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Holding the weeping woman struggling in her arms Muriall screamed at him, ‘You bastard – I’ll kill you – kill you.’   Baring her teeth she let go of the mother lunging at him with her sword tip now pointed towards him.   The force of her thrust knocked him down. Together they rolled in the dirt and ashes of the ruin, the man narrowly escaping a fatal blow as her sword bounced off his chest armour.  The mother now screaming like a banshee leapt on him, fists flailing giving Muriall the advantage.  Snarling, clenching her teeth she yelled as she leapt to run him through only to feel herself lifted away. Guy’s voice rang out, ‘Don’t Muriall – don’t hang for him.’

Still kicking, trying to escape his arms she cried, ‘He killed a child Guy – an innocent lad – I’ll murder him, run him through.’

Wresting the sword from her, he helped her back on her horse. ‘Muriall – my braw brave girl – save yourself to help others. Tis all we can do now.’

Muriall put her head in her hands and wept. As she wiped away the hot tears, she saw another child lying on the ground, her tiny body battered by horses’ hooves.  Kicking her horse into a gallop she rode over to the Captain, who was still on his horse watching the heart-wrenching turmoil, she said.  ‘You will rue this day Captain – don’t talk to me of duty – this is evil – the slaying of innocents.’  

He turned a weary head to her, his eyes glittering, ‘He will pay for that act madam.  Tis not our choice; this day will burn in our hearts.  The order was not to shoot death into the crowd.  That blackguard will not live to see the night – that I promise you.’  

Muriall turned her head to see the man now manacled, led out of the fighting.

CHAPTER 3
3

Jessie moaned, as if in pain, her body writhing between the sheets. Rivulets of sweat rippled down her face, running in beads onto her chest. She was living a nightmare – Muriall had reached out once more and drawn her into the shocking reality of the Clearances. Part of her wanted to stay in the dream to see if Muriall and Guy could help the victims, the other part of her struggled to escape experiencing the sheer cruelty meted out to the helpless tenants. Thrashing her arms, she fought to escape, to gain consciousness.  Forcing her eyes open, she blinked away the sweat, feeling her clothes wet to her skin.

Swinging her legs off the side of the bed Jessie rose to walk to the bathroom.  Switching on the cold-water tap, scooping up handfuls of cold water, and bathing her face, she looked into the mirror, seeing the violet shadows beneath the eyes, the horror in her gaze.  Had that really happened?  Had a landlord or estate owner been so callously cruel as to rip people from their own homes, burning them to the ground? Did he ever feel remorse for those wretched people, innocent law-abiding citizens and defen
s
eless children?

They’d paid the rent, goddamn.  Where were the laws to protect them?  Jessie remembered the grim faces of the soldiers and something else in their eyes, a dreadful flatness, as if they were trying to blank out the devil himself.  How did they feel as their horses stamped on the fragile bodies of the children, on the mothers trying to save them?

Why was Muriall showing her these gut-wrenching scenes?  Did she want retribution?  But, how could Jessie help two centuries later? It had all happened – there was nothing she could do. It was like watching the appeals on television for Somalia, sending money only to know that thousands of pounds would be swallowed down the ever hungry throats of corrupt governments.   It was too late for many of the helpless starving children.  Even now in a century where technological advances challenged mortality itself, famines broke out.  Even now, there were worlds of extremes, of celebrities earning millions, of children in the ghettos starving – dying. 

Was Muriall showing her because she wanted her descendents to know what she suffered? What Scotland suffered?  Pouring herself a glass of water, she began to drink, only to find herself slipping back into the dream.  No, this couldn’t be happening.  Powerless to resist, she felt the trance, numbing her body, her mind, as she slumped in the chair.

Within hours not one cottage stood.  After the departure of the soldiers, the former tenants picked among the smoking ruins.  Muriall worked alongside the evicted tenants.  Nearby Guy and the men, hurled debris aside helping those half buried under fallen doors and rubble.  Added to their despair, on the estate owner’s orders, no help was to be given them from neighbours in the adjacent village. They were to leave the estate for the coast before night. 

Not even the children or babies were to be offered shelter.  The stricken villagers now faced a night without food on the roads. 

Muriall, her face and clothes grimy with dirt and ashes saw a small cavalcade arrive. She managed to smile as Meg along with some servants arrived with a cart laden with food and clothes and bedding.  It was mutually decided to ignore the estate owner’s orders and to build a habitable space in the ruins with doorposts serving to hold a roof of branches and turf. At least, that way they would have a couple of days to plan what they might do to survive the roads.

As night fell, so tenants from a neighbouring village crept in unseen to help.  The stricken victims sat with hearts broken in the ruins of what was once a beloved family home. The remains of cherished kitchen dressers served as benches on which to sleep. These people through the toil of their own hands had enjoyed
a
certain prosperity, but even that did not save them when the estate owner claimed the very land on which the cottages stood.

Muriall watched Meg handing out food, whilst she provided the half-naked villagers with warm clothes but sadly, there were not enough to go around, the villagers' own clothes and bedding having been destroyed in the tumbling. Muriall waved a weary hand to Guy, and others helping the men to try to build makeshift dwellings, chopping up branches, heaving loads of rescued turf.  At least that would give them some shelter against the cold and rain of the night hours.  

Dawn ushered in Hell.  The soldiers were back to drive them from the very ruins. Again, with no warning, the broken people awoke to the thrum of horses’ hooves and the clash of metal swords.  Muriall opened her eyes to see the soldiers surrounding the ruins; weapons raised.  Desperate cries wrought the air, ‘Ye canna do this?  Oh dear God in heaven save us – save us oh Lord.’   The people scattered pausing to scoop up their sobbing children as they climbed from the mud and ashes of the blackened holes, their only shelter.

One woman fell to her knees followed by others who held up their hands in prayer. ‘Please Mary Mother of God, save us, save the wee bairns. Do not desert us Mother Mary – save our bairns.’

But, the only replies were the coarse curses of the solders as they dragged them praying from the ruins. 

Muriall knew it was useless to fight, but she could at least see they were not roughly handled, ‘Get your bloody hands off her.’ she cried as one soldier dragged a woman half dressed along the ground.  Seeing her raised sword, he dropped the pitiful form.

Clutching a handful of clothes with the odd cauldron, the people were forced off the estate and onto the open road now, only the ditches could offer any respite.

Streams ran through some of the
ditches; others
were almost a bog.  Wearily, Muriall rode alongside the evicted tenants, a child on her lap, another clinging on behind her.

Riding alongside her with more children on his horse, Guy said, ‘Muriall you’ve had no rest. You must go back to the Manor, rest, eat and then return in warm clothing. 

Her eyes felt full of grit as she looked at him. ‘No, we have to see these people settled.  We must do what we can now.  Besides I would not rest. You know that.  I am strong I can carry on.’

‘B
ut Muriall−‘

‘No Guy – please, there are over four hundred people here, let’s find somewhere for them at least for tonight.    Thank God, some people from the other estates have ignored the threats of the estate owners; they have come en masse to help us.
  Even if it means they too could lose their homes. They’ve brought clothes, blankets, food, cooking pots, dry wood.  They can help build the shelters in some of the dryer ditches. But, Guy it’s shocking, only yesterday these people were abed in their own homes, a fire in their grates, warm kitchens, pretty parlours and now this.  They built those cottages Guy, saved the land from the bog.  Not much is getting into the newspapers.  These innocent hardworking people have done nothing to deserve such treachery. The world does not know yet. And when it does, it will be too late for many of them here.’  With a sob, she clutched the child to her breast.

Even in a state of shock, the courage of the Scottish people shone through, some singing, others talking quietly and yet others softly bewailing their fate.  Yet, their spirit was not yet broken, neither did they blame their God, as they set to building the shelters in the ditches.  Some men dug as others stamped down the ground.  The women gathered branches and turf in readiness for the makeshift roofs. By nightfall, the fires were lit on the roadside and the food cooking, but it was not enough. Many tonight would go hungry for yet another night. Muriall wondered how long the food would last.  The neighbours could only share so much as they themselves were near starving.

Mud seeped into the bottom of the ditch as Muriall awoke to light filtering through the branches overhead.  The earthen walls of their tomb seeming to shake as the occupants awoke to a dull thudding.  Pushing aside a couple of the branches overhead, she heard men shouting. ‘They’re here again – tis the soldiers.’   Muriall tried not to disturb the sleeping child as she climbed to her feet. Her whole body ached from half sitting half lying huddled among the evicted tenants.  Wearily, she wiped streaks of mud from for her eyes as she peered into the distance.  Yes, they were coming; she could see the flash of sunlight on steel.  Dear God – what now?

Groups of people were already about, as dawn peeled back the night. Joining Guy, who stood quietly talking to a group of men, she heard him say, ‘They will not attack us surely, these are ditches, the people must rest somewhere. They must be on their way to yet another estate.’  His words were cut short as the soldiers neared their weapons raised menacingly.  A woman screamed; others began to shout as Muriall watched some soldiers alight from their horses and begin tearing off the roofs of the shelters, dragging out the screaming people.  

Her heart pounding Muriall ran forward, what was happening now?  Surely, they couldn’t be evicting them from the ditches, from mud-filled holes in the ground?  Running to her horse, she untethered him and leapt on his back.  She looked a mess; a beggar with a filthy mud streaked face, and dirt caked clothes, as she joined Guy, who was now speaking angrily to the Captain.  She caught his words, ‘This is beyond belief Captain – how in hell’s name can you evict these people from the ditches?  They are past the boundaries of the estate surely?

The Captain shook his head bringing out a map, ‘Sir; they may be beyond Lord Tanmore’s estate, but they are now on Lord Gallagher’s estate.  They must keep to the roads until they reach the forests and the coast.’ 

Guy’s face whitened. ‘You can’t do this – in God’s name man they will perish for sure, tis only the bogs and the forests left to them.’  Shaking his head, Guy turned to see Muriall approach.  It’s no use Muriall– there is nothing we can do.’  

Muriall bit her lip.  For once, she was lost for words. Neither Guy nor she could start fighting; people would be hurt more than they were now.  Looking at the Captain she said, ‘How can you live with yourself.  Could you not have turned a blind eye to this? Could you not let these poor people rest? At least let the children eat?’

The Captain looked at her with dreadful eyes, his speech almost a whisper. ‘I am sworn to serve my General – t’would be treason to disobey. I and my men would be hung or shot madam.  May God forgive me for this day’s work.’

Guy spoke softly, ‘Come
sister; you
are needed at the Manor – there are others there who are near starving – dying.  Let us go.’

Muriall bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears, as she whispered, ‘Captain let them eat first – please.’

The Captain bowed his head, ’Of course madam – then we must escort these people from the estates.  Be assured no one will be hurt.  Death will go hungry today.’

CHAPTER  3
4

Power jets washed away foaming shampoo, yet they could not clear the tortured thoughts. She still hadn’t returned any of his calls or text messages.  Wounds ran deep, the pain rising when Douglas thought of Cilla and Marnie.  He vowed he’d never let a woman have that kind of power again.  Of course, he’d enjoy a woman, sex, fun, but not closeness, nothing that involved the heart.  The sight of Jess excited him, that beautiful body, the full curve of her breast; the rounded buttock set the nerves of his skin on edge. 

When she told him of her early life, he’d found himself drawn to her, wanting to protect her, He knew what being a father was all about, the love for a daughter who could fill the heart with ecstasy or maul it to strips of bleeding flesh. Yet, Jess never knew that love, never felt a father’s arms holding her, lifting her up in the air playing.  He could not forget the look in her eyes when she talked of her father. Just, six words.  “He died in a hunting accident.”