Jennie About to Be (43 page)

The grilled trout was ready. The wife apologized for having no potatoes, and there had been no time to gather and boil greens. “But would you be liking some eggs?” she asked anxiously.

“Oh, no, thank you, this is perfect,” said Jennie. She'd have liked to eat the trout with her fingers, but Alick had given her the fork, so she supposed they all expected her to use it.

The hens wandered in and out, and Jock talked on and on, intoxicated with a new audience besides a submissive wife. He took credit for the honey, though allowing wild bees some part of it. He had his own peat bog. “Mind you, it's some great distance from the house here, but the little ones are sturdy, and I have made them creels to fit.” The willow-woven creels were stacked in a corner, and bedding was rolled up against the walls. Besides the table and benches, there were two large chests and a few blackened pots sitting on another bench. Tools leaned in a comer; she recognized a spade and a rake and the implement she'd seen the Linnmore women using to cut peat.

“It's our own wee kingdom out here,” Jock bragged. “I envy no laird; I'm a laird myself!” He thumped his chest. “I have everything, and no one can drive me away from it.”

“You are the monarch of all you survey,” Jennie suggested.

“That is it exactly, Mistress! The town hated me. Och, I hate the town! I never go near. I never will again.” He nodded his red head toward his wife. “Kirsty goes.”

“To market sometimes in Fort Augustus,” she explained in her very soft voice. Her English was easier than Jock's. She never looked directly at Alick, only from the side of her eyes. “I have goats or a kid now and then to sell. A few eggs, honey. I have no wool nor flax to spin, and no loom, but I barter for our clothes. The women who weave need certain plants for their dyes. I gather those, and herbs for medicine. Sometimes I take in exchange something not because I need it, but so there will always be something in the chest I can take to market.”

“Don't be forgetting the brogues I make,” said Jock. “And these.” He held up one of the bowls. “Smooth as your finest china, they are, and the spoons are better than silver, for they never tarnish.” He clapped his hands on his bare knees. “Ah, Mistress,” he said to Jennie with a mischievous grin, “and what is a Sassenach lady doing here?”

Alick's knee touched hers under the table, and he laid his hand over hers beside her plate and squeezed it, at the same time giving her such a sweet and open smile that she was astonished again. She lowered her eyes, and had no trouble blushing, because the whole hideous story was suddenly burning her up.

“We are eloping,” Alick said. “And she is not a Sassenach, but she had the misfortune to be educated in England. I am her father's ghillie. I
was
,” he corrected himself. “Three days ago I took a groom's place to ride out with her, and we had a handfast marriage in a cottage on the moor. ” He pressed Jennie's hand again, and she kept her eyes on her wedding ring. “She is wearing her own mother's wedding ring,” he said, “until I can buy one for her.”

“But to take a young lady like this through the mountains!” Jock sounded shocked. “It is hard for her, surely.”

“When we went to her father with the truth, he became violent,” Alick explained. “We fled. We are hoping by the time we get to the coast, the Laird will be seeing reason. If not, we cross the seas, and he will never be seeing his daughter again.”

Kirsty sighed. “It is like one of the old songs we used to sing.”

“I have heard,” said Jock, “that in America it is not important who is a gentleman or a lady.” Jennie knew he was watching her; he was a rooster, right enough, with only one hen to tread. He must hate his exile for more than one reason, in spite of his bragging about his kingdom.

“But I am no common ghillie,” Alick said haughtily. “My father was a gentleman, and the Laird knows it. If I had my true name now, there would be many a surprised face. Aye, and in London, too.”

“Och, I am sure of it,” Jock agreed. “It's the gracious guests we have, Kirsty. A lady and half a gentleman.” He laughed and again smacked his big hands down on his knees.

Jennie's stomach crawled with her anxiety to be gone, but not without leaving the riding habit behind. She lifted her head and spoke to Kirsty. “Would you have anything in your chest you would exchange for this riding dress? I am thinking of a gown and petticoat like your own, and some stockings and brogues.” She glanced over at Jock with a smile; in for a penny, in for a pound. He responded with such unabashed carnal pleasure that she could only wonder at the blindness of the other two, or the powers of her own imagination.

“Yes, yes,” Kirsty said, touching a velvet cuff with a timid finger.

Keeping his eyes on Jennie's as if promising a rendezvous, Jock rose from the bench. “We should let the ladies get on with their bargaining,” he said. Alick nodded somberly and stood up. Kirsty put the leftover fish on a trencher with a stack of cold oatcakes, and Jock took that and the jug of milk out to the children.

K
IRSTY WENT
at once to one of the chests. She brought out a short gown of dark blue, a wool and linen weave, and a tartan petticoat, both quite clean, knitted stockings, and a tartan shawl like a small plaid, called a guilechan.

She held up a linen cap with dangling tapes. “You'll not look a proper Highland wife without a mutch.”

Looking like a proper Highland wife while clawing one's way through the mountains and sleeping in caves? However, Kirsty was well into the spirit of the occasion and was now digging for ribbons to garter the stockings. “You should save those for your little girl,” Jennie protested, but Kirsty said she could get more.

“My habit is in a sorry way, I'm afraid,” Jennie apologized. “But the wool is good.”

“And the
velvet
!” Kirsty's eyes glistened. She had never seen anything like the riding tights; she was enraptured with the lawn chemise and drawers with their lace insertions. Jennie hadn't intended to give them up, but when Kirsty excitedly burrowed into the chest and came up with coarse linen drawers and a shift, she didn't protest.

She put the underwear away quickly as if Jennie might change her mind. She couldn't hide her greed for the stays.

“Take them with my blessing,” said Jennie. “I hate them. I only wish everything was freshly laundered. I am ashamed to exchange soiled clothing for clean.”

“A lady as dainty as yourself—how long would it take you to be dirty?” The stays went into the chest.

“I
feel
dirty. And I haven't had a brush or a comb to my hair since— since—” Her tongue stumbled and stuttered.

“What beautiful hair it is.” Kirsty flattered her.

“So is yours, that lovely raven black.”

“But no
curl
. It's my Jock who has the curls.”

And a cloven hoof besides, I wouldn't be surprised
, Jennie thought. Kirsty produced a battered metal comb; perhaps she washed and combed her own hair before she went to market. When it was too late, Jennie remembered lice, but beggars couldn't be choosers any more than they could ride horseback on wishes. She'd rinse her hair somewhere before the day was out.

The linen felt harsh against her skin, but she'd grow used to that, and she was rid of the stays, rid of the habit and its hateful assiation with the sunny hollow. She was fastened into the gown and petticoat, the guilechan folded around her shoulders and pinned with a cheap circular brooch. The married woman's mutch was tied under her chin, and she was wearing Kirsty's own market-day brogues.

There was no doubting Jock's talents here. The brogues were calf hide, and toughly tanned with alder bark, reinforced over the toes with extra leather. They were held firmly to the foot by crisscross lacing of leather thongs across the open instep, and the ends tied securely around the ankle.

“Look at you!” Kirsty marveled. She caressed the thin, soft leather of the boots, calculating what she could get for them. “Will you be needing the scarf now?” Greedily she fingered it.

“Yes,” said Jennie. “I'll need that for a towel, if my flow comes,” she added, and Kirsty drew her mouth down and nodded shrewdly.

“What will you do if you have to go over the ocean? Does it not take money?”

“We will have to find work first. My husband is strong and capable. As for me, I was not raised to be useless.” This at least was the truth. “Now I must go out and show my husband that he has got himself a proper Highland wife.”

It seemed a long time since the men had gone out, and she'd heard no sounds but that of the hens beyond the open door; what if Alick's throat had been cut the instant he was out of her sight? And where were the children? She'd have even welcomed the goats.

She tried to walk decorously to the door. The sky was dulling with clouds, an ordinary event but ominous to her now. When she saw the men sitting on the slab where she and Alick had waited before the meal, she felt light-headed with relief.

“Now if only I had the Gaelic, I would be perfect, would I not?” she asked them.

Jock hopped up. Balancing on his crutch, he still could give her a deep, courtly bow. “You are perfect now, Mistress.”

“Do you see why it's I who goes to market?” asked Kirsty. “So beulach he is, I might not see him come home again.” She let off a surprising hoot of laughter. Manners made Jennie force her own laugh; she did not care to be undressed by the eyes of a stranger.

“You look well enough,” Alick said offhandedly to Jennie. He nodded at Kirsty. “Thank you for your help, Mistress Dallas, and the good food. Now we must be moving on. A worry is at me for staying so long in one place. ”

“The children would tell us if there was a soul within a mile of us,” Jock protested. “They range far and wide like wee foxes. It's darkening, too. You will be caught in a storm before night.”

“I'd sooner chance that than armed men riding out from Fort Augustus. The word could very well be there by now, and if they sought us here, it would bring harm to you, too. No, we must go.” He was setting the plaid over his shoulder as he spoke; then he put out his hand to Jock. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

Jock waved away the hand. “Stay, man!” he pleaded. “We could hide you if need be so there'd be no trace. The wee ones would never tell! Tonight we'll feast on venison; it's hanging in a bothy now. We have no uisge-baugh,* but the cailleach makes a rare wine from rowan berries. It's as fine a drink as the best claret.” The gentian eyes shamelessly wooed Jennie. “Let the storm come, and keep safe and warm by our bonny fire. Tomorrow you'll go all the faster for the rest.”

“I thank you again,” Alick said. He handed Jennie her stick. “But if you've ever known in your heart that the black beast is at your heels, you will know how I feel now.”

“Och, do I not know? Jock retorted. “Then I will show you a shorter way to the track you'll be following.”

“Good-bye,” Jennie said to Kirsty, “and thank you. I wish you well.”

“And I am wishing you the same,” said Kirsty. Jennie saw the children crowding at the byre end of the hut and waved to them. The only response came from the boldest goat, she that had desired the plaid. She bleated.

Jock led them into the woods past the rose bushes where Jennie had given Alick her gold. He swung along so rapidly before them that the deformed foot hardly seemed to touch the ground. He was talking the whole time, whistling at birds, looking around at them to address Alick in Gaelic and laugh. Alick was wooden, and Jock winked at Jennie.

“He hasn't always the face on him like a minister, eh, lass? Not when you two are alone in the heather!”

She gave him a tight little smile and tucked her hand inside Alick's elbow. Jock's grin broadened.

“Och, I keep forgetting you're man and wife, and a handfast marriage is as good as any!” He turned back again and began to whistle a jig.

Behind them everything had vanished off the earth: clearing, hut, goats, children, Kirsty. Even the mountains could not be seen through the thickly interwoven ceiling of boughs and leaves. With no warning they came to the edge of a deep corrie full of rocks and bracken. On the far side of it the land rose to a pine wood that reached almost to the spine of the watershed.

Balancing with a hand against an oak trunk, Jock pointed across the corrie with his crutch. “When you're up there, you'll see the way. If you traveled the road you know, following the stream, you'd have more hard climbing in the end. I'll just go a wee bit with you.” He swung himself forward. “Follow me, Mistress! It's an easy path I'll choose for you!”

She took a step, but without a change of expression Alick held her back and himself walked directly behind Jock. “If she stumbles,” he said pleasantly, “I'll break her fall.”

Agile as a goat, Jock led them down a serpentine course that looped around protruding fangs of rock, but didn't avoid smaller ones. Jennie didn't look ahead; she concentrated on placing her feet, so she almost caromed into Alick when he stopped suddenly because Jock unexpectedly bent down to adjust a lacing.

When he straightened up, he whipped around, swinging the crutch in a wide arc, and she had just time to see the savagely joyous grin in his red beard when Alick jumped free of the crutch meant to entangle his legs, and had Jock bent backward over a slab and gasping. Alick's knee was on Jock's chest, and his dirk was at the throat under the red beard.

“Run, Jennie!” he was shouting. “
Run
.”

She ran, plunging headlong like an animal in terror, keeping on her feet by a marvel; she didn't think what was before her or behind her; she knew just enough to run and run until she could move no more and had to drop where she stood.

She did so when she could not inhale without pain, and her mouth-and throat felt seared. She had gone into the corrie and a little way up the other side; she had not tripped and been thrown by rocks hidden in the ferns. She was alive, but for how long? Her heart was going to explode in the next instant. She lay quaking against the earth. As the pounding died away in her ears, she heard someone coming, and she heaved herself onto her hands and knees and crawled deeper into the tall bracken. There was that place on a man where, if she hit hard, she could make him helpless long enough perhaps for her to get away. If Alick was dead and she had to wander alone, she would die alone too. So be it.