Lamas Night

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.