The House of Lyall (34 page)

Melda saw a big flaw in this. ‘Where would I sleep if I said that?'

Rannie didn't meet her eyes. ‘I could book a room for us. I'm sure the Western must be used to officers spending the night with one of the local girls.'

Melda shook her head. ‘I don't think Father would let me be away for a whole night, and, in any case, I couldn't face a hotel clerk.'

‘Don't you want to … be with me?'

His wounded look made her say hastily, ‘You know I want to be with you, but not like that, Rannie. It's … sordid, cheap.'

‘Yes, I suppose you're right.' Ranald comforted himself by thinking that Catriona would jump at such an offer if it were made to her. He might try it when he went back. Piqued, however, at being refused by a girl he could have sworn had always loved him, he attempted to punish her. ‘I might go and ask Becky Drummond out again. She can give a man an exciting night.'

Having known him for so long, Melda was sure that there was no truth in either of these statements, and decided to ignore them. ‘I could get out for a while on Sunday afternoon,' she ventured.

‘That means I'd just see you once. I go back on Tuesday.'

A little devil got into Melda now. ‘You'll always have Becky to give you some excitement,' she said sarcastically, and putting her foot on the pedal, she hoisted herself onto the saddle and cycled off.

Ranald came racing after her, but he waited until they were well into the glen before he took hold of her rear mudflap and pulled her to a stop. ‘I'm sorry, Melda,' he panted, as he cast first his bicycle and then hers down at the roadside. ‘I don't know anything about Becky, I've hardly ever spoken to her, never mind anything else.'

‘Then why …?'

‘To make you jealous.' He grinned at her mischievously. ‘You're the only girl for me, Esmerelda Mowatt.'

Her heart flipped over. He had never said anything like this to her before, but … she couldn't encourage him; Ruairidh's face, leaner and a little paler than his brother's, had come to the forefront of her mind and was hovering there as if to warn her.

‘Come on, Melda,' Ranald coaxed. ‘We'll find a place to sit down and have a proper talk.'

‘I can't,' she murmured. ‘If I'm late home …' She raised her eyes to his. ‘I
will
meet you at the old hut on Sunday afternoon, though, I promise.' Even as she said it, she wondered if she was being foolhardy. Rannie wasn't a boy any longer, to roll around with on the ground as the three of them had done when they were younger, innocent fun that could never be repeated. He was a grown man now, an officer in the army, so handsome in his dark green kilt and khaki barathea jacket that a pain was gnawing at her insides.

‘You're sure you'll be there?' he asked, his eyes, a slightly lighter shade of greyish blue than Ruairidh's, quite serious now, as if her answer was a matter of life or death to him.

‘I'll be there.' She lifted her bike and saying, ‘Three o'clock,' she cycled off, waving to him airily and feeling cheated that he didn't follow her.

When she reached her home and dismounted, she looked back hopefully, but there was still no sign of him, and she propped the bicycle against the gable end and went inside, wondering where he'd gone. She stayed inside the porch for five full minutes, pretending to brush the dust off her boots, but really watching for Rannie going past, and when she gave up, she tortured herself by imagining that he must have gone looking for Becky Drummond.

She thought about Ranald at every opportunity over the next few days, and felt bitterly let down when he didn't turn up outside the Academy again. An awful feeling had risen inside her that he knew Becky better than he professed, and to settle her doubts one way or the other, she sought out the girl at the midday break.

‘Have you seen Master Ranald since he's been home?' she asked, trying to sound casual.

The question was a dead giveaway, as even a girl less perspicacious than Becky would have realized, and the minister's daughter wasn't going to pass up the chance to take Melda Mowatt down a peg or two. ‘Every day. He's so manly in his uniform, isn't he? He told me his mother got it made by a tailor in Aberdeen, and it's far smarter than the ordinary soldiers get.' She widened her green eyes to feign surprise. ‘Why did you ask? Haven't you seen him since he came here to meet me that day?'

Melda's heart cramped. ‘He was waiting for you?'

‘Of course he was. He apologized later and said we shouldn't blame you for jumping to the wrong conclusion. After all, you always hung round him and his brother before they went away, didn't you?'

Never having come in contact with such an accomplished liar before, Melda took every word as gospel. The colour had drained from her face but she had enough grip on herself to say, ‘I'm sorry if I spoiled it for you that day, Becky. Like you said, I used to hang round them and I naturally thought –'

‘Oh, it doesn't matter now,' Becky interrupted with a gracious smile. ‘And I know you're seeing him on Sunday afternoon, but he'll be with me on Sunday night. He's been with me every night.' She met the other girl's eyes shamelessly for a moment before walking away.

Between then and Sunday, Melda's mind was in deep confusion over what she should do. Should she leave Ranald waiting? Or should she meet him and let him know how sorry she was for butting in when it was Becky he had been there to meet? Yet, every now and then, she suspected that Becky hadn't been telling the truth. Melda would eagerly linger over that until it came to her that Becky knew things that only Rannie could have told her: where he'd had his uniform made, for instance, and the meeting that had been arranged for Sunday. They must have been alone together some time, speaking confidentially, or how would she know?

On Sunday afternoon, she decided to keep her promise. She owed it to Rannie to explain, to tell him that she knew about Becky, to accept his apology for leading her on (if he made one), or to accuse him outright of philandering if he tried to bluster it out.

When she reached the old hut, the still long since gone, he was already seated inside, and patted the soft floor of golden pine needles to show she was to sit beside him. The scene brought back memories of rainy days during long-ago school holidays, the three of them playing guessing games to pass the time, squabbling if one tried to cheat, laughing hilariously if one made a comic error. She did sit down though, but not as close as he had indicated, and she wasted no time in getting to the point. ‘Becky told me.'

Ranald screwed up his nose. ‘Told you what?'

‘About you and her.'

‘There isn't any me and her,' he said, somewhat shortly. ‘I only said there was to –'

‘To make me jealous,' Melda finished for him. ‘I wouldn't have been, you know. I'd have been glad for you, I'd have wished you well, but you lied to me. That's what I can't get over.'

‘I didn't lie,' he protested, edging nearer and putting an arm round her waist. ‘I really don't know anything about her, but I did meet her once on the road since I saw you, and we spoke for a few minutes, that's all.'

Melda shrugged off his arm. ‘Did you tell her where you got your uniform made?'

After thinking about this for a moment, he smiled. ‘Yes, I did, now you come to mention it. I didn't know what to say to her, and I was just making conversation.'

‘It had been a long conversation,' Melda said sarcastically. ‘You'd time to tell her you were meeting me this afternoon, and likely a whole lot of other things.'

‘I don't like you in this mood,' he observed.

‘Oh? I won't bother you any longer, then.' She made to stand up but he grabbed her arm.

‘Melda, what's got into you? I told you you're the only girl for me, so be sensible. If I wanted Becky, why would I tell her about you? I'd the feeling she hoped I'd ask her out, so I told her I was serious about you. I didn't mean to let anyone know that yet, but it's true. I love you, Melda Mowatt, and I'm going to marry you when the war's over.'

Before her astonished brain could form any words to answer this, his arms were round her, his lips travelling slowly from her ear round to her mouth, and when the long tender kisses began, all she could do was give herself up to the pleasure of them.

But when the mild caressing became forceful fondling, the kisses more demanding, Melda knew that she had to stop him before he went too far. ‘No, Rannie,' she gasped, as his hands strayed towards an intimate part of her. ‘Please don't!'

‘You must let me, Melda,' he begged. ‘I wasn't going to tell you in case you got upset, but we're being sent to France when I go back.'

She drew in a ragged breath. ‘To France? Oh, Rannie, no!'

‘I didn't think we'd have to go so soon,' he admitted, ‘but I've got to do what I'm told. I don't want to scare you, my dearest, but … well, to put it bluntly, I … might be killed, so you have to let me …'

She struggled against his insistent hand. ‘No, Rannie, I can't.'

He looked at her accusingly. ‘You don't love me?'

‘I do! I do! But … decent girls don't … let men …'

‘They do if they love them.'

She was thankful when he leaned back from her. If he'd kept on, she might have forgotten her principles, or at least pushed them aside. As it was, she wouldn't have to despise herself for being weak. It was better this way.

To take his mind off his biological needs, Ranald began to talk about their childhood, about their schoolfellows in the glen, about those men and women they had thought of as ancient when they were young but some of whom could only have been in their thirties or forties, about those who had passed on. ‘There's hardly any what I call “characters” left,' he remarked at one point, and they laughingly recalled the eccentrics of bygone days, the men who had made whisky in the still – Rannie looking sheepish as he recalled his own experience of the raw spirit – the women who, when their husbands were occupied elsewhere, had kept open house – and open legs – for the itinerant tinkers who came to the glen looking for casual work before they went to the Blairgowrie area to pick strawberries and raspberries for Keiller's jam factory in Dundee.

‘D'you remember Pattie Raeburn?' Melda giggled, all restraint between them forgotten already. ‘She used to hang a pair of red bloomers on her washing line to let that big Highlander know the coast was clear.'

‘I remember that,' Ranald gurgled, ‘and we bairns timed how long he took to get there and how long he stayed with her. Ruairidh and I once saw him running out at the back when her man was going in at the front.'

Mention of Ruairidh made awareness creep back to Melda. How would she face him when he came home on leave, after what she and Rannie had been doing? How could she tell him it was his brother she loved?

‘I think it's time I went home,' she said, her voice a fraction unsteady.

‘Must you?' Ranald groaned. ‘I'm sorry for what I did earlier, but I'm glad we've had time to get back to a normal footing.'

She looked away. ‘I'm sorry I couldn't –' She broke off.

‘No, you were quite right, but don't forget, Melda, I do love you, and I will marry you when the war's finished … if you haven't fallen in love with somebody else before that.'

‘I won't,' she assured him.

‘Not even Ruairidh?' he murmured, then immediately cried, ‘No, that's not fair of me.' He held out his hand to help her to her feet.

She couldn't have answered his question truthfully, she was well aware of that. It had always been Rannie
and
Ruairidh, together not singly, that she had played with, laughed with, thought of, and she had the feeling that, if
Ruairidh were to kiss and fondle her when he came home, as his brother had done, she might tell him she loved
him
, too.

She didn't protest when Ranald took her hand as they walked towards the path, there was nothing binding in that, and when they came within sight of the road, she let him draw her behind a tree and kiss her. It was a friend's kiss, nothing more, before he took her face in his hands and looked earnestly at her.

‘Melda, I shouldn't have tried to make you commit yourself, so don't say anything until after Ruairidh's been home, and if you'd rather spend the rest of your life with him, I'll understand.'

‘Maybe he wouldn't want that,' she whispered.

‘He told me he loved you, and we agreed to let you decide which of us you wanted without putting any pressure on you.'

She swallowed a lump which had risen in her throat. ‘What if I can't decide?' she wailed. ‘I feel awful about it, Rannie, but I honestly don't think I'll be able to choose between you.'

‘Don't feel badly about it, Melda. We knew it would be hard for you since the three of us were always together, but we've agreed to abide by your decision and the loser will take himself out of your life.' He gave a lopsided grin. ‘I'd better warn you, though – I'm not a very good sportsman.'

His eyes darkened again. ‘Melda, won't you please let me …? I could be killed, remember.'

Struggling against his tightening arms, she managed to gasp, ‘I could easily give in, Rannie, but I mustn't. I don't want to spoil … my wedding night.'

The words ‘whoever it's with' hovered in the air between them, and he heaved a long sigh. ‘I know you're right, my dearest girl, but I did hope you'd send me off to battle a happy man.' He let her go abruptly, almost pushing her from him. ‘I'm not being fair, to you or Ruairidh, so you're at liberty to tell him when he comes home that his brother's not to be trusted.'

Melda felt the tears spring to her eyes. She knew why he was acting like this, and who could blame him? It must be difficult for him to be natural when he knew he'd soon be facing the Huns.