Authors: Bertrice Small
“Did you see how Ian looked at me?” Gruoch said quietly. “I am told he likes it best when a woman struggles against him. He is fair of face, but black of heart, I fear.”
“Yer a lass of my ilk, Gruoch. Ye’ll tame him, my daughter,” Sorcha assured her. “As soon as he learns he is to be a father, he will worship ye, even as will his father.” She shifted uncomfortably, and then swore, “Jesu! Maria! My waters have broken. My time is here again.”
“Let me help you, Mother,” Gruoch said, and with the aid of a servant, got Sorcha MacDuff to her chamber and onto the well-worn birthing table. “Fetch old Bridie, and find my sister,” Gruoch ordered the serving woman.
Sorcha groaned as the first of the spasms tore through her.
“What will you call this one?” Gruoch asked her mother in an effort to distract her from the pain of her labor.
“Malcolm, after the new king,” Sorcha said through gritted teeth. “And if ’tis a lass, I’ll call her Maire. Ahh, Jesu! The pain is fierce.”
Old Bridie, the midwife, arrived and said sharply, “Hush yer complaints, Sorcha MacDuff. This is your eighth labor, yer ninth child. Yer nae a lass haeing her firstborn.”
“Yer an evil old crone,” Sorcha said irritably, “and canna remember yerself the pain of bringing a bairn into this world. Ahhhhhh! Damn Alasdair Ferguson and his hot lust to hell and back!” she cried as Regan came into the room.
“I dinna know why the MacFhearghuis continues to climb into her bed,” the midwife said to no one in particular. “Surely he can find someone younger and prettier than yer mam. Twenty-eight is too old to be hae’ing bairns!”
Gruoch and Regan looked at each other and chuckled low. They agreed with old Bridie. The MacFhearghuis, however, could not seem to resist Sorcha MacDuff, despite her bitterness and vicious tongue. And though neither of the twins would admit it to another living soul, they had heard their mother crying out with pleasure and encouraging her enemy lover onward when he came into her bed. Those cries had been a part of their life from earliest childhood.
Sorcha MacDuff’s labors had always been relatively simple, but this time it was different. The hours went by, and still the child was not born. Finally, as a second day began to dawn, she bore a healthy son, but he was an enormous child, the largest baby they had ever seen. He fought his way into the world, red-faced and squalling with anger, his small fists flailing furiously. Upon the top of his head was a thick tuft of carrot-red hair.
Old Bridie placed the bloody infant upon his mother’s belly, cutting the cord neatly as she did so, knotting it tightly. “He’s a braw laddie, lady. Yer labors are well rewarded.”
Sorcha looked down at the howling child. Another Ferguson, she thought wearily. Another damned Ferguson! Jesu, she was tired. More tired than she had ever been before. She closed her eyes with a sigh of relief, barely feeling the last pains as the placenta slipped from her exhausted body.
The midwife set about her tasks, but she looked worried. When Sorcha had been cleaned up and tucked into her bed—and
raging Malcolm, as the infant was quickly dubbed, quieted and settled in his cradle—she motioned to the twins to follow her, and moved out of the lady’s chamber to the stairway landing.
“I dinna like the looks of yer mam,” she told them bluntly. “ ’Tis a look I’ve seen before. I think she is going to die. She is too old for such a hard birth. Ye hae best tell the MacFhearghuis.”
“But I am to be wed in five days’ time,” Gruoch protested.
“She might live that long,” Bridie said, “but then again, she might not. If ’twere me, and I wanted my mam there to see me take my vows, I’d marry in the next day or two.” Then the midwife shuffled off down the stairs, her duty done.
“
She canna die!
” Gruoch whispered, almost to herself. “
Nae now!
Nae when we are so close to haeing our revenge on the Fergusons!”
“What are you saying?” Regan asked, confused. She had never seen Gruoch like this before: so intense, so determined, so very much like Sorcha.
“I canna tell ye,” Gruoch replied. “Only our mam can tell ye. That damned old Bridie is lying! She’ll nae attend me at my births.”
“Bridie has nae reason to lie to us,” Regan answered quietly.
Gruoch took her twin by the hand and drew her back into the bedchamber. “Mam must rest first. Then she will tell ye. We must wait for her to awaken. Yer right, sister. Bridie has nae reason to lie to us. We must be here when our mother first stirs from her slumbers, before any others come to her.”
“Should we nae advise the MacFhearghuis as Bridie suggested?” Regan questioned her sister. “He will be angry wi’ us if anything happens and he was nae informed. Let me go to the hall and send a man for him.”
“
Nay!
” Gruoch said, her tone more vehement than Regan had ever known it to be. “If ye send for him,” her sister continued, “he will come at once. We will hae nae private time wi’ our mam,
and we must
!”
The sisters drew a small bench up by their mother’s bedside, waiting in the deep silence. There was no noise from the hall
below. Donald and the three next eldest of their Ferguson siblings had departed with their father and half brothers back to MacFhearghuis’s keep. The two younger boys would be with their nursemaids. Occasionally the new baby made little snuffling noises in his cradle. His mother lay as pale and silent as death. The twins sat biding the time away until suddenly Sorcha MacDuff opened her blue eyes, staring directly at her daughters.
“I am dying,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Aye,” Gruoch answered honestly. “So the old hag of a midwife says.”
“Ye must wed wi’ Ian Ferguson tomorrow,” Sorcha said slowly.
“Aye, and Regan must be told now of our revenge, of the part she will play in avenging our sire. There is nae more time to waste, Mam. How do you feel?”
“Weak, but I will live to see ye marry and avenge my Torcull,” Sorcha replied fiercely. Then she smiled at Gruoch. “Tell Regan.”
“Tell me what?” Regan asked.
“I am wi’ child,” Gruoch said calmly.
“Jesu! I dinna know that ye and Ian had … well, ye seem to be so shy of him. What a sly creature ye are, Gruoch. I would hae nae guessed! Does he know?”
“ ’Tis nae the get of Ian Ferguson, Regan mine,” her twin said in hard tones. “ ’Tis Jamie MacDuff’s bairn growing in my belly.”
“Ohhh, Gruoch!” Regan’s eyes were wide with shock.
“Did ye think I would let a Ferguson inherit MacDuff lands?” Sorcha growled low. “Did ye really believe that, Regan MacDuff?
Never!
’Tis a MacDuff who will inherit, and nae only MacDuff lands, but Ferguson lands as well! And the best part of it all is that the Fergusons will ne’er know it. They will believe the child Gruoch delivers in a few months is one of theirs! When that devil Alasdair Ferguson dies, Gruoch will whisper the secret in his ear at the moment of his death. He’ll go to hell knowing it, and unable to do a damned thing about
it!” She began to laugh, but her laughter grew into a fit of coughing.
Gruoch ran to fetch her mother a cup of strong wine, but Regan could not move for a moment, so overcome with consternation was she. It was a stunning revenge her mother had devised. It was subtle, yet complete. It had required a great deal of patience. Regan realized that her mother must be devastated to know she would not be here to witness the final culmination of her skillful planning. Then a thought struck her.
“Will Ian Ferguson nae know that Gruoch is nae a virgin when he first attempts her?” she asked. Sorcha had long ago explained the ways of men and women to the twins, although Regan had always wondered why she had bothered in her case, since she was to be a nun.
Gruoch put an arm about her mother and helped her to drink. When Sorcha had satisfied her thirst and quieted her cough, she said, “Ian Ferguson will hae a virgin in his bed on his wedding night, Regan. Ye will take yer sister’s place, although Ian will nae know it.”
“You canna ask such a thing of me!” Regan cried. “I am to be a nun. I must come to the convent of St Maire’s chaste. How can I swear chastity before God when I am nae chaste, lady? ’Tis true I dinna wish this life before me, but I hae nae choice. Will ye take away my honor before I leave Ben MacDui?”
“Yer honor?
Yer honor?
” Sorcha MacDuff mocked her daughter. “The Fergusons took away the honor of the MacDuffs before yer birth. They slaughtered yer father and many other good men in their rapacious greed for our lands. I never told ye exactly how yer da died. What did it matter how? He was dead to us, and could nae return. But I think ye must know, Regan MacDuff—ye who are so like him. The MacFhearghuis ambushed yer da and his men as they returned from a cattle fair. Yer sire was the last man standing, I was told, the last to be slain. The MacFhearghuis and his bandits brought my Torcull’s body back to me as a final insult. They hae carved F’s in each of his cheeks and upon his forehead. He was still the bonniest man who ever lived! Then Alasdair Ferguson gie me a
wee box. Inside it were three bluidy bits he said were yer da’s manhood. The bastard hae personally castrated my Torcull! It ’twas a wonder I dinna miscarry ye both in that moment, but I knew my duty was to bear the MacDuff heir and revenge my Torcull.
“I hae been patient,” Sorcha continued. “For thirteen years I hae been forced to take Alasdair Ferguson into my bed, between my thighs. I hae been made to bear seven of his bastards, and this last one hae killed me! Now when I lie upon my deathbed, within the hour of my revenge, ye would defy me, prattling childishly of yer honor? Well, Regan MacDuff, there is more involved than just the honor of our clan. Yer sister’s very life, and that of her child, are at risk. How do ye think the MacFhearghuis will react if he learns that Gruoch is nae the pure lass he believes her to be? He will kill Gruoch wi’out a single thought if he learns of it. Ye are yer sister’s only hope, Regan MacDuff. If ye dinna take her place in her marriage bed on her wedding night …” Her voice trailed off weakly, and she fell back upon her pillows.
“What if his seed takes root in my belly?” Regan demanded. “How will I explain that to the abbess at St. Make’s?”
“Our mam has convinced the MacFhearghuis to let you remain wi’ her and wi’ me for at least a month,” Gruoch told her sister. “If ye show any signs of being wi’ child, there is a potion that will bring on yer flow.” She caught her twin’s hands and looked up into the mirror of her own face. “
Please, Regan
,” she pleaded. “No one will ever know of this but you and I. Twill only be once. I know ye dinna want to do it, so surely God will forgie ye. Besides, in doing it ye save my life, and that of the bairn I will bear,
and
the MacDuffs will be revenged upon the Fergusons.
Please, Regan! Please!
”
Regan looked coldly at their mother. “All my life ye hae ignored me, and now ye ask this of me. Were it nae for the love I bear Gruoch, I would refuse ye,” she said bitterly, “but I will nae hae her blood upon my conscience. Ye knew that, lady. I curse ye for it!” Then Regan stood up and stalked from the room.
Gruoch felt the relief pouring through her entire being. “I knew she would nae fail us, Mam. Regan is a true MacDuff. She will sacrifice herself that our father be avenged.”
“She doesna gie a thought to my Torcull,” Sorcha said weakly. “She does it for love of ye, my Gruoch. I am glad that when I am gone, ye will hae her. Dinna let the MacFhearghuis send her away until ye are certain she is nae wi’ Ian Ferguson’s bairn. I will nae live the week out, I fear. Do what ye must, but keep Regan by yer side long enough to be certain she is not wi’ Ian’s bairn. No one must know of our revenge. It is enough that we know.” Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep again.
Gruoch MacDuff looked upon her mother. She was worn with her years of childbearing. I will nae let that happen to me, Gruoch thought to herself. Let Ian Ferguson populate the district wi’ his bastards. I will nae care, for I will be his wife, and my MacDuff son will inherit everything they stole from us, plus everything the Fergusons own as well. I shall be meek and mild, but I shall bear only the bairns I choose to bear. I shall keep Jamie MacDuff for my lover. If this child I am to have dies, then I shall hae another by my Jamie. If a Ferguson stands in its way, I shall see it sickens and dies. Nothing and no one shall prevent the MacDuffs from regaining their own, and more!
Gruoch’s twin sister would have been very surprised to see the look upon her usually lovely face. Sorcha MacDuff had trained her beloved daughter well. She might die in the next day or two, but Gruoch would not fail her mother. She would exact their secret vengeance upon the Fergusons because she believed in it, fiercely.
Regan had fled the tower house and gone down to the loch. The water was always soothing, but today even it could not bring her the peace she needed. That she had grown up without bitterness was a miracle and testimony to the strength of the human spirit. She knew nothing of love, or real kindness, and had therefore not missed them.
Regan had known from the time understanding came upon her that Gruoch was the heiress, the favored one, and she was to be a nun. But there had not been a priest at Ben MacDui since she was five. She knew little of her faith, or indeed if she even had a faith. She had heard various explanations of the life she was to lead. It did not seem particularly appealing.
She would live in a place with other women. They would pray a great deal, and do good works. Men were forbidden. When it was deemed she was fit, she would swear before this God she wasn’t even certain she believed in to lead a life of poverty, chastity, and obedience, before the head of the convent and all the other nuns. Regan sighed deeply. Lying was foreign to her, yet to protect her sister, Gruoch, she would have to live the greatest lie of all. Nuns were supposed to be virgins, and she would not be a virgin after she took Gruoch’s place in her twin sister’s marriage bed. Still, if she did not, Ian Ferguson would learn his bride was not untouched. The MacFhearghuis would, as her mother had said, kill Gruoch without another thought. Regan knew well the story of their birth and how old Bridie had saved their lives by promising the Fergusons that lasses could not harm them.