Harkness – MacGillivray Stories

This is Strange Love, a short story written by Rory McJoy about the life of Ruaridh and Morag together.

Ruaridh first beheld her when he was crossing the bridge over the burn at the foot of Kildonnan Hill. Her sweet voice singing Tír na nÓg was what captivated him at first, and he thought she was a fairy. 

He felt like a fool when he realized that it was a girl and not a fairy after all. Her name was Morag. He had become entranced by the vision before him. He felt guilty for having inappropriate and inexplicable emotions. She was still a girl and not yet a woman. He decided to drive the evil thoughts away by drinking so much that he became a common sight in the local tavern at Galmisdale. 

Ruaridh was said to be descended from the Viking invaders of long past. He was a very handsome man, and many maidens made their intentions clear. They wanted to be the one that Ruaridh would teach them about carnal knowledge. But he had no eyes for them. His free time was spent drinking at the tavern in the company of his friends; so he had no time for girls and women. Besides, only one girl-woman had been on his mind for a long time. He had no intention of having congress with a woman who did not occupy his mind and stir his heart and loins.

Morag had been on his mind for years, but their next meeting took on a sordid note. He was inebriated after an evening at the tavern swallowing too much whisky. And like most men under the influence, he acted on his feelings and did the unthinkable. He took advantage of Morag. She was all alone in her cottage, as her grandparents were away visiting a sick relative. 

While committing the dastardly deed, he saw Morag staring at the lone candlelight, tears running down her cheeks. He was taken aback for a moment and paused in the act of deflowering her. But driven by his wildest desire, he chose to ignore her feelings. He allowed himself free reign over his craving for her. He was wild and uncontrollable, unleashing the long-held hunger for possessing her, which he had for so long kept in check. 

Morag tried to resist him, but it was all in vain; she was a mere elfin girl, and he a brute of a man, a beast. She was about to scream in shock and fear, at which point Ruaridh covered her mouth with his huge, rough hand. His passion rose, and the blood was pumping through his body. The moment he had been waiting for had finally arrived. He has been burning to possess Morag all these years.

She fought as long as she could until her body gave way. Her tears started falling—tears were the only thing about Morag’s body that Ruaridh was not now in control of. He wanted to wipe those tears away, but they flowed uncontrollably. He may have taken possession of Morag’s body, but her tears were hers alone.

She became pregnant with his child. He was forced to marry her or else he would be banished from the island. He was secretly glad to marry her; it was his desire to have her for himself. Her pregnancy was a blessing in disguise for him. She was half his age, a tender age of seventeen compared to his age of thirty-four; a young woman thrust into a role that was not of her own liking or making. How could someone expect such a young woman to fulfil her role as a wife and mother at the same time? Apparently, that thought hadn’t crossed Ruaridh’s mind, eager as he was to make the child bride his own.

She bore him more children. A child they named Morag died a week after childbirth of an unexplainable cause. Ruaridh did not say a word regarding the death of their child. He kept his mouth closed, but his eyes were open. He knew the pain she felt. She was a mother after all. If only he could do something to ease her pain a little. He resorted to drinking more in Galmisdale tavern to numb the agony, while she had to tackle her pain however she could. 

But the death of her child, and other children that she bore, was just a prelude to a problem that was lurking underneath the surface. One morning, Morag couldn’t get out of bed no matter how much she wanted to. The whole family thought that she was cursed because she was an illegitimate child, and now she had gotten her comeuppance. Some even believed that she was an infant enchantress, and had used magic rhymes and potions to entice Ruaridh to bed her. After all, her mother was a ‘whore’, giving birth to an illegitimate child 

Her paralysis, though, did not stop Ruaridh in his pursuit of her ‘flesh.’ In fact, the thought of her passivity emboldened him when he returned drunk many a night after carousing in the local tavern with his companions. In other words, she was always lying in bed ‘waiting for him’ to return. And she, unable to work on the croft anymore, she felt the least she could do was to fulfil her wifely duty.

He was a virile man, and his wife’s condition did not prevent them from having more children. Most nights, the creaking of the bed was an indication that Ruaridh was ‘having his way’ again, with barely a thought to the consequence that such an ‘act’ would result in more ‘mouths to feed.’ 

Despite being abused by Ruaridh, Morag had after some time become glad in her husband. After all was said and done, he was the only thing she had in this world. Moreover, he was revered on the Isle of Eigg, and she had borne him many children, many of whom would most probably become strong Eiggachs. However, she did not always enjoy their congress in bed together, as he was a huge man in more ways than one, and she was a diminutive woman. 

Despite Ruaridh’s uncouth nature, he loved her truly. He was unable to express his love openly to her, but any man on the island that attempted to besmirch her name, when he was drinking in the tavern, would have his bones broken by Ruaridh, and lie abed for a long time.

His great love for her was evident to all the islanders. Although she was paralysed, he did not fail to bring her to church on Sundays, carrying her in his arms like a little child. The priest had said that those born out of wedlock had no right to attend the church. Ruaridh threatened the priest, saying that he would destroy the church brick by brick, if Morag was not allowed attendance. 

Ruaridh was a strong and passionate man that had no fear of his own life, so everyone, including the priest and the laird, were afraid of him. 

His reputation went before him – he had beaten many a man to pulp, who happened to insult Morag or the womenfolk of his family.

Sometimes, he would carry her to the Singing Sands beach, so they could watch their children having fun playing. She would look at him with an endearing smile, grateful that he had brought her to the same place, where she had spent many a carefree summer day as a child. The Singing Sands beach held wonderful memories for her, as it was one of her safe havens during her childhood – a childhood life full of rejection and suffering. Ruaridh would put his arms around her, as they gazed into the distance, watching the sun setting behind the mountains of the neighbouring Isle of Rhum.

Three more of their children died, and Morag’s state of health went into a steady decline. The birth of their tenth child, John, sealed her destiny. Beleaguered with multiple pregnancies, and, at times, a demanding husband, her inherited disease finally took its toll on her life. After her burial at Kildonnan Church, Ruaridh was seen standing over her grave, a single rose in his hand. A single tear fell on the rose.