Free The Hanging of Margaret Dickson by Alison Butler Page B

body with ardent kisses while wrapping one hand around her throat. He teases her with his tongue as his knees force her thighs further and further apart. She groans beneath him as he places his weight on both hands, pinning her arms outstretched aside of her to kiss and tease her breasts. ‘Say my name,’ he demands, shivering as her breathing becomes heavier. ‘Say my name.’
    â€˜Love me, Patrick,’ she cries.
    It’s more than he can take; he can’t wait any longer. He has to claim his bride and make her his own forever. Patrick’s a large man and knows it has to hurt, but as his knees force her thighs wider apart to enter her, he’s at the point of no return.
    â€˜Hush, they will hear us.’ His lips crush her mouth and stifle her cries. His hand returns to her throat as he pushes deeper inside of her, almost exploding as she opens her legs wider, fingernails clawing into his skin.
    A moan escapes from her swollen mouth. The very sound sends him over the edge, and his hot seed spills inside her. He rolls off and stretches out a hand to cover her stomach, and a pulse beats within her groin. ‘Are you satisfied, wife?’
    â€˜Aye.’
    As they lay entwined, limb twisted around limb, recovering their breath, a loud cheer roars from outside. Patrick jumps off the bed and throws a blanket around him to peer outside.
    â€˜Haven’t you lot got anywhere to go?’ he shouts, before slamming the door.

    ***

    â€˜I love you,’ he says. It’s barely a whisper.
    She kisses his mouth and shivers at his touch. A gasp escapes her lips as she examines his back criss-crossed with marks. ‘How did you get those scars?’
    â€˜I went to sea as a boy. By the age of sixteen I was rated a seamen. But along the way I got the scars…’
    â€˜Who gave you them?’
    A knock at the door interrupts them. Maggie sighs and cringes inside. She knows it’s the womenfolk; they’ve come to roll Maggie’s hair with wooden bodkins and cover it with a kertch. As Patrick sleeps quietly in bed, they place a fine piece of linen on her head and fasten it behind her ears, and all the while Maggie fidgets and curses.
    â€˜Do I have to wear this ridiculous thing on my head?’
    One of the old women gasps.
    Another old biddy can’t hold her tongue and grumbles. ‘You’re married now, Maggie, and you should behave accordingly. There can be no more prancing around with your hair flying about your face like a wee bairn.’
    Maggie pouts her lips, her forehead wrinkling into a frown. She loathes being told what to do. ‘If I want to run round naked with my hair unbound, I will.’
    The women cluck, shocked at her scandalous words. A smack around the side of her head sends her kertch flying through the air, causing the women to titter.
    â€˜Put it on, woman. And never let me hear you talk like that again.’ Patrick returns the kertch to her head.
    The air crackles with tension. Maggie lowers her lashes and stares down at the floor; she ignores the women, too humiliated to look any of them in the eye. She nods and wipes a tear from her face. You will never be my master , she thinks, nor my keeper or insult me in front of the other women again . She continues to stare until he walks away and then rips the cloth from her head.

CHAPTER FIVE
THE FISH MARKET
    The harbour smells of seaweed, tar and brine. It’s a noisy place once the seamen begin to work on their boats, banging their hammers with swift rhythmic movements. Seabirds swoop and dive from above, their shrill mewing cries piercing the air as they plunge into icy waters rich with fish. Concealed within the bruised sky is a winter sun, trapped in dense clouds, unable to break through.
    Maggie stands at the edge of a rock pool, wild hair streaming behind her like a mass of tangled brown ribbons. Clothes soaked by wind and sea, laughter on her lips; she’s never felt so alive.