‘Niall! You young de’il, I just knew you would be here!’ Captain Mac was almost inarticulate. ‘By jove, just you wait till I tell Nell about this and wait till your parents and Shona clap their eyes on you! What happened? What happened, lad?’
Niall, his clothes stained, his face harrowed by lines of weariness, was nevertheless better looking than when Mac had last seen him. There was a sparkle in his brown eyes, a smile on his face, and though it was perhaps just a temporary reaction it endowed him with a life that hadn’t been in him for months.
He slapped Mac on the shoulders, shook hands with Iain Dubh and his crew. ‘Come up to the house and get some breakfast. You must be frozen and done in. God, it’s grand to see all your buggering wonderful faces! I thought I was going to be here forever! Come on, there’s a fire going. I found a load of ancient peats at the back of the house and gathered driftwood to supplement them.’
The fire was newly lit and belched more smoke than heat but in half an hour it glowed warmly in the old grate and the men, clutching mugs of steaming tea and wolfing thick corned beef sandwiches, were draped around the room on rickety furniture, some of it made out of fish boxes by the last occupant of the house.
Niall explained how he had left The Sea Urchin anchored in Valsaal Bay and of how the gales had violated even that sheltered anchorage, tearing the boat from her mooring and sweeping her out to sea. Fortunately he had brought plenty of supplies and warm bedding ashore so had been in no danger of starving or freezing. ‘But it was gey lonely, I can tell you,’ he said seriously. ‘I came here to be alone for a day or two and ended up with enough isolation to last a lifetime. It was worse at night, I couldny sleep for the wind battering the roof and there were times when I thought the sea was going to come right into the house – between that and the burns rampin’ through the machair it was all hell let loose. When it calmed a bitty I lit a bonfire on the shore hoping it would be seen by a passing boat. I was up and down at it day and night to keep it piled with driftwood because I only had a few matches and struck the last one this morning to light the fire.’
Captain Mac cleared his throat and stood up. ‘Are we going then, Iain Dubh? The sooner we get this mannie home the sooner you’ll be back on Hanaay straddlin’ Jeannie and throwin’ back as much whisky as you can hold – for I tell you this, lad, I’m grateful as hell for what you and your boys did and I will no’ forget it, indeed I will no’.’
The crew of The Pibroch unwound themselves stiffly and when the fire had been doused and the door shut on the old croft for the last time, Niall looked back and gave silent thanks for the shelter it had provided. But as The Pibroch sailed out of Valsaal Bay and into the open sea he didn’t look back at the island again. He had gone to seek peace in its isolated loneliness and to think of the times spent there with Ellie, but that had been in the summer when the seas and skies were calm and blue and all the fairness of the world seemed trapped in the small green and silver haven that was Breac Beag. Now it was winter, summer greens had given way to cold desolate greys and he hadn’t found Ellie in any of the places he’d looked. Gradually it had come to him that he didn’t have to travel far to find his daughter. She was with him all the time, in his heart and mind, and on reaching that discovery he had found a contentment that embraced every corner of his bruised heart.
Yet one dark corner remained restless and afraid and as The Pibroch chanted steadily through the bright, cold, morning sea, he wondered what kind of reception awaited him when he at last came face to face with the wife who had shunned him and who had cast him out of her life as easily as the tide tossed its unwanted debris on the shore.
Chapter Seventeen
Shona walked swiftly over the glen road to Slochmhor huddled against the inky blackness of Ben Machrie. She knew that if she allowed her steps to slow she might lose the courage she had built up ever since hearing that Niall had arrived home on The Pibroch. Relief, stark and overwhelming, had flooded her being and she had stared as her father’s mouth formed the most wonderful words she had heard in weeks. Yet she hadn’t quite taken it all in. After tortured days of believing Niall might be dead, coupled with stark empty hours of waiting for some sort of news which might finally force her to relinquish the hopes she had so desperately harboured, the reality of her father’s rich deep voice telling her the things she longed to hear, was almost too much for her to bear.
And so she had waited, waited till Niall was home, waited till Phebie and Lachlan had had their share of the sweet euphoria of seeing their cherished son alive and safe. Waited till Niall himself had had time to accustom himself to familiar things. She daren’t allow herself to wonder if he was thinking of her at all, if he even wanted to see her . . . if she stopped to think of things like that she would never have the courage to face him – to explain.
It was another bitterly cold night, the river was low, the burns which fed it frozen far up on the bens which were white with dustings of powdery snow. The bracken was frost rimed, millions of ice diamonds winked on the roadside grasses; the hill peaks glinted like blue steel, moving among the red clouds of sunset; the smoking chimneys of Portcull stood stark against the molten sheet of flame that was the Sound of Rhanna; the smell of frost was in the air, clean and sharp. It wasn’t often that such brittle cold came to the Hebrides and it was therefore a novelty to be enjoyed as the lochans froze and children waited eagerly for the ice to grow thick enough to bear their weight.
The lights of Slochmhor were warm and welcoming, yet even so she stood for a few minutes on the doorstep, warming her frozen fingers in her mouth, going over and over in her mind the things she would say to Niall. Taking a deep breath, she gave a small peremptory knock and plunged inside, taking in swiftly the scene in the living-room, Phebie and Lachlan, peaceful by the fire, each with a glass at their elbow, a third half full sitting on the mantelpiece.
‘Where is he?’ Her voice came out, breathless, unsure, and Lachlan rose to put a steadying hand on her shoulder. ‘He went for a walk – over by Sliach.’
She turned at once and made to rush away but Phebie’s soft words forestalled her flight. ‘Will – it be all right, Shona? He’s been through a lot.’
‘Ay,’ she said with conviction. ‘It will be fine, Phebie, never fear.’
She remembered nothing of the walk through the silent woods to the reed strewn lochan of Sliach, a tiny basin, flanked on one side by the dour, barren, scree flung slopes of Ben Machrie, bordered on the other by lonely stretches of bog-riddled moor. She emerged from the edge of the trees and caught her breath. Tonight the frozen loch was a blood-red looking glass, reflecting a crimson sunset at one end, mirroring an orange-tinted moon rising up over the shoulder of the ben, at the other. The fringes of spruce round the northern shore were perfectly mimicked in the ice-locked water; the brittle cracks released by the ever-tightening ice echoed from the embracing hills, mingling with the sweet, crystal clear, bell-like notes of the wild whooper swans who came every winter to the island. They were standing at the edge of the loch, their long, graceful necks appearing to keep time to the rhythm of their own voices, the white of their feathers stained with the blood of the dying sun. It was a sight that would remain with Shona for as long as she lived. Even then she could sense the poignancy of future years when she would look back and remember the haunting beauty of Loch Sliach on that perfect winter’s night. But it was Niall she would think of most, he of all her impressions, would be her most constant, her most enduring memory. He was sitting on a rock, his hands clasped round his knees, his hair a halo of fire against the black trees, the pensive attitude of his body in harmony with the splendid solitude of that wild and beautiful place.
She felt his sadness and his despair touching her like a living thing and a great sob rose up inside her. This was Niall, the boy with whom she had passed the sweet, wondrous days of childhood; the young man who had awakened her to the true meaning of unselfish love. But more than these, this was the man who was her husband, who had shared w
ith her the years of early youth and all the tears and laughter that had gone with them. Now they were both approaching the years of their prime, years which ought to be richer, more fulfilling than any other – and she had forsaken him – rejected him at a time when their grief should have brought them closer than ever . . . The tears swelled inside her breast till she felt she would die with the pent-up agony they contained. They continued to grow in intensity till the world spun and all around was blackness and night. Her throat burned, her limbs trembled and now there was a mist before her eyes. The moon blurred and wavered, merged with its reflection in the frozen loch. A pain that was almost physical speared her heart but as the tears spilled it was dissolved away, bit by painful bit.
‘Niall, oh, Niall,’ she whispered into her cold fingers, ‘forgive me, my darling, forgive me.’
Her leaden limbs stirred into life and as she began to run towards him, the blood coursing warmly through her veins, she felt life returning to her heart. It was as if God had touched her with His love, was breathing fire into everything that had lain dormant for so long.
She was crying, at last she was crying, the tears spilling out of her, healing her, releasing her from a prison of darkness. Her feet crackled on the frozen sedge grasses and Niall heard her long before she reached him. He stood up, momentarily hesitant, then he heard his name on her lips, a joyful sound that carried far over the loch. He held out his arms and she ran straight into them and it was as if all the long months of hurt and bewilderment had never been. Their cold lips met over and over till they were cold no more, but charged with warmth and passion – and above all, love.
‘Shona, Shona,’ he spoke the name tenderly. ‘You’ve come back. I thought I’d lost you forever but you’ve come back – laughing the way you used to when we were young—’
‘We are young,’ she interrupted fiercely, ‘I’m too young to grow old before my time.’
He laughed, the deep happy sound of it like music in her ears. ‘That’s my girl talking – when you come out with daft things like that I know you are yourself again.’
Their bodies merged, closer and closer, as if they were trying to fuse them together. He was hard and excitingly masculine, the rough wool of his jersey reassuringly warm against her face. His fingers whispered over the smooth contours of her face, coming to rest at the nape of her neck. In the last remnants of the sun she saw his eyes narrowing to a stern disapproval.
‘Your bonny hair, what have you done with it?’
‘Hacked it off! In a fit of temper. Oh, don’t be angry with me, Niall. It had nothing to do with you. I was hating myself, everything about me and I took it out on myself.’
She took his hand and led him to the edge of Sliach where they sat together on a big flat stone and stared over the darkening face of the loch. The swans were still calling, the sweet musical notes like some heavenly bugle-call to the stars glittering above.
‘I’ll never forget this night,’ she said softly, ‘after all the worry of you going missing, us trying to believe the best but unable to stop thinking the worst. I knew then what you meant to me – the idea of losing you was too unbearable to even contemplate. I really would have had nothing then to live for.’
He put a finger over her lips. ‘Weesht, it’s over, now we must stop looking back, we must go on, Shona, but we must never stop talking about Ellie. We’ve buried our wee lassie for far too long.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘I know that now, I want to think about her, to talk about her. Somehow I feel she’s here with us, listening to the swans, seeing the beauty of the frost on the hill. I’m thinking right now of something she once said. She was singing, and when I mentioned it she was surprised – no, taken aback – as if no other state but joy existed in the world. And she told me she was happy because we were. She was like that, other people’s moods affected her. When I used to get into one of my tempers with her she looked as if I had struck her but as soon as I was back to myself she would start to sing – I remember it so plainly – her wee voice singing – and those golden eyes of hers, smiling. I’ve infected you with my bitterness, Niall. How Ellie would have hated that, the hurt would have showed in her eyes – and she had your eyes. I look at you and I see Ellie and I think of how I blamed you for what happened when all the time it was my fault. I came back here like a child, expecting everything to be the same. I was living in a fool’s paradise, selfishly, thinking only of myself and my silly dreams. I neglected you and Ellie, I should have come on that trip. If I had none of this might ever have happened!’
‘Don’t talk like that, Shona!’ He sounded angry. ‘It will eat away like a canker if you don’t kill it from the start. None of us were to blame for what happened. It was an accident and would have happened no matter who was there – remember now, no looking back, promise me.’
‘All right, I promise.’ His hands were cold in hers and she took them between her own and began to rub briskly. ‘You must be frozen, out on that island for days on your own then out here as if you hadn’t had enough of solitude. Aren’t your feet like blocks of ice – mine are.’
‘No, I’m wearing the socks Ellie made me, they’re full of holes yet they’re so thick it doesn’t matter – she presented them to me one night on Hanaay – a labour of love right enough. Her eyes were sparkling. She made me take off my boots and then she put the socks on for me, holding her nose in the process – she always did have your sense of humour. After that nothing would do till I tried on the red woolly hat as well. Nellie went into shrieks and Mac spilled his rum into the fire where it shooshed up in a blue light. Ellie took it all in good part, she never thought people were laughing at her, always with her. God, how we laughed that night, and afterwards, when the poor cat was rendered immobile in socks and tammy, we all laughed till the tears ran down our faces—’ His voice broke and putting his face in his hands he gave vent to his emotions, his strong shoulders shaking helplessly.
‘Oh, Niall, my dear, dear Niall.’ She took him to her breast and stroked his hair, her own tears falling silently. ‘We’ll cry like this together many many times, my darling,’ she said huskily. ‘And it will do us nothing but good. The worst pain is when you can’t cry, when all the tears are locked away bringing a bitterness that seems to eat at your very soul.’
She took his hands and pulled him gently to his feet. ‘Come on, we’re going home. The fires are lit and the house is nice and warm – I think we’ll go early to bed, I want to lie in your arms for hours and hours.’
They saw the lights of Lorn’s cottage twinkling through the trees and she was tempted to go in and share her new-found happiness, but there was an urgency in the hand that grasped hers and she said nothing more till they stopped outside Slochmhor.
‘I’d better go in and get my pyjamas.’ He sounded a bit sheepish.
‘Tonight you won’t need them,’ she said firmly. ‘But you’d better go and tell them – you’re going home to Mo Dhachaidh.’
There was a warm, waiting feel about the old house and when they went inside they were aware of a sense of welcome, as if Biddy herself had lit the fires in anticipation of their return. Hand in hand they went upstairs, so aware of each other they couldn’t find the words to convey their feelings and so they said nothing. The bed was feather-down luxury, the soft flannelette sheets, the big fluffy pillows, just asking to be used. They undressed and sank into the warm haven, firelight playing on their naked bodies, a shyness in them as they gazed at each other. Her breasts tingled with awareness as she looked at him. His body was etched against the orange glow from the grate, the soft smooth edges of it brushed with mercurial gold, his muscles rippling gracefully under his skin, his deep chest plunging to the narrow aesthetic bones of his pelvis, so taut now but which she knew could have the fluidity of a bowstring in rhythm. Then he was lying beside her, studying her face for a long long time, absorbing every contour, a flash of annoyance creasing his brow as he reached out to touch the short tendrils that were so unfamiliar to
him.
‘Let it grow again.’ He spoke urgently and she nodded while she traced the whorls of his ear with a gentle finger. His gaze travelled the length of her body then came back to her face and the look of love in his eyes made her catch her breath. Passionately he claimed her mouth, his tongue meeting hers, forgetting everything, all the suppressed longings of the past months surging through him in a blinding rush. His mouth grew restless, wanting more, and he tore it away to kiss her ears, her neck, before marking a pathway of fire to the enticing swell of her breasts, lingering there for ecstatic seconds before moving down to the exciting curve of her soft belly. She gave a little cry, his head between her hands as he explored further, part of her wanting to voice a protest, the other part stifling it before it was even formed in her dizzy consciousness. She had never loved him more than she did now, and she wanted to give him everything she had ever denied him, to love him with her body, her heart, her soul.
For an eternity of pleasure they played and touched till he could wait no longer. He went into her fiercely, all shreds of reason swept aside in a tide of such intense passion she turned her head on the pillow and let herself be carried with him to the final ecstasy. But as always he made her wait, tantalizing her almost beyond endurance, kissing her lips, her breasts, touching the hard swollen peaks of her nipples till she cried out as if in pain. The moon rode higher in the heavens, spilling moonbeams into the room which mingled with the firelight and bathed their fluid bodies in silver-hued flame. Far far in the distance floated the voices of the swans, silver-sweet music that blended with moonlight and the love of two people who thought they had lost one another forever.
‘Shona, I love you,’ Niall’s voice was husky, ‘I love you, mo cridhe – I love you.’
He seemed to rise up and fill the room with his masculine power. In that moment they were as one, one body, one swiftly beating heart, one soul, merging, fusing, one tidal wave of ecstasy that carried them swiftly to the ultimate, world spinning climax. And they clung together and cried, for Ellie, for each other, for all the pain that they had suffered, and as their tears mingled so too did their life forces and there seemed no end to the searing, surging flame that consumed them, sealing their new-found love, binding them together in a rare and precious world that was theirs alone.
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