Summer of Love (39 page)

    
The three young men responded with a cheer and filed out of the room.
Dougal closed the drapes, plunging the room into semi-darkness. He cast
a last stern glance at her and muttered: "You behave. I meant what I
said."

    
He locked the door behind himself and checked vigorously that it was
secure.

    
Helen was alone. The air felt stuffy, almost suffocating. The gloom in
the room was depressing. Her spirits suddenly hit a low. There, she had
planned every detail, but had forgotten about her father. If she had
thought of it, maybe she could have dreamed up a scheme to distract
them, such as hiring a few sailors to engage her folks in a fight, long
enough for them to get away. But now it was too late. She might as well
cooperate with them until they departed from Glasgow. Did Andrew get
safely to The White Heron? What was he going to do? The answers
evaded her. She felt terribly alone, even more so than when Andrew had
just left with the constable. At least then she did have control over what
she could do. Now she was helpless, at the mercy of a father who saw his
honor sullied by her actions, and exposed to the hateful spite of Robert.

    
She could hardly shift without the cloth strips cutting into her. After
a while, her arms went numb. Her bottom and back began to feel sore and
then started to hurt. The room was completely dark. How long had she
been tied to the chair? She had lost all sense of time, except that now her
bladder also began to feel uncomfortably full.

    
She was sorely tempted to call for help, but thought better of it. Her
father hadn’t been kidding when he had promised to punish her. He
would do it, in front of Robert, her brother and her cousin. Having them
witness her punishment, particularly Robert, would be almost worse than
the punishment itself. She could already see the glee on his face. It
increased her sense of vulnerability.

    
How I hate that man!
The thought of being forced into marrying him
made her gag.
I’ll never consent. I’ll rather die… I’ll kill myself first.
She
fought her despair by thinking of Andrew, reliving the happy moments
they had shared. But the present asserted itself time and again. She
became suddenly aware of how deeply she loved him, and silent tears
rolled down her cheeks.

    
Slowly, the pressure on her bladder became unbearable. How much
longer was she going to be cooped up here? Loud steps on the stairs
announced that somebody was coming. Should she call out and ask for
father?

    
The footsteps stopped at the door. Somebody fumbled trying to insert
the key into the lock, mumbling to himself.
Oh no, it’s Robert… Not him!
What does he want?
After what felt like minutes, he finally managed to
open the door. The oil lamp in his hand blinded her for a few seconds. He
closed the door, put the lamp on a holder on the wall, and then stood in
front of her, grinning. His small eyes were a clear sign that he had drunk
quite a bit already. He didn’t hold his liquor well, she remembered.

    
"Just checking on my future wife," he mumbled.

    
Her instant reaction was to tell him sharply to forget about that idea,
that she would never consent, but she curbed her ire. With her bladder
asserting itself ever more urgently, she needed his help right away.

    
"Robert, I have to relieve myself. I can’t hold it any longer. Please,
untie me." She hated herself for having to beg him. It gave him power
over her, exposing her to his need for controlling her.

    
His grin broadened.

    
"Please, Robert."

    
"I don’t know if I should." He was swaying back and forth, having
difficulties to keep straight. "Maybe just the legs."

    
"I can’t do it with my hands still tied to the chair." She was getting
desperate.

    
"All right, I’ll untie the hands and tie them again in front."

    
He clumsily loosened the knots. It took an interminable time. Finally,
her arms were free. She rubbed them to get her circulation going again.

    
"Come, hold them out in front so I can tie them again."

    
She complied. She wasn’t sure she could hold out long enough to
argue with him. Somehow she would have to manage with her hands tied.
After another two or three minutes, her legs were free. She rose gingerly,
not trusting them, and walked stiffly over to the chamber pot in the
corner.

    
"Will you please leave the room until I’m done?"

    
"Oh no! I won’t let you out of my sight."

    
She couldn’t argue with him. So, she cowered over the pot, spreading
her skirts as best as she could away from it, closed her eyes so that she
didn’t have to see his leer, and urinated. It made her again aware of her
extreme vulnerability. It had felt completely natural to do it in front of
Andrew. But not being watched by this oaf! She was grateful that she
hadn’t worn one of Andrew’s underdrawers. When she got up and looked
at Robert, he was still grinning gleefully.

    
"Satisfied, you swine?" It was out before she could stop herself.

    
His face turned red. He advanced threateningly. "Who’s the swine
here? You or me? You fornicating whore cheating on me while I slave
away building our cottage!"

    
She instantly regretted her outburst. Vulnerable as she was, it was silly
to provoke him. He grabbed her roughly and shoved her backward. She
stumbled over the edge of a mattress and fell on her back. Robert came
slowly down on top of her, but she deftly turned, avoiding him, and was
back on her feet, retreating into a corner. He staggered up too and
followed her.

    
"If you come any closer, I’ll yell."

    
"No, you won’t. You know what your father promised if you do, and
he’ll believe me when I tell him that you took advantage of me when I
tried to be nice to you."

    
He is probably right.

    
Robert came closer, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. His
glazed eyes expressed a dogged, almost wild determination. Leaning over
her, he suddenly grabbed her hair with one hand and pinned her to the
wall, while the other lifted the front of her skirts. For a moment, she was
stunned. He was going to rape her! Then she remembered Rose. She
pulled her knee up sharply, aiming for his crotch. The tall man was
completely unprepared. It crunched hard into his balls. He gasped; his
eyes almost popped out of their sockets; both hands reached for his
genitals, and he fell to his knees, hollering like a wounded animal. For a
few seconds, she was terrified. Then she jumped into action. Maybe she
could escape. She rushed to the door and opened it. The sound of several
people running up the stairs greeted her. Too late! She closed the door
again and sat on the chair, waiting for them to enter.

    
Dougal stormed into the room first. He looked at Robert, whose
hollering had subsided into a pitiful groan, then at Helen.

    
"What happened?"

    
"He untied me so that I could relieve myself and then he tried rape me.
So I kneed him." She was surprised how calmly she could say that.

    
At first, a silly grin crossed Dougal’s face, then it turned an angry red.
Towering threateningly over Robert, he snarled with controlled restraint:
"You stupid fool! You know damn well that we cannot afford trouble
now! Could you not wait for another few days?" He turned to Robin and
Fergus. "Take him downstairs and fill him with whisky."

    
The two did not react, both staring at Helen with a mixture of disbelief
and admiration.

    
"Did you hear me?" roared Dougal.

    
They lifted Robert up and almost carried him out of the room. Dougal
began retying her legs to the chair.

    
"Please, father, not so tight. My limbs went all numb."

    
He ignored her plea.

    
"Why did you have to make a fuss? You said yourself, you had it off
with master Andrew before you were wed. Couldn’t you let him have his
way?"

    
She was outraged at his suggestion. For a moment she was lost for
words. "You don’t understand, do you? I love Andrew. Nor would he
ever force me."

    
"You gave in to him!"

    
Doesn’t he see the difference?
"No, I didn’t. I wanted it myself."

    
He slapped her. "You slut."

    
"I see, it’s all right to give in when a man wants it, but it’s not all right
to do it out of love."

    
"Be quiet! Robert will get his way in a few days, whether you like it
or not."

    
"I will never marry Robert. I hate him. You cannot make me."

    
"We will see, lass. We will see."

    
He undid the cloth around her wrists and tied her arms again to the
chair. Then he pushed the chair against a wall and said: "No sound,
remember! And now go to sleep, if you can. It will be a long night."

17

Andrew landed hard on the pavement.
I should have helped her, not save
my own skin,
he berated himself! … But didn’t she shake her head when
he wanted to jump? Or did he just imagine it? And what will they do to
her? He felt suddenly sick with anxiety.

    
"Hurry, sir," urged Owen.

    
One last uncertain look to the top of the wall, and Andrew sprinted
after the boy, who had already gained thirty or forty feet on him, running
as fast as his short feet would carry him. At the High Street end of the
close, the boy looked back. Nobody pursued them, so he halted, catching
his breath.

    
"Wait here, sir. I quickly check whether it’s safe."

    
He went into High Street and disappeared to the right. Andrew
adjusted his peruke and set his hat again to shade much of his face. He
straightened his waistcoat. His heart was still pounding, but not so much
from the run, but from fear for Helen. He should have followed Dougal
to discover where they took her. He turned back, but had hardly gone two
steps, when Owen reappeared and called: "This way, sir," beckoning
him.

    
"I have to go after them. I have to know where they’re taking Helen,"
he answered over his shoulder.

    
"I’ll do that later on. First I must bring you to a safe place. Come, sir,
we can’t tarry any longer." It was said with such authority that Andrew
complied. Maybe the boy was right.

    
They crossed High Street and immediately ducked into the closest
alley.

    
"Boy, where are you taking me?"

    
"I’ll tell you later, sir. Just follow me," he whispered, dipping his head
a bit to the side, pointing at the people chatting in front of several
doorways. Then, he added with a smile: "Your lady trusted me."

    
"So will I then."

    
Soon they turned right, parallel to High Street. At Gallowgate Street,
Owen again checked if the road was clear before crossing it to duck into
another alley. He repeated this procedure another two times, crossing
Saltmarket and King Streets. Once past Stockwell Street, he took
Andrew’s hand, saying: "Like this people will take us as father and son,
sir."

    
He looked up with a mischievous smile, and Andrew could not help
but respond warmly.

    
"I’m taking you to The White Heron, sir. That’s where your lady hid
with your horses these last few days. She’s an inn near the wharf. You’re
quite safe there, especially if you don’t show your face in the tavern.
Rose has everything arranged."

    
"Who is Rose?"

    
"Rose runs The White Heron. I guess she belongs to her."