Chapter 11 Wedlock
Five gruelling days had she been walking alongside a silent, brooding knave without so much of a glimpse of another human being. Her patience had been worn as thin as the soles of her walking boots.
Mr Brute no longer seemed concerned she would run away. Perhaps he knew she would not survive on her own, penniless without the skills necessary to survive outside of the parlour of an estate. Miss Bingley's and Mr Darcy's long list of acquired accomplishments appeared particularly ridiculous, here in the forest that had turned from leafy—to the open heather moors—into a great old pine forest. The woodland floor beneath the prickly giants was brown and dead, not like the tickets at home that had grass and flowers growing underneath. Home...
She loathed the sight of his back with his long, unwashed hair tied in her ribbon. Yet she was scared to let him get out of her sight. When had it changed? He no longer paid her much attention, she could probably escape but for what reason? Starve to death?
Eventually, they must reach a populated area and she would know how to act. The Brute would not know what had hit him. She would scream until his ears hurt, she was not her mother's daughter for nothing; she had inherited the thin shrill voice. A feature she had taken pains to conceal by deliberately lowering her voice until it stuck and she no longer needed to think about it. Despite her valiant efforts, it still rose to the shrillness of her youth if she got excited or overly eager.
The forest ended in an empty glen with lush green grass on the soft sloping hillsides. It was magnificent. The gloom was gone, the hills sheltered them from the wind and a stream wove its way through the valley that the glacier once had left behind. The bourn came from a waterfall on the hillside. At the bottom, a pond had formed after years of wear from the cascade.
"You might want to bath in the pond, it has been days since we last had a chance to wash off the dust."
At her incredulous expression directed at him, he chuckled and continued. "We may take turns. I will promise not to look if you return the favour. I am not going to ruin mine nor your reputation."
"Do you not believe it is a little late for that, Mr Brute?"
"The appellation you have given me is getting tiresome, I suggest you change it. How would you like it if I called you Miss Missish?"
"In a case such as this, I believe the established mode is to acquiesce to your demand, regardless of how unwillingly it is bestowed. You may address me as you see fit. I have never desired your good opinion and you have certainly not treated me with any civility. I am sorry to cause pain to anyone, it has not been unconsciously done but it is up to you to make it of short duration. If you like, I may exchange brute for blaggard? I am sure it could be done."
Mr Brute was leaning upon a tree with his eyes fixed on her face. His complexion paled with every resentful word she uttered. The anger was visible in every feature on his countenance, struggling for composure. The silence that stretched on felt dreadful to Elizabeth. It was obvious he had no wish to speak until he had reined in his emotions. At length, with forced calmness, he spoke:
"Is this all the gratitude I am to expect after aiding you across mountains and moors? I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus treated? It matters but little, I suppose."
"Aided me? You have ruined me! Taken me by force from my friends. I am a gentleman's daughter, certain rules of propriety must be adhered to and you are forcing me to break them. Can you not see that no one will ever marry me when I have been sequestered away for days alone with a villain in the woods? We have even slept together! It will not matter if I have not been impaired. We were in too close proximity which does matter but that is not the worst. The worst is that my sisters will be tainted by association. Their reputations are ruined. I have four sisters and no brother Mr Villain. My father's estate, Longbourn, is entailed away from the female line which means that if none of us marries, we will be thrown into the hedgerows by my father's cousin who is the heir presumptive. You might wonder why I do not expect him to be charitable towards us poor females and let us stay at our childhood home but I spurned his advances, vehemently."
The villain chuckled, "I can well imagine. What did you say to him?"
"Nothing I would care to repeat."
"That is your misfortune, it has nothing to do with me."
Elizabeth harrumphed, flinging her arms in the air while she marched off to the bank of the pond.
"Well then," he called after her retreating form. "That is remedied easily enough, we marry, saving your and your sisters' reputation."
Elizabeth spun around on her heels. She had just had her suspicion confirmed. She had been kidnapped by a deranged man.
"Do not be ridiculous, even if you had carried me unconscious into a church, I am not of age."
He let his eyes travel over her person most disconcertingly like he was dismayed by what he saw.
"You look past sixteen to me, well passed, I should add."
Insulting and offending her seemed to be the order of the day but Elizabeth was not lost for answers.
"Yes, but the minority age is one and twenty, as you probably know," Elizabeth added in her most condescending tone of voice, rolling her eyes at him.
"Not here."
"Where is her, exactly?"
"Scotland[footnoteRef:1]." [1: Scottish 19th-century marriage law found on the University of Glasgow's website. ]
Elizabeth gasped and whispered; "Scotland? But why?"
"I live here, I am Scottish born and bred."
"You do not speak with a Scottish accent."
"No, I was raised by my English housekeeper."
The information was completely redundant, she was of no mind to acquiesce to his ridiculous demand, in this, at least, she had a choice.
"I am still not marrying you." She bent down to collect some water in her hands.
"You already have."
Elizabeth stiffened in an awkward position.
"What?"
Mr Nitwit left his tree and sauntered down towards the pond where she was standing by the edge, hunched to fill her hands with water to wash her face.
"In your home country of England, marriage is a religious sacrament but this is Scotland, no church is needed, a declaration suffices and I have just declared us married so therefore we are."
Elizabeth could have bit off her tongue. Her mother had been right for a change. Her often repeated lamentations over Elizabeth's sharp tongue would become her bane but she had been wrong that no man would ever marry her. A scoundrel of the worst kind had just made her his wife. Her wishes had not even been contemplated, he had just decided. Now, she had an even worse night to dread, her very unwanted wedding night. How could she have been so stupid? Would she never learn to curb her tongue?
Elizabeth decided that henceforth she would remain silent and not utter a word, perhaps, if she did not mention it, he would forget his husbandly rights.
Elizabeth had a fair idea of the concept of marital relations if not exactly the specifics. She was country born and bred after all. Although she had no experience in human interactions, what she had seen in the world of the beasts had left much to be wanting.
Her urge to clean off the sweat vanished. What was it to her if she smelled bad? A mitigating perk would be to put him off his advances during the night by a foul odour.
He did not follow her example. Securing her by marriage must have convinced him she was no longer likely to run away. He was right, of course, not because he had claimed her for wife but they were too far from civility to attempt it. She let him have his privacy, not even tempted to steal a glance at his unclothed form when she heard the splash of water.
#
"You are very quiet."
Elizabeth just scowled at him and continued to walk, she hastened along the path, hoping to gain terrain on him but his long, agile legs were no match for her shorter ones. He had no trouble keeping up with her, not even breathing hard while she felt sweat trickling down her temples. This was not working, she needed to think. Her father always called her his clever daughter, there must be something she could come up with that would discourage the nitwit from his set course. How could she change his mind? Perhaps by acting like she was not in her right mind or had some major flaw one could not overcome? She could think of nothing.
What was the most important aspect of marriage? Love!
"If you marry me, Mr Villain. You will not be free to marry the lady you love."
"I do not love any lady."
"You look like a handsome young man; you may still encounter a young lady to admire, more so than a stranger you found on a path."
"Look, lass. Love does not exist."
"Of course, it does. If your heart has not yet been touched by the wonders of infatuation and romance of a beautiful lady, you must have felt love towards the other people close to you like siblings and your mother and father."
"No!"
Elizabeth was taken aback by the vehemence in his rejection. Had she bungled it? Could he be an orphan with no siblings? A foundling someone had found on the church stairs? No, he had mentioned a grandmother, his ancestry must be known. Could he have been abused as a child? She had heard of parents that beat their children although she knew none herself. Her father had never laid a hand on any of his girls.
They passed a hill-ridge, the landscape opened up revealing a massive mountain formation, stretching as far as the eye could see. Thoughts of dread developed in her mind. Long days of climbing vertical walls of stone, sleeping on a ledge above a bottomless cliff with only an inch between herself and certain death.
"You cannot be serious!"
"The lady speaks."
Elizabeth glared at him.
"You will be glad we will have a roof over our heads tonight." He nodded to the left.
Behind the ridge, smoke was rising from a chimney. It was not so far to walk and better yet, it was inhabited. How else could there the fire be lit? This was her chance and she intended to use it.
#
The cabin was a quaint stone house, typically used for hunting. It took Elizabeth by surprise when it turned out to be inhabited by a small family. A young man and his wife with an infant in her arms, greeted them after Mr Brute had knocked on the door and the man bade them enter. Better yet, there was a stew cocking in the cauldron over the fire. It smelled heavenly after a week of living on cold bread and cheese.
In addition, the amiable couple might be her means to her escape. Elizabeth contemplated waiting to alert them to her predicament until they had eaten if food was to be offered. It might be an even better idea to try to speak to the woman clandestinely.
"Welcome home, laird[footnoteRef:2]." [2: Laird – A Scottish laird is not equivalent to an English lord. It is not a title of the peerage but an appellation for squires with significant land properties.]
"Thank you, Graeme. How is my deer?"
Was this it? Elizabeth wondered if this was Mr Brute's home. Graeme had called him laird which may suggest he was the landowner. She glanced around the one-room cottage with a bed in the corner. It was not much for one family, let alone two.
"Fattening up nicely by escaping my rifle, sit down," Graeme offered and pulled out a stool. "Iona will serve you." his face fell when he noticed Elizabeth behind Mr Brute. "Who have we here?" he asked, looking at Elizabeth with appreciation.
"Just a little something I picked up on the wrong side of the border."
Graeme laughed and slapped him on the back. "A pretty little something, I say."
"Possibly, I have no interest in her. I married her to save her reputation."
While the men exchanged greetings and wishes of felicitation, Elizabeth gravitated towards the lady of the house. By sheer luck or divine intervention, the menfolk ventured outside, leaving her alone with Graeme's wife, Iona.
"I am Iona, Graeme's wife. May I be the first to wish you joy?"
"I am Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire and you may not."
She heard the quick intake of breath Iona made and noticed she stirred her pot with more force than before.
"I have been taken from my friends and family against my will. I beg your assistance of freeing me from the brute outside." Elizabeth held her breath but Iona made no reply so she carried on, thinking an incentive may sway the lady in front of her in her favour. "I have no funds on my person but the garnet cross around my neck but I promise my father will pay you handsomely for your troubles and reimburse any expense have made on my behalf."
Elizabeth wondered if Iona had understood what she had explained, the lady's expressionless countenance belied that she had made herself understood. Perhaps further explanation was needed?
"I was kidnapped more than a week ago, strolling the grounds of my friends in Derbyshire. I have been forced to come here after he manhandled, gagged and tied me up. I would never agree to a marriage and I am not of age, in England, I might add."
"You look more than sixteen," Iona's voice was flat.
"I am not yet one and twenty. Will you help me?"
Iona met her eyes without flinching, she must agree or she would certainly have averted her eyes. Elizabeth did not feel too proud not to beg.
"I beg of you, please..."
Iona looked indecisive. Elizabeth sunk to her knees, grabbing the other lady's hand.
"Please?" Tears welled in her eyes from utter despair. Iona was a lady like herself, she could not be so heartless as to deny a beseeching Christian aid in her time of need.
The gentlemen returned, Elizabeth got to her feet and plastered a smile on her countenance. She did not want Mr Brute to become suspicious if Iona should decide to aid her escape. She had not replied but she might need to mull it over or come up with a plan before she committed herself to be of service. Elizabeth wondered how she herself would have reacted to such a request? She would probably have jumped the gun and given away their plan before it could be formalised. Iona was probably wise and good at keeping a straight face. Perhaps she needed some form of proof.
Elizabeth moved towards the door. If Iona could see that she was not allowed to walk freely, she would realise that Elizabeth was speaking the truth.
She opened the door and walked outside. Mr Brute did nothing to stop her, he did not seem to notice at all. She could probably run and no one would know for minutes, perhaps even hours? The door opened behind her, she turned in hope it was Iona who had cone to aid her return home—her face fell when it was the laird.
"Elizabeth! If you want a warm meal, you better come inside."
Perhaps he was not entirely ignorant of her movements, she must not be overly confident and wreak her chance. Besides, she was ravenous and the stew smelled delicious. Her escape could wait until her stomach was full.
Elizabeth partook healthy in everything that was on offer. With the stew, they had freshly baked bread and ale. Elizabeth had had nothing but water for what felt like an eternity. It tasted heavenly, just as good as it smelled. She ate until she could not get another bit down.
"I believe your wife is healthy in body laird if not completely right in the head. I wonder why you chose her?"
"There is not that much wrong with her head. She is a Sassenach; she does not know any better."
"Really? She tried to convince me that you had abducted her. Like you would even contemplate such a thing. Outrageous!"
"There is no need to worry, Iona. I intend to install her at Loch an Eilein Castle, she would be in nobody's way, in that part of the estate."
"Moira will not thank you."
"No, I suppose not but it cannot be helped. I have no need of a wife but she claimed to be ruined and her sisters by association so I did the honourable and claimed her for a wife. Not that she appreciated it but what can you expect from a Sassenach?"
"Not much," Graeme added with a laugh.
Elizabeth rose abruptly. "Excuse me, I need to refresh myself." She walked hastily out the door before she broke out into a run. Away from this unhinged world that made little to no sense. She did need to refresh herself and found not a single bush to hide behind. It could not be helped, she felt no shame for doing so out of doors. Her manners had dwindled by sheer necessity on the journey northwards.
Finished, she walked a few steps away. She folded her arms over her chest as she watched the sun set in the west, painting the sky in reds. A few clouds drifted by, ominous-looking ones were coming in from the north. There might be rain soon.
"Are you coming inside? We are about to retire for the night."
"No, I have grown used to sleeping outside. Besides, there is hardly room for the four of you as it is."
"Suit yourself."
Elizabeth wondered if Mr Brute would prove her right and force her inside the cabin but he did not. He turned and walked inside, closing the door behind him. Good riddance, Elizabeth thought until she noticed that the sliver of light the setting sun had afforded was now gone. It was not possible to cross this rugged, unfamiliar terrain with no light to guide her step. She must wait until the sun again rose above the horizon. If she slept outside, she would awake with the first rays and track back the way she came from.
It was nothing else to do but find shelter for the night but there was nothing but the cabin in any direction. There was grass and steep hills but not a tree nor cave to rest underneath in this barren landscape. She had no alternative but to lay down where she was. It was not the most comfortable bedding she had had but it was infinitely better than sharing a cabin with the hostile friends of Mr Brute.
The ground was cold and damp when she curled up in a ball under the black sky, saving as much warmth as she could manage. Her last thought was that she must awaken with the sun. She usually slept lighter and awakened early.
#
Elizabeth awoke to feel much warmer than she anticipated. She rose and noticed she was no longer laying on the ground but inside the cabin on a lumpy mattress on the floor. She rubbed her eyes and started when they landed on Mr Brute who was sitting on a stool, regarding her.
"I wondered when you would awaken. We must be on our way if we are to arrive before nightfall. It is nine miles through the Lairig Ghru. We will follow the River Dee for a while but you will need a flask of water for parts of the trip. Iona has offered you one of hers. You should thank her the next time you meet her." Mr Brute was speaking with a low voice as not to wake their hosts.
Elizabeth nodded although she did not feel any gratitude towards the couple, she was less inclined to wake them than Mr Brute. She tied on her boots and pulled her tattered coat together and sighed.
She must be thankful for small mercies, their location and indirectly, their hosts' proximity had given her one day postponement of her wedding night.
"Thank you," she whispered sincerely to the three sleeping forms in the bed in the corner.
Trudging after Mr Brute along the course of the River Dee was proving difficult with his much longer legs, the victuals he carried did not slow him down one iota. Iona had given them food enough for their journey, a blessing to be appreciated along with the landscape. The barren-looking mountain pass was not utterly bare up close. The flowers scattered over the ground were tiny but beautiful.
Walking over a field of boulders, Elizabeth noticed that there was still snow, resting on the summits surrounding them. There were even a few patches along the trail that she stepped gingerly around. No wonder she was freezing in her day gown and thin coat. The wind was mercilessly beating down on her, penetrating the fabric and chilling her to the bone.
Walking on the unstable stones demanded a lot of her attention. They tipped as she stepped on them, she must be careful, a sprained ankle on this remote route across the mountain would be disastrous.
"Your lips are turning blue; you should hasten your step to keep warm."
Elizabeth hardly knew if she should laugh or cry. She was walking as fast as the terrain would allow.
"Perhaps you should leave me here to fend for myself, I do not mind."
"And let you freeze to death?"
Elizabeth did not answer, with her fatigue growing, the outcome no longer seemed as dire as it would a few hours ago. She was tired of walking, freezing and planning her escape. It no longer mattered as much as it had in the past.
"I no longer feel the cold," she admitted. It was true, a strange warmth permeated her body like a burn more than warmth. The pain had relented which she was grateful for but it did concern her that she could no longer feel her toes.
Mr Brute was regarding her strangely, a crevice developed between his brows before he wrenched off his coat and wrapped it around her. It was so long it dragged upon the ground but Elizabeth was too tired to care about the state of his apparel.
In the distance, a lonely man with a mule and a cart came walking towards them. She could see him long before they met. It gave her something to focus on, an opportunity to escape...
As he came closer, she saw that the man pulling the cart was an elderly tradesman not of a stature to overcome her captor. In addition, they knew each other.
"Laird Eilein, what a pleasure to see you. I wondered if I could have some merchandise that might interest you?"
"What do you have?"
Mr Brute shook the tradesman's hand peered into his cart. He had a thick woollen shawl Mr Brute bought while questioning if his housekeeper had bought certain other items from the traveller. Satisfied he would have all he needed when he got home, he bid the tradesman safe travels and removed his coat to wrap Elizabeth in the shawl.
"That should keep you warm," he mumbled more to himself than anyone else before they resumed their brisk pace.
The trail flattened out into a well-trodden path, they crossed narrow bridges over raging rivers and small streams before arriving at a small wooden shed.
Mr Brute ventured inside, making Elizabeth wonder if this was were his home or if it was another hunting lodge. As much as she loathed the thought of living in a shed, she was too tired to feel appalled by the thought after traipsing for hours in the rugged terrain.
Inside, the shed held a table, three stools and a cot in the corner. Otherwise, it was bare of anything that would suggest it was inhabited. There were no linens on the cot nor any pots or pans to cook a meal.
Mr Brute took off the saddled bag he had strapped on his back and pulled out some food and drink he had been given by Iona. It was lovely to be out of the wind but Elizabeth soon turned cold. Why she tried to hide her trembles from Mr Brute, she could not explain but her abhorrence towards showing him any weakness. Ridiculous, as he already knew her biggest flaw, her fright of heights. She was not prone to suffer from cold weather but the wind had a sting to it that she had never experienced before. Had the sun perked out from the clouds, it may have been a more pleasant journey but the large celestial object had been sheltered by clouds that thankfully had not released its dampness upon them.
They ate in silence. Elizabeth did not want to ask how far they had left, mostly because she dreaded the answer.
"We better get going if we are to arrive while there is still some daylight."
"Where are you taking me?"
"To Loch an Eilein."
"What and where exactly is that?"
"You will see when we get there."
Mr Brute packed his saddlebag and strapped it to his back. Elizabeth waited as long as she dared before rising stiffly from her stool. What would he do if she refused to take another step? Would he throw her over his shoulder and carry her the rest of the way or would he leave her here in this barren outpost of society?
Too tired to be wise, she hurried up to his side.
"What is it you want from me?"
He halted abruptly and looked at her like she had grown to heads, more bewildered than offended.
"Nothing!"
Elizabeth snorted. "Excuse me if I find that hard to believe. I wonder why you would take the trouble of dragging me halfway across the country, mostly on foot only to claim we are married if you want nothing from me."
"I never lie, disguise of any sort is my abhorrence."
Elizabeth laughed; it was a hysterical cackle rather than an expression of amusement. Mr Brute made absolutely no sense.
"I beg your pardon but if that was the case, you could have left me at the Hunting Tower where you found me."
He turned away from her and resumed his walking.
"It was nothing personal."
"Nothing personal? How could you possibly make abducting me, into something that is not personal?"
His mouth set into a grim line and his jaws were working again but he did not look at her. He kept his gaze trained on the path ahead. They were walking downhill into a Caledonian forest with tall majestic and ramrod straight trees. Elizabeth thought it was no wonder Mr Brute haled from this area. He reminded her of the trees with brown, broken and dead branches at the bottom of the trunk with prickly needles to the top. In between hung pine cones like little parcels of treats for the small red squirrel she had caught a glimpse of. He was a conundrum, a desolate knave with confounding redeeming qualities. He had not needed to buy her a shawl if she was of no worth to him. He had married her but not importuned her person with any advances one might expect from a husband.