High on a Mountain (3 page)

“Where is it?” Aodh asked.

“What?”

“Your sword.”

“In the hut.”

“Put it on.
Now!
”

____________

When the men finished sorting and separating
the cattle, they left the ones they intended to drive to market at
the
airigh
and drove the ones they would keep down to the
croft. Ailean slipped away from the herd when it passed the trail
to his favorite place, a nearby mountain peak.

He loved his homeland. Scotland claimed his
heart, but her mountains filled his soul. Happiness and sadness
alike elicited a single response from Ailean: go to the mountaintop
to think things through.

Sometimes, he settled himself on an
outcropping of rock near the top of the mountain and surveyed the
land below like a king on his throne. But on this day, he had
disappointed Da again and embarrassed himself through his impetuous
behavior. The rock became a gibbet for displaying him in his shame
for all the world to see. He sighed and took his accustomed
seat.

As he viewed the panorama spread before him,
the late afternoon sun changed its hue. The rays of light bathed
the glens and hills below, and Loch Fyne beyond, with golden light,
enriching all they touched. The rude stone dwellings of the croft,
with their thatched roofs, looked warm and peaceful. The furrows of
the mown fields drew lines of light and shadow across the
smooth-looking yellow stubble in satisfying uniformity.

The serenity of the landscape soothed Ailean.
His mistakes didn’t appear so dire when seen against the vastness
of the beautiful scenery. The feeling of humiliation he suffered at
Latharn’s hands diminished, and his frustration over his failure to
live up to Da’s expectations faded in the warm glow. His spirits
lifted a little, and his natural optimism began to reassert
itself.

He daydreamed again about his future life. He
pictured himself as the hero of adventurous exploits, a respected
and celebrated warrior of the clan. He lost himself in his exciting
inner world, one in which he made no mistakes. A world where
everyone in the clan respected him and spoke his name with awe.

Sometimes, he daydreamed about following in
his father’s footsteps. Yes, he would be a farmer, like Da. Of
course, that would come later in life, after he had established
himself as a larger-than-life hero, braver than the bravest of men.
He would have a beautiful, strong wife, the envy of his clansmen.
And she would bear him a houseful of virile, handsome sons to
follow in his own footsteps.

Ailean smiled as the visions of his future
took shape in his mind. His chest expanded, and he drew his
shoulders back, raised his head in an attitude of superiority. He
would be a man of substance.

He scanned the croft below. When Coinneach
married Una, he built a cottage for her beside Da’s. Ailean
expected to do the same when he married. After he had led a
glorious and adventurous life. There, on the other side of Da’s
cottage, that was the site where his own cottage would stand, where
he would live with a wife who loved him, who would be happy to do
his bidding, who…

He heard a small noise and turned to see his
father standing behind him.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Da said, his
voice rasping with exasperation.

“Look, Da. Doesn’t the croft look beautiful
from up here?”

Aodh was silent for a moment. He passed a
glance over the land below. “Aye.” He turned to Ailean and looked
into his eyes. “It looks beautiful from up here on the mountain,
but you must remember that your life is lived down there in the
glen. And sometimes, life isn’t so lovely when you’re there in the
midst of it.”

“But—”

“Ailean, you walked away and left your work
for others to do. A man doesn’t do that if he’s any kind of an
honorable man. He shoulders his share of the burdens and pulls his
own weight when there’s work to be done.”

Ailean looked down in shame at his bare feet.
His spirits, which had lifted when he viewed the beauty of his
homeland, plummeted at Da’s words.

____________

“You should have seen him run,” Latharn said.
He chuckled and took another sip of whisky.

“I suppose it was amusing,” his father
said.

“More than amusing, it was gratifying. I just
wish you had been there to see it.” He laughed again.

Eachann moved his foot on the stool where it
was propped and winced. Latharn saw his father’s discomfort and
frowned.

“Do you need another cushion?” he asked.

“Yes, if you will get one, please.”

Latharn brought a pillow, lifted his father’s
foot and arranged the padding under it.

“Will that do?”

“Yes. Much better, thank you.” He shifted in
his chair and grimaced again. “Much better. I’m looking forward to
seeing that doctor in Edinburgh. I hope he’ll be able to do
something for me.”

“He’d better.”

“I understand from Ualraig that he’s done
things akin to miracles for some of his patients. But perhaps I
shouldn’t get my hopes up.” He sighed. “Now. What was it you were
telling me about?”

“As I was saying,” Latharn went on. “I wish
all our crofters had seen MacLachlainn run, not just Odhran. But
he’ll tell of it, and that will be almost as good.”

“Well, you administered a retribution of
sorts for the
camanachd
defeat,” Eachann said. “Now let’s
see how they like the way I avenge the humiliation of my
clansmen.”

Latharn looked at his father with a question
in his eyes that became a smile on his lips. “A new rate of passage
for their cattle?”

Eachann smiled and nodded.

____________

When all the families completed the move from
the
airigh
to the croft, Aodh asked the men to gather at his
cottage for a discussion of the upcoming cattle drive.

“Latharn Cambeul is taking over more
responsibility for his father’s holdings of late. I don’t like
having to deal with him,” Aodh said.

“Me, either,” Gabhran MacEòghainn said.
“There’s something about the man I don’t care for.”

“Yesterday, I sent Ailean to find a cow that
had wandered off, and he had an encounter with Latharn. He insulted
Ailean, made some accusations, and he and the man with him drew
their swords. I don’t want to have a dispute with the Cambeuls, but
I think Latharn is determined to make one.”

“Latharn Cambeul is trouble dressed in a
féileadh-mòr
and bonnet,” Coinneach said, and all the men
laughed.

“I have a proposal,” Aodh said. “It may be a
good idea, or it may be a bad one. If we discuss it, maybe we can
decide if it is as good as it seems to me.”

Boisil MacLachlainn said, “Let’s hear
it.”

“Each year, Eachann charges us more to drive
our cattle across his holdings.”

“Aye.”

“He does.”

“He charges too much.”

All the men made comments. Aodh held up his
hand, asking for silence.

“What if we made the drive to Dumbarton
instead of Crieff?” Aodh looked around the group to judge their
response to his suggestion. “We might get less for the cattle in
Dumbarton, but I’ve worked out a path that would take us across
Tòmas Cambeul’s holdings instead of Eachann’s.”

The men were silent as they considered Aodh’s
words, and he waited for a response.

At last, Gabhran spoke. “I, for one, would be
pleased to do that, no matter what Tòmas charges. Not having to
deal with Latharn would make it worthwhile.”

“What do you say, Boisil? Coinneach?” Aodh
asked.

“I like the idea,” Coinneach said.

And Boisil said, “Let’s do it.”

Gabhran smiled. “I’d love to see the look on
Latharn’s face when he realizes he won’t get money from us this
year.”

THREE

Sixteen-year-old Mùirne MacGriogair rolled
over, stretched and yawned. She opened her eyes when the sounds of
morning penetrated her wakening haze, and she stretched again. She
heard Ma stoke the fire, heard Grandma MacPhàrlain’s wooden spoon
scrape the inside of the iron pot that hung from the rafters. The
porridge would be ready soon.

At that thought, Mùirne’s stomach growled in
anticipation.

“Mùirne!” Ma called.

“I’m awake,” she answered.

Mùirne climbed out of the warmth of her bed
and dressed. She tugged a comb through her curly red hair and tied
it back with a length of wool yarn. She wasted no time on her
appearance; it was of no importance to her.

She came from behind the curtained partition
that separated the sleeping area from the living area and stood by
the open hearth in the center of the room, waiting for her
breakfast. Grandma handed her a bowl of porridge, and she ate it
standing by the fire. She finished, set her empty bowl on the
worktable and started toward the cabinet to get bread and cheese
for her midday meal. She wanted to hurry, wanted to be out of the
confines of the house and in the open spaces.

The biggest ewe bleated in the byre, the
sound loud in the small cottage. She bleated again and Grandma
said, “Better get her milked before she makes us deaf.”

“Yes, Grandma,” Mùirne said, and led the ewes
outside.

They were accustomed to this routine and each
one stood still to be milked. Mùirne enjoyed the milking,
especially on cool mornings like this one. The ewes’ udders felt
warm and comforting to her hands. She finished, carried the wooden
bucket of milk inside and set it on the work table.

Mùirne glanced outside through the open door
and saw the biggest ewe start across the clearing toward the woods,
with the others following. She ran after them and turned them in
the direction of Loch Lomond. She would take them to graze in a
small glen on the shore of the loch, her favorite place.

She guided the sheep along the path as it
curved around a patch of woods. Mùirne remembered she didn’t have
food for her noon meal. She stopped the sheep and started them
grazing on the bit of grass near the path. She hurried through the
woods to the cottage, approaching it from the side. She didn’t want
to give the sheep time to scatter.

She neared the open door and heard voices
from inside.

Grandma said, “I don’t know if we’ll ever get
that girl married. She’s so peculiar—”

“There’s time yet,” her mother answered.

“Most girls of sixteen are thinking about
marrying. But all she wants to do is be out in the wilds with the
sheep. You need to take a strong hand with her, talk to her.”

“I will, Ma.”

“Don’t wait too long. Here she’s fortunate
enough to have a fine, handsome man like Latharn Cambeul come
a-courting…”

Cambeul
…Grandma’s voice faded away,
pushed into the background by the unwelcome memory as it came and
filled Mùirne with an unreasoning dread.

Cambeuls… It’s the Cambeuls…

She leaned against the rock wall of the
cottage trembling, her breaths shallow and panting, her hands
twisting and wrapping the folds of her
airisaid
around her
fingers as she had twisted the curls of Granda’s beard on that
night so long ago. When the soul-wrenching images faded, leaving
her weak and shaken, she struggled to regain control of herself, to
straighten her shoulders under their habitual burden of guilt and
fear.

She smoothed her clothing and rubbed her
sweaty palms dry on it. She stood, stepped away from the wall and
forced herself take deep breaths until her trembling lessened. She
listened to make sure they were not still talking about her.

“If you’ll feed the hens, I’ll deal with that
milk,” her mother said.

Mùirne took another deep breath and went
inside to get her bread and cheese.

____________

Ailean left the trail and ran to head off the
stubborn steer for the fourth time that morning. It wanted to
return to its home range, but he hazed it back to the herd. The
other cattle had adjusted to life on the trail during the first
week, but this steer was still restless and hard to handle.

Ailean had worked the cattle drive each
autumn since he was thirteen. He was experienced handling cattle
and sometimes knew what they would likely do before they even knew
it themselves. He walked alongside the steer and crooned to it to
calm and settle it, his voice mellow and rich. After a time, the
steer forgot its intention to leave the herd, pacified by the sound
of Ailean’s voice.

The cattle were not the only ones who enjoyed
listening to him. His singing ability was known and appreciated
throughout the clan. The elderly song leader at church had trained
Ailean to take his place. Now, Ailean led the psalm singing on
Sunday mornings, singing the presenting line which the congregation
repeated in song after him.

Once the steer was content to move along with
the other cattle, Ailean dropped back to walk behind the herd with
his older brother, Coinneach, and Raghnall MacLachlainn, still
humming and occasionally thumping a rump with his walking stick
when a steer stopped to graze too long.

“Well, little brother,” Coinneach said. “It’s
too bad your voice doesn’t have the same powerful effect on lasses.
If you were as masterful with them as you are with cattle—”

“I’m as good as you are,” Ailean
interrupted.

“Oh, are you now. I was married by the time I
was your age, and you have no one even looking at you with a
sideways glance,” Coinneach goaded. “Maybe you’re just too big and
you scare them away.”

Raghnall chuckled as Ailean narrowed his eyes
and gave Coinneach a cutting look.

Ailean walked in silence, wondering if
Coinneach’s words had merit. It was true he was big. He stood
almost a head taller than his brother and father and neighbors who
were making the cattle drive together. Even though he was the best
swordsman on the croft during the training sessions, and even
though he knew he was the best
camanachd
player in the clan,
at times his size made him feel awkward and out-of-place like an
untrained man trying to dance a Highland fling.