Chapter 2
Prelude to Folly
Edinburgh - A Week Later
Robert sat within the Behin’ swilling down his first ale of the evening, when he noticed Alastair sauntering towards him.
“Robert! Fancy meetin’ ye here!” Alastair exclaimed.
“And you as well,” Robert responded pleasantly. He didn’t volunteer that he had stopped by the Behin’ nearly every night this week in hopes of meeting the lovely Elizabeth once again. Instead, he inquired, “Can I buy you a pint of ale?”
“Stoatin,” Alastair squawked gleefully, “Tis a brammer Saturday night, and Ah’ve an itch tae meit up with some brammer yoong lasses!”
Exercising his best Scottish accent, Robert volunteered, “I say, stoatin idea.”
“Robbie boy, ye’ll have tae do bettern’ that poor attempt at Scottish, if’n ye want tae impress the lasses roond these parts.”
Reverting to his native tongue, Robert responded jovially, “Just you watch and see,” and so saying, off he went in search of two pints of ale.
Returning within minutes, he thrust a pint towards Alastair, exclaiming, “So, Alastair, which one of them do you take a shine to? I myself am partial to Elizabeth,” thereby hoping to stake his claim by announcing his intentions.
“Weel,” Alastair responded nonchalantly and, scratching his chin reflectively, he allowed, “Ah’m playin’ the field fur the moment. That Elizabeth is a brammer lassie, tae be certain, but that Aussie lass is naethin’ tae be passed by, if’n yer tae be askin’ the likes ay me.”
“Stoatin,” Robert replied, hoisting his pint to clink glasses with Alastair. “Then we shall have a fine time of it, if we are so lucky as to be afforded their presence yet again.”
Just to be sure, Robert glanced sideways, checking to see if the two subjects of their appraisal were anywhere to be found within the pub. Sure enough, his vigilance paid off shortly thereafter. Within minutes he observed Margaret advancing towards him, cheeks flushed from the cold night air.
Suddenly, Elizabeth too burst into view, making direct eye contact with him from across the room. Caught in mid-taste, the sheer splendor of her drew the air right out of his lungs, causing him to gag slightly on his ale. His reaction was covertly observed by the fast-approaching Margaret. Fortunately, Elizabeth had dipped behind a group of boisterous customers, thereby failing to catch sight of his far too revealing reaction.
“Well, what a surprise, seeing you two here!” Elizabeth chortled pleasantly.
“I say!” Robert replied with obvious delight, “We’ve been right here, on this very spot, awaiting the arrival of you two ladies for what – three days now! And here you are. What a lovely spot of luck. Could I get you each a pint of ale?”
“Certainly!” Elizabeth chimed in and, turning toward her friend, she suggested, “And you, Margaret?”
“I’m in,” Margaret responded pleasantly, “Surely you’ve not actually been expecting the pair of us tonight, Sir Robert?”
“Och, nae lass,” Alastair put in, “Merely hopin’. But here we are - all our hopes an’ dreams come true!”
Over the course of the next few hours the four sat chatting, discussing, and relaying stories about nothing at all of importance, in the process gradually forming a tentative friendship. Two pints of ale into their evening, Robert queried suspiciously of Alastair, “I say, what is that you’re carrying – a knapsack?”
“Och, thes be my pack ay dreams!”
“You don’t say,” Robert replied doubtfully. “And what, pray tell, is contained within your pack of dreams?”
“Weel, normally, Ah’d say it waur a secrit, but seein’ as hoo Ah’m with me dear friends, Ah’ll show ye,” and so saying, he drew a mysterious contraption from the pack.
“What the…?” Robert mumbled in confusion.
Margaret stared a moment in contemplation and suddenly exclaimed, “It’s a wireless telegraph!”
“Reit!” Alastair responded gleefully, “Some folk calls it a radio. The idea was invented by a Scot – name of James Clerk Maxwell – who went tae university right here in Edinburgh! He’s my heroo!”
“Oh, I see,” Robert put in derisively, “You want to be an inventor,” as if that were some sort of miserable failing.
“Don’t make fun of him, Robert,” Margaret interjected, “He’s pretty darn smart, if you ask me.”
“Sorry, old chap,” Robert offered sheepishly, “Does it work?”
“Nae yet, but give me a bit of time.”
“I just don’t get the point,” Robert responded.
“Weel, it be like this, Robbie Boy. Someday, perhaps in a hundred years, we’ll all have a telephone in our pockets, and we won’t be needin’ to connect it tae a wire in order tae use it.”
“Ugh! I don’t like the sound of that. I think I’d prefer to live in the present,” Elizabeth said.
“Aye, weel, there’s nae much likelihood that we can be livin’ in another time, Elizabeth, at least - until I invent me time machine - soo you’ll nae be needin’ tae worry oon that!” and at this inane conjecture all four giggled uncontrollably.
“What else do you have there?” Robert mumbled.
“Weel, Ah’ve only me bagpipe, but a pure and sweet bagpipe she is!”
“Oh, you play the bagpipe, mate?” Margaret asked with heightened interest.
“Och aye, what self-respectin’ Scot doesnae?” he replied, and as he did so, he drew the rather shapeless contraption from his knapsack.
“Could I possibly see it?” she inquired.
“Och aye.”
Examining it studiously, Elizabeth offered gaily, “Looks rather like a dead raccoon with antlers.”
“But wearing a tiny kilt,” Robert put in, inciting yet further animated giggles from the group.
Margaret examined it a moment, subsequently offering, “I think I see…you blow on this stem here, and that inflates the bag, which subsequently expels air from these large pipes, and you place your fingers over the holes in this small flute here to create just the right note, making a proper tune of it.”
Obviously impressed with her perception, Alastair responded, “Och aye, ye’ve got it precisely, lass.”
“Wait!” she exclaimed in sudden surprise, and caressing the contraption, she remarked, “What’s this? There’s something inside the bag!”
“Reit. That be my secret stash,” Alastair replied matter-of-factly.
Now also interested, Elizabeth interjected, “Secret stash?”
“Reit. Tis haggis.”
“Haggis? What’s that?” Margaret asked.
“Tis a vile concoction of sheep’s entrails, cooked within the sheep’s stomach,” Elizabeth rejoined, “Trust me, you do NOT want any part of it!”
“Ew!” Margaret responded in apparent disgust.
At this Alastair pulled his stash from the bag, opened a small wrapper and, surreptitiously appropriating a bite, he announced, “Och, delightful, if’n Ah dae say soo myself!”
For his part, Robert queried in confusion, “But why do you keep it in the bagpipe?”
“Reit. Good question. Keeps it warm and tasty. But more important, Ah can keep my own haggis hidden – tucked away from pryin’ eyes.”
“What! Why?”
“Weel, Robert, lit me pit it thes way, there be haggis, and then, there be haggis. Thes here is the real mince! Want a taste?”
“Sure…why not…” Robert replied curiously.
Alastair handed him a small bite, which Robert summarily wolfed down. He then announced with satisfaction, “I say, that IS worth stashing in your bagpipe. Excellent haggis, if I do say so myself!”
“Thenk ye, Robert,” Alastair responded in evident satisfaction.
And that is how it all started. Within a few short weeks, young Sir Robert and his Scottish side-kick Alastair had fallen in with the gorgeous and engaging Elizabeth and her offbeat and somewhat chaste friend Margaret.
Robert was elated. It was their first great adventure, the four of them setting off on a weekend outing to St. Andrews, a two hour journey northward by train from Edinburgh. They had met at Waverly Station, caught the train, and were now ensconced snugly within their own first-class cabin.
Pointing from the window of the train, Alastair exclaimed, “Look! We’re passin’ over the Firth ay Forth Bridge, the most famous bridge in all the warld!”
“Wow! I’ve never seen anything like that in my entire life,” Margaret replied in sheer wonder. “This bridge is enormous!”
“Reit. And it’s built entirely from steel,” Alastair added, as if that meant anything at all to his companions.
“Right, mister brainy man,” Elizabeth responded derisively, “Is there anything you don’t know, Alastair?”
At this Alastair blushed, and posited, “Och, it’s naethin’ special. Ye forget - Ah’m from Scotland. And besides, Ah crossed over thes bridge when Ah came down from Aberdeen.”
“Where exactly is Aberdeen?” Margaret queried.
“Tis way up north, oon the brine coest,” he replied.
“What must it be like living so far north?” she continued.
“Ah dinna kin. What must it be like, livin’ sae far south in Australia?” and at this tongue-in-cheek rebuttal, all four laughed gaily. Life was good, and they were off on their first adventure together.
Ever the inquisitor, Margaret pressed her attack on Alastair, asking, “What is there to do in St. Andrews?”
“Ah dinna kin, Ah’ve never actually been there, but if’n Tis a’tall like Aberdeen, there should be plenty ay pubs, all filled with blooter’d and entertainin’ Scots.”
“That sounds interesting. Anything else?”
“Well, there’s the famous golf links, and Ah’m told that there is an old kirk. It was burned durin’ the reformation, and is now in ruins, but nonetheless worth visitin’. And finally, there is the brine coest. Unlike Edinburgh, the city runs reit doon tae the sea.”
“Oh, my - this should be quite a memorable weekend!” Elizabeth put in happily.
Robert, who had up to this point remained silent, added testily, “I should certainly hope so. This little jaunt is costing us quite a pretty penny.” But in truth, his mind was set on how he might indulge his infatuation with the winsome Elizabeth.
By noon the four had arrived in St. Andrews, checked in to their inn and, following a scrumptious meal at the Brown Ale Pub, they had set off to survey the local points of interest. By four in the afternoon, they were back at the inn, having been uniformly chilled to the bone by the wind and drizzle that was so emblematic of Scotland. Accordingly, all four piled into one of the two rooms Robert had reserved, setting to the task of recovering from the chill.
In keeping with her presumptuous nature, Margaret suggested, “What shall we do next?”
Apparently exhausted by her omnipresent persistence, Alastair snapped, “Why do we have tae do anythin’ a’tall?”
“Easy, big fella,” Robert cut in, “She’s just new to Scotland, that’s all. Let her be.”
At this Alastair snorted happily, replying, “Nae harm meant. But Ah’d jist as soon rest up a bit afore we take up anither ootin’.”
“Of course, I didn’t mean to press, mate,” Margaret responded diffidently.
An hour later, they were collectively ensconced in yet another of the local pubs, happily partaking of the local merriment.
“Are the pubs in St. Andrews always this crowded?” Margaret queried, observing the enormous jubilation pervading every corner of the pub.
“Och, Ah’ve jist remembered!” Alastair responded. “Ah’d quite forgotten. Tis Beltane!”
“What’s Beltane?” Margaret blubbered.
“Tis a Gaelic festival held every year, reit aroond the faerst ay May, celebratin’ the comin’ plantin’ season, oor some sich pish.”
“Oh, right, tis also celebrated in Wales,” Robert put in. “In Wales they build bonfires on Beltane, too.”
“Reit! Sae doo the Scots. There jist might be a good one in St. Andrews this night. Ah’ll ask aroond and see.” He wandered off, and returning a few minutes later, he announced, “Sur enough, reit oot oon the point, near the kirk, where we were earlier today, there’s tae be a bonfire tonight, jist in two hours’ time. Shall we goo and see?”
“Sounds like fun!” Elizabeth volunteered.
Two hours later the four were arrayed adjacent to the sea coast, together with an enormous throng of jubilant and apparently inebriated locals, all awaiting the lighting of the bonfire. Within minutes an officious looking man stepped forward and, it being evident that he was a local dignitary, he thenceforth proceeded to offer a short but eloquent oratory, not a word of which Robert could decipher.
“He’s speakin’ Gaelic,” Alastair commented, “Tis tradition oon Beltane. He’s wishin’ everyone a moost fertile year, both the plantin’ and the seedin’, if’n ye gang my meanin’. Och, and noo, as a sign ay good luck, we’re all supposed tae apply a yummy kiss tae oor neighbur.”
“What!” Margaret exclaimed and, noticing those around them partaking of the custom, she blurted, “I can’t be doing that! I’ve never kissed a boy!”
“Nur have Ah kissed a lovely maiden, but there be nae time loch the present,” Alastair said, but instead of reaching for her, he quickly moved in toward Elizabeth and wrapped her in his arms.
At this, Elizabeth exclaimed, “Well, it so happens that I have,” and, grabbing his face with both hands, she proceeded to demonstrate for him the fine art of kissing, at the completion of which, Alastair cooed softly, “My, my, Miss Elizabeth, ye’ve curled my toes!”
At this three members of the group guffawed, but Margaret turned pale, and murmured, “Please, be gentle, Robert, I’m new to this particular activity.”
“If you will so honor me, Margaret,” said Robert politely, “I promise to be ever so tender.”
“This is all so unreal to me,” Margaret responded. “Does it hurt?”
She subsequently approached him hesitantly and halted directly in front of him, at which point Robert turned and drew close to her, whispering, “Perish the thought, dear Margaret, perish the thought,” and then he tugged her gently to him and ever so slowly drew her lips to his, barely touching hers - a soft, wispy, sensuous kiss of oh so tender proportions - at the completion of which Margaret drew back, eyes closed, and blushed noticeably.
Then, opening her eyes to stare in wonder directly into Robert’s, she drew her arms behind her back and, glancing shyly towards the ground, she whispered naively, “Thanks for that, Robert.”
There was a moment of hushed silence, a vaguely sensual air enveloping the four. Elizabeth glanced in apparent bewilderment at Alastair, he for his part responding with a sly wink of the eye. Margaret subsequently glanced furtively toward Elizabeth, her embarrassment still readily apparent to one and all.
Robert abruptly broke the pervasive silence, announcing nonchalantly, “And now, why don’t we retire back to the pub. Despite the momentary warmth, or perhaps even more so -because of it - I’m beginning to be chilled to my bones!”
At this suggestion, the four commenced the trek back from whence they had come, a somber atmosphere having suddenly come over them. Subsequently ensconced within the pub yet again, the continued merriment surrounding Beltane quickly restored their collective exhilaration. The festivities were if anything even more boisterous than before, thereby convincing the four to partake of yet another round of ale.
The party had by now reached truly raucous proportions, so that by the time they had consumed two further tankards of ale, the four were nearing an exhausted but nonetheless sated completion of their exceedingly happy day.
Robert’s secret plan had gone quite well up to this point, but he suddenly had cause to question the sanity of the final phase of it, the part he was about to propose
. Still, his state of inebriation mitigating his concerns, he blabbed woozily, “And now, it remains only to make one final preparation before turning in for the night.”
Equally inebriated, Elizabeth blurted, “And what might that be?”
“I suppose we should decide who shall share rooms,” he responded dubiously.
Clearly not so intoxicated as to be taken in by Robert’s apparent ploy, Margaret exclaimed, “What! I’m sharing with Elizabeth!”
“Oh, come now, Margaret. It’s Beltane, and we are on a fabulous outing. Lighten up! Besides, nothing is going to happen. There are two beds in each room, and we two shall each promise to maintain our distance should the accommodations lead to our separation.”
“Whit!” Alastair rejoined. “Ye main be radge, Robert! But oon the oother hand, Ah think Ah like it!”
“Right, old chap – the perfect ending to the perfect day!”
At this, Margaret turned and, exchanging a furtive glance with Elizabeth, she rejoined, “Alright, let me be clear on this point, Robert. If we two are separated, there will be no fraternization during the night. Correct?”
Robert and Alastair exchanged concurring glances, Robert replying, “Entirely correct.”
Margaret and Elizabeth whispered conspiratorially for a moment. Elizabeth then brightened, saying, “Alright, we accept.”
“Excellent!” Robert replied. “Now, as to how we shall divide the accommodations, I’ve been thinking about that as well. It seems fair that we simply draw straws. The short straw shall draw the long straw for the evening,” and, having proposed this solution, he produced a fistful of straws.
Elizabeth drew first, picking a straw of mid-length. Alastair then drew, picking the short straw. Margaret was next, picking the long straw, thereby settling the accommodations: Margaret would room with Alastair, and Elizabeth would room with Robert. And now, it remained only for the proper completion to the evening’s festivities, the four of them setting off for their appointed rooming arrangements.
The Following Morning
All save Margaret rose late, she awaiting her bleary-eyed travel partners in the inn restaurant below.
“Did you sleep well?” Elizabeth queried upon her descent.
“No!” Margaret responded sheepishly. “I’ve never slept with a man before!” And then, beneath her breath, she added, “Or anyone else, for that matter.” Then, glancing back toward Elizabeth, she queried, “How did it go with you?”
“Just fine. Robert was quite the perfect gentleman.”
At that point Alastair arrived and, appearing a bit mussed up, he blurted, “Soory, Ah moost have overslept.”
“Oh, you’re fine mate,” Margaret responded pleasantly. “Where’s Robert?”
“Nae certain,” he replied and, staring sheepishly at Margaret, he queried, “Soory. Did Ah snair?”
“Sorry for what?” she responded, and glancing furtively at Elizabeth, she denied, “Nothing happened! And no, you didn’t snore.”
“Och, thenks. That must have been ye Ah heard snairin’,” he responded with a sheepish grin.
“What!” she snorted, “That’s impossible. I didn’t sleep at all.”
“Och, soory, Ah was jist playin’ ye. Soory.”
At this Margaret giggled and offered to no one in particular, “So that’s all there is to it. I’ve slept with my first man, and none the worse for wear, except for a lost night of sleep!”
At this pronouncement, the three broke into complicit giggles, at which point Robert entered the room. “What’s so funny?” he inquired, appearing for all the world as if he thought they had been secretly speaking of him.
“Oh, nothing,” Elizabeth offered, “Margaret was just describing the joys of sleeping with her first man.”
At this, all three broke into snickers yet again, Robert frowning at their incongruous reaction to Elizabeth’s suggestive remark.
“Oh, I see,” he suddenly murmured flatly, “Tis a joke. I get it,” at which the three broke into laughter yet a third time, Robert for his part still refusing to join in.
Seeing as how the day had gotten off to a roaring start, it didn’t seem possible that it could go downhill from there, and indeed it didn’t, as the four made the best of the remainder of their adventure, eventually arriving back in Edinburgh just before midnight. At that point, friendly hugs were exchanged, along with promises to undertake an equally adventurous outing as soon as possible, and the two young ladies said their goodbyes.
Afterwards, Alastair and Robert made their way back to High Street, Alastair humming a Highland ballad all the way. Finally, unable to contain himself further, Robert inquired, “Well?”
Still humming gaily to himself, Alastair muttered with a garrulous smile, “Weel, whit?”
“What happened?”
“Whit do ye mean?”
“Don’t beat around the bush with me, Alastair. You know what I mean. What happened last night?”
“Nothin’ happened!” Alastair replied, but it was apparent that something had indeed occurred.
“Oh, come now. Am I not your best friend?”
“’Course ye are, Robert, but a gentleman always shoows discretion.”
“Gentleman! Ha! Give it up, lad. Come clean, as the saying goes.”
“Well, er…” and at this, Alastair halted for a moment, stroked his chin and posited surreptitiously, “Margaret is quite a lass…er, lady.”
Clearly irritated, Robert put in, “I knew it! Something DID happen!”
“Ah’ll nae be speakin’ of it even tae ye, Robert.”
“Oh, come now, Alastair. You’ve been humming that ballad all day long. You’re not fooling me!”
“Her virtue is entirely intact. That’s all Ah’ll be sayin’.”
“Her virtue! What in the name of Stirling Bridge does that mean, Alastair?”
“Weel, ‘twas mirk, dammit! She insisted on havin’ the lights oot, but pitch mirk though ‘twas, I might’ve learned a thin’ here and there. Alreit?”
“You’re talking balderdash,” Robert responded.
“Weel, be that as it main, yoo’ll git nae moor oot ay me,” Alastair responded sheepishly. “It’s simply nae respectable.”
At this last denial, the pair trudged silently off to their respective abodes.
Those Who Fought for Us Page 4