High on a Mountain (21 page)

His awareness was penetrated by a small
noise. Ailean rolled his pounding head toward the source. Silence.
He listened, unmoving. Maybe the wind had caused the sound. When he
moved once more, he heard it again, a rustling in the brush.

The sighing of the breeze blended with a
whisper that called his name. “Ailean?”

A sob rose in his chest, clutched at his
throat. He choked it back. Someone had called him! Was it Da?

“Aye?” he whispered. “Da?”

“No. It’s Ruairidh,” came the hushed reply.
“Are you badly wounded?”

“Ruairidh? My head is hurt. And my side. Are
you all right?”

Ruairidh whispered. “No. I’ve got one leg
injured. And a cut across my stomach. It’ll be dark soon. Just be
still and quiet until then. If they find us, they’ll kill us.”

Ailean relaxed a little, comforted by
Ruairidh’s presence. But…if only it was Da or Coinneach in the
brush…he fell asleep. Ruairidh woke him after night fell.

“Wake up. We have to go. We’re fortunate they
didn’t check this area yet, but they probably will tomorrow,”
Ruairidh whispered. “Can you walk?”

“I tried to stand up but I couldn’t,” Ailean
answered. “But I can’t leave. I have to find Da and Coinneach.”

Ruairidh laid his hand on Ailean’s shoulder.
“They…are both dead. I saw Coinneach die…torn apart by grapeshot at
the same time I was hit.”

“Coinneach…dead?”

“And I fell beside Aodh when I was wounded. I
was with him when he…” Ruairidh said, and his voice broke. He took
a breath and continued, “when he died.”

“My da? He…he’s…”

“Yes. And, Ailean, he died feeling proud of
you. He asked me, if I survived, to tell you he was proud to have a
son who was such a fierce warrior…”

Ailean’s throat tightened and his eyes grew
hot.

“Proud of me?”
But I didn’t follow
orders.

“He saw you and Niall charging the enemy,
running straight into the cannon fire, and he…” Ruairidh paused
again. “Niall?”

Ailean couldn’t speak. He covered his eyes
with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Ruairidh said. “But we have to
leave now. There’s nothing we can do for them. It won’t help them
if we stay and are killed, too.”

“But they—”

“And what of our families?” Ruairidh
continued. “You remember what Teàrlach Mac’Ill’Eathainn said before
the battle. Cambeuls burned their homes, stole their cattle and
stripped the women. What if they are doing the same to our
families?

Mùirne! Coinneach-òg! Ma!
The thought
shot through Ailean’s grief and energized him.

“We have to get home. What might they do to
them!” Ailean pushed himself up with an abruptness born of urgency
but lay down again when a sharp spike of pain drove through his
skull and started his head spinning. The dizziness made him retch.
Ailean lay panting, eyes closed, until the dry heaves ceased and
worst of the pain subsided to a dull ache.

“Raise yourself a little at a time,” Ruairidh
advised.

He helped Ailean up into a sitting position
and got a clearer look at him.

“We have to clean our wounds so they won’t
fester. Let’s go down to the river, and I’ll do what I can about
your head,” Ruairidh said.

“Aye. I need a drink.”

Ailean had to stop often to rest but at last
they reached the river. They crawled onto a gravel spit and lay
there at the water’s edge, drinking their fill. Ailean quenched his
thirst. He plunged his head into the icy water. It chilled him
further but numbed his headache. Ruairidh helped him clean the
clotted blood from his scalp, then attended to his own wounds.
Ailean pulled up his tunic to bathe his side.

“I think we’ve done the best we can do,”
Ruairidh said. “Let’s get moving. It looks shallow enough here to
wade across. Come.”

“I have to say something first.”

“Then say it.”

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t follow orders again,
didn’t wait for the command to charge.”

Ruairidh sat silent for a moment. “Ailean,
you did the best you could. I find no fault with what you did.”

“But after Gladsmuir, you said—”

“That was different. But here? There was
nothing anyone could have done here. Too many mistakes were made.
But you fought bravely. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Then—”

“I think you’re a brave warrior. I’m proud
we’re kinsmen.”

Ailean sat for a moment, drinking in
Ruairidh’s words. Words which were more refreshing to his spirit
than the water of the River Nairn had been to his body.

They helped each other stand. Ruairidh pulled
Ailean’s left arm across his shoulder and half-supported the big
man as they waded into the river, helping Ailean keep his balance
when his head reeled and made him unsteady. And Ailean served as a
crutch for Ruairidh and made him more stable as he hobbled on his
good leg. Neither man could stand or walk by himself, but together,
they were able to move forward. They angled across the river as
they searched for the shallowest place to cross.

“I see a small thicket. We’ll rest there a
little.”

When they reached the bank, they crawled
under the leafless bushes and lay down.

“Pull your
féileadh-mòr
over your head
and arms and pull your legs up so they’ll be covered. If we fall
asleep and daylight comes, we’ll be hard to see in the brush if
we’re wrapped and lie still,” Ruairidh said.

“Which way do we go? I don’t know this place.
And I didn’t pay enough attention when Fearghus brought Coinneach
and me…” Ailean’s voice began to quaver as he said his brother’s
name. He paused until he regained control. “I don’t remember enough
about how we got here to make my way home.” Another thought
assailed him. “Fearghus. Where is Fearghus?”

Ruairidh didn’t speak for a moment. “He
didn’t make it. I know the way home. But we’ll have to cross over
Loch Ness and make our way down the north shore. There are woods
where we can hide and no mountains to climb. And I have friends
along there who’ll help us. Wounded like we are, we’d never make it
if we tried to go home the way we came. Are you rested enough now
to walk awhile?”

“Yes. But…” Ailean said and paused. “What
about the rest? Boisil? Gabhran? The others?”

“Gone.”

“Gone? All of them?” Ailean took a shuddering
breath. For a moment, he couldn’t absorb the finality of Ruairidh’s
words. “But…all of us?”

“There were a few MacLachlainns who weren’t
killed. When I hid after the battle, I saw some other clansmen
escape. But of your croft, you survived. No one else did.”

They sat silent as each tried to accept the
enormity of their loss.

“If you can move, let’s go,” Ruairidh
said.

The two men helped each other stand, and they
leaned on one another as they eased along, stopping occasionally to
rest for a moment or two. But each time they paused, Ailean urged
Ruairidh on. His one driving purpose was Mùirne: he had to get home
to her.

Ailean said farewell in his heart to Da,
Niall and Coinneach. And to the other men. They were gone, beyond
his ability to help them.

But Mùirne. He had to get home to her and
Coinneach-òg. He had to protect her, as he’d promised he always
would. He’d promised to protect Niall, too, but…

As he remembered his words to Niall, Ailean’s
mouth grew dry, and his breath caught in his throat. He was so far
away and Mùirne was so fearful and helpless and alone.

____________

“The report I received said the clan was
devastated. Most of them died in the battle. The Duke had told
Lachlainn MacLachlainn before all this business began that if he
called his clan out for Prionnsa Teàrlach, they’d have to fight
their way through us to get back to their homes,” Ualraig said with
a shake of his head. “Now, we won’t have to worry about that.”

The MacLachlainns dead! Latharn couldn’t
suppress the gleeful smile that stretched his lips. If MacLachlainn
was dead, Mùirne was a widow. She would be his at last. He would
send Odhran and Dùghall to find out where she lived, and then he
would go claim his heart’s desire.

____________

“
Yet when the rage of battle
ceased,

The victor’s soul was not appeased,

The naked and forlorn must feel

Devouring flames and murdering steel!

“
The pious mother, doomed to
death,

Forsaken wanders o’er the heath;

The bleak wind whistles round her head;

Her helpless orphans cry for bread.

“
Bereft of shelter, food, and
friend,

She views the shade of night descend;

And, stretched beneath the inclement
skies

Weeps o’er her tender babes — and dies.

“
While the warm blood bedews my
veins,

And unimpaired remembrance reigns,

Resentment of my country’s fate

Within my filial breast shall beat.”

—
from “The Tears of Scotland”

by Tobias Smollet

TWENTY-SIX

The afternoon sun displayed its light in
broken, shifting patterns upon the path beside Ailean. Fleeting
clouds blocked its rays intermittently, and new spring leaves on
branches that overhung the trail tattered the light and sprinkled
pieces of it onto the shadowed earth.

He moved faster now that he’d passed Cambeul
territory and was nearing home, but caution still slowed his steps,
and he paused in the brush to listen from time to time. He wanted
to get home before sunset but things he’d seen and heard during the
long journey from Culloden heightened his awareness of danger and
made him move slowly, deliberately.

Ruairidh left him when the path forked,
turning aside to go to his own home. He asked Ailean to accompany
him, but Ailean couldn’t wait one moment longer to see that his
home and family were safe, to assure himself that all was well.

But, all was
not
well. He stopped,
crouched upon the moss with his head in his hands and blinked to
forestall tears, ground his teeth to stifle groans that rose in his
throat. Ailean tried to shove the horrific battlefield images from
his mind. He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths to deaden
the grief, to push the pain away.

Now that he was near home and Da, Coinneach
and Niall,
Oh, Niall!
were not here, heartache poured
through him, fresh and new again.

Visions flashed from his memory, one by one.
Once again, Da fell as a fragment of metal from the
Sasunnach
cannonade tore through his leg. And Da’s words
echoed in his ears, “Fight them! Kill them all! Avenge your chief!”
Ailean watched as Niall fell. He looked again into Niall’s lifeless
eyes and saw blood pour from his brother’s mouth.

After a time, the images faded, but the
torment they left behind lingered. Ailean pushed his suffering down
again, locked it deep inside. He rose to a crouch, scanned the
woods and listened. He heard no disturbing sounds, and nothing
seemed out of the ordinary. He took a trembling breath and
continued creeping through the woods parallel with the path.

When Ailean reached the
bùrn,
he
stopped and listened. No sounds announced a threat, no danger
showed itself in the greening undergrowth. He emerged from the
bushes, knelt on the bank and quenched his thirst. He bathed his
face, stood, and dusted his knees. He stepped across the narrow
stream and slipped without a sound into the sheltering brush once
more, headed home.

He topped the hill overlooking the croft,
paused and surveyed the scene below. His cottage, like the others,
was whole, unscathed. The door stood open, awaiting him, inviting
him. All looked peaceful in the late afternoon sunlight.

And quiet.

He closed his eyes in a silent prayer of
thanks and breathed a deep essence of home. Ailean wanted to run
down the hill and across the bare yard to Mùirne’s comforting arms,
but he made himself squat in the thick undergrowth to observe. He
had learned not to rely on his perceptions, not to trust
appearances, but to assure himself that what seemed to be so, was
so.

When he and Ruairidh traveled through
Lochaber on their way home, they happened upon scenes of wanton
murder and destruction committed by the
Sasunnach
and the
Argyll Militia. In some places, burned shells of houses still
smoldered, and, on one croft, the bodies of women and children lay
strewn outside their destroyed homes, struck down for no reason
Ailean could understand.

After each such observation of inhuman
cruelty, anxious imaginings and visions of the destruction of his
own home built in Ailean’s mind. He and Ruairidh pushed themselves
harder, faster, allowing for little rest. Ailean knew he couldn’t
relax until he reached home. And now, here he was at last.

As he observed his home from the concealing
underbrush, he anticipated lying in Mùirne’s arms, warm and
comforted. But he knew that could not be, even if the trouble
hadn’t yet reached this far. If he let his guard down for even one
night, it could mean capture or death. He would make sure that
Mùirne, Coinneach-òg and the others were safe, then he would find a
place to hide. Maybe at the
airigh.

Ailean satisfied himself nothing was amiss
and began a slow circling of the cottages, remaining hidden in the
surrounding woods. He called himself foolish for wasting this
precious time, but even so, something held him back. He continued
his slow progress around the back of the croft, watching and
listening. When he eased around and could see the open door of his
own cottage again, he remained concealed behind the bushes to watch
and listen for a time.

A feeling, an idea, something…something
contracted his muscles, drew them tighter, tighter. A gradual
awareness crept through Ailean as he hunkered down in the brush,
something…wasn’t quite right. He could see nothing wrong, but
something…a thought at the back of his mind, unrecognized…something
tried to break through into his awareness.