“He’s awfully big, is he no’?” Beitris had asked Mared in a fearful tone of voice one afternoon after they had “happened” to encounter him in Aberfoyle. The man seemed to have that effect on all the young women around the lochs, Mared had noticed.
You must, she wrote to Miss Crowley, remember that polite conversation will take you only so far. A man should like to know that he is well thought of, and that he, above all others, holds your coveted esteem. Remember too that a man enjoys the chance to be gallant, but you must create an opportunity for him to be so, for rarely are men so clever, left to their own devices, to create such opportunities. Perhaps you might drop your linen in his company, or fumble with your parasol and allow him to rescue you….
Mared was fond of Beitris, she truly was, but sometimes Beitris seemed rather dense when it came to flirting. She had not, Mared surmised, been courted outright.
Not that Mared had been courted outright, either. There was not a man around the lochs who wasn’t deathly afraid of her, given the blasted curse that followed her, but she’d witnessed the many colorful and courtly romances of her brother Griffin, who had, with varying degrees of success, she heard tell, attempted to bed almost every lass in the lochs before he went off to London and brought back a wife. That made her reasonably well versed in the mechanics of courting…at least more so than Beitris.
She finished her instructions to Beitris and sealed the letter with a drop of wax. She then gritted her teeth and picked up her pen.
The Honorable Laird Douglas, Greatest Ruler in All the Land…
Perhaps a bit dramatic, but she hardly cared. She wrote on, requesting the honor of calling on his cousin, Sarah Douglas, who, according to gossips in Aberfoyle, had come to Eilean Ros for the summer.
Mared’s eyes narrowed as she read her letter one last time. Satisfied that her writing revealed nothing more than proper civility, she sealed it with a drop of wax, put it carefully on her vanity, and blew out the candle. As she slipped into her bed, a smile curved her lips.
She didn’t give a damn about their agreement. She’d not marry that man.
How could she? Marrying him would be admitting defeat, and she was not prepared to do that. Besides, her dream of returning to Edinburgh was very much alive within her. It was that dream that had sustained her in the last few years.
She’d spent a fortnight in Edinburgh ten or so years ago, before the family fortune had begun to disappear. It had been a magical place, teeming with people and arts and it seemed there was a soirée or gathering every night. Yet the best part about it was that no one in Edinburgh knew of or believed in old curses. They treated her as a person. Not like here in the lochs, where everyone looked at her as some sort of witch.
She’d even had a pair of potential suitors in her short time there, and was convinced that, in Edinburgh, her whole life would change.
No, she’d not marry Payton Douglas and remain in the lochs all of her days, where her life was so wretchedly confined. Every word she uttered publicly was guarded, every path she took hidden from superstitious eyes. It would be a joy to live in Edinburgh. It would be a joy to simply live!
Mared fell asleep thinking of Edinburgh. But she dreamed she was walking along the banks of Loch Ard, in the company of a young man with golden hair who smiled at her and stole kisses from her. They walked until they came upon a rowdy crowd. When Mared moved closer to see what they were shouting about, she realized that they were to witness an execution.
She looked up to the gallows and with a start recognized the first Lady of Lockhart, the beauty who had sacrificed all for love. Her hands were tied behind her back, and she was kneeling at a chopping block.
Next to her was her lover, Livingstone, with a noose around his neck.
As Mared watched in horror, the executioner hanged her lady’s lover. And as he twisted beside her, they lay the Lady of Lockhart’s head on the block. As the executioner lifted his blade, she screamed, “Fuirich do mi!”
Wait for me….
The blade came down and Lady Lockhart’s head dropped to the ground and rolled to Mared’s feet. Mared screamed and looked around for her beau, but she was suddenly alone. Yet her scream had drawn the attention of the crowd, and they turned on her, recognizing her as the daughter of Lady Lockhart. The accursed one, they said. Spawned by the devil and left to live with the devil.
“A daughter born of a Lockhart will no’ marry until she’s looked into the belly of the beast!” an old woman spat at her, and the crowd began to chant that she must look into the belly of the beast as they advanced on her.
Screaming, Mared ran with the murderous crowd on her heels. She ran until she reached the river, where the crowd kept coming for her, until Mared fell in. The water closed over her head and she sank to the murky bottom, struggling to free herself of her clothing. But she couldn’t hold her breath, and she was choking for air.