3 comments/ 43865 views/ 2 favorites Lamas Night By: golden smog Scotland: August 2, 1558. The night was still and clear, with the hint of a chill which heralded the coming autumn. The moon was at the half, and stars shone brightly down on those who had gathered by the fires to celebrate the fruits of the first harvest. Lamas was a time for fullness, for welcoming the first harvest with gratitude and joy. It was also a time for the brewing of the first ale from the harvested grain. The ale cups had been passed and passed again as the night wore on. Much dancing and singing and laughter had been shared, and folk wandered between the several large fires, giving festival greetings, and complimenting the ale Wife on her fine achievement. Many couples drifted unobtrusively out of the fire-light to seek privacy in order to do proper honor to the night, then drifted quietly back, hand-in-hand, to join anew in the celebration. Margarete, Colin, Owen and Lise were among those who clustered around the largest of the fires. Margarete raised her voice so that many gathered around the fire heard her. "Many here have heard these two," she gestured gaily to Owen and Lise, "Singing together of a night in the Great hall. Perhaps some of you have heard them sing the song of Jacque and Isobel. If so, you will know how well they suit one another in a song. If not, you will be delighted by their performance, for they are about to grace us with it are you not?" Having been given virtually no choice, the two assented graciously. Margarete stepped back into the crowd, her face alive with eager anticipation. She was not disappointed. It was a two part song, telling the story of a young and eager fisherman who sought to woo the flirtatious beauty of the village. Owen took the part of Jacque, and Lise of Isobel. The eyes of the two dwelt on each other's face as they sang verses back and forth, Jacque avowing his undying love, his desire to make a home for Isobel, his longing to meet her in the marriage bed; Isobel demurring, coyly wondering how she would pass lonely nights while he was at see, teasing him with half promises of her fruitful favors. On the last verse and chorus, the two reached accord, and sang together of their love, their determination to wed, the anticipation of their wedding night, and their prosaic hopes for a long life together. With practiced ease, their voices came together, diverged into pleasing harmony, then joined again in melodic convergence, mirroring the accord reached in their words. Their two voices were always well suited. To this particular song; on this particular night, however, they brought all the excitement and discovery of their own private Lammas celebrations which had taken place earlier that day. It was impossible for Lise to keep her joy from bubbling to the surface of her singing voice and her bright eyes. Even had he wished it, Owen could not have masked the hungry expression on his face as he watched her and listened to her coy and suggestive words. Their voices converged in the chorus, slid into effortless harmony, diverged briefly in counterpoint, then came together in a final chorus which caused shivers of pleasure in many who watched and listened. Between Owen and Lise, the lively melody and outrageous double meanings flowered into a tension of desire that all could sense. When the song was ended, Margarete was first to express her approval. She clapped loudly and beamed. "I've never heard it better done!" she exclaimed, and many around them agreed, showing their appreciation with voluble clapping and stomping. With suggestive movements and a soft festival song in her ear, Owen lured Lise from the fires. They moved away, but only made it as far as the darkness by the wall of the stable. There, they leant together, embracing and kissing in the chilly night. Each tasted ale on the others lips, and were drunk with gladness. They agreed silently that the hour was too late, and themselves too full of drink to make love yet again, but they leaned on the wall and caressed one another with pleasure. Her hunger for him was unabated. The feel, scent and nearness of him satisfied her almost as much as their love making had done. Held tenderly then fiercely in his arms, she barely recognized herself. So emblematic had her self-contained composure become to him, that it was difficult to remember that it was actually Lise he held in his arms. There was no light to see her face, but he continued to touch her cheek, her hair, her lips, reassuring himself that it was she who leaned so confidingly against him, her voice which spoke his name so softly, expressed her desire and joy so freely. At the largest fire, Margarete yawned and leaned against Colin's side. Folk had begun to drift away, many in couples, to seek either their beds, or less comfortable but more accessible spots. Those who were still full of zeal for celebration were collecting tankards and wine skins to bring into the Great Hall where the deepening chill would not be so noticeable. "Are ye ready for bed?', Colin asked. Margarete yawned again and nodded. "Go on, I will be wi ye shortly, I must hae a word wi some o my men concerning the discrete guarding o our guests.." Colin glanced morosely at the three strangers. One had been his prisoner for many weeks, languishing in his dungeon. The other two, scarcely more presentable in appearance, were the prisoner's kin, who had come to make good the ransom. By long established custom, the arrival of the man's kin had transformed him from prisoner to honored guest. Though long-time enemies, the three strangers would be treated with hospitality until the ransom was paid, and they departed. Colin found Lise at his side as he made his way toward his chamber. "A good Lammas celebration?", he asked with a knowing smirk. "Very good thank you," she replied, her voice cool as usual, but her face alive with her happiness. He gave her a genuine smile which conveyed his gladness for her and they entered the room together. Margarete lay, fully clothed on the bed. She was not asleep, but too drunk and weary to begin preparations for bed. "A good Lammas to you both!", she called as they entered. "I was too weary to undress, but now that you are both here, I feel my strength returning." "That is because ye hae sapped it from me," Colin exclaimed, flopping down on the bed as Margarete rose. Drink, and a long day sent Colin into sleep almost as soon as he had lain down, fully clothed as he still was. Margarete and Lise moved to the other end of the room and began undressing together, helping one another with their festival gowns, their customary roles of servant and mistress abandoned on this festival night. "I saw you and Owen slip off away from the fires. Did you couple yet again?" "No. Though we did that time and time again this afternoon. We merely kissed and touched and talked. I tell you truly Margarete, I cannot get enough of him! My eyes seek him out, my hands long to touch him." "Was it better today than the first time you were with him?" "Oh yes! Yes! Today..., today I was myself, not only unmasked, but fully myself. I told him things that would drive most men to rage or contempt; but he listened, considered, and seemed to think even better of me when I had finished. I could never have foreseen that it would be so. I have never known any man like to him, nor ever felt so..., so truly appreciated by a man for my whole self." They had dawned linen sleeping robes. Margarete reached out and took Lise in her arms and kissed her softly on her lips. "My heart is filled with happiness for you. Never have I seen you so joyous." "You must not!", Lise whispered urgently, trying to pull away, but captivated by the feel of Margarete's graceful body in her arms, and the warm, sweet smell of ale on her breath. She half expected Margarete to argue and insist, but instead she moved gently away. "I sampled none of the spiced wine!", she said with sudden eagerness. "Might we find some to taste while we complete our preparations for sleep?" "I will go to the Great Hall. There were flagons left on some of the tables." She picked up a candle and lighted it from the lamp. "I will be right back." Margarete sat down before her dressing table. She looked forward to sipping the spiced wine while Lise brushed and braided her hair. Fen, the wooly sheep dog, who had insinuated himself into their chamber on this special night, came to her and rested his head in her lap. Petting him fondly, she thought how happy Lise looked, and Owen also. Time passed, much more time than it should have taken Lise to find the flagon of spiced wine. At first, Margarete wondered whether Owen had found Lise and tempted her away with him. Then, she began to think about the feeble candle Lise had carried. The Hall was large, and no doubt disordered and dotted with unaccustomed figures. The noise had died down to almost nothing, and it seemed likely that many had simply dropped off to sleep where they sat or lay. She decided to take up the lamp and bring its much brighter light to Lise's aid. Fen followed, padding silently at her heel. Lise crept lightly about the High Table, but found only ale and ordinary wine. Carefully, holding her candle before her, she began to pick her way among tables and sleeping figures in the lower Hall, seeking on each table for a flagon of the spiced wine. Not all in the Great Hall slept. The youngest of the strangers saw Lise's candle and, in its flickering light, recognized her face. His father with whom he had traveled, and his uncle whom they had come to retrieve from Colin's prisoner's pit, were sleeping near by. He nudged them awake and pointed. All three had been drinking heavily and it took a moment for the other two to focus. "It's that hoar who was offering herself tae the bard," he whispered. "She'll be a serving maid or some such." His father grunted. "She was dressed rich for a serving maid, and she stayed near MacLean's Lady." "So what? She's nae more than a serving wench, and it would be a proper way tae end festival night. We'll keep her quiet, and it'll be done so quick she won't know who it were. Besides, by the look o her at the fires, she'd welcome it. What else she doing lurking around a Hall full o men in the middle of the night? Come on!" His uncle was watching Lise with a growing hunger. Weeks in Colin's pit had improved neither his temper nor his judgment. "She's prowling around like a barn cat. She's sure after something." He tried to remember the layout of the Hall. The wench was moving around the edges of the room. If they moved up behind her quietly, they could grab hold of her, pull her off to the side away from the bulk of the sleeping figures, and be through before anyone was the wiser, so long as they kept it quiet. He whispered his intentions to his brother and nephew. Together, they moved carefully into position. On quiet feet, they moved stealthily closer. When the Black Macgregor reached out and grabbed her from behind, she was completely taken by surprise. A hard hand was slapped ruthlessly over her mouth, and she was dragged bodily toward the distant edge of the large room. She had a confused sense of more than one pair of hands. As she was roughly pushed onto the cold floor, her mind was frozen with shock. A very small part of her consciousness knew that she should fight, struggle against the hands that held her, try to kick, bight, to wriggle away, at least scream. Most of her consciousness was caught like a fly in a web. In the instant before more terrible things began to happen to her, she saw clearly that, years ago, she would have known how to react, she would have possessed the presence of mind to struggle and cry out; she would not have been so heedless, could not have been so easily captured. Years of safety had made her careless. Complacency born of girlish and foolish infatuation had dulled her reflexes. The man who held his hand over her mouth was pulling up her night dress with his other hand, and forcing her legs apart with his knees. The other two held her while he thrust cruelly into her. Later, she would reflect with self-contempt, that they need hardly have bothered to pin her to the ground. She was immobilized by terror, and posed little threat. As they shifted positions so that the second man could use her, she didn't even try to struggle. Nevertheless, some hard, jagged object contacted the tender flesh where her thigh joined to her body. She would never know what the object was, whether the slash it inflicted was deliberate, or unintentional, but she felt a burning, cutting pain, and was aware of the flow of blood as the second man pressed his weight on her, his penis inside her. A cry of pain escaped her lips, but was quickly stifled by a rough hand. Margarete left her chamber quietly, not wishing to disturb Colin. She held the lamp before her, but made an attempt to shield it slightly, not wishing to wake those who slept in the Hall either. She looked about for the light of Lise's candle but did not see it. "Sniff out the spiced wine for us," she whispered affectionately to Fen. As she stepped carefully around displaced furniture, her ears caught a shocking sound, an obvious exclamation of pain, uttered in a voice she knew instantly. With no thought for anything but Lise's safety, Margarete raised the lamp and sped across the Hall. Sounds of rustling movement and a man's barely suppressed grunt, drew her to the far wall. She held her lamp high, and illumined a seen of such horror that her nightmares would be haunted by it for the rest of her life. Lise lay supine on the dirty floor, her face ashen, her eyes huge, staring, filled with terror. Her night dress was pushed up, and there was blood between her thighs. Three men clustered about her, all looking dazed by the light, and by the unexpected presence of another woman. The youngest, and most drunken of the three, rose and approached her with an extremely ugly expression. Much later, Margarete would look back on that moment, and wonder, with awe, from whence came the surge of force that flooded her. In an instant, she drew herself up to her full height, and threw back her head with fierce dignity and power. Raising her lamp even higher, she inhaled deeply, and bellowed in a voice she had never used before, "Move away from her! Treachery! Treachery! Rise and seize these outlaws!" Fen snarled viciously, and pandemonium erupted in the Hall. The Black Smith, who had fallen asleep near to where the strangers had been, was roused by the light of Margarete's lamp, but wakened to full awareness only as she reached the far wall. He stood up to see the youngest of the three Macgregor's approaching Margarete with an unmistakable threat in his face. He snatched up his blade and began running across the Hall. His movement and Margarete's forceful shout wakened the rest. All would recall as long as they lived, the sight of the vicious enemy menacing their Lady, and the sight of Margarete, illumined by the lamp, looking impossibly tall and indomitable, facing him with no fear in her expression. Hearing the rush of movement behind her, Margarete stepped quickly away, sensing what was coming. The Black Smith ran forward, his blade raised. The man who had faced Margarete seemed dazed by the sudden turn of events. He did not even attempt to defend himself as the blade cut into his belly. He dropped heavily to the ground, his body sliding back down the length of the blade, poring blood into the floor. The other two who had held Lise, stood up quickly, being more experienced, and possessing better reflexes. In the moment before she was thrust roughly out of harm's way, Margarete saw that the fighting had moved far enough away from Lise so that she would not be further injured. The Malay was between her and Lise however, and she could only back further and further away, feeling as though she was caught in a nightmare of unimaginable violence. Her eyes registered that Colin had emerged from their chamber and was thrusting forward through the crowd. "Leave the prisoner to me!", he roared in a voice so roughened with fury that she barely recognized it. The Black Macgregor and his brother were vicious fighters, but they held only the small knives they kept on them at all times, not their longer blades which they had left where they slept. There were many eager to claim the killing of both, but the crowd of fighting men opened to permit Colin to reach the Black Macgregor. Margarete could not see through the mass of people to the killing blow, but she heard a grunt, a thud of falling bodies, then only the sound of the hoarsely drawn breath of many men. The three strangers lay dead. Margarete clutched the edge of a nearby table, willing herself not to sink to the floor with horror. She felt paralyzed with shock and fear. Very slowly, the men began to back away. Still, no word was spoken. It seemed that Margarete's shock and immobility were not hers alone. Gradually, Margarete became aware of quiet movements at the edge of the crowd. A slight figure, shorter than those of the men, was making its way toward the gory seen. More lamps had been lit. Margarete saw, with further amazement, that the figure was that of Mary. Others recognized her also, and they moved apart to allow her to pass. When she came near enough for Margarete to see her clearly, it was plain why. The young woman's back was straighter than Margarete had ever seen it. Mary's hands trembled violently, but her face wore an expression of such rage and determination, that none thought to interfere. As she reached the edge of the circle of those who surrounded the bodies, Mary's hard eyes sought out one. She stepped toward the Black Macgregor. His corpse was still losing blood. He lay on his back, and Margarete did not wish to see him, but she could not tare her eyes away from Mary. All watched in amazement as Mary bent and retrieved the knife that had fallen from his hand. None came forward to question or stop her . Her hands still trembling visibly, Mary reached and pulled the woolen cap from her head, the symbol of her shame. She gazed at it for a moment, then jammed it on to the point of the blade, pulling it so that the knife pierced it. She stepped closer, leaned forward, and with a quick thrust of her arm, she jerked the point of the knife into the man's belly below his naval, and moved it fiercely downward. A new rush of blood joined the first. Mary straightened. She stood still for a long moment, gazing down at the corpse which lay at her feet, a knife baring her woolen cap protruding from its crotch. Still gazing fixedly at this gruesome sight, she raised her hands , now rock steady, to her head. She released her hair from its knot and, with calm, unhurried fingers, combed it and fanned it out across her shoulders. It was of a rich, red-gold color, and waved gently as it fell like a beautiful cloak to her waste. For another moment she stood thus, then, she leaned slightly forward and spat copiously onto the corpse of the Black Macgregor before turning away. Even in that moment of shock, fear and confusion, Margarete registered that Mary's face was more alive and animated than she had ever seen it. Mary sought her out and came to her. "We must see tae Lise, come." She held out her hand, and Margarete grasped it desperately, turning to where she knew Lise must be, though the press of the crowd did not allow them to see. Mary's quiet, practical words seemed to break the spell of silence. Talk and movement broke out all around them. Margarete was glad of it. She needed to find Lise, and could not bare the attention of so many silent watchers. Mary pushed a way for them through the press of people. They found Lise against the wall. She lay curled in a heap, blood visible on her night dress which had been pulled down to cover her. Beside her, sitting on the cold and dirty ground was Iona. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were very bright. Lamas Night "We must bring her tae your chamber and see tae her hurts," Iona said in her low murmur. The three of them lifted Lise, who was silent and unresponsive. Owen emerged from the milling crowd. "I will carry her," he said. "I ken ye wish tae help her, but nae man should touch her now, it may wound her further." Mary spoke kindly, but with quiet decision. "We will carry her and tend her." Together, the three women supported Lise until they reached Margarete's chamber. They laid her on Margarete's bed. "Can ye tell me where ye feel pain?", Iona asked softly. Lise's eyes were open, but she would not speak or acknowledge them. "I am going tae lift your night dress and look tae see where ye're hurt," Iona said then. Still Lise did not respond. Margarete forced herself to watch, but could not assist, as Iona and Mary examined Lise for injury. They gasped when they discovered the gash from which the blood had come, but found no other physical wounds. "How many o them?" Iona asked. Lise said nothing. Iona held up one finger before Lise's wide eyes. After a moment, she held two fingers. Lise made the faintest of nods. Margarete sank to the floor, panting and nauseated. Lise's answer sickened her, but at the same time, her utter lack of response had been the most terrifying thing of this nightmare experience. She leaned her head against the bed, struggling to compose herself, and summon the strength that would be required to help Lise. She was infinitely grateful for Iona and Mary. She felt completely helpless and at a loss. How had Iona come to be there. Even in her distress, she wondered. Mary and Iona washed the wound, but could not get the blood to entirely stop. Iona laid a hand on Margarete's shoulder. "Rise," she said softly. Margarete did so docilely. "Ye must try tae reach her spirit. Hold her hands, speak calmly and soothingly tae her, tell her it is safe tae return." Obediently, Margarete sat down on the bed beside the inert figure of Lise. She gathered Lise's icy hand and cradled it between hers. She looked into Lise's face, trying to get her to meet her eyes, but Lise simply stared blankly as though seeing nothing. "Lise," she said softly, willing her voice to be calm and reassuring. "Lise, you are safe now, it is over. Come back. Come back to me. It is over. The..., the men are dead. You are safe. We are here with you. Please speak to me." Feeling more and more desperate, she continued to speak so, but Lise neither moved nor spoke. Finally, Margarete hung her head in despair. Iona spoke into the tense silence. "We must take her tae the water so that she may be washed and awakened." At first, Margarete did not take in the sense of these words. When she did, she raised her head and looked incredulously at Iona. "Take her where? "The lake is nearest. A sacred pool would be better, but she hasna the strength. Dress her warmly, then collect soap, and warm cloaks for all of us." Margarete stared, blank-faced, and clearly unwilling and mistrustful. "What would ye hae us do for her?" Margarete had no answer. Slowly, she lowered her eyes. Mary spoke kindly but firmly. "Hae ye ever experienced anything like tae what Lise has endured?" Margarete shook her head, her eyes still downcast. "Ye're fortunate. Iona and I hae. You must trust Iona tae ken what is best." "Her body is violated and injured; so is her spirit. Her spirit wanders. We must call it back so that she can start tae mend." Iona's words made no more real sense to her than Mary's, but Margarete rose and began to follow Iona's instructions. She did not know what else to do. When their preparations were complete, there was a knock at the chamber door. Margarete went and found Colin, his face haggard, his eyes bleak. When he would have reached for her, she moved fretfully away. He did not try again. "Are ye unhurt? And what o Lise?" Margarete clasped her hands together to stop their trembling, and took a steadying breath before trying to speak. His presence was a faint comfort. "I am unhurt. Lise is not. She has a wound which only now has begun to stop bleeding." "Did the vile swine...?" Helplessly, Margarete nodded and held up two fingers, no more able to speak the words than Lise herself. Colin understood. He turned away, tasting great bitterness. "Lise...," Margarete began, then stopped, her voice failing her. Colin turned back, attentive eyes on her face. "She..., she speaks not. Iona says her spirit..., it wanders." Margarete spoke almost in a whisper, but she raised her eyes to his, and he saw the fear. "Iona says we must take her to the lake to be..., cleaned? I do not understand, but I do not know what else to do." Her breath was coming quickly and he sensed her panic, though he saw how she struggled to master it. He made to reach out to her once more, but did not. "Iona has wisdom wi women's matters, and she... I will see that ye are nae interfered wi. Go." She turned away, glad that he said no more. They bundled Lise into a warm cloak, and found others for themselves. With Margarete on one side, Mary on the other, and Iona behind, they half carried Lise out of the chamber, out of the Hall, out of the castle Yard. It was the stillest and coldest hour before dawn. The night seemed deeper than any Margarete had ever known, and the place horribly alien. Iona guided them to the water. So docile was Lise that, once the rhythm of movement had begun, she had started to walk after a fashion. Still, Margarete and Mary were relieved to help her sink down onto the moss at the lake's edge. "Gather fuel for a fire," Iona said. "We'll need one after tae warm ourselves." As Margarete and Mary moved carefully about picking up twigs and dry branches, Iona knelt and coaxed a small fire into being. Lise hunched where she had been left, unmoving. For Margarete, the nightmare feeling persisted. She moved mechanically, relieved to be told what to do. As she dropped an arm-load of fuel in the heap beside the small flames, Iona said, "Enough; come. We must remove all o her clothes. Her wound and her woman's parts must be washed in the cold water. She canna do this by herself. She must be supported and helped. If she canna wash herself, ye must do it for her." Iona touched Margarete's arm. "Only ye could touch her so wiout increasing her fear." Later, Margarete would wonder at these words, puzzle over what Iona knew. In that moment however, it was all she could do to understand their meaning. Iona was saying that she would have to enter that icy water, in the middle of the night, to aid Lise in cleansing the residue of rape from between her legs. Margarete dearly longed to vomit. She had committed them all to Iona's care however, and she did not give herself time to think about what must be done. The three women first removed their own clothes, then pulled the docile Lise to her feet. She did not resist as they pulled off the cloak and the bloody night dress. Margarete felt with alarm that she barely shivered as the chill air touched her, unlike Margarete herself who was shaking violently. They were fortunate that it was a still night. Surrounded beside and behind by supporting bodies, Lise was propelled into the water. She gave no reaction as it reached first her ankles, then her knees. When it reached her upper thighs, however, she began to struggle faintly and try to stop, but Iona said from behind her, "Ye must enter the water and awaken." Ruthlessly, Iona propelled her forward. Taking their lead from Iona, Margarete and Mary continued forward by a fierce act of will, pulling Lise with them. As their footing began to slip from them in the deepening water, Iona gave Lise a firm push. Lise was propelled forward, and sank to her shoulders in the freezing water. She pulled in a deep, convulsive breath, then the air was rent by her piercing scream. Iona stayed close behind her and would not let her retreat. Lise pulled in another involuntary breath, and the scream was repeated. Again and again, the sound tore through Margarete like one of the blades that had brought violent death in the Great Hall. At first, Lise thrashed and tried to leave the water, but Iona blocked her each time. Finally, the screams gave way to an agonized, panting whimper, and Lise stopped moving. The icy water and her own frantic fear left Margarete no fortitude for tenderness. With Mary and Iona's help, she got her arms as firmly as possible around Lise, holding the other woman's body against her with all her strength. "Lise!", she got out, almost screaming herself into Lise's ear. "I am going to wash you." In that panicked moment, Margarete's compassion was overwhelmed by her gut-deep need to know that Lise's body at least, was cleansed of the evidence of the night's events. She reached a quick hand between Lise's thighs and began swirling water and soap fiercely around her vulva and between her labia. She was possessed by the single thought that all physical remnants of the vile act should be washed from Lise's precious flesh. After a moment, still gasping and crying out between convulsive breaths, Lise went limp, and opened her legs to the icy water, the soap, and Margarete. Iona lifted one of Lise's hands and drew it to where Margarete's was. The intention seemed to reach Lise, for she began feebly to participate in the cleansing movements. "It is enough," Iona said finally, and she and Margarete carried Lise from the water. "Rap her in this heavy cloak immediately, and hold her close tae your side tae share your warmth," Iona commanded, I will see tae the fire. When she had Obeyed, Margarete saw that Mary was only now emerging from the water. She seemed in no hurry, and was ringing out her long hair as she stepped onto the mossy ground. She came instantly to assist Margarete. When all four women were covered in the heavy cloaks, they clustered together with Lise at the centre and closest to the leaping flames. "She is weak," Iona said. We must stay close tae her until her shivering has stopped. A long time later, Iona moved a little away, and sat down facing Lise across the fire. Weary and drained, Margarete and Mary sat down on either side of Lise so that the four of them could each draw from the fire's warmth. After a long time, Iona said, "Your body has been cleansed. The best way tae cleanse your spirit is tae speak the words o what was done tae ye, then they too may start tae wash away." Lise stared back at her and maintained a stony silence. Margarete was weak with relief to see that, though still uncommunicative, Lise's face had lost the blank, empty look it had worn. Her eyes followed the others, sometimes focusing on the leaping flames. She shifted slightly where she sat, looked around her once, then rested her gaze on the fire, and said nothing. A long time passed, so long that Margarete, hypnotized by the sight of the flames, and exhausted, almost began to drift away into sleep. Into the long silence, Mary said, "If ye'll nae speak, then I will." Margarete's eyes jerked to her in surprise, but Iona and Lise continued to stare into the fire. "That nine-fingered swine who lies dead on the floor o the Great Hall is Rose's father." In the silence that followed these words, Margarete's weary mind had to repeat them several times before she understood. Before she had fully absorbed their meaning, Mary went on. "My husband and I were married nae more than a year before he was killed at the hands o the Macgregor's in a raid on the Laird's livestock. Ours was a good marriage. He was kind and gentle and... good tae be wi. Every day he would do me some wee kindness, and every night I was glad tae go tae bed early wi him. I stayed on in our distant cottage because I didna ken where else tae go, having nae kin here. About four months after his murder, the Black Macgregor came tae my cottage at night. Maybe he kenned I dwelled there alone, maybe he merely stumbled there by chance. In the same bed where I'd lain with my husband, he forced me. I had just barely started tae think that I could live properly again after the first rush o grief. Then that happened, and soon I kenned there would be a child. I chose tae keep the father's name a secret so as tae carry the shame myself, rather than let it pass tae rose. Were it kenned that her father was such a despised enemy, what kind o life could she hae? I swore tae keep the truth tae myself, and dawn the woolen cap which is the mark o shame. Tonight, seeing how matters stood in the Great Hall, I decided in that second, that the lie was ended. I could never hope for true revenge, but seeing what I saw, I chose to bare the shame nae longer, but tae lay it where it properly belongs. I dinna ken what this will mean for Rose, but I decided that my entire life was too much for him tae take from me." Another long silence followed Mary's words. Margarete was staring at her with wide, astonished eyes. It seemed incredible to her that she had never seen all of this, read it in Mary's face, or deduced it somehow. They were friends, but Margarete had seen none of it. "I had nae husband tae grieve for," Iona said quietly, "But I had kenned one man, and had found pleasure wi him. I was ever one for tramping around alone. One day, the Black Macgregor found me in a far field, and forced himself on me. At first, it seemed like a mere diversion for him, the way a man will grab a cup o wine as he passes a table in the Hall. When I fought him however, he responded wi great violence. I was a long time in healing from the injuries he gave me. The man wi whom I had lain before wished tae seek revenge, but I made him swear he would not do so on my account. I wished any vengeance tae come from none other than myself, and I didna wish for harm tae come tae any because o me, except at a time of my own choosing. One day, I chanced on him in a drunken stupor. I hacked off his finger, alas, the only part o him I could safely reach. Only once hae I practiced dark mysteries. I used his flesh. I canna ken for sure, but I hae heard rumors that the wound I inflicted never properly mended, and that it gave him more pain over the years than any such wound endured by another. Now he lies dead, one more, along wi his kin, tae make his home in the pit of Hell." The night wore on. To the East, the sky was beginning to lighten. None of the figures around the fire moved except for Iona, who fed the flames which warmed them. Shocking, out of long silence, came Lise's voice. It was almost unrecognizable, raw from screaming, and flattened by numbness. When Margarete had heard the first few sentences, she shifted abruptly as though to interrupt, sure that Lise had lost her reason; but Iona's hand shot out and grasped her arm in a hard grip, pushing her silently back, commanding her to hear to the end. "There were four of them. I'd seen them looking at me in the Common Room of the inn where we were stopped. We'd made a good wage, and were treating ourselves to rooms and beds in-doors for a change. We had left the Common Room, and were readying ourselves for sleep. We realized that no one had gone to check on the animals. There were our pack-animals, but also the performing animals which were part of our troop. Each night, someone must go around and ensure that all were safe, that cages were secure, that all had been fed. It was my turn, but I had forgotten. I thought little of going about alone at night, fool as I was. On my way back, one of the four seized me for their sport. They smothered my screams, and pulled me into a room they had paid for. They secured me, and had little to fear. I could not fight them, and there would be no one to avenge me, no father, husband or brother. This was not the first time they had done such an act. They reminisced about past exploits while they took their time abusing me." Margarete had listened to Mary and Iona with blank horror on her face. As Lise spoke, however, she pulled her knees to her chest and laid her head on them. As Lise's flat voice went on speaking the devastating words, Margarete's body was shaken by sobs of fear, anger and sickness. The hot tears fell under the curtain of her hair, but she made no sound. "When they had done, they simply let me go. One even threw a coin after me as though we had made a business transaction. I was injured, far more so than this time. I had vicious bruising on many parts of me from their rough handling. I also had been struck hard on the head when I struggled. I was unable to travel with the troop in the morning." There was a sudden movement. Margarete yanked herself out from under Iona's hand. She pulled herself away from the fire, crouched, and vomited the contents of her stomach on to the dry ground. The sound of her retching was loud in the stillness, but none came to comfort her, they simply sat, gazing into the fire, waiting for her to return. Slowly, she pulled herself back to her place at the fire, and sat as before, arms about her knees and head down, but no longer could she keep her sobs quiet. The rest of Lise's words were underlain with the gasping, wrenching sounds of Margarete's pain, sickness and grief. "They left me in the care of some sisters at the nearby religious house. They were very kind to me there, and when I recovered, I made my way until I found another troop to join, which did not take long. I learned to be cautious, to watch more closely. A generous man even taught me some basic skills to fight off a weak or unwary attacker, or an attacker far gone with drink. Four or five years ago, I would have been able to save myself easily from what befell me tonight. Those three in the Great Hall reeked with drink, and were unsteady, if strong. I should have been more alert, I should have heard them behind me, felt them approach. I should have been able to defend myself and raise an alarm, have saved myself from repeated violation. Instead, I lay still like a lamb to the butcher. I didn't even scream. So soft and weak have I become that I was an easy conquest. I thought that life as a genteel servant would protect me, so I stopped being careful. I was a fool." When Lise had finished speaking, the only sounds were the crackling flames, and Margarete's dry, painful sobs. They returned to the castle at sunrise. They drew many curious glances by their wet, bedraggled hair, and bleak, haggard faces. No one spoke to them, however, as they made their way toward Margarete's chamber. They reached it as Colin was coming out. He stood aside for them to pass. Their faces forestalled any questions he might have posed. He watched as Lise was half carried through the open door, his insides burning with shame and guilt. A woman had been abused most grievously in his own Great Hall, by his sworn enemies. His own wife had been menaced by the same vermin, and it had been she who had put a stop to the vile outrage. He tried to tell himself, as Owen had been doing since the women had left the castle, that the three perpetrators of the abuse were violating every code of honor. The customs of kidnap and ransom were so well established that no one had seriously considered that any would break them. Colin's guarding of the prisoner and his kin had been more to keep a safe distance between them, and his own folk, many of whom had deep personal grudges. Such a breech of honor as these three had committed was justifiably answered by their deaths, and none would question his actions. At least, he reflected darkly, none should, but doubtless, the kin of the three slain men would choose to be offended, and would seize this as an excuse for vengeance. From a good omen, the capture of the Black Macgregor had turned sickeningly into the harbinger of pain, grief, and the good God only knew what else. Lamas Night Since his killing of the prisoner, his mind continued to go in unusefull circles, and his innards contracted with guilt and anger. Had he acted with the hot-blooded impulsiveness of a true man, he would never have invoked the honor code by imprisoning the Black Macgregor. Instead, he would have run the bastard through and let his blood soak the stones of his Court Yard at first sight of him. But no, he must scheme and plan, and now more had come to know suffering at the hands of his enemies. He had not yet been able to look either Iona or Lise in the face. Before the door closed behind the sad procession, one figure hung back and came to him where he stood alone. It was Mary, though at first he could not recognize her. It was not only that heavy hair covered her shoulders and made a soft, unfamiliar frame to her face. It was also that her baring and aspect were entirely altered. She held herself straight and proud, and her blue eyes shone out of a face which bore a new vitality. Though obviously tired from a sleepless night, still, there was a weight lifted from her, and he registered with surprise that she was young and pretty. She came to stand before him, looking into his hard face. "My Lord," she said with quiet dignity, "Vengeance is a dish rarely tasted by women. Tonight, I sampled it when I had long given up hope. It has freed me from shame and fear. I will nae forget that it came tae me at your hand, by your blade." Colin's features twisted and his eyes went to the door, through which the other three women had vanished. "Too late I fear," he replied bleakly. She saw the guilt. From her newly discovered place of pride and strength, she wanted to find words to comfort him but could not. Finally, all she could think to say was, "Please tell Master Owen tae be patient. Such wounds are terrible, but they can heal. I saw how they were together at the fires..." Colin turned away with great bitterness. He too had seen how Lise and Owen were at the fires, and he had seen Owen's face as Lise was lead away by the women. He strode from the bed chamber and kicked out savagely, over-turning a heavy bench, and sending it skidding across the floor.