High on a Mountain (12 page)

Ailean clenched his teeth, pulled the door
open and stood in the open doorway, the crisp breeze catching the
hem of his
féileadh-mòr
, lifting it, tugging at it. He
looked at the mountain, felt the stirring of a desire to run up the
slope, free from restraint or obligation.

For a brief moment, he wished he’d never
married Mùirne, wished he was still at liberty to do as he pleased.
And he regretted the day on the drovers’ trail by Loch Lomond when
he’d looked into her eyes, and, as it seemed to him now, lost his
senses. He tried to banish the thought as quickly as it entered his
mind.

“Ailean,” Mùirne said, her voice low and
soft.

He scuffed his foot on the floor, his
vexation growing stronger by the minute.

“Ailean.”

He turned his head toward her unwillingly,
not wanting her to see the anger and annoyance he was sure sparked
from his eyes. Her head was bowed over her twisting, wringing
hands, and he could see only the delicate curve of her cheek over
which trailed a curly red tendril. Her loveliness claimed his
attention, reawakened his tender feelings. At that moment, she
raised her head and looked into his eyes. A single tear spilled
onto her cheek, trickled over the hard wall of his selfishness, and
melted his heart.

“Mùirne, I’m sorry. I—”

“I’m sorry, too.”

A half-smile formed on her trembling lips.
His breath caught in his throat, and desire flooded through his
body. The hot surge erased his frustration as though it had never
been.

He closed the door, lowered the bar and went
to her. He took her in his arms and kissed her, picked up her small
body and carried her to the bed.

____________

Over the next several weeks, Mùirne worked
hard at learning to be a wife. Brìghde taught Mùirne how to cook
and clean, and she learned to take care of some housewifely chores
competently. The young couple settled into a comfortable routine:
days of hard work and nights of love and joy.

But a bit of Ailean’s high-spirited
exuberance eroded as he watched some of his dreams slip away.

____________

Latharn’s mother didn’t notice the difference
in her son when she first returned home from Edinburgh. But
gradually she became aware of a pervasive sadness and ill-temper
crystallizing within him. Somehow, Latharn had lost his intense,
lively outlook on life, his readiness to enjoy himself when any
opportunity presented itself. And he exploded into anger at every
small annoyance.

She attributed this change to his despondency
over the loss of his father. But she felt a minor misgiving when
she realized his grief, rather than abating with the passage of
time, was becoming a central part of his character. She judged that
he was capable of feeling either unhappiness or anger, but little
else.

His childhood tantrums had never been
corrected by his indulgent father, and now those tantrums had
become frightening rages which could be triggered by the slightest
frustration.

One morning, Latharn accidentally sloshed his
morning tea onto his fresh tunic. He flew into a rage, flung the
cup at Catriona and kicked his chair over as he left the table to
change his clothing. His mother sat staring, her hand over her
mouth. She shrank from him when he returned to the table, afraid of
her own son.

FOURTEEN

Since Ailean and Mùirne were starting their
married life, they had no provisions stored from harvest and no
garden to provide food. Elasaid gave them three hens as a wedding
gift, and the eggs the hens laid were their only source of food
except what others shared with them.

Occasionally, Ailean and Coinneach took
Aodh’s leisters to the shore of the loch and speared fish to eke
out Ailean and Mùirne’s meager diet. Sometimes they caught enough
to share with others on the croft.

The fish and game on the clan lands belonged
to the chief, and crofters had no right to them. But the chief and
his tacksmen looked the other way because of Ailean’s
circumstances, as they did at other times when the harvest was
sparse and the crofters needed the fish because they were going
hungry.

____________

Latharn traced the gossip about the sword
fight back to Dùghall. He sent for Dùghall and Odhran.

“I’ve been hearing some idle talk,” Latharn
said as he paced back and forth in front of the two men, his hands
clasped behind his back.

Dùghall looked at Odhran, shifted his stance
nervously and turned his eyes toward the ground.

“Don’t you want to know what it’s about?”
Latharn asked. “Either of you?”

Neither Dùghall nor Odhran spoke.

“What about you, Dùghall? Aren’t you curious?
Don’t you want to know what I’ve heard?”

Dùghall shifted his gaze back and forth from
Odhran to Latharn, then looked at his feet again, still silent.

“Someone has been carrying tales about my
fight with MacLachlainn. People are laughing at me behind my back,”
Latharn said. He stamped a foot on the ground and shouted, “Some
are even laughing in my face!”

Latharn slowly approached Dùghall, the glare
in his eyes hard and pitiless.

“I do not tolerate ridicule, Dùghall,”
Latharn said quietly, the softness of his tone more ominous and
frightening than his shouting.

Dùghall’s breath came faster, but still he
remained silent.

“So, you’ve nothing to say? No defense?”

Dùghall said nothing, but his breath became
shallow panting.

“Maybe this will loosen your tongue,” Latharn
said, and he slapped Dùghall’s face so hard he spun the man
around.

Dùghall lost his footing and fell at
Latharn’s feet. Latharn kicked the man in the stomach, again and
again, unable to stop himself. Odhran didn’t move, as if frozen in
shock, watching the assault.

Latharn grasped Dùghall’s tunic with both
hands and lifted him to his feet. Dùghall bent double, groaning and
clutching his stomach. Latharn pulled Dùghall up until his face was
mere inches away from Latharn’s.

“Remember this! No one does something to me
and gets away with it. You pay for what you do to me,” Latharn
shouted. He flung Dùghall against the wall and stomped away.

____________

When planting time arrived, all the families
on the croft prepared to drive their animals to the
airigh
.
Each summer, when the women and children stayed in the huts at the
airigh
to tend the animals, the women milked the cows and
ewes and made cheese and butter. Ruairidh allowed his crofters to
pay part of their yearly rent in goods they produced, including the
cheese they made each summer.

Mùirne knew Ailean would stay with the men on
the croft to plant the oats, barley and other food crops, and she
would be expected to stay at the
airigh
with the other women
and the children to help tend the animals. She had spent her
summers growing up at the MacPhàrlain’s
airigh
and knew what
her responsibilities would be. She wasn’t happy about prospect of
being away from Ailean, but she was not afraid.

The morning of the move, they rose early, and
Mùirne started cooking their porridge. At the sight and smell of
the boiling oatmeal, her stomach roiled, and she had to run outside
to retch. She heaved again and again and vomited bitter yellow
bile. Mùirne spat it on the ground and leaned back on the wall of
the cottage, feeling weak and nauseated.

She wondered what she had eaten the night
before to have caused this stomach upset. She had never felt so
utterly sick. When the nausea passed, Mùirne went back inside, but
the smell of porridge accosted her again, and she hurried out the
door.

Ailean finished dressing and came to see why
Mùirne ran outside.

“What’s the matter?” he asked when he saw her
braced against the outside wall, leaning over heaving.

“I don’t know,” she said when she was able to
speak. “I’m just so sick.”

“Come lie down.”

“No. I can’t stand the smell of the—” she
said, and at the thought of food, she heaved again.

“I’ll get Ma,” he said and ran to his
father’s cottage.

He pounded on the door and shouted, “Ma, come
quick! There’s something wrong with Mùirne!”

Brìghde came to the door, wiping her hands on
a rag. “What is it, son?”

“I don’t know. She says she’s sick. I’ve
never seen her like this. I don’t know what to do. She won’t come
inside and lie down…” His voice trailed off as he followed Brìghde
back to his cottage.

Mùirne was leaning back against the wall
again, her eyes closed, her face pale.

“What’s the matter, Mùirne, dear?” Brìghde
asked.

“I…I’m just so sick. I’ve never felt so bad,”
Mùirne answered, her voice weak and shaky. “I feel so weak.”

“Come, let’s get you into bed. You can lie
down awhile and maybe you’ll get your strength back, and you’ll
feel better.”

“Oh no. I can’t go back in there. The
porridge, the smell…” she said, leaned over and retched again.

“Ailean, go bring a blanket for her to lie
on,” Brìghde ordered. She supported Mùirne’s forehead with one hand
and put her other arm around Mùirne’s waist. “When did this start?
When did you get sick?”

“Just this morning. When I started to cook,
the smell, I…”

Brìghde smiled. “Do you think you might be
with child?”

Mùirne opened her eyes and looked at Brìghde.
“What?”

“This sickness might mean that you’re going
to have a baby.”

“A baby?”

“Yes, my dear. That’s what can happen when
you marry a man and lie together, you know.”

“But…”Mùirne fell silent. A baby. Ailean’s
baby. A baby from their love. A fluttering feeling of excitement
mingled with the nausea. A baby!

Ailean rushed out the door with a blanket and
held it out to his mother.

“Spread it on the ground, son, so she can lie
down until the sickness passes.”

Mùirne watched him spread the blanket for her
and smiled. A baby! A feeling of love and tenderness for him swept
through her and she wanted to be held in his arms, but she allowed
Brìghde to help her down onto the blanket.

A faint smell of scorched oatmeal drifted out
of the open door.

“The porridge! It’s burning!” Brìghde hurried
into the cottage.

Mùirne raised her hands to Ailean. “Sit with
me, please.”

He sat beside her and took her hand, his brow
still furrowed with worry. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

“Much better. My dear Ailean, I love you so
much.”

“I love you, too.”

Brìghde rejoined them. “That pot is going to
need some scouring. I put water in it and set it aside to soak for
awhile,” she said and looked at Ailean. “Hungry?”

He nodded.

“Go have some porridge, if your father and
Niall have left any in the pot.”

“No, I need to stay with Mùirne.”

“Mùirne will be all right. Go. Eat,” she
said.

He looked at Mùirne. She smiled and said,
“I’ll be all right. Do what your mother says. Go. Eat.”

He frowned, but he got up and hesitantly
walked toward his father’s cottage, looking back over his shoulder
once or twice.

“Did you tell him?”

“No. I almost did, but I want to be
sure.”

Brìghde chuckled. “If you want to be sure
before you tell him, you’ll have to wait a few months,” she
said.

They both laughed.

Mùirne looked up at Brìghde with eyes full of
love and admiration, thinking,
You are so good to me. You,
Ailean, being part of your family, you’re the best thing that’s
ever happened to me. I love all of you so much.

But she said nothing.

____________

Ruairidh cancelled the December camanachd
game between the Cambeul and MacLachlainn crofters. He thought it
best to allow the tense state of affairs between Ailean and Latharn
to resolve itself before resuming the yearly competition.

If it could resolve itself.

FIFTEEN

The Southwestern Highlands of Scotland,
September, 1745

Ailean, age twenty-four, in the full strength
and prime of his manhood, strode along the path to his home. The
stiff breeze blew his long hair across his face and flapped the
folds of his
féileadh-mòr
, sometimes tossing the loose
fabric dangerously high.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes with his
free hand while he continued to swing his walking stick
rhythmically with the other. He had developed a habit of carrying
it on the many cattle drives he made over the years, and he never
went anywhere without it.

The stick was a necessity for herding the
cattle, and it made a good weapon of self-defense. Although his
sheathed broadsword hung from a belt around his waist and his dirk
was fastened in place, ready to be drawn if needed, the stout
walking stick could be put to use in an instant if he were set
upon.

Traveling through the Highlands presented
dangers, especially when a man had an avowed and formidable enemy,
and all men carried some means of self-defense. Ailean’d had no
confrontation with Latharn since his wedding day, but he stayed
alert for trouble at all times. Particularly today.

He was returning from Inveraray, a Cambeul
village. He had gone there to sell a large quantity of woolen
thread to a weaver. He usually took the thread to Glasgow where he
could get a better price, but circumstances delayed his trip and he
didn’t have time to go that far. The cattle drive would begin in a
few days, and he needed to be at home to help, as he always did.
Besides, this year, for the first time, three of his own steers
would be part of the herd.

But his underlying motivation for willfully
placing himself in jeopardy by traveling alone to Inveraray had
nothing to do with the cattle drive. His boyhood fantasy of living
a life of adventure, of being a strong and powerful warrior,
bravely facing danger, still lived within him, and this was one of
the few opportunities that childhood dream could assert itself.