Missing Pieces by Jennifer Mackenzie Dunbar

Author:Jennifer Mackenzie Dunbar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MidnightSun
Published: 2023-05-26T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Morven, Isle of Lewis 1190

Seamus carried the ivory dolls until we could see the old nunnery, the house of the Black Women, from a small nearby hill.

‘I will take them from here,’ I said. ‘The sisters will keep them until I work out what I am meant to do with them.’

Unlike Seamus, I had no fear of the black women. Their dwelling had once been part of a much bigger house belonging to the clan chief. But a raid from the west had caused him to flee, leaving behind a cloister of women. The tradition remained over the years and, even now, there were twelve or so who lived there at any one time. Some thought them chosen by God, others said they were witches. It was true that they seemed to know everybody’s business without ever leaving their walls.

I wondered how they would respond to my finding. Three sisters, all widowed early, controlled the comings and goings. Each wore the cloth of a nun, although the church had neither sanctified them nor consecrated the grounds, and they refused to attend regular church services. There were many who said they were not celibate, either, and should be condemned to death.

But I knew it was the secrets they held that protected them. Secrets not only about the women who came to them for sanctuary, but about the men who’d abused them. They held stories that could destroy communities: of incest, infanticide and unbelievable cruelty.

Seamus’s mother had told me that their ancestors came across the sea from where the sun set. ‘Their clan can be recognised by their thick black hair and sea blue eyes. You have their look about you too, Morven.’

Seamus lifted the creel from his back, placing its strapping around my shoulders. ‘Be rid of them, Morven. That man who sleeps at our hearth has a strangeness about him that I dinna’ trust. Perhaps your Calling could bring us a child instead of a stranger and a bag of evil.’

I wanted to tell him that a child would not come from the Calling, but from him. Once more, I kept my tongue. I knew it would make things worse. I could have spoken of how he drew away when my body ached for him. I could have told how I knew of the secret spending of his manhood when he was too embarrassed, or guilt stricken, to wake me. I could have talked about his unquestioning adherence to the teachings of the Churchmen, their condemnation of the pleasures of the flesh. But I chose another way.

‘The Calling works to its own rhythm, Seamus. I will ask the black women again what we can do to bring it about.’

He scoffed, not with mirth but with scorn. I’d asked the women for advice once before. They’d given me a potion for Seamus, to arouse his desire. He’d thrown it into the fire, declaring it the work of the devil.

‘You’ll not speak to them of our business, Morven,’ he said now, grabbing my arm.

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