‘Our son will be born here, Niall,’ she said gently. ‘In time for you coming home.’
Her mind was blotting out the awful message contained in the letter from the War Office and now her whole being was diffused with excruciating pain yet through it all she trembled with joy at the thought of Niall’s face when he saw their child for the first time.
She was physically exhausted and suffering from shock but she struggled up to make ready the bed. Everything she needed was in the cave; blankets, cushions, utensils. But something niggled at her. Water! There always had to be plenty of hot water at childbirth. She bent to shake the spirit stove and discovered that it still contained some fuel – but matches, there had to be matches! They had always kept a box on a shelf but they might be too damp to strike. She found the box hidden behind a cobwebby cup and her hand shook so much some spilled out.
She held her breath as she struck one, it flared but died immediately. Several crumbled on contact but another flared and stayed alight. She stared at the small bright flame with tears on her cheeks, realizing she should have waited till later to try the matches. She had no water and she didn’t want to light the stove to soon and the rest of the matches might not work. Another pain came relentlessly and a dry sob shook her. Then she saw the candle stuck in a cruisie beside one of Mirabelle’s dolls. The match was almost spent and the pain in her belly made her want to double up but she reached up to the candle and held the flame to it. The wick smouldered and smoked.
‘Oh, please God!’ she cried. The match was burning her fingers but quite suddenly the wick robbed the charred remains of its flame and a white oval of light burned steadily.
‘Thank you, God! Oh, thank you,’ she whispered and sank to the chair to rest for a moment But not for long. She had to get water from the little mountain stream nearby. She pulled bracken and heather away from the entrance, tied back the gorse bushes then she began the laborious task of going back and forward to the burn for water. She had no bucket; only pots and a kettle. The usually tinkling little outlet was almost dried up and water trickled into the utensils with unhurried tranquillity.
She had left her watch at Laigmhor but she had a vague idea of the time because the sun was setting in a sheet of flame over the Atlantic. The cool night air brought forth the scent of thyme and moss and the sheep cried plaintively over the moor. She was glad of the breeze because it kept away the midges that could hover in dense clouds of torment if the air was too still.
It was very peaceful and the June night would bring no real darkness to Rhanna. She sat by the burn and even in the agony of childbirth breathed in the sweet scents of the moorland with an appreciation of one who had always loved the earth.
Fergus paced the parlour at Slochmhor. ‘Where in God’s name is she?’ he said for the umpteenth time in the long nightmare of a day.
Phebie sat very still and her face had the frozen immobility of one who was in a stupor of grief.
Lachlan cradled his dark head in his fine doctor’s hands and Elspeth. her features sharper than ever in her anxiety, said again, ‘I shouldny have left her but it was only for a wee whiley. I had to find someone to fetch McKenzie.’ She rocked her gaunt frame and a thin wail, which was a mixture of grief and self-pity, escaped her.
Fergus turned on her. ‘Will you be quiet, you old yowe! You should be away home for all the good you do here!’
Elspeth gripped her lips together. ‘You’re a hard man, McKenzie, but for all your fine airs you’re no better than the rest o’ us. If you’d given your lass more of your iron hert she might not have needed to look so hard elsewhere for a bit o’ love!’
Fergus whitened and the muscle in his jaw worked furiously. ‘You dried up old baggage! Who are you to . . .’
Lachlan sprang to his feet. His face was deathly white and his brown eyes were dull with the burden of his sadness. ‘For pity’s sake, the pair of you! Stop it! We’ll do no good miscalling each other!’ He faced Fergus. ‘I’m thinking the time’s come to go out and look for Shona. It looks as if she’s not coming back tonight. God knows where she’ll be nursing her grief. If we could have broken the news to her gently . . . but she saw the letter first and must be in a state of shock.’
Fergus nodded acquiescence. Lachlan turned to put his arm round his wife. ‘You go up to bed, mo ghaoil. I’m going to give you something to make you sleep.’
But Phebie shook her head violently. ‘No, I’m coming with you! I couldn’t sleep – I must be doing something and Shona will be needing a woman to comfort her.’
Elspeth looked up dourly. ‘Away you go, I’ll bide with the bairn.’
There was a scuffling outside and a murmur of voices. Lachlan went to the door and saw a crowd of Rhanna men outlined against the clear sky in which a pale moon hung like a lantern. Bob and Ranald were at the front of the group, their rough, homely features touched with anxiety. Bob spoke first, his gnarled fingers working nervously on the bone handle of his shepherd’s crook. ‘We heard about the lass and thought you’d need help to find her. And – we’re sorry to hear about young Niall.’
There was a subdued murmur from the men and Lachlan looked at them with swimming eyes. ‘Thanks, lads – and you’re right – we’ll need all the help we can get. We have no idea where the lass might be but if we split into groups our task might be easier.’
Phebie, wrapped in a tartan plaid, joined them. She, together with Fergus, Lachlan, and Bob, were going to comb one section of the Muir of Rhanna, and Robbie Beag with three others were going over the high rise that led to Nigg. Mathew and Neil Munro went to search the shore round the harbour while the fourth party went overland, south-east, where fields and moors separated them from Portvoynachan.
Bob was well acquainted with the moors; he had roamed them for miles with his sheepdogs, rounding the sheep at various times of the year. Dot, the younger of the sheepdogs, was with him now, keeping just ahead of her master, running in the silent gliding fashion of a good sheepdog.
Nobody noticed the golden, slightly tubby, form of the old spaniel till she pushed her wet nose into Phebie’s hand and whined.
‘Tot,’ said Phebie gently. ‘You can’t come with us. You’re too old to be roaming the moor.’ But Tot had waited patiently all day outside Slochmhor. She ran ahead and stopped to look back, a low moan rising deep in her throat.
Bob spat impatiently. ‘Ach, get away back girl. You’re of no use to us.’
But Tot was a dog with a purpose. To Dot the whole thing was a game, an unexpected outing for a working dog, and she frisked and poked into heather tufts with delight. The old spaniel ran on again on rheumaticky legs and whimpered, her nose testing the wind, one paw raised in the pose typical of the gun dog.
Fergus looked at her and frowned. ‘The old girl looks as if she knows what she’s about. She seems to know where she’s going.’
‘Of course,’ breathed Phebie. ‘Who would know better? She’s been all over Rhanna with Shona.’
Bob blew his nose disdainfully. He had time only for sheepdogs; game dogs were all right in their place but not much use on the farm. To his mind they were ‘gentry beasts’, good for all the useless sport indulged in by useless fowk with little else to occupy them but shooting and fishing.
Tot was well ahead and everyone was running to keep up with her. They covered a mile, then had to pause for breath. The air from the hill was clean and they gulped it in greedily. Tot, tired and panting, had collapsed in a heap and old Bob leaned against a boulder, shaking his head at what seemed an impossible task. They had shouted themselves hoarse and now that they were quiet, the silent, eerie loneliness of the moor enclosed them in a hushed blanket. The sky was clear and everything could be seen quite plainly, with the moor stretching on either side, flanked by the ridges of Sgurr nan Gabhar that separated them from Glen Fallan.
They were on the outskirts of the Burnbreddie estate and a dog howled mournfully. Tot was too tired to even prick her ears but Dot sat on her haunches and, liftin
g her nose to the June sky, wailed loudly.
‘Be quiet, you stupid fool!’ ordered Bob sharply. He knocked his pipe against the stone. ‘I think we’ve seen enough o’ this part – the lass would never have come so far in her condition. I’m for cutting over to Fallan. Maybe Croynachan or Croft na Beinn would know something of her whereabouts.’
‘It might be best,’ said Lachlan wearily, getting up stiffly from the heather.
All but Fergus changed direction. He was watching Tot who, groaning, had roused herself and was heading once more on the course she had set. She disappeared in amongst gorse bushes and Fergus ran forward, his mind and body exhausted, but every fibre of his being urging him onwards.
It was some time before the others realized he wasn’t with them. They were plodding over the rough peat bogs to Glen Fallan less than quarter of a mile on.
‘He’s chasin’ that damty dog again,’ cursed Bob.
Phebie began to cry, the slow silent tears of despair and grief. ‘We’d best go back,’ she said, clinging to the rough tweed of Lachlan’s jacket.
Lachlan hesitated in an agony of indecision. He felt they were all on a wild goose-chase yet he trusted the strength of Fergus’s decisive mind more than any other on the island.
‘We’d best,’ he said quietly.
‘It’s daft us all goin’ back,’ said Bob. ‘I’ll get along to Croynachan and get Johnston to help me look along the banks o’ Loch Sliach. It was a place favoured by the lass and Niall. She might be there.’
He trudged away, his crook helping him over the peaty ground.
Lachlan put his arm round Phebie and they went back to the moor.
Fergus strode after Tot. His breath was harsh and sore in his throat but he was positive the old dog knew where she was going. Her nose was to the ground, her floppy ears hiding her whitening muzzle and intent brown eyes. She was wheezing, her tongue lolling and dry but she kept gamely on.
‘Good lass, good lass,’ encouraged Fergus at intervals and a memory came to him of a big laughing Highlander handing over the tiny golden pup to a little girl on her fifth birthday.
Dog and child had grown up together, played and romped through youthful years. Now Tot was old, with cysts on her ears and watery eyes; she slept most of the time and romped no more. Yet some force was driving her on over that shaggy unkind moorland, a deep spirit of loyalty for the child she had known all her life was urging her to the very last ounce of strength in her loving old heart.
They had come two and a half miles and now they were breasting a rise. Tot stood looking down, breath rasping and flanks heaving. Fergus looked down also, down into the hollow where the stones of the old Abbey lumped together like the grey stooping figures of old men. His heart sank. Shona would never have come to this eerie place. The islanders avoided it, believing it to be haunted by the ‘ghaisties’ of the monks that had been slain there hundreds of years before. Peat Hags were said to roam the ruins at night, howling and screeching in glee at the plight of the monks.
People like Fergus knew the screeching to be no more than the wind whistling in and out of cracks and empty windows. Nevertheless even sensible, level-headed people had the seeds of ancient superstitions buried deep, and he shivered at the sight of Dunuaigh and the ruins. But his need to find his daughter was stronger than all else and his deep voice boomed out, echoing over the moor reverberating in the hollow. Over and over he called out but only the plaintive cries of the sheep answered him.
‘You were wrong lass! You were wrong!’ he scolded the dog. He looked down and saw the old spaniel was lying on her side, her eyes closed. He dropped on his knees and laying his hand on the golden fur felt the flying pulse. Even as he knelt there the faithful old beast drew a shuddering breath and the heart beneath his hand stopped beating.
‘Och no,’ cried Fergus to the stars. ‘Not this above all else!’
He remained where he was for several minutes, the burden of his grief and anxiety stooping his shoulders and bowing his head. His dark eyes stared dully at the lifeless little body lying on the ground, the curling red-gold fur a shade darker than the tough moorland grasses. A cold wind skittered from the sea and he shivered then rose, stiff and cold, with the limp little dog over his shoulder.
He stumbled back the way he had come and in the distance saw Lachlan and Phebie coming towards him. They came closer and Phebie put her hand to her mouth when she saw what he carried.
Like a man drunk he came towards them and wordlessly they all made their way back to Slochmhor little knowing that down in the hollow, among the Abbey ruins, the girl they sought lay drenched in sweat, her belly torn apart by the pains of childbirth. She had heard the faint echoes of her father’s voice and had answered, but her voice was a mere whisper in the deep cloisters of the cave.
Dawn was breaking, a faint streak of gold and silver above the dark corries of Glen Fallan. Elspeth was asleep in the rocking chair by the dead embers of the fire. Her face was gaunt in the morning light and she got up slowly at the opening of the door. She looked at the grey hopeless faces before her and her usually edgy voice was soft with pity. ‘The men found nothing, though they searched till nigh dawn. They’ve all gone home save Murdy. It wasny worth his while he says for he’ll be out in the fields in an hour or two. He’s sleepin’ in the kitchen. I’ll just go and put the kettle on.’ She paused at the door where Fergus stood with Tot draped over his arm. ‘Even the old dog,’ she murmured quietly and the unfamiliar glimmer of tears shone in her eyes though they were quickly wiped away and she brushed roughly past Fergus.
They were all desperately tired yet unwilling to leave the comfort of each other’s presence and the ever flowing cups of whisky-laced tea.
Bob arrived as the sea brightened to a deep gold and the morning chatter of birds drowned the air with song. He looked yellow and old and drew his hand across his nose irritably. ‘Croynachan reports nothing unusual,’ he said gruffly. ‘He’s seen nothing up the Glen or by Sliach but sheep and kie. But don’t worry, McKenzie, we’ll find her but we won’t follow the old dog next time, I’m thinkin’, She led us a fine dance.’
‘We won’t follow her again – she’s dead,’ said Fergus briefly.
Bob’s inscrutable old face softened. ‘Ach, but that’s a shame, a shame right enough. She took too much upon herself. It was strange, very strange.’
He accepted a glass of whisky then went off muttering, Dot tired and limp at his heels.
Fergus cradled his cup in his hand and stared into the rekindled fire. ‘What are we going to do?’ he asked hopelessly.
Lachlan stood up. ‘Get a bit of sleep and look again. You’ll bide in – in Niall’s room.’
‘Dammit, man, I can’t sleep!’ exploded Fergus. ‘She could have fallen somewhere, she might be hurt. I must go out again!’
Lachlan’s hand came down firmly on Fergus’s shoulder. ‘Bide a wee, man! You’ll do yourself and the lass a lot more good if you do. Heed what I say! Go out now and you’ll fumble around and do no good at all.’
Fergus sank back into the chair. ‘You’re right, Lachian, but I’ll just rest in the chair.’ He was asleep even before Lachlan closed the door. In the chair opposite, Elspeth snored softly, her jaw sagging and her lips making little popping noises.
A babble of voices below the window woke Lachian first. Still dazed with sleep he struggled into his trousers and looked out. Biddy was there, her spectacles falling from the end of her nose as she shooed away the folk who were gathering for morning surgery.’
‘Have you no respect?’ she shouted severely. ‘The doctor’s had word his lad’s missing and you all crowd round wi’ your wee aches and pains like nothing’s happened!’
‘We didn’t know,’ said several voices, genuinely shocked and sorrowful. They turned and dispersed slowly, leaving Biddy with a wildly gesticulating, almost hysterical Dodie who was babbling over and over, ‘It was ghaisties I’m tellin’ you! Moanin’ and screamin’ like the dead!’
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��The dead don’t scream,’ said Biddy firmly and cuffed him on the ear the way she did with the cheekier of the village children.
Lachian looked at the clock and was shocked to see that it was nearly ten o’clock. Phebie was struggling to waken and Fiona was singing in her bedroom.
Downstairs Fergus was opening the door to Biddy and a flustered Elspeth was scuttling into the kitchen. It was obvious everyone had just wakened.
Dodie’s voice was rising to a higher pitch, his mouth was frothing and he was obviously terrified.
‘Johnston told me about poor wee Shona missing,’ shouted Biddy above the din. ‘I came over quick as I could to see could I help and met this demented cratur shouting about hearing screams over the muir.’
Dodie’s nose was dripping on to his saliva-filled lips. ‘It was Ealasaid, doctor! 1 was looking for her last night but she didn’t come so I went out again this mornin’ – a bit o’ cream I wanted for my bread. I went away over the muir and had just got hold of her by the ghaisties’ place when they started screamin’ at me and Ealasaid run away so bad a fright she got!’
Biddy clucked impatiently but Fergus was looking intently at Dodie. ‘Do you means the ruins of the Abbey, Dodie?’
‘Aye, Mr McKenzie. Demented spirits screamin’ and the Peat Hags moanin’. It was terrible just.’
‘How long ago, Dodie?’
‘Nigh on an hour! I ran, so I did, it was so skearie. Ealasaid will likely have died o’ fright!’
Fergus turned to Lachlan. ‘The old dog was right.’ His voice was soft but hurried. ‘Shona is out there somewhere in the ruins. It was she Dodie heard screaming. It may be the bairn is coming.’
Lachlan was already picking up his bag. ‘Let’s go,’ he said briefly.
Biddy followed though the doctor protested. ‘You canny stop me,’ she said in a voice that brooked no interference. ‘I’ve walked the island all my life and if I canny walk the moor to deliver the bairn o’ the bairn I delivered years ahent then I’m no’ worth my worth.’
Rhanna Page 39