High on a Mountain (11 page)

Dearshul bowed her head and said a short
prayer offering thanks to God and asking for His blessings to rest
on the couple. Then the three of them walked to the barn together,
where everyone had gathered for breakfast. They went inside and
were greeted warmly. Now that they were present, the morning meal
could begin.

____________

“Hello, the house,” a familiar voice
called.

“Open the door and let him in,” Latharn told
Catriona, although he would rather have left Brandubh standing
outside.

“Hello, Latharn,” Brandubh Cambeul said in a
condescending tone when he entered Latharn’s home.

Latharn only grunted. He resented Brandubh
intensely and was not inclined to be polite. He did not ask the man
to sit, nor did he offer him hospitality of any sort. But he had to
endure the man’s presence, since Brandubh was Ualraig Cambeul’s
right hand man and frequently delivered messages for him. Ualraig
was the Duke of Argyll’s estate manager to whom Eachann paid rent
for the land he leased from the Duke.

“I heard about your…ah…sword fight with the
MacLachlainn boy,” Brandubh said with a smirk. “If one could call
it a fight, that is.”

Latharn said nothing.

“The tales of it are all over Inveraray and
beyond,” Brandubh continued. “Quite entertaining. Your grand
exploits have provided many a laugh for your clansmen.”

Latharn glared at Brandubh, whose smirk he
wished he could pound into mush. But he controlled himself. “Why
are you here?” he asked.

“Ualraig wishes to see you. Right away. He
asks for you to please accompany me to his home.”

Latharn rose without a word and put on his
bonnet.

“Aren’t you going to strap on your sword? Oh,
I remember. You don’t have a sword anymore. A boy took it away from
you, didn’t he?” Brandubh said and snickered.

Latharn’s muscles grew tight and rigid as he
struggled to control his anger. He didn’t respond to the goading
but went outside and ordered one of his cottars to saddle his
horse. Brandubh followed him and continued making snide remarks. If
any other person had made such comments to him, Latharn would not
have tolerated it. And he would not tolerate these remarks, but
Brandubh would not be the one who paid the price for them.

It had to be Odhran or Dùghall who spread the
story of the fight. When I find out which one did it, he’ll be
sorry.

The cottar brought the horse, and Latharn
mounted. He rode out of the yard at a fast trot to stay ahead of
Brandubh and out of earshot of the man’s insults.

When they arrived at Ualraig’s home near
Inveraray, Latharn was thankful that Brandubh didn’t accompany him
inside. A servant showed him to a room where Ualraig sat in front
of a fire.

“Latharn,” Ualraig said. “Please take a
seat.”

After Latharn seated himself, Ualraig
continued. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such sad news, but I
regret to inform you that your father has died in Edinburgh.”

Latharn said nothing, absorbing Ualraig’s
words. The anger caused by Brandubh’s goading receded, and the
feeling of loss and bereavement he’d had since Mùirne’s marriage
filled him, increasing in intensity with the news about his father.
The raw pain consumed him, threatened to destroy his composure.

“No one else knows yet. I thought it best to
tell you first,” Ualraig said.

“Thank you,” Latharn said. He stared at the
floor, blinked his eyes rapidly to forestall the flow of tears and
coughed, almost choked by the lump in his throat.

“I asked you here to tell you myself, because
I need to speak to you about a situation this sad event has brought
about.”

Latharn raised his eyes but remained
silent.

“Your father’s death leaves his tack
available. I’ll have to fill the position. I need to find someone
to take over the responsibility for his holdings.” Ualraig paused,
allowing Latharn time to absorb the import of his words.

“Would…” Latharn’s voice faltered, broke.
When he regained control, he tried again. “Would you…would you
consider letting me take it? I’ve been doing most of the work,
anyway, of late, and I already know how to manage everything.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, that’s why I
called you here. I wanted to see if you had an interest in assuming
your father’s responsibilities,” Ualraig said. “So. It’s settled.
We’ll discuss it further after you’ve mourned his passing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You may go.”

Latharn rose and took his leave. He exited
the house and a servant brought his horse to him. He mounted it and
rode, unhurried, to his home, filled with conflicting emotions and
absorbed by his thoughts. His sorrow at losing his father was
mitigated, if only a little, by the realization he now had total
control of the tack and had to answer only to Ualraig Cambeul.

THIRTEEN

Ailean found married life was not what he
expected. The nights of passion in Mùirne’s arms were all he had
dreamed of, and more. But the daily demands of sharing a life in
union with another person sometimes frustrated him.

The helplessness and fear Ailean saw in
Mùirne when he first met her appealed to his protective instincts
during their courtship. But her weaknesses were not touching and
endearing when they interfered with daily life.

And Mùirne didn’t know how to cook.

The morning after the last day of wedding
celebration, Ailean awakened early and contemplated the work ahead
of him. He wanted to lie in bed beside Mùirne, but he needed to get
an early start clearing the field that was his share, to have it
ready for plowing by spring. He was determined to show Da that he
was a man now, honorable, responsible and hard-working.

He raised himself, leaned on an elbow and
looked at his beloved, who was lying on her back, one arm flung
above her head, the other across her chest. The curves and softness
of her features were visible in the dim light cast by the banked
embers of the fire.

Ailean placed a quick kiss on her lips to
wake her. She stirred and rolled onto her side, facing him, her
eyes still closed.

He kissed her cheek and said, “Wake up, my
love. I’m hungry, and I want my breakfast.”

Mùirne blinked herself awake. She stretched,
yawned and rolled over to her other side.

“You have to wake up and cook my porridge,”
he said and kissed her shoulder.

She turned to face him again, eyes open.

“Doesn’t your mother cook the porridge?” she
asked.

He looked at her, puzzled. “She cooks
porridge for her household. But I’m not part of her household
anymore. I belong to you,” he said with a smile. “I’m part of your
household now.”

Mùirne’s eyes widened. “You…you want me to
cook porridge for you?”

“Of course. I need my breakfast. I have work
to do and a man can’t work on an empty stomach.”

Mùirne sat up and looked at him for a moment.
She dropped her head, and her fingers began making little folds and
twists of the blanket.

“I…don’t know how to cook porridge.”

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“No. I don’t know how.”

“But all women know how to cook porridge.
You’re a woman, you have to know how,” he said.

She didn’t answer, but flopped back onto the
bed and yanked the blanket over her head. He heard her sniffling
and pulled down the covers. She was crying softly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make
you cry.”

“You’re angry. You…you’ve never been angry
with me before,” she said.

“No,” he said. “I’m not angry. I’m just
surprised. You’re supposed to cook for us. That’s what wives
do.”

She jerked the covers over her head, and he
pulled them down again. He kissed her cheek softly and stroked her
tangled curls away from her face. She put her arms around his neck,
kissed his lips, and all thoughts of food left him.

Later, when they got out of bed, Ailean went
next door to see if his mother had any porridge. He found Brìghde
bustling about, doing her morning chores.

“Ma,” he said. “I’m hungry.”

“Tell your wife to cook your breakfast.”
Brìghde went on with her work.

“Mùirne doesn’t know how to cook. Do you have
any porridge left?”

Brìghde stopped what she was doing, put her
hands on her hips and gave Ailean a sharp look. “She doesn’t know
how to cook?”

“No.” He looked away, unable to meet her
stare.

Brìghde sighed. “Maybe there’s enough left
for you.” She scraped the sides of the pot and put the cooled
oatmeal into a wooden bowl. “It’s not much, but maybe it’ll keep
you from starving. You’re fortunate I haven’t washed the pot
yet.”

She set the bowl on the work table and put
part of the leftover porridge into a second bowl. Ailean grabbed
the bowls and started for the door.

“Wait a minute. You probably have nothing for
a noon meal, either.”

Ailean didn’t reply.

Brìghde spread two pieces of clean linen on
the table, laid slices of bread and cheese on each one and folded
them into packets. “There. At least the two of you can keep body
and soul together for one more day.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Ailean set the bowls on the
table and kept his eyes averted as he tucked the two packets inside
the upper folds of his
féileadh-mòr
. He picked up the bowls
of cold porridge again and hurried out the door.

She shook her head and muttered, “He marries,
but not only do I have to keep feeding him, he brings me another
mouth to feed, too. I’ll have to teach the girl to cook or I’ll
have them on my hands from now on.”

____________

After they ate, Mùirne begged him to spend
the day with her as she tended his father’s flock of sheep.

“I can’t do that. I have work to do,” he told
her.

“But you always used to come and sit with
me.”

“We were courting then. And when I came home,
I had to do more chores to make up for the time I was with
you.”

“Please,” she pleaded.

“No, my love, there’s too much work I have to
do. I have to get that field cleared for planting, and it’s going
to take a lot of time to get it ready. Besides, you’ve always
looked after your granda’s sheep by yourself.”

“These sheep don’t know me yet. And I…don’t
know this place. I don’t know where to take them to graze.”

“All right, I’ll have Ma or Una tell you the
best place for grazing.”

“But…I don’t know your mother that well. And
what if these people should come where I am…”

“What people?”

“The people who live here, the
neighbors.”

Ailean grunted in frustration. “Understand
this, I can’t go with you today. Ma can show you where to go. And
the neighbors are good people. You should know, you met them all at
the wedding.”

“Yes, but you were with me then, to protect
me. I…I don’t know them, I…I…”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and her hands
began to tremble. He couldn’t understand why she was distressed,
but he saw she was afraid and troubled. A small touch of pity
interrupted his growing irritation. He brushed his hair from his
face and tried to calm himself. He slipped an arm around her
shoulders.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, Mùirne.
There’s nothing to be afraid of. You can do this.”

She put her arms around his waist, buried her
face against his chest and clung to him. He wanted to shrug out of
her embrace, wanted to pull away, a jitteriness climbing up his
spine along with a growing awareness of his diminishing
freedom.

But he clenched his teeth, willed himself to
hold her, to comfort her. When her trembling subsided, he released
her and pulled her arms loose from their tight grasp. He put his
hands on her shoulders and pushed her away, holding her at arms’
length.

“How about this—how about I go with you and
help you find a place for the sheep to graze today. I’ll go do my
work, and then I’ll come back in the evening and bring you home,”
he said. “All right?”

She nodded reluctantly.

Dealing with Mùirne’s fears and weaknesses
over the first weeks of marriage was hard for Ailean. But it was
even more difficult for him to accept that her presence curtailed
his personal freedom. He had always been ready to go where ever his
impulses led him, to do whatever he was moved to do.

But being married meant he had to consider
Mùirne’s needs as well as his own. He couldn’t decide one moment to
go to the mountaintop and the next moment set off on the path to
the peak.

The loss of his freedom rankled.

On a clear, cold Sunday morning in January,
Mùirne burned the porridge. They left for church without breakfast.
Ailean discovered on their return home Mùirne had not planned a
noon meal. The coolness between them escalated into a stony silence
as cold as the breeze off the loch.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” Mùirne asked at
last.

Ailean didn’t answer, afraid if he spoke, he
would spew angry words and shatter their brittle relationship
beyond repair. He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace the
floor within the confines of the tiny cottage.

He felt caged, constricted, and he itched be
free to climb the mountain. He wanted to feel the exhilarating
wintry wind on his face, wanted to watch the sun glinting on the
rough surface of the loch, wanted to escape the ever-tightening
bonds of his marriage, if only for a little while.

He donned his bonnet, went to the door and
lifted the bar.

“Where are you going?” Mùirne asked.

“To climb the mountain.”

“But…but why?”

“Because I want to. It’s a beautiful day
and—”

“But I thought we could spend the day
together. It seems we’re never together any more. Not like when you
used to come see me, before we were married…”