Authors: Bob Atkinson
By mid-afternoon the people of the glen had
begun to make their way down once again from the high shielings. Under the
ceaseless rain they looked like survivors of a shipwreck. Soon huge peat fires
glowed in the five cottages of
Meall An Fhraoich,
sending equal amounts
of smoke and steam into the howling skies.
Some thirty of the clansfolk crowded into the
cottage occupied by the newcomers, where they huddled around the fire like
penguins on an ice floe. Neither Ishbel nor Mary was amongst them. Food and
warmth did little to raise their spirits, and it was hard to believe these were
the same people who had filled the night of the wake with such fire and
passion, hurling the wild joy of their culture into the surrounding darkness.
Two hours after sunset Achnacon appeared in the
cottage, his limbs red with cold. Like the last survivor plucked from the sea
he was ushered to the fire and given newly dried clothes. Andy waited until the
old clansman had been warmed and fed before approaching him.
“Everyone make it safely down from the
shielings?”
Achnacon nodded. “At least we may be assured our
enemy will keep to his dry barracks so long as ourselfs remain in the bosom of
the storm.”
“What about Longholme and the others?”
A worried frown creased the old man’s face. “The
good chentleman and his men remain at
Ceann Laragain
in the care of
Larachmor and two others. He has swore to help us defend ourselfs against the
soldiers. All of his men have elected to stand with him.”
“Ah don’t trust him,” Andy said bluntly. “What
kindae man can order a massacre one week, then offer tae defend the same people
the next?”
To Andy’s surprise the old Highlander nodded in
agreement.
“Who can say what lies in the soul of a man such
as he? However, the two Raasay men declare the lefftenant to be a changed man
since the day he blighted Glen Laragain. On more than one occasion he has spoke
of a book given to himself that day.”
“A book?”
“An almanac,” said Achnacon, his voice dropping
to a whisper. “An almanac of things yet to be, that he holds close to himself
as if it was the Holy Scriptures. It is said the book was give to himself by a
beautiful lady from the Americas.”
“Shawnee’s book,” Andy recalled.
The old Highlander searched out the eyes of his
friend. “The Lady Shawnee has spoke to yourself of this book?”
Andy chose his words carefully. “Rhona, the
daughter of your cousin, Inverlaragain, told me that Longholme halted the
attack on Glen Laragain after Shawnee showed him the book.”
“Whatever could this book contain?” Achnacon
whispered in awe. “Is herself an enchantress, come to us in our time of need?”
“Aye, she’s a wee enchantress, right enough,” said
Andy, smiling. From the far side of the room Shawnee caught the soldier’s eye
and lifted her eyebrows enquiringly. Andy responded with a reassuring smile,
letting her know all was well with Achnacon.
“Ah’ll tell ye something else too,” he told the
Highlander, “Ah’m glad she’s on our side.”
Andy lay awake listening to the rain drumming
against the walls of the cottage. The peat fire flared into life whenever a
gust of wind found its way under the door. Sam and Shawnee’s periodic whispers
had given way to deep, regular breathing. The refugees from the shielings were
also stealing what rest they could. Even Alistair seemed to have fallen into a
peaceful sleep.
He sensed the presence, even before he saw the
lithe shape emerge from the shadows. At first he thought he was dreaming, but
when he felt the little hand cover his mouth, and heard the voice whispering;
“…ssshhh, not to speak, Auntie,” he realised Ishbel had come to him like a
ghost in the night.
Silently she slipped into bed beside him,
burrowing under his left arm until her shape moulded perfectly with his. Andy
stared into the darkness above his head, hardly daring to breathe. If she was
conscious of the frantic hammering in his chest, or the rigor mortis that had
gripped his body, she didn’t show it. She seemed to be wearing no more than a
long nightshirt, and her body was trembling with the cold. He held her close
with his left arm, feeling the soft promise of her female form, waiting for her
to take the initiative. She seemed content merely to lie beside him, however,
and gradually Andy realised she had come simply to lie with him and share the
warmth of his body.
He couldn’t tell how long they lay together like
this, no words passing between them. It was the most sensuous experience of his
life. At some point he must have fallen asleep, for in the early flush of dawn
he turned with a start to find he was on his own again.
Alistair was murmuring in one corner, his
ramblings finding a response at the far end of the cottage as some young lassie
moaned in her sleep. Andy closed his eyes, trying to recall the soft rhythm of
Ishbel’s breath against his chest.
Outside the wind howled around the cottage,
warning those, who had ears to listen, of the dark shadows of death that were
gathering once more in the glen.
~*~
The storm raged all that night and into the
following day. After breakfast Achnacon held a council of war. He agreed the
little storehouse would make a strong defensive position, and laughed when he
learned it was Shawnee’s idea to remove the roof. He also proposed to turn one
of the adjoining cottages into a second strongpoint, both connected to the
other buildings by a series of protective walls, so that anybody could move
from one to another in relative safety.
Long before the storm had blown itself out
Achnacon had set his clansfolk to work, fortifying the cottages where the
people were to shelter, linking the buildings to each other by walled
passageways. He had every wall and enclosure within a half-mile radius levelled
to the ground to ensure the soldiers would have no cover when they took up
their positions around
Meall An Fhraoich
.
His own family was made to labour as hard as
any. Andy worked his way over to where Ishbel was laying stones for one of the
walls. Her clothes were wet, her face and hair streaked with grime, but she
still managed to look pert and attractive. If he had any suspicions that the
night’s tryst had been only a dream, they were soon dispelled by her
conspiratorial smile. Achnacon pretended not to notice the furtive kisses and
caresses that passed between his daughter and his friend. Eventually, however,
his wife was sent over to find other work for Ishbel.
It was late afternoon before the racing clouds
began to withdraw up the hillsides, and the rain finally eased off. By now the
settlement looked more like a military fort than a country hamlet. The five
cottages and the little storehouse had all been linked to each other by
passageways worthy of an Orcadian tomb. The stones of the burnt-out cottage had
also been incorporated into the fortifications, leaving only a rectangular
scorch mark where the house had stood.
When the rain had finally stopped, the two
soldiers accompanied Sam and Shawnee on a tour of the fortress. They made their
way to a point east of
Meall An Fhraoich
, where it was expected their
enemy would position his cannon.
“Everything we see here will be severely tested
by the iron shot of those coehorn mortars,” said Alistair.
Andy turned to the Americans. “It’s still no’
too late for you guys. The pair o’ yez could be long gone before tomorrow.”
Sam looked to Shawnee, who’d been gazing
eastwards, to where the scarlet column would approach. She turned and smiled
teasingly at Andy.
“And miss the society event of the year?
Achnacon
told us about your latest vision. He was quite definite about
who was gonna be dancing at this wedding of yours, and what would he think if
Sam and me weren’t even gonna be here?”
The soldier grimaced. “It was the only way Ah
could think of tae give him a wee bit o’ hope.”
Shawnee looked at the little citadel that a
hundred pairs of hands had toiled over. “Yeah, well, one way and another, I
reckon you’ve sure done that, Andy. But whaddya think our hightailing it outta
here would do to that little bit of hope you’ve given them?”
Sam managed a phlegmatic shrug of the shoulders
as Shawnee began to lead him back towards the fortified settlement.
Now that the rain had passed Achnacon turned his
attention to the storehouse. The supplies were transferred to a nearby cottage,
and the weighted ropes that helped to secure the roof removed. As the thatch
was lifted from the timber framework the building was instantly transformed
into a skeletal ruin. A buzz of excitement and apprehension swept through the
onlookers. To see one of their buildings being de-roofed brought home to them
the seriousness of the situation as nothing else could. It was as if the cover
had been removed from the first of the Titanic’s lifeboats.
As darkness began to descend the thatch was also
removed from the cottage diagonally opposite the storehouse. In the gathering
gloom the flickering light of fires began to appear through the windows and
open doors of the remaining cottages. The clansfolk drifted away to eat and
rest, but for Achnacon there would be no rest yet. With Andy and Alistair in
tow he anxiously examined every angle of the sprawling fortress, searching in
the last shreds of daylight for some weakness in their defences. Even when it
was apparent they had done all they could, he continued to fret over the
connecting walls, removing stones and replacing them again. Ultimately he took
to staring out into the darkness.
“ ’Tis times like this,” he remarked at last,
“that a man looks for something he can bargain with. Something that will merit
the Lord’s favour over his enemy.”
“Ah suppose the Lord helps them that help themselves,”
murmured Andy.
“Aye, chust so,” murmured the old Highlander.
“And yourself, Alasdair Mhor? Is it your practice to look on high for
assistance on the eve of battle?”
Alistair’s expression was invisible in the
gathering twilight. “I have never known a field of battle where the believer
was favoured over the heathen, or the Christian over the Muslim. So I think,
myself, it makes little difference either way. We all walk in darkness. Why look
for light where none exists?”
Andy expected Achnacon to recoil in horror, to
search for faggots to pile at the heretic’s feet, but the old Highlander looked
at Alistair with pained concern.
“ ’Tis a terrible thing,
Alasdair Mhor
,
for a man to lose his faith. Whatever could have made yourself feel so alone
you would prefer to walk in such darkness?”
Achnacon laid a fatherly arm on his young
kinsman and began to lead him back to the main cottage of
Meall An Fhraoich
,
with Andy quietly taking up the rear. Around them the smell of cooking and the
occasional burst of laughter was already beginning to fill the evening.
~*~
Long after everyone else had fallen asleep, Andy
lay awake, his ears straining for that soft rustle that would tell him Ishbel
had returned. He felt like a child on Christmas Eve, waiting for that illicit
sight of white beard and red coat… an ironic combination under the
circumstances.
His mind had drifted away, exploring the
contrasting associations of this image, when he felt a gentle rush of air.
Moments later Ishbel was stealing into bed beside him, nestling under his left
arm. As she drew warmth from him, he felt he’d re-entered a familiar dream
world.
Even before she’d fully warmed herself, it
became obvious that this night she would not be content merely to lie beside
him. He could feel her soft hands gently tracing his upper torso, his arms and
neck, exploring the fearful wonder of his body. Andy was desperate to
reciprocate, to discover the secret places of this lovely woman, but he knew
she was exploring more than just the shape of her lover to be.
Unfortunately he’d become aware that something
else was different this night, something that was also beyond his control. He
could feel the little warrior stirring in his loins, dutifully rising to
attention, until ultimately Andy felt as if three individuals were sharing the
bed.
She had now drawn his face towards her own,
exploring his mouth with hers. To Andy it was torture, made worse now that he
could feel the stirrings of excitement in Ishbel’s body. He wondered if she
wanted him to take the initiative. Perhaps it would be the only opportunity
they would ever have… After all, Sam and Shawnee…
She let out a little moan and pulled away, as though
recoiling from a precipice. He felt an impending sense of loss as she
disentangled her body from his. He knew she was preparing to rush back to her
own bed. At the last moment she stretched over for one final kiss, and as she
did so he felt the gossamer touch of her fingers as her hand stole down to his
groin and briefly stroked that eager little warrior, assuring Andy she’d known
he was there all along. Then she was gone, like a spirit in the night, barely
opening the door as she ghosted out of the cottage.
Andy’s bed remained inhabited by two occupants
long after Ishbel had returned to her own bed.