Highland Soldiers: The Enemy (19 page)

Next was Duncan. The two rapped on the door, and were answered with curses. Alex burst through the door and hoisted Duncan up by the shoulders. “Come on, lad. We’re away to see Mari and tell her you’re sorry.”

Duncan cursed and leaned over the basin to splash water on his face. A woman rolled over in bed, then went back to sleep, snoring. He looked up and said, “Sorry?”

“Do you not remember last night?”

Duncan buckled the belt about his plaid, and frowned as he thought for a moment and shrugged. “No.”

Charlie said, “It’s probably best that you not, until your head ceases pounding.” Then he looked closer at Duncan. “It is pounding, is it not?”

“Och, aye, it is that,” he said in a gravelly voice.

“Good,” said Alex. “You deserve it.”

Duncan gripped his forehead. “Bloody hell.”

“That’s what you said to Mari last night.”

“Duncan’s eyes lifted painfully to meet Alex’s direct look.

“Aye.”

Still groggy, Duncan said, “I cursed her?”

“Och, no. You didnae curse her,” Alex said.

Duncan relaxed.

Alex went on. “You just cursed at her.”

Duncan shut his eyes and moaned, and then looked up. “Why?”

Charlie chimed in. “We stopped asking that about you long ago.”

Alex clapped a heavy hand onto Duncan’s shoulder. “Come. We’ll go have some breakfast while you sober up.”

Duncan squinted in pain as they stepped out into the bright morning sunlight.

Charlie said, “I can just taste some porridge with cream and some fresh brown bread slathered with butter.”

“And salmon!” said Alex with mounting enthusiasm. “And oatcakes.”

“And cold sheep’s head,” added Charlie.

“Excuse me, lads,” said Duncan, as he ducked into a close and heaved the contents of his stomach.

*

Mari answered the door and eyed Duncan with quiet reserve. She stepped aside to allow them to enter. Alex and Charlie let Duncan go first, while exchanging a look upon seeing Duncan’s humble expression and bonnet in hand. Few others ever saw this side of Duncan.

Mari took a step toward the sitting room. “Come in and sit down.”

“Mari, forgive me,” blurted Duncan.

She stopped, but did not turn to look at him.

He went on. “I dinnae recall very much. But I ken I was—”

Mari interrupted. “Drunk. Vulgar. Rude.”

“Aye. All that and more.” He absorbed all of her hurt and resentment, for he knew he deserved it. In a deep, quiet voice, he said, “I’m sorry, Mari.”

“I am too, Duncan.” She stunned all of them by turning to rest a softened expression on Duncan. “I practically accused you of not caring enough to look for him. I ken that you did.” She laid her tender hand upon Duncan’s. “Last night I was overwhelmed by the grief of it all. I’m fearing I let you feel as though I was not happy to see you alive. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

Duncan swallowed and put a hand over hers. “There’s no need.”

Tears fell as she looked up at him. “Duncan, I am so glad to see you.” With that, she put her arms about him, and he held her there.

Charlie eyed them with growing amusement. “I’m glad to see you too, Duncan. Gie us a hug.” He held his arms out, grinning broadly. He was repaid with a quick fist to his gut, which he dodged, but just barely. He doubled over, but from laughter.

Mari looked from one to the other. “You’re a troublesome lot, but I’m glad that you’re here.”

The late afternoon darkness of winter was falling on Edinburgh, casting the closes and wynds in deep shadows. Across the street, a shadow clung to the wall of the wynd. Its kilted silhouette caught Alex’s attention.

“What is it?” asked Mari.

“Em, nothing.” Alex turned around, forcing a grin.

“Is there a fair lassie out there that you fancy?” asked Charlie.

Alex’s face brightened. “Aye, that was it. But not so pretty as the lassie right here.” He gave Mari a wink. He turned his attention to Charlie. “Come help me pour some ale.”

“Are you so weak that you cannot manage alone?”

“Aye,” Alex said, as he walked by him and gave him a subtle kick in the ankle.

They served everyone ale, and then Charlie and Alex leaned against the window frame. Soon the others were engaged in lively conversation and Alex spoke to Charlie under his breath. “Look across at the wynd. There’s a figure there in the shadows. Do you see it?”

Charlie said, “I think I saw something move. I cannot be sure.”

Alex looked again. “He’s gone now.”

“He’s probably waiting for a friend.”

Alex stared down at the wynd. “Aye, that’s what I thought yesterday when I saw him.”

“I’ll tell the others to keep an eye on that wynd.”

“But there’s no need to frighten Mari.”

Charlie gave a nod as he turned from the window. “There are a dozen or more others who bide in this building. Even if he is watching this building, it could be for them.”

“Aye.” Alex frowned. “But still, I dinnae like leaving Mari alone.”

“We can take turns staying here.” Charlie sighed. “It’ll be hard for the lassies—not being with me.”

Alex winced. “Oh, indeed? The lassies tell me it’s not hard without you or with you.”

Alex dodged Charlie’s fist and escaped to the safety of Mari’s company. “I’ll take that tray for you, Mari, lass.”

“Why thank you, Alex.”

Alex took the tray, and tossed a mischievous smile back at Charlie.

Callum opened his eyes to see an old woman sitting beside a peat fire and knitting. Wiry gray curls sprang from her cap, framing her plump face.

“Thou art awake!” The old woman came over and felt his forehead. “I’m fair blide to see thee feeling better.” She studied him with kind eyes, and then rose abruptly. “Here’s some soup for thee. A rookle o’ bones thou wert when we found thee.”

Callum looked at her, puzzled, as she brought him a bowl of soup.

“Beuy? Dost thou ken where thou art?”

He looked away as he tried to remember. “The ship sank… ”

“Aye, the finfolk nearly got thee.”

“Where?”

“Scarva Taing.”

“Orkney?”

“Aye.”

“Duncan pulled me out of the hull.” He looked about the cottage. “Where’s Duncan?”

“Thou hast been asking for Duncan. An’ Mari, as well. I’ve no idea where they’ve geen.”

“Mari wasnae on the ship. But Duncan was.”

The old woman settled into troubled silence at the question of where Duncan might be.

“Thou maun sleep now. And when thou art awake, a grand talk we will have,” she said, tucking a blanket over his shoulders and smoothing his hair back as though he were a child. Feeling already weary, Callum drifted to sleep.

*

“Beuy.” Someone pushed his shoulder.

It was dark, except for the light of a candle on the table.

“Beuy, wake up.”

Callum opened his eyes and bolted up, ready to lunge at his attacker, when he saw that it was the old woman. “Sorry,” he said, withdrawing his arms and then putting a gentle hand on her forearm. “Have I hurt you?”

She spoke between deep breaths. “No. Faird of thee I was, but I kent thou did not mean it. Thou wert dreaming. Listen, beuy, men art about looking for folk frae the ship.”

Callum tried to get up, but she held him steady. “Some men—friends of mine—will come get thee and take thee to Stromness.”

“Stromness?”

“Aye. Thou cannot stay here. There is no place to hide. If they find thee, it’s to the plantations for thee, and to jail for me.”

Callum sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I dinnae want to put you at risk.”

She shook her head. “Dinnae be sorry. It was my choice to bring thee here. No one forced me.

“When thou get to Stromness, my friend Angus will hide thee until thee can board a ship to go hame.”

The old woman put some clothes on the bed. “Here, put these on.”

“Where’s my plaid?”

“Lost in this storm.”

“And my leine?”

She shook her head and suppressed a grin. “Thou arrived lightly dressed.” She went to the cupboard and pulled something out of a jar. “This was next to thine hand when they found thee.” She handed him the double-hearted charm Mari had given him. Seeing the faraway look on his face, she smiled gently and went back to her cooking. With her back to Callum, she busied herself while he put on a shirt, breeches, waistcoat, and coat. As she stirred a steaming pot, the old woman said, “Those belonged to one of my bairns. He was a strapping lad, but not quite so tall as thee.”

“You had a son?”

She smiled. “Three bairns I had. Lost at sea were they, and their father as well.”

“I’m sorry.” Callum thought of the loved ones he had lost, and he imagined how unbearable a loss Mari would be. She must think him dead now, and be grieving his loss. It made his heart ache.

When he was dressed, Callum sat at the small wooden table, feeling weary from the exertion of just getting dressed. His weakness frustrated him.

The old woman smiled to see him. “Aye, that will do. Thou could pass for an islander now.

“When it’s dark, they will come for thee. Here, eat this.” She put a large bowl of porridge before him at the table.

“Thank you… I’m sorry, I dinnae ken your name. Mine is Callum.”

“I am Phoebe. Phoebe Flett.”

“Thank you, Phoebe.”

She smiled and went to retrieve something. “This will help keep thee warm on thy journey,” she said as she poured a tot of whisky into his porridge.

While he ate, Phoebe bundled together some knitting. Its patterns were more intricate than any he had seen done by the women at home. When she saw Callum watching, she said, “The beuys look after me. When they go out to sea, they always take some of my knitting to sell in the ports down south. I grew up on Shetland, and learned the lace knitting from my mother, and she from her mother. It puts food on my table and keeps me busy. In spring and summer I fetch what I need for the dyes. I scrape moss off the rocks, collect seaweed, and gather heather, bloodroot, meadowsweet and dock. Could you help me with something?”

“Aye, Phoebe. What is it?” Callum was glad for the chance to help her. She had done so much for him. Although what help he could be in this weakened state was doubtful.

Phoebe looked at him frankly. “When the need arises, you could leave me some piss in that barrel outside the door. I use it for the dyeing.”

Callum laughed. “That should not be a problem. I’ve been told I’m quite full of it.”

“I thought as much,” Phoebe said with a grin. “Once I have all of my moss and flowers and roots, I can dye the wool, and then spin and knit through the winter. The beuys tell me it fetches a fine price, but I sometimes wonder if they dinnae add a bit of their own money to it. Folk here are like that. You cannae trust them to tell you the truth.” Phoebe tossed a knowing look with a twinkling eye.

Dark came in late afternoon. Callum was finishing his porridge when two farmers arrived with a plow horse for Callum to ride.

Seeing the horse, Phoebe said, “Good. I told them that you were not ready to walk for four hours to Stromness.”

While the men tied her bundle of knitting to the horse, she pressed a knitted cap into Callum’s hands. He put it on, and grasped her hands in his. “Phoebe, you’ve saved my life, fed me and clothed me, and I have nothing for you.”

Her warm nature shone through her eyes. “What thou will do is get home to thy Mari.” She smiled with glistening eyes, and gave Callum a hug.

*

A smoky gray light faintly outlined the edges of buildings as the men walked down the flagstone street of Stromness to the dock. Around the corner, the sound of a lone pair of gritty footsteps grew fainter. It was the desolate time before dawn, when the water lapped up against boats in the harbor as a reminder that there was something beyond the gray mist.

“This is Angus,” said one of the farmers. “It’s with him thou wilt go now.”

Callum’s head started to swim, and his knees buckled. Angus grabbed him under the arm and pulled the other arm over his shoulder and held it. “We’ll look like we’ve been out for a dram. Easy, we’re not in a hurry.”

As weak as he felt, Callum had no trouble making his feet roll and stagger like a ship with three sails to the wind.

The first stirrings of dock life were beginning. Steady footsteps approached.

Angus cautioned under his breath. “Act too drunk to talk, elsewise he’ll ken thee are not from here and ask questions.”

“Whit like the day?” called out the newcomer.

“Not bad at all,” answered Angus. As they drew closer, he hoisted Callum up by the armpits. Callum looked like a proper loose-jointed drunk.

“Angus, is that thee?”

“Aye.”

“Who’s that with thee?”

“It’s my friend Robbie.”

“Come in to port frae the weather?”

“Aye. It’s to whaling we’re off in the morn. Come, Robbie, a peedie more it is.”

The constable chuckled and walked on down the pier.

They boarded a small rowing boat and went out to a whaler. “This will take thee south.”

“To the mainland?” asked Callum.

Angus looked at him, puzzled.

A long while passed, until Callum looked away, thinking no answer was coming.

Angus said, “We’ve just been on the mainland. It’s to the south this will take thee.”

Seeing Callum’s puzzled expression, he added, “To Scotland.”

Mari set down her basket of food from the market and opened the door. It was a lonely house now without Callum in it. The MacDonell lads were about every day, trying to distract her from her grief. She could not be distracted, but she no longer cried in front of them. She busied herself putting food away and tidying up. With that done, she picked up her needlework and sat down by the window.

A faint rap at the door pulled her back from her daydream of Callum. With a sigh, she rose. Those lads would not give her a moment of peace, but she loved them for it.

Mari opened the door. There stood a ragged wretch of a man. She was thinking of how to protect herself from him, when he spoke her name. Only then, from the sound of his voice, did she know him.