Dark Birthright, a tale of old Scotland

Jessie Hay

Chapter One, "Prologue"

Northeast Sea Coast, Whinnyfold, Scotland   October 31, 1619

        The midwife wrapped the child tightly, opened the door, and walked a path to the stone cottage where Jessie Hay lived.  It was the last day of October and the wind from the sea was bitter cold.
        Maggie had been a midwife for forty years, and never witnessed such brutality.  No one knew the young woman who came on horseback, showing signs of labor.  Her body was dark with bruises and rope burns marred her wrists.  She gave birth, held her son tenderly, and whispered something in his ear.  Then she bled to death.
        Maggie’s heart ached as she walked the stony path.  How could a man beat his pregnant wife?  A fierce wind blew the skirt about her legs, chilling her to the marrow.
        The small boy snuggled against her bosom, lifting her spirits.  He was seeking a nipple, a good sign.  “Poor laddie,” she crooned. “What will I do with ye?”
        Maggie’s head throbbed as she considered the possibilities.  The stranger never spoke her name, so it would be impossible to find her husband.  Even if she could, would she want to?  The man had beaten the lass nearly to death.  He might blame her for the woman’s demise or accuse her of sorcery.  Her inner voice insisted that the child live.
        She prayed for divine guidance.  “Goddess, help me. Am I doing the right thing?”
        The blanket was thick with the smells of birth, blood and mucous and the rose-like scent of newborn skin.  It spoke of life.  Her first idea seemed right.  Close by, a fishwife named Jessie Hay nursed a newborn son.  Perhaps she would have enough milk for this wee orphan.
        She arrived at the woman’s door and hesitated.  What would she say?  Jessie was a good friend and fellow healer.  For years she’d been childless, even called barren.  It might please her to have two sons.  Maggie knocked.
        Jessie opened the door and the midwife entered.  The cottage was dark, but for the glow of the hearth and a single candle.  Jessie held baby Ian in her arms, stroking his red hair.  She laid him in the cradle.  “What have ye got there, friend?”
        Maggie shifted her bundle and uncovered the lad’s face.  “Poor child, he’s shivering.”
        Jessie’s eyes widened.  “Let me feed the fire.”  She stoked the fire with a bundle of peat.  “Whose child is this?”
        Maggie took off her shawl and sat at the table, holding the precious bundle.  She was weary to the bone.  “Sit with me, lass.”
        Jessie left the hearth and joined her.
        The midwife stroked the child’s face.  “His mother came on horseback, showing signs of labor.  She was a lady.”
        Jessie’s brow knotted.  “How did ye know?”
        “Her clothes and shoes were well made, of silks and fine leather.”
        “Who was she?”
        “I asked her name, but got no answer.  The lass removed her ring and pressed it into my hand.  Payment, I suppose.  I put her to bed and made ready for the birth.”
        Jessie leaned forward to get a glimpse of the baby.  “The child looks good. What happened?”
        Maggie’s throat tightened.  “Her arms were dark with bruises where a man’s hands grabbed her.  He’d taken a belt to her legs, leaving great welts.  I wondered how she rode that horse.”
        Jessie’s eyes widened.  “What kind of devil would beat a woman with child?”
        “That’s not all!  I saw rope burns on her wrists; she must have struggled.”
        “Poor lass.  Did she say who did this?”
         Maggie frowned.  “Nay. She wouldn’t tell and she didn’t cry out, though the birth was hard.  I would have thought her dumb if she hadn’t spoken to the child.”
        “What did she say?”
        “She held him so tenderly and whispered in his ear.”  Her voice cracked with emotion.  “Oh dear.”
        “Please friend.  What did she say?”
        “Poor little one, yer father must never find ye.”
        Jessie shuddered.  “Mercy! What happened to her?”
        Maggie glanced at the blood under her fingernails.  “She’s dead. The afterbirth came and the bleedin’ wouldn’t stop. There was nothing I could do.”
        They were silent for a moment.
        Maggie searched her eyes.  “Take this child. I’ll swear he’s yer own.”
        Jessie bit her lower lip gently.  “Let me see him.”
        They placed the infant on the table and uncovered him.  The wee lad shivered as they counted fingers and toes and admired his black curls.  He was perfect but for a birthmark on his shoulder that looked like the head of a stag.
        He fussed as they wrapped him, sucking his lower lip fiercely.  Jessie picked him up and responded to his search for a nipple, nursing him until he fell asleep.  When she put him in the cradle, the children stirred and touched each other.
        Jessie smiled.  “Two sons. My husband will be pleased.”  She touched the lad’s cheek.  “Wee stranger.  We’ll name ye Dughall, after my own dear father.”
        The midwife was relieved.  “Bless ye, lass.”
        “Maggie, can ye tell the child’s fortune?”
        “Born on the day of the dead.  This child will have the Sight.”
        “You said that about my son Ian.”
        “Aye.”
        Jessie frowned.  “I must know the truth, and don’t tell my husband.  You know how he feels about the old religion.”
        The old midwife hesitated.  Did she dare tell a fortune?  Her body was weary, and her emotions were raw.
        “Please, friend.  I must know if we’re to keep him.”
        Maggie took a breath.  She touched the lad gently between the eyes, until her mind filled with a vision of another time.  Two men rode horses along a dry riverbed.  She reached out with her other hand and touched Ian between the eyes.
        “This is not the first time these two souls have been together.”
        “Tell me, Maggie.”
        “Wait, lass.”  She closed her eyes.  “They were brothers during a time of death and destruction.  I feel love and admiration, and something else.”  Maggie saw a vision of what had been, and touched Ian’s crown.  Will ye stand by him this time, or let him die?  Pain and regret flooded her senses, and she pulled her hand back suddenly.
        Jessie was startled.  “What do ye see friend?  What shall this child bring?”
       The midwife hid her true feelings.  “Sweet lass, he will bring ye luck.”  Maggie pulled on her wrap and left the cottage, tears falling on her cheeks.  She would tell no one.  Her mother had been hanged a witch for less.

Alex Hay

Chapter 02 "Fisherfolk"
North Sea Coast, Aberdeenshire, Scotland , November, 1619 (one week later)

       For the second day, two fishermen paced the beach looking for a break in the weather. The sea was a mass of white-capped waves, breaking in foam against the shore.
       Alex Hay shivered in the wind. He feared he would miss the birth of his child, and prayed that his wife would survive. "God help us! How long must we stay in Broadsea?"
       Robert coughed into his mitten. "Watt says we can stay as long as we like."
       "The child was due last week! I have to get back to my wife."
       Robert frowned. "Hmmphh... It's your boat. We'll sail tomorrow and hug the coast."
       Thunder rolled and rain fell in torrents. Alex grasped his shoulders. "Thank ye, friend. I won't forget this."
Icy rain dripped off their wool caps as they hurried back to old man Watt's.

***

       They headed south at dawn, clinging to the shore. Black clouds tumbled like the sails of their boat and lightning streaked to the mountains at Braemar. The air was close, breathing an effort.
       Alex was tempted to put ashore. The specter of death rose before him, as the men struggled with the sails. Reckless, he thought. I condemn these men, as I risk all for her.
       The sea was fierce and the wind bitter. The scaffie struggled in six-foot waves, water spewing across her decks. William was pitched into the water, pulled under and tossed up aft, screaming as a wave pinned him to the hull. Alex held Robert's belt as he hauled the lad out, cold as ice, but alive. Frozen and weary, they sailed past Cruden to the Bay of Whinnyfold.
       Alex felt his heart stop. The lone figure of Maggie waited on the beach, her shawl wrapped tightly about her. "Trim the mainsail!" He cried, struggling with the rudder.
       The boat sailed on a starboard tack close to the wind, then into a port tack. Robert dropped the sail and they entered the narrow channel, hitting the beach.
       "Thank God! Pull her higher and tie her off."
       "We'll take care of the 'Bonnie Fay'." Robert said. "Go to her, man. Ask about your wife."
       Alex climbed out of the scaffie and ran to Maggie, desperately trying to read her face. She shivered in the wind, her lips a shade of blue. He feared the worst. "My wife?"
       Maggie smiled. "She's well. You have two fine sons."
       "Two? Two sons! God answered our prayers." He hugged her. "You're like ice. Go home and get warm."
Maggie shivered. "I'll come back to gut the catch."
       "Nay bother. There's not much. We were held up in Broadsea with bad weather."
       "Go to your wife, lad. She needs ye."
       Alex helped his men secure the boat, telling them about his sons. Seagulls screamed above, threatening their meager catch. With frozen fingers, they loaded it into a creel.
       Robert lifted the basket onto his back. "Storm's coming. Go to your lass, man."
       "Thank ye, I will." Alex brought a burning finger to his mouth, sucking the spot where a hook pierced his skin. He walked the beach, thinking of his wife, a bonny lass with hair the color of burnished copper. "Ah, Jess." he sighed. "You're so fine to me."
       Five years had passed since they wed, and they hadn't lost their need for each other. The only thing they lacked was a child. Now she'd given him two sons.  "They'll never call ye barren again."
       Alex walked up the steep path and approached the four rows of cottages. With aching legs, he passed Maggie's house and looked to the right. Jessie stood outside their cottage, a plaid wrapped around her. She ran to him.
       Alex pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "God in heaven."
       "Husband, I have something I must tell ye."
       His voice was husky. "I know lass; you've given me two sons."
       The fog rolled in, rendering the air as damp as icy water. He could see their breath. He wrapped the plaid around them, holding her close until he felt her heartbeat. For a moment he was lost in her touch, body-to-body, and soul-to-soul. They separated and with heads bent against the rain, walked to the cottage.

***

        Inside, Alex sat on a stool and took off his thigh boots, letting the water drip out. "I'm almost too tired to undress, lass." He stood and took off his coat, breeks, and flannel jersey, laying them over a chair. Water pooled under his feet.
       She handed him a towel. "You're dripping."
       He ran his fingers through his long brown hair, shaking off the water, and pulled on a dry pair of breeks.  
       "Did everything go all right, husband?"
       "Nay. We almost lost William, but he's all right. We were up to our knees in icy water on the way home."
       She held him close. "Oh, Alex."
       "I'm alive and whole. I want to see the lads." He stood at the cradle and admired his sons. "Come to your father, wee ones."  Ian was awake, balling his fists and kicking the blanket.
       Jessie smiled. "He won't break. Slip a hand under his neck and the other under his bottom."
       Alex picked up Ian and cradled him in his lap. The child gripped his finger. "He's so like you lass, with fair skin and red curls. A sturdy boy, he'll make a fine fisherman." Ian frowned and sucked his lip. "You dinna like fish?"
       "Give him to me. He needs to nurse."
       Alex gave her the child and watched in awe as she lowered her shift and offered her breast. Ian calmed as the nipple was found. Alex's heart swelled. This was his wife, his son.
       Jessie looked up. "I'll need Dughall soon. Wake him."
       Alex went to the cradle and picked up the sleepy boy. Dughall stirred and opened his eyes. "A wee lad, but still a precious gift. His hair is dark like mine." His voice cracked with emotion. "Your father loves ye."
       "What's wrong, husband?"
       "Nothing, lass." He gave her a long look. "A man should be strong about these things."
       Jessie smiled. "It's all right. When my brother was born, Father cried in front of us all. Sweet are the tears of a man who has held his newborn son."

***

       That night in bed, Alex held her tenderly. She nestled her face in his neck, rested her thigh on his and trembled. Alex placed a hand on her chest and felt her heart beating wildly. It was a silent signal between them. He slipped her shift over her head. "Lay back love."
       Watching the candlelight in her eyes, he ran a finger across her cheek and pressed it to her lips. Jessie laid back, arms grasping the pillow. Alex kneeled above her, admiring the fullness of her body. She was his wife, the mother of his sons. Knowing that his pleasure was tied to hers, he stroked her body until her breath came in gasps. "Are you sure lass, it's not too soon?"
       "I need ye, husband."
       He was swept away in a sea of sensation, her scent, her spirit, the love in her eyes.  Alex pressed his body against hers and felt their hearts beat in unison. Struggling to control his passion, he made love gently. "God in heaven. I love ye lass. You've given me two sons."
       "Husband, there's something I must tell ye."
       He stroked her hair. "Two sons. They'll never call ye barren again."
       "But Alex."
       "Shhhh... My life is complete. Tell me tomorrow."

 

Dark Birthright

Mystery... Romance... and Violence in 17th century Scotland

Read about the characters   Order a signed copy