sleep only to have this fucking bitch yell them awake.” I would not be sorry.