Chapter 12 Eilein Castle
Elizabeth noticed the turrets of a castle protruding in the distance, hidden behind the tall pine trees, wondering if it was where they were heading. In this part of the forest where the trees stood barely a foot apart, the floor was brown and dead. It is a landscape she had read about in her father's geography books but not seen before her abduction from Pemberley.
"It looks eerily unfertile."
"There will be mushrooms here soon," he, contra indicatively, replied.
Coming to a junction in the path, she prayed Mr Brute would turn to the left stile, leading towards the castle, the first truly inhabitable building she had seen since she left Pemberley's Hunting Tower. It was not to be, Mr Brute turned right down a steeper path. It was not an alternative route to the castle but led down to a glittering lake where trout leapt above the surface. At the bank lay a quaint little rowboat.
Elizabeth squealed as he lifted her effortlessly from the ground and carried her into the water. She feared that he was going to force her to bade when he turned to the boat and deposited her on the cross beam to sit. The boat almost cantered as he stepped on board, his boots and trousers were dripping wet.
He grabs a pair of oars and rows them out to the island where a smallish brick castle is taking up most of the isle. It is not far from land and the trip is over in a few minutes with Mr Brutes strong strokes of the oars.
A lady with a tartan wrapped around her came running down to the bank to greet them with a pair of mastiffs barrelling in her wake. She looked not much older than Elizabeth, her fair hair was braided and snooded into a perfect picture of a Highland beauty. She appeared somewhat reserved when she discovered slumped and fatigued figure of Elizabeth who had hitherto remained hidden behind her captor's broad back. The additional guest was not her primary concern though.
"What brings you to my neck of the woods, Mr Fitzwilliam or should I call you the Wolf of Braeriach."
The Brute's countenance erupted in a grimace most would describe as a smile but Elizabeth knew better. He hunched down to greet the ecstatic dogs, rubbing them behind the ears.
"Is the laird not allowed to come home, Moira?"
"Certainly, but he rarely drags a Sassenach lass with him to the Highland. I guess you are wed?"
"Yes!"
"No!"
Elizabeth scowled at the nitwit. He was the one who had pronounced them husband and wife. Now, he wanted to recant?
"You said we were married! That in Scotland, all you need was to pronounce you wanted to be wed."
"Yes, but you did not concede. We are not such brutes here in the Highlands that we force a reluctant lass, both bride and groom must agree," the simpleton pronounced.
"I believe you are married if the lass believed you were wed, laird," Moira claimed with a scowl directed towards Elizabeth.
Elizabeth had just realised that she could have walked away if she had not spoken prematurely.
Mr Brute's name had finally been revealed, Mr Fitzwilliam the Laird of Eilein or was he the Wolf of Braeriach? Was she thereby Mrs Eilein, Mrs Fitzwilliam or Mrs Braeriach? She was beyond caring at this point, all she wanted to do was eat and sleep.
"She smells, how long since you have had a bath, lass?"
"I hardly know," Elizabeth admitted shamefully, bowing her head. She had walked, climbed and slept for more than a week without so much as a morning ablution nor a change of attire.
"She needs a hot bath, I thought she would keel over through the Lairig Ghru."
"In these clothes?" The lady looked appalled. "She needs something more suitable to wear in the Highlands. Where is the rest of her clothes?"
"I have none," Elizabeth interjected annoyed she felt like she needed to defend what had been no fault of her own.
"No clothes?"
"I am loath to repeat myself but I have nothing with me but what you can see on my person. I suspect you would not believe me if I told you I was abducted by that brute over there." Elizabeth inclined her head towards the laird.
The lady laughed, "you have chosen a funny one. I understand why you brought her here to me, I will see what I can do with the fabric I have but you might want to ride over to Aviemore and get a more refined fabric for her undergarments."
Laird Eilein looked appalled, making Moira laugh.
"Mrs MacGregor will need a list, I shall write one with the particulars while I warm up the water. I need more water and firewood for a bath."
"Thank you, Moira. I shall fetch the firewood and water."
To Elizabeth's surprise, Laird Eilein brought the wood himself and returned to the well for more water. She looked around. The castle, if it could even be deemed as such. It was on the small side but surely there must be more servants than the one maid? No one was about at the moment but it was late. They must be done for the day she reckoned and walked inside to the blazing heat of the kitchen where her bath water was brought to boiling. Moira filled the pitcher and opened the door to a shelved storage room adjoining the kitchen. Laird Eilein brought another two pitchers.
In the middle of the room stood a metal sitting bath. Elizabeth looked wide-eyed at Moira. She could not mean that she was having a bath next to the kitchen? There must be chambers upstairs more suited to the purpose?
"I do not bother carrying the tub and water up and down the stairs when the kitchen is here. The chambers upstairs do not have hearths so to save myself a lot of trouble, I have placed the tub in the storage room," Moira explained.
Elizabeth followed Moira into the room where her bath was being filled.
"It has another perk with the back door," Moira pointed at the door. "It leads outside which is convenient for emptying the water when you are done."
Moira emptied her pitcher and handed Elizabeth a wash ball she probably had made herself. Not exactly the translucent, flower-scented Pear's soap she was used to from home but it would serve its purpose. Elizabeth could not resist smelling the ball and discovered it had a pleasant scent.
"Do you need any help undressing?"
"No, this is one of the walking gowns that I chose because I could dress without a maid. Never had I envisioned spending more than a week in it..."
She would try another approach to free herself this time. By letting Moira get acquainted with her, she must see the truth and aid her escape or at least not hinder it. She pulled off her day gown, stiff with dirt and sweat.
"No, I suppose not. I would suggest that you do not bathe in your shift, the water would get dirty. I will bring you a gown and robe to wear while I clean and dry your garments. There is a woven linen towel on the stool over there to dry yourself off."
Elizabeth looked at where Moira was pointing.
"Thank you," she uttered while waiting for Moira to leave.
"I need your shift too—to wash it."
Elizabeth hid in the corner by the door and untied the ribbons on her shift, stepped out of it and handed it to the maid. She had foregone her stays on her morning ramble, meaning that she had none to wear the upcoming days but she had not planned to leave Pemberley without changing her attire. She overlooked the disapproving glance and waited for Moira to leave her.
The maid stared at her with wide eyes, making Elizabeth feel exceedingly uncomfortable until Moira left her to immerse herself in the lovely warm water. The tub was not big enough to duck her entire body under the surface but washing her hair felt divine. Her matted tresses would need a lot of combing.
She could hear Moira and Laird Eilein speaking in hissed tones amongst themselves. Moira wanted to know if she was a relative of Laird Eilein's aunt. To her surprise, he answered her "sort of". He must know something she did not because she was certain there was no Eilein's, Fitzwilliam's nor Braeriach's in her family before she remembered Mr Collins patroness, Mrs Knightley's aunt. She was named Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was she not? Elizabeth knew through her cousin's incessant chatter that the great lady was the sister of the current Earl of Matlock whose family name was Fitzwilliam. Could the laird of Eilein be a distant relation of the Darcy's of Pemberley through Lady Catherine de Bourgh? It made sense since he had found her at their estate.
" Have you beaten her!"
Elizabeth gasped at the accusation. Was Laird Eilein known for his violence? It would not come as a surprise after he had grabbed her at Pemberley and forced her away from her loved ones.
" Certainly not!"
"Why is she brown and yellow from her bosom to her stomach?"
Elizabeth looked down at herself. Moira was right, she bore the visible signs of healing bruises that were of some age and had turned yellow and brown in hue. She had not even known. It must have happened on the gruelling ride from Pemberley when she lay on her stomach over the horse's back.
" I honestly do not know! It is not my doing. It must be those monsters at Pemberley who has beaten her. What could they have done to make her frightened of admitting it?"
In that he would be mistaken, Elizabeth thought, it was entirely his doing.
The voices moved away to some other part of the house. Elizabeth refocused on the task at hand, washing under her arms made her realise that she was sore because the soap stung, she would never go as long without washing again. She would have to steal a soap before leaving. Her feet were another matter in need of attention. Blisters had ruptured and her skin was wrinkly and flaking. She needed some cream but she dared not call out to Moira.
Elizabeth did not rise from the bath before the water had grown cold and Moira entered with a shift, robe and a pair of woollen stockings. Thankfully, she left and let Elizabeth dry herself and donned the garments. She walked into the kitchen but nobody was there. She followed the voices to a great hall. Not that it was especially large but she thought that was what the big room in an old castle like this was called.
She found Laird Eilein and Moira chatting amicably over a cup of tea, looking very domestic and relaxed. It was obvious to Elizabeth that the maid did not fear the laird.
"I wondered if you might have a comb to lend me?"
"Oh my, you certainly look like you need it. Come, I have lighted the fire so that you may dry your hair. The comb is by the heart."
Elizabeth sat obediently on the stool that had been pulled out for her use. The comb lay on top of it and she sat down and started working the teeth of the comb through her curls. It was gruelling work with such long hair and massive amounts of curls. It may look like the hair reached the middle of her back but when the curls had been worked out, it reached her derrière.
It was disconcerting, sitting there in nighttime attire being stared at by a maid and her husband. The socks itched and the linen shift was much coarser than what she was used to. She took her time, letting the comb ease through her hair. When she was done, it would be time to retire. At his home with, most likely, a comfortable bed to sleep in, her days as a maiden were probably over. The thought nauseated her.
"I must be off if I am to utilise the last light. I trust Elizabeth in your care, Moira."
Elizabeth was startled and did not manage to reply before Moira let her displeasure be known.
"You cannot leave her here!"
"I must, for the time being, until I have figured out what to do. At least I know she will be safe..."
Elizabeth was dumbfounded, he did not live here yet he was leaving her behind with a lady Elizabeth had thought was the maid? Might she be another kind of employee? The kind that you put up in a house to have at your convenience outside the sanctity of marriage? He was too cruel. For a short moment, she had attributed him with some human qualities. Then, he proved he had none.
Laird Eilein rose from his chair and made Elizabeth a bow she did not see. She had let her hair fall like a curtain around her face, concealing her expression from the other occupants of the room. She could see it clearly now, it had all been part of his plan. 'Do you know how to swim?' The question must have had a more sinister meaning than forcing her across the river. He must have wondered if she would be able to escape Eilein Castle. He would surely take the only boat to shore and leave her here with his mistress who probably did not want competition for Laird Eilein's attention. The tale she had been told about the marriage laws of Scotland was probably all a lie. She was doomed to stay on an ancient, run-down castle, surrounded by water with no chance of escape, ever...
Elizabeth heaved for breath, her throat felt taut and unyielding. Her eyes stung while an excruciating pain seared through her torso. She doubled over; certain she was about to perish.
Angry words were exchanged outside, Elizabeth hoped that Moira was able to carry her own because she was of no use at the moment. The pain did not relent, sweat formed on her upper lip as she hunched down. She must have hurt herself, when she was strewn over the horse's back and now it was bleeding?
#
"Beware, Laird, she might have a lightness of foot but she has left you with a deep imprint."
Moira turned her back to the infuriating man and walked into her home. Her guest sat crouched on the stool where she had left her. She hurried over and got a good look at the pale countenance and the sweat trickling down her temple.
She hurried to the kitchen and poured a tumbler of rum with a few drops of laudanum; it cured most diseases.
"We must get you to bed, lady Eilein, but drink this first."
Elizabeth felt a tumbler be put to her lips, she sat up to swallow the foul liquid and coughed as it burned down her throat. Where she found the energy to pull herself up the stairs, doubled over, she knew not but there was a comfortable bed at the end of it. She curled up and either fell asleep, fainted or died. She cared not as long as the pain would go away.
#
Elizabeth awoke in the morning, feeling just as tired as she had been when she lay down the previous evening. The pain was gone but was usurped by a gnawing hunger she had no choice but to quench.
Her day gown hung on a chair at the end of the bed, clean and dry. She dressed and went downstairs to find Moira. She found her, busy baking bread in the kitchen. They were done and she was taking them out of the oven. Moira chuckled when she saw Elizabeth.
"The smell of freshly baked bread can raise any patient. Are you well this morning, Lady Eilein?"
"Yes, thank you, I am much improved."
Moira seemed the quiet sort as she did not initiate any further conversation and Elizabeth could think of no topic to discuss.
Moira hummed as she set the table for them both, a little odd, thought Elizabeth but she sat down and they ate their meal in silence. It was not the feast Elizabeth was used to from home but it tasted heavenly and she was not so spoiled that she needed ten courses to be satisfied.
When they had finished, Moira tidied up after them while Elizabeth just sat there watching. She did not know what to do with herself or what she was allowed to do. She thought nothing could be done under the watchful eye of Moira and she craved company, even if it was a silent one. The humming was pleasant, reminded her of Jane when she picked flowers in the garden to decorate their table.
Elizabeth startled out of her reverie when Moira barked a: "come". Elizabeth dared not but follow. She was led out into the small courtyard where the mastiffs ruled.
The castle consisted of a tower, hall block and some small outbuildings mostly for storage. The only animals on the island were the chickens and the two dogs. The castle took up more than half the island, the rest was overgrown with trees. The overall impression was that it bore the signs of some neglect in that area. Otherwise, it was well maintained but old much older than Longbourn and much smaller although they both were surrounded by a body of water, Longbourn had a moat.
"How old is the castle?" she dared ask Moira. They strolled the small circuit of the island which was done in mere minutes.
"It was built in the 13th century by the bishops of Moray but was rebuilt by Alexander Stewart, the Wolf of Badenoch who obtained the Earldom of Ross by forcing the widowed heiress, Euphemia, to marry him[footnoteRef:1," Moira recited as rehearsed rather than with any feeling. [1: History of Eilein Castle found at the website: the castles of Scotland.]
Interesting how history had a tendency to repeat itself, was Elizabeth's first thought on that matter. She was by no means the first nor the last lady who was forced to wed a disagreeable man.
"They lived apart, and when the bishop of Moray criticised and excommunicated Alexander, he retaliated in 1390 by burning down Forres, city and the cathedral of Elgin."
Another likeness, they lived apart. Elizabeth wondered if it was Alexander or Euphemia who had lived in the Castle an Eilein.
"It has since been held by the Macintoshes, the Gordons and the Grants. It was attacked by Jacobite's in 1690 but was successfully defended until the Battle of Culloden in 1757 where fugitives were sheltered here by Grizel Mhor. The widow of the fifth Lord of Grant and a Jacobite herself. She was Laird Eilein's maternal grandmother."
Moira stopped and gestured towards the water.
"There is the old causeway but as you can see, the water level in the lake has since risen and flooded."
Dually noted, Elizabeth thought and wondered by how much body of water the causeway was submerged beneath. It could be a possibility as she could see it with the naked eye but she knew water could be deceitful, tricking the eye that the depth was shallower than it was.
They had completed the short stroll around the island. Moira did not deem it necessary to show Elizabeth the outbuildings but continued inside to show her the vaulted basement. Elizabeth pondered if the mention of the five feet thick walls was to be perceived as a threat.
The great hall, who had high ceilings stretching to the roof while the kitchen and storage room had the first floor above it. That area she had already seen, contained two smallish chambers of which she had one and Moira the other. There was no reason for either to invade the other's domain.
Instead, they headed for the tower who contained a chamber on the ground and first floor while the second and upper floor was a kind of observation room. A reminiscent of the olden days when fiendish attacks were more common.
Elizabeth approached the narrow window crisscrossed with lead and supported herself with her hands on the window sill. The lake was not so very large, an accomplished swimmer could probably cross it, of which she was woefully unequipped. She let her eyes travel the edge. The forest surrounded the lake in every cardinal direction, looming over her, making her feel restrained by an unseen force.
She left abruptly and strode to the window on the opposite side of the room. Upon the hill above the lake, a much larger castle rose above the treetops in the not so far distance. She counted at least five chimneypieces and the tower was of a more modern square form. It was too beautiful to be hidden behind trees, she thought before a thought struck her.
Elizabeth gestured towards the castle.
"Is that where Laird Eilein resides?"
"Yes, and my mother and father. My mother is his housekeeper in the main house and I am the housekeeper here at Eilein. My father is Laird Eilein's grieve[footnoteRef:2]. We grew up together you see, we are about the same age and there are not many children in the area." [2: Grieve – Scottish equivalent to steward or estate manager. ]
Moira explained like some form of excuse. Elizabeth had many children of which to choose from in Meryton yet she more often than not opted to play with the Lucas brothers as her sisters. The boys' games were much more fun in Elizabeth's mind, she smiled. Moira turned abruptly and left the tower. Elizabeth heard her rapid footsteps tapping down the stairs. Was it her smile that offended the housekeeper? She could have done a lot worse, Elizabeth admitted, if she had voiced any of the thoughts she had had last evening of Moira's imagined affair with the laird. Heaven forfends if she had voiced that thought aloud.
#
Two quiet days passed, Moira proved not to be much of a conversationalist. To her defence, she was rather busy with her chores and should not be unduly disturbed.
Elizabeth acknowledged that if she was to run away, she needed to regain her strength from the gruelling journey north. If it was to be repeated in a southward direction she also needed more and warmer attire. It was the middle of August but up in the Highlands, the days and nights were much colder than in Hertfordshire. If she had not known better, she would have guessed it was October[footnoteRef:3]. Hopefully, Laird Eilein would soon return with the fabric so that she could get started on the most pressing attire. [3: Temperatures and climate of the Highlands are found on the website: essential travel guide. ]
Another undertaking she needed to do was to enhance her prowess on foot. Known for her fondness of walking, the trip north had proven her constitution to be less capable than she would have thought. Neither did she have a horse which would lengthen the time it would take her to arrive home. Elizabeth decided to practice diligently by the only alternative available to her, walking the edge of the island like a caged animal. On her umpteenth round, she halted at the causeway and lowered herself to her knees. The water was crystal clear, it would not cause any trouble to see where she was going but how deep it was needed to be explored. She rolled up the sleeve of her gown and stuck her hand into the water to measure the depth. If she had thought so far, she would have found a stick to test the depth of the water but the endeavour led to a disconcerting discovery. The waters were cold. Perhaps, her hands were warm from her exercise?
Elizabeth untied her boots and pulled off her stockings. It was worth a try... She stepped into the ankle-deep water and hissed. Taking another step made the water rise an inch above her ankle, exposing her poor joint to the chilliness. It felt like someone was stabbing her with thick needles. The cold was actually painful, she could not countenance another second and leapt back on dry land to rub her poor feet back to life. With one gown, she would surely succumb to the cold if she made it across the causeway. She needed an alternative solution.
The Lucas boys had made a sort of makeshift raft to go down the river Lea, made of tree trunks tied together with rope. Her mother had fainted when she spotted the then five-year-old Elizabeth on top of the wobbly conveyance. If she could find some rope and an axe, she could build a floating device.
Elizabeth started with the outbuilding, closest to the water. It was locked but the next was not, she opened the door and peered inside, there were garden tools but no axe nor rope. The tools were unsurprisingly rusty. Elizabeth closed the door behind her.
"Lady Eilein, I presume," an unknown female voice called out. Elizabeth stiffened and turned slowly towards the interloper. It was better to err on the safe side in a foreign territory. Even she knew that the English were not particularly popular in Scotland. That she was rewarded the unflattering appellation Sassenach had not escaped her on the evening of her arrival.
The lady coming towards her was an older version of Moira whom she really should address with her surname. Perhaps she was acting standoffish because Elizabeth showed her too little respect for her position. Elizabeth would remedy that as soon as she learnt her surname.
"I am Mrs MacGregor, the housekeeper of Càrn Gorm Castle and Moira's mother."
"A pleasure to meet you, I am..." What was she? The title Lady of Eilein she was could easily forego altogether but she doubted the lady in front of her would acquiesce. "Elizabeth..."
"I have brought you some fabric for your wardrobe. I understand you need everything?"
Something in the tone of her voice and the gleam in her eyes made Elizabeth believe she knew how she had come to be here but adversity and recent failings had made her wiser. She would tread carefully. A glance out over the lake revealed a man rowing the boat towards the mainland. They must perceive her as a flight risk since they did not trust her with a boat on the island. The MacGregor family must be in on it and contribute to her captivity. She would not let a warm smile and civil manners persuade her otherwise.
"Yes, I have only what I am wearing at the moment."
Mrs MacGregor clucked disapprovingly. If it was at her or her lack of attire, Elizabeth did not know.
"Come, I have much to show you."
Elizabeth trailed after Mrs MacGregor into the hall where bolts of fabric lay on the long dining table.
"I have arranged with the linen drapers to return what you don't like, Lady Eilein. Take your time and decide at your leisure."
"What if I have a specific colour in mind, would it be possible to dye any of the fabrics?"
"It is, Lady Eilein. Eilein's colour is blue, dyed the old fashioned way with woad. I will make you a dress for special occasions in the Eilein colour but for your everyday wear, it is entirely up to you to choose the colours."
"Then I will wear black."
"Only black?"
"Yes."
Elizabeth had an idea it would be easier for a widow to travel south unaccompanied than a maiden. Besides, it perfectly accentuated her mood. She was in a sort of mourning she supposed. Grieving being ripped from her family and friends by a blaggard—she certainly felt little joy.
The arrival of the fabric had the additional perk of giving her something to do. As long as there was light enough to see, she worked tirelessly on her attire, only occasionally taking a break by strolling the short circuit of the island. The days floated into a routine of sort where Mr MacGregor rowed his wife to the island in the morning and came back to collect her around the midday mark. After that, it was she and Miss MacGregor who inhabited the island alone.
Miss MacGregor was not much of a talker and Elizabeth was deliberately quiet, barricading her heart against any attachment. It served no purpose to befriend Miss MacGregor nor her parents when she would leave, never to lock back, as soon as an opportunity presented itself. She steeled herself, focusing on sowing her much needed warmer garments. One would never guess it was still summer judging by the highland temperature but she was adjusting. The air no longer felt as cold as it had when she arrived. If she thought the hall a little chilly in the mornings, she stepped outside for a few minutes, when she entered it felt much warmer than the outside.
Laird Eilein, she had not seen in a fortnight. September had arrived with pleasant days. The overcast skies cleared and the sun warmed the castle and its inhabitants during the day.
The traditional costume Mrs MacGregor made for her was created in hand-spun wool. It was warm in addition to beautiful but it would draw too much attention after she had crossed the border into England. The two day gowns she and Miss MacGregor was making would appear much less auspicious after she had dyed them black.