Free The Hanging of Margaret Dickson by Alison Butler Page A

Bonaloy?’ she enquires, moving closer to him so that they stand inches apart. Maggie watches his face crumple into a mixture of emotions; confusion, disappointment, perhaps disbelief – she’s not sure.
    â€˜You flatter yourself, Maggie,’ he replies, suddenly taking control. With a firm hand he grabs her elbow and guides her across the room to her husband.

    ***

    From across the room, Patrick watches his wife dance with the minister. He can’t take his eyes off her, and his loins ache with desire at the thought of the night ahead. It’s more than he can bear to watch them. His jaw twitches as he pushes his way through a group of dancers to get to her. He’s nearly there, only a whisker away, when strong arms grab him from both sides and place a large creel upon his broad back.
    â€˜Oh no, I’m too weary to carry the creel. Can’t we just miss this part out…’ he complains, looking at Maggie with yearning eyes.
    Patrick’s father laughs. ‘Tired? You’ll be weary come morning, son. All fishermen carry the creel on their wedding day, to symbolise sharing life’s burdens together. There’s plenty of time for you and the lass later on,’ he winks.

    ***

    At Watts Close, on a sultry evening, Patrick Spence carries his bride over the threshold of their front door. And he’s careful not to trip, mind, as this is deemed unlucky, and so as they enter the cottage, folk scream and cheer and throw petals over the married couple.
    Patrick’s mother, Barbara is a little worse for wear. With a clout held up to her eyes she whines in a shrill voice: ‘You know in some parts of the highlands, a newly married couple lives with the groom’s parents for the first week of their marriage. Oh and look at the state of this place, it’s got no homely touches; it’s not fit for my Patrick to live in. Perhaps you two should…’
    Johnny Notions scowls. ‘Nonsense, woman. And it’s the bride’s parents they live with the first week, not the grooms. And where I come from, they spend their first night in a barn.’
    â€˜How awful,’ replies Barbara still dabbing her eyes. With much reluctance she passes Maggie the keys to the house and some fire tongs to place a peat on the fire. A look of resignation crosses her face as she embraces the bride, like she’s finally realised that she’s not the only woman in her son’s life.
    â€˜Right,’ says Barbara clapping her hands. ‘Get out of here, Patrick. Go on. We’ve got to get on with the beddin’ o’ the bride.’
    An air of expectancy fills the room as the women strip Maggie of her dress and petticoats, until all she wears is a thin sark. With nimble fingers they remove the wild flowers and pins from Maggie’s long hair, so that it tumbles around her shoulders. Before they fetch Patrick, one of the women makes up a fire.
    â€˜Right, Patrick, she’s ready. Time for you to undress and lie next to your bride,’ the women giggle and sneak sly glances as he undresses.
    Side by side, Maggie and Patrick sit on their bed of straw as the men re-enter to claim a kiss from the bride. Patrick grits his teeth, uncomfortable with the custom. How he longs to be alone with his new wife. But when the left stocking is thrown and hits old Widow Arrock on the nose, everyone laughs, and this lightens his mood, as one thing is for sure – no one in their right mind would marry old Widow Arrock.
    At last the wedding party leave and all is quiet. Patrick turns to his bride, and right away all his blood seems to rush to his loins. They’re finally alone, but he can still hear folk chatting and jesting outside. But Patrick’s passed caring now and he pulls Maggie into his arms and kisses her passionately, his coarse hands exploring her body, feeling every inch of her soft skin.
    â€˜I thought they would never go,’ he groans, covering her