THE MACMADYINS

An everyday story of lust, power and intrigue, among simple island folk. by Beatrice McCavity-Muckraker

The story so far:

Evil doings are afoot on the Hebridean Island of Fualish. The wicked MacMadyin family, Booby,  Dubh Ellen and Miss Laigh led by the unspeakable eldest son, Badyin MacMadyin, has wrested control of the island from the previous owner in an all nightgame of animal snap. Badyin is abusing his new position by terrorising the populace, raising rents, prices, and hell, and closing the pub at ten o'clock. He is also pursuing our heroine, Wee Jeannie McSporran with foul intent, and has her trapped in the byre, attempting to have his evil way with her. Now read on................

A sardonic leer flickered across MacMadyin's face as he watched his quarry struggle feebly like a trapped gazelle, beating her hands ineffectually against his broad hairy chest.

"Get your hands off me, you big galoot, or I'll brain you with the luggy", she whispered feebly, I'll get the polis to you, you ratbag".

"All the way from Tiree, my dear?" he replied silkily, a lecherous smile playing about his thin cruel lips. "By that time the damage will have been done, and you will be mine".

"Aye, a toy or a plaything I'll be to you, and me an honest woman forbye, - well apart from the odd sailor and fertiliser salesman. "Unhand me, or you'll be sorry".

"I doubt that, my pretty morsel- see how your cheeks are flushed and your bosom heaves delightfully. I see that I have a treat in store - if you won't cooperate, I shall simply exercise my superior strength - see how I have ripped your rude garment. You have no choice but to submit". He bent to his loathsome task with a will, roughly bruising the milk-white flesh. The byre door crashed open, thunderously.

"Put her down, you blackguard, or I won't answer for the consequences" MacMadyin wheeled round and his grip on Jeannie loosened as he recoiled in horror from the sight of tall. godlike, golden haired Wayne McVayne outlined in the doorway, a twelve bore shotgun in his steady hand"

"You swine, MacMadyin, that sweet girl wants no part of you. Leave here instantly or the full might of a Butterfly cartridge will render your future dealings with the ladies null and void, also numb and vague".

"I'll go McVayne, but you'll regret this day - no one crosses a MacMadyin and drinks past closing time again. Keep warm for me, wee Jeannie. I'll be back to finish where I left off" Grinning vilely, he swaggered from the byre, to pillage the village.

"My little turnip, are you harmed?" Wayne leapt to Jeannie's side and began to stroke tenderly the bruised white flesh, mangled by the tyrant.

"You can get your hands off as well, Wayne McVayne" The frightened, doe-like creature gently brushed his hand away with the business end of a pitchfork.

"But, my little frightened skart, I must ensure that no damage has been done, and that your purity has not been sullied. But I cannot stand over you with a shotgun all the time, and the vermin will be back to drink from this sweet, forbidden fruit, we must be married at once, so that my protection will be effective."
She blushed hotly, lowering her long feathered eyelashes over peat-flecked eyes.

"But Wayne, you know that our love can never be - daddy would never allow us to marry - it's impossible. Our love is that which dare not speak its name."'

"Why?", an anguished cry rent his bosom, "Am I not the owner of my own farm, with sixteen fully paid up heifers and an account in Fualish Stores? Am I not handsome and clean living and relatively sober during the week? Would I not treat you like a queen, and let you go weekly to the knitting bee, the keep-fit and the Guild? What more could a woman ask?"

"Nay, dear heart you have the unspeakable blot on your escutcheon, the dark and sinister stigma which means that we ne'er can live as one. Don't make me say it-let not those hideous words pass my lips - ah, if only you were black, or English, or anything but..." shuddering sobs racked the fragile body.

"I know", he said bitterly, "I've heard the whispered comments, seen people draw away from me for fear of contamination, but surely, surely, my little guddled trout, you can have pity on me and overlook my faults".

"Would that I could, my rampant tup," she sobbed, "but not only my hand in marriage but the family peat bog is at stake. Though my fear of Badyin MacMadyin is great, I can never promise myself to ...............A WHITE SETTLER................"