‘No point in wasting it, if you’ve bought it,’ he muttered. ‘I just wish you didn’t have to go to her shop in the first place. You could always get Torquil to run you into Glenelg.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Torquil asked. ‘And when would I have time to do that?’
‘Of course you have no time,’ Agnes declared. ‘No, no, Tony, you leave the shopping to me. I have to get on with Ishbel, whatever we think of her. And now, if we’ve all finished tea, what about you two laddies splitting some wood for me out the back? That stove just eats fuel, eh?’
‘Want us out of the way?’ Torqil asked, glancing at Monnie, who was feeling too hot and too full, and perhaps looked it. ‘Monnie and me should be moving on.’
‘’Twill not take you but a moment,’ Agnes said, whisking off the tablecloth. ‘I just want a nice little chat with Monnie on her own. Off you go, then!’
‘Perhaps I could help you with the washing up?’ Monnie asked faintly, but Agnes said she wouldn’t hear of it and led her back to the settle.
‘Now, dear, you will not be minding that I want to say a few words to you between ourselves?’
‘Not at all.’ Monnie sighed, as Agnes fixed her with her piercing blue eyes and for a moment laid a plump hand over hers.
‘Seeing as Tony has already spoken of Ishbel, you see, I wanted to make it plain that there are people in this village – and she is one – who talk against my boys with no justification whatsoever. No doubt, you have already heard the things that are said?’
‘Well . . .’ Having no idea how much she should say, Monnie paused, but Agnes was not waiting for any answers, only wanting to press on with her own case for the defence.
‘Now, what folk like to tell you is that my boys are wild, which of course they are not. A little mischievous, perhaps, when they were young, but you will know Torquil – there is no harm in him, eh? No harm at all.’ Agnes smiled winningly.
‘And Tony’s the same, but he is always blamed for that business with the foolish MacDonnell lassie, who was simply no better than she ought to be and led him on. I mean, can you blame him, if there was a baby in the end? He never said he loved her, he never promised to marry her, he told me so himself, and what I’m saying to you, Monnie, my dear, is that he was not to blame. You see that, don’t you?’
‘I heard that the girl had to move away,’ Monnie ventured at last. ‘That seems a shame.’
‘She only had to do that because her parents were so strict. Oh, terrible religious, they were – still are – and would not have her in the house. So, she went to a cousin’s in Inverness, but that was not Tony’s fault, was it? And things turned out well, for she met some man who accepted the baby and now she is happily married. So why has everyone got their knife into poor Tony?’
‘Seems strange,’ Monnie agreed.
‘And you do see, dear, that you’ve nothing to worry about where my boys are concerned?’ Agnes went on softly. ’Both Tony and Torquil are lovely laddies, very kind to me, who’s had to bring them up all alone, seeing as their dad died at sea.’
And again the plump hand was laid over Monnie’s.
‘Has not been easy for me,’ she whispered. ‘But I am proud of my boys and only want their happiness. That’s why I am talking to you like this now. For I think Torquil could be happy with you. I can tell, you see, I know him so well. And I think I know you too, my dear. You care for him, eh?’
Monnie, unwilling to answer, heard herself answering all the same. ‘Yes, that’s true.’
With a sigh of relief, Agnes sat back, her eyes alight.
‘Ach, I am so glad we had this little talk, Monnie. Everything will be all right now, you will see. I’ll just give the boys a call. They should have finished out there now.’
It seemed to take an age for Monnie and Torquil to get themselves out of his mother’s cottage. So many farewells, embraces, pressing of hands – heavens, Agnes was like a great feather eiderdown, wrapping herself so tightly round the leave-takers they could scarcely breathe, while Tony lay back in an armchair, smoking and grinning.
Finally, they were out of the door, waving to Agnes, who was crying, ‘Come again soon, Monnie! Torquil, be sure to bring her.’
‘OK, OK,’ he called back, then hooking Monnie’s arm into his, led the way down to the little jetty that lay behind the cottages.
‘You’re looking pale, Monnie. Like some fresh air?’
‘Oh, please!’
‘Mother’s place gets a wee bit warm, ’tis true.’ He gave an indulgent smile. ‘She likes to pile up that range with wood and get a real old heat going. Too much for most of us, even Toffee, our cat.’
‘Didn’t see Toffee again. Where did he go?’
‘Ach, he will be away mousing. Great mouser. And would not want to be with you, seeing as you are a stranger.’
‘I don’t think your mother wants me to be a stranger,’ Monnie said after a pause. ‘She made me very welcome.’
Torquil, studying her face, drew her gently towards a bench from where they could sit and look out across the Sound to Skye. Everything was very still, very beautiful, the water pale beneath the rise of the facing shore and the great dark silhouetted hills. No one was about.
His arm around her shoulders, Torquil suddenly held Monnie close. ‘What did my mother say to you?’ he asked, lightly. ‘While we were chopping the wood?’
‘It was more about Tony, really.’ Monnie’s eyes were fixed on a boat moored at the jetty. It was covered with tarpaulin, but she could see the hump of an outboard motor and, where the cover did not quite fit, a painted name. “Lord of the Isles”. She turned her eyes on Torquil.
‘How the things people say about him aren’t true, and the girl who had the baby was to blame for leading him on.’
Torquil sighed and loosened his arm from her shoulders. ‘I can tell from your voice you do not believe that.’
‘I don’t know what to believe.’
In fact, Monnie felt strangely unwell, as though she had fallen through a great hole and could not regain herself. For all that Agnes had said to excuse her sons – and it wasn’t possible to exclude Torquil – had seemed to have had the opposite effect from what Agnes had wanted. The more she described their virtues, the less Monnie felt convinced.
‘A little mischievous’, she had said of them when they were young. But how mischievous? There seemed nothing particularly mischievous about Torquil now, so perhaps it was true, he’d only behaved as boys do and had now become an adult and sensible. That was how Monnie had defended him already, but the odd thing was that when his mother defended him and his brother, it seemed to make it more likely that the two MacLeods were as wild as everybody said.
‘It may be true that the girl was partly to blame,’ she said slowly. ‘Who knows? But when the baby was on the way, Tony should have supported her. Don’t you agree, Torquil?’
‘Hell, I don’t know the truth of it any more than you do.’ Torquil was staring at the clouds streaking the evening sky, his fine mouth set in severe lines, his shoulders drooping. ‘But I am not going to run down my own brother. You would not be expecting that?’
‘No, of course not.’ She was beginning to feel she must salvage something of their evening together, must not go home on a low note that would ruin her days until she saw Torquil again.
‘Let’s talk of something else,’ she whispered, taking his hand. ‘I was wondering, is that your boat down there?’
His face lit up. ‘It is, then! I keep it here mostly, though there’s a boat house I could use further along the shore.’
‘I like the name,’ she laughed. ‘Suits you, eh?’
‘Sure, it does.’ He was laughing too. ‘But ’tis my little joke. No one believes Tony and me are the Lords of the Isles.’
‘Why haven’t you taken me out in the boat yet? The water’s so calm, it would be lovely, to have a trip.’
‘It is not always calm, and that boat – not like my van – does smell of fish.’
He was drawing her into his arms again, and she was surfacing from the dark hole where she had been trapped, finding solace from the thoughts that had been troubling her, melting into an embrace so exquisite she wanted it never to end.
‘But I will take you out in my boat,’ Torquil was whispering. ‘If you promise not to expect too much.’
‘As though I would. But when shall we go? Next Saturday?’
‘Have you forgotten? Next Saturday is the hotel ceilidh.’
But she couldn’t really think of next Saturday while they clung together, kissing, exploring, not minding that the evening was darkening and growing colder, that the lights were coming on in little dots of brightness across the water, and the wind was rising.
‘Time to go home,’ Torquil said, releasing her at last. ‘And how I wish we could just stay here!’
‘Oh, so do I! Or, that we had places of our own.’
‘If I had a place of my own, I could never invite you back. And do not look so startled. You know why that would be.’
‘Why?’ she still asked, as they turned to leave their little haven.
‘You would be too much of a temptation, I would never risk it.’ She saw him smiling in the dusk. ‘I am not my brother.’
And afterwards, much later, when she could think straight again, she realized that that was the closest Torquil had come to telling her his true feelings about Tony. Oh, but who cared about Tony? Lying in her bed, listening to Lynette’s even breathing in sleep, only one man was in Monnie’s thoughts. And always would be.
Thirty
Lynette did not always sleep so soundly; sometimes, she lay awake, thinking against her will of Ronan Allan. Since that extraordinary day when he’d seemed to open his heart to her over his boyhood trauma, he’d said very little to her. Mrs Atkinson had returned from leave, there had been no need for Lynette to do secretarial work for him, and she had the feeling that he was keeping out of her way. Except, when they did meet, those unusual eyes of his never seemed to leave her face. While her own eyes kept looking away.
And now there was the ceilidh to occupy everyone’s minds. So much to do, Mrs Atkinson kept reminding them, to organize and plan.
‘And, oh, isn’t she enjoying herself?’ Fionola had sighed. ‘But we shall all be roped in.’
Lynette’s own problem was what to wear. She discussed it with Monnie over her usual hasty breakfast, the day after Monnie’s tea party with Agnes MacLeod, but took only a short time to decide that her sister was still half asleep.
‘What’s up with you?’ she asked sharply. ‘Your eyes are glazed, you look as though you’re a hundred miles away.’
‘No, I’m not!’ Monnie retorted. ‘I’m thinking about my plans for improving the common room. It’s time we made some improvements, isn’t it, Dad?’
‘Talk about quick thinking!’ Lynette exclaimed. ‘Bet you’ve just dreamed that one up.’
‘No, Monnie and I have already discussed what we could do,’ Frank told her. ‘Problem is funding. One idea is to put up more bookshelves, make a little library for paperbacks and such, and that wouldn’t cost much, but then we think we should have a new record player, plus records, of course, and a snooker table.’ He shook his head. ‘We’ll have to see what we’re allowed.’
Scarcely listening, Lynette was watching Monnie.
‘You’ve kept very quiet about where you went with Torquil yesterday. ‘What did you get up to, then? Go looking at more historical sites?’
‘As a matter of fact, we had tea with Mrs MacLeod.’
‘Tea with Agnes?’ Frank repeated, staring.
‘Tea with Torquil’s mother?’ Lynette cried. ‘Monnie, what’s happened? Are you engaged, or something?’
‘Of course not! She just wanted to meet me and have a talk.’
‘But for a chap to take a girl to meet his mother, that usually means something.’ Frank’s eyes were bleak. ‘What’s going on, Monnie?’
‘Nothing. It wasn’t Torquil who wanted to take me, I tell you, it was his mother who wanted to meet me.’ Monnie stood up, gathering the breakfast dishes, her grey eyes mutinous. ‘Why are you trying to see something that isn’t there? What Agnes wanted to do was make excuses for Tony, that was all. She thought I might have heard gossip.’
‘Which we have,’ said Lynette, helping to clear the table.
‘Yes, from Mrs MacNicol.’ Monnie glanced at her father. ‘Tony was there yesterday and he was rather bitter about her. Said she was a troublemaker.’
‘He said what?’ Frank was flushing scarlet. ‘What the hell gives him the right to talk like that about Ishbel? She was only speaking the truth about him and if I see him, I’ll give him a piece of my mind, I can tell you!’
‘Dad, calm down,’ said Lynette, surprised. ‘Better not get involved with Tony MacLeod, I’d say. He’s the troublemaker.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ was all Frank replied, and pushing back his chair, he left the table and strode out.
‘Why so steamed up?’ Lynette asked Monnie. ‘I’ve never seen him get mad so quickly.’
Monnie shrugged. ‘You’d better go for your bus, if you don’t want to be late.’
‘Yes, and we haven’t even discussed what we’re going to wear for this ceilidh.’
‘Oh, nothing special. I don’t suppose it matters what we wear.’
‘It does to me,’ Lynette said firmly. ‘We did bring our old sewing machine, didn’t we? I think I might see if I can get some material in Kyle and run something up.’ She put her hand on Monnie’s arm. ‘Before we go, what did Agnes say about Torquil? She must have said something.’
‘Just that he was a bit mischievous as a boy.’
‘Somehow, I can imagine that.’
Monnie’s face was expressionless. ‘Shouldn’t you be off now?’
‘I’m on my way. Want to come with me to Kyle, if I can get the time off?’
‘No, thanks, I’d better wait and go with Paul.’
Thank goodness she at least wants to do that, Lynette thought, running for her bus. Clearly, Paul Soutar would be better in every way for Monnie than Torquil MacLeod, but there was no point in telling her that. You couldn’t tell people who to love. Lynette’s pretty mouth twisted a little. Couldn’t even tell yourself.