Severed
Knot
By
Cryssa Bazos
Barbados
1652. In the aftermath of the English Civil War, the vanquished are uprooted
and scattered to the ends of the earth.
When
marauding English soldiers descend on Mairead O’Coneill’s family farm, she is
sold into indentured servitude. After surviving a harrowing
voyage, the young Irish woman is auctioned off to a Barbados sugar plantation
where she is thrust into a hostile world of depravation and heartbreak. Though
stripped of her freedom, Mairead refuses to surrender her dignity.
Scottish
prisoner of war Iain Johnstone has descended into hell. Under a blazing sun
thousands of miles from home, he endures forced indentured labour in the
unforgiving cane fields. As Iain plots his escape to save his men, his
loyalties are tested by his yearning for Mairead and his desire to protect her.
With
their future stolen, Mairead and Iain discover passion and freedom in each
other’s arms. Until one fateful night, a dramatic chain of events
turns them into fugitives.
Together
they fight to survive; together they are determined to escape.
Excerpt
The song ended, and Iain watched Alastair as he
entered the crushing mill. He disappeared for a moment, and when he reappeared,
he cradled a violin in the crook of his arm.
Iain couldn’t sit there any longer. Passing by the
keg, he dropped the cup on top and manoeuvred through the crowd to head back to
his hut.
Tam stopped him. “Where are you off to, Scotsman?
You’re truly sour, man.”
“I’ve had enough.” Iain patted the man on the shoulder
and attempted to move past him. Before he did, he glanced to the crushing mill
in time to see Alastair handing the violin to Mairead. The rapt expression on
her face made Iain pause. She handled the instrument reverently, as carefully
as a woman cradling her bairn. Iain had never seen her eyes so round, her
normally wary expression soft.
Mairead lifted the violin to her collarbone and
adjusted her grip. She tried a few tentative plucks and adjusted the tuning
until the chord sounded right. She lifted the bow against the strings and
started to play.
The sound that came from her violin was
low, wistful and with a melody that stirred long-buried hopes. Both light and
dark notes rounded each other out as she pushed the tune farther along. A low
drumbeat joined in, and she adjusted her rhythm slightly to hit the rising notes
with the downbeat.
Then the main melody started.
Iain knew this song. An old Scottish
ballad, one of his favourites. It called to mind the longing of home. It had
been the song that he had sung to himself during the gruelling journey from
England.
How was it that she stood there playing
that very song?
The melody had always stirred him,
providing comfort during all those times he had been away on campaign, far from
home. But Mairead’s rendition added layers he had never heard. The mournful
tone of the violin spoke of the wind in the firs and smoky twilight clinging to
the mountains. A flight of swallows darting in a cold twilight sky and the cry
of terns riding a lonely sea breeze. It called to memory swiftly flowing burns
bordered with purple heather, and the hope of love reunited.
As she played, the lyrics flowed through
his mind: An’ what will be the love-tokens that ye will send wi me . . . A
kiss, aye, will I twae an’ ever she come to fair Scotland . . . I the red gold
she sall gae . . .
Iain felt it deep in his bones. Each note
ripped through his defences, stone and mortar. Everything melted away. He
forgot the crowd, forgot his situation and the harshness of the sugarcane
fields. Only Mairead and her song remained.
He moved closer to the platform. Mairead
stood several feet away, her eyes closed and head tilted sideways. Her lashes
fanned her flushed cheeks, and her mouth was slightly parted. At times, a smile
flitted across her lips, while at others her brow puckered into a frown, but
always her expression remained enraptured. He watched, fascinated, as the bow
danced over the strings, directed by nimble fingers.
Iain hung on every note as though it were
the last. Good, sweet Lord, he didn’t want it to end.
The song finally
ended, and Mairead drew her last pass with the bow. Her hand stilled, and her
shoulders went limp. A single tear traced down her cheek. When she opened her
eyes, her unfocused gaze found his, and the look shot right through him.
Around Iain, men
whistled and clapped, not realising that the earth had just shifted.
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Severed Knot
Cryssa Bazos
Cryssa Bazos is
an award-winning historical fiction author and 17th-century enthusiast with a
particular interest in the English Civil War. She is a member of the Historical
Novel Society, the Romantic Novelist Association and is a co-editor and
contributor of the English Historical Fiction Authors blog. Her debut
novel, Traitor's Knot, is published by Endeavour Media. Traitor's Knot is
the Medalist winner of the 2017 New Apple Award (historical fiction), a
finalist for the 2018 EPIC eBook Awards (historical romance) and the RNA Joan
Hessayon Award. Her second novel, Severed
Knot, was
longlisted for the Historical Novel Society 2018 New Novel Award.
Connect with Cryssa: Website
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Thank you very much, Mary Anne!
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