“Fàilte. Tha mi toilichte ur coinneachadh,” Beth began. She was pleased to meet the old lady, even if she didn’t know the exact relationship between them.
The woman smiled warmly. Her face, although deeply lined still showed clearly that she had once been beautiful, had looked like the young woman standing before her. As Beth would no doubt one day look like her, if she was lucky enough to live so long.
“Halò, m’ogha. Tha mi toilichte do coinneachadh cuideachd.”
Beth’s eyes widened in disbelief. She could not have heard right. The blond man standing at the old lady’s side spoke now for the first time.
“Seo do sheanmhair, Ealasaid,” he said gently.
Her grandmother?
“But I thought you were dead!” Beth cried, and then blushed. “I mean…”
“I’m no’ dead yet.” Beth’s grandmother laughed. Her voice was clear and strong. “Although I thought at times the road would finish me off. I think I would have done better to ride, after all! No, mo chridhe,” she continued in a softer voice, “I was transported to the colonies a few years after the massacre of ‘92, because I wouldna accept what the authorities had done and be grateful to be allowed to return to my ravaged home. I only came back a few years ago. But we can talk of this later. We have a lot to say to each other, I think.” She reached out and gently caressed Beth’s cheek with a trembling hand. “You are so like Ann,” she whispered.
And then they were embracing, and crying, after which Alex offered the old lady his arm, and gallantly led her to his house, where she was assisted upstairs to gratefully lie down for a time on the bed which was normally shared by Angus and Duncan, but which they had temporarily vacated in favour of Iain and Maggie’s house. The MacDonalds would have been insulted if such an honoured guest had not been accommodated in the chieftain’s house.
“I’m just glad that Alexander didna come,” said Alex an hour or two later. “If he had, he’d have had to be accommodated in our house as well, being the chief, and it would have been a wee bit difficult.”
They had gone out for a while, ostensibly to leave the old lady in peace, but also to have a little time together to talk before the wedding and the duties of hospitality swept away all chance of any time alone for several days. They were sitting on a fallen tree near the lochside, watching the sun set over the water.
“We could have slept downstairs,” Beth said.
“Aye, but that’s no’ what I meant,” Alex replied. “Ye’ll be wanting some time to chat quietly wi’ your grandmother, I’m thinking, and the MacDonald is a braw man, a brave warrior, and a great wit. But he’s a wee bit larger than life, if you take my meaning, and no’ one for quiet chats by the fire.”
“I can’t believe she’s still alive,” said Beth, dismissing the MacDonald chief from her mind. “She must be eighty-five. Mother told me that she was arrested in 1694 with some others, for killing a group of government soldiers, and died in prison of a fever. Mother was brought up by her aunt after that. I can’t understand it. Why weren’t they told if she was transported? And why didn’t she let the clan know she was alive?”
“It’s probably because the situation was verra sensitive at the time. The government were seriously embarrassed when the news got out that they’d at least condoned, if not actually ordered the massacre of the MacDonalds, who had, after all already submitted to the crown. King Billy had intended to transport all the survivors to the colonies, but there was such an outcry he changed his mind. No doubt it was more politic to let the world know that the arrested MacDonalds had died of natural causes rather than that they were being transported for taking revenge against those who had butchered their kin. But as for why your grandmother didna tell anyone she wasna dead, ye’ll have to ask her that yourself.”
“I will,” Beth said, “as soon as I get the opportunity.”
She sat for a moment in silence, swinging her legs. Alex put his arm round her shoulder. It was warm and comforting. She felt safe, contented.
“She’s certainly not weak and feeble, is she?” she said after a time.
“No, she isna. And neither are you. And everybody kens it well, and would have done even if your granny hadna come to the wedding, Beth. Ye dinna need to prove yourself any more.”
She smiled.
“I know,” she said. “Do you know what makes me really happy? It’s the fact that now I’ve established myself a bit, that I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not. And that you are truly relaxed for the first time since I married you.”
He looked down at her.
“Why, am I normally tense?” he asked.
“I never noticed that you were when we were in London, or Europe. You just seemed normal, or as normal as you could be, having two completely different identities. It’s only since we’ve been here that I’ve seen the difference in you. You’re at home here, and at ease, somehow. Not so alert for trouble all the time. It’s subtle, but …oh, I don’t know how to explain it. You don’t rub your hand through your hair very often, anyway. I’m not married to a porcupine any more. It’s nice.”
He laughed.
“Aye, you’re right. This is my home. You’re seeing us at a particularly peaceful time, mind. There have been times when I’ve been tearing my hair out by the roots. But I dinna have to watch my back all the time to see if anyone’s about to stick a knife in it, or no’ anyone of my own clan, anyway. Being with your own folk, those ye love, in the land of your heart is the best thing there is.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” she said happily.
“Do ye really mean that?” he asked.
She had said it without thinking, but now she realised that she had spoken no more than the truth.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I do. I could quite happily spend the rest of my life here, I think. I know it’s not all roses, but I like adventure, as you know. Yes, then, in answer to the question you asked before we came here; I do feel at home here. I miss nothing at all of the London life. I’m dreading going back, to be honest. I’d be quite happy if I never saw Sir Anthony again, amusing as he is at times.”
He felt as though he was dancing on air, ecstatic. He had prayed she would be happy here, that she would be content to make her life amongst his people, but in spite of her assertions that she hated society life, he had wondered if the novelty of being the chieftain’s wife would wear off after a time, and she would start to yearn for her old way of life, the opera or the theatre, or even for more variety of foodstuffs. Once again he had underestimated her, he realised. She did not apologise unless she was sorry. And she did not make claims lightly. When she had told him she hated the restrictions and duplicity of society life, she had truly meant it. He should have believed her. He curled his arm closer round her shoulders and drew her in to him. She put her arm around his waist, hooking her thumb under his swordbelt. The sun was low over the hills now. Soon it would disappear behind them and the temperature would cool dramatically. They sat in silence, just enjoying the sheer joy of being together in a beautiful place, in their home, young and healthy and in love. A nightingale sang melodiously in a nearby tree. Life was perfect.
“What’s wrong?” Alex said suddenly and inexplicably. Beth was about to answer that nothing was wrong, that on the contrary nothing had ever been more right than this moment, when she realised that he wasn’t speaking to her, but to Duncan, who had approached with the customary silence of the MacGregors and now moved round the side of the tree into sight.
“Nothing,” he said. As Duncan was the last person to intrude upon another’s private space without good reason, Alex raised a disbelieving eyebrow and waited for his brother to explain his unusual behaviour.
“It’s just that with it being the eve of your wedding, as far as the clan are concerned, that is, them considering the fact of ye’s being already married as a mere formality, so to speak, they asked me to come down here and have a wee word wi’ ye both regarding certain customs to be followed at
this special time…”
This long-winded preamble was so alien to Duncan’s normal way of speaking that even Beth began to be somewhat suspicious.
“What’re ye blethering on about, man? Out wi’ it,” Alex interrupted.
“Of course, ye’ll maybe no’ ken the tradition, Beth, unless your mother tellt ye about it,” continued Duncan pleasantly to Beth, as though Alex hadn’t spoken. “It’s no’ an English custom, I’m thinking.”
“What isn’t?” asked Beth.
Duncan’s grey gaze wandered absently over Beth’s shoulder to the trees behind her, as he thought of how to explain the custom.
“Well,” he said after a moment. “Normally, on the evening before the wedding, it’s customary for a washing of the feet to take place…”
Alex launched himself from the log and hit the ground running, almost dislocating Beth’s thumb in the process, which had still been hooked through his swordbelt. He hurtled through the trees, making straight for the loch, unbuckling his belt en route and letting his sword and dirk fall to the ground. Duncan and Beth followed his progress with interest for a moment, before the sound of a great number of feet in pursuit drew her attention away from her husband’s flight. Half the men of the clan charged into the woodland after him, whooping with glee. Beth turned her attention back to Duncan, who had made no move to join them. She realised that his seemingly absent glance over her shoulder had been to judge the proximity of the pursuit.
“Aye,” he continued amiably. “It’s a verra ancient custom, and likely something to do wi’ our Lord washing the feet of the disciples. A sign of respect and friendship, if ye like.”
There was a splash as Alex dived into the loch and struck out strongly for the other side, then several more as his pursuers joined him.
“That’s nice,” said Beth insincerely. Alex would never have reacted like that to a simple washing of the feet. Clearly there was something far more sinister involved. There was obviously nothing she could do to help him, and however unpleasant this was likely to be for him, it was unlikely to be life-threatening. Hopefully. “Do all the men have their feet washed before they get married?” she asked.
“Oh, aye. And no’ just the men, but the women too,” said Duncan.
“What?” she said.
“It’s normal that the men wash the groom’s feet, and the women wash the bride’s,” Duncan said, catching hold of her hands as she jumped down from the log, and refusing to relinquish them when she tried to pull free. A yodelling cry of triumph came from the direction of the water. Alex had presumably been overtaken by the others. The giant Kenneth had been leading the pursuit. If it was him who’d caught up with the prey, Alex didn’t stand a chance.
“Ah, now, dinna fash yourself, lassie,” said Duncan soothingly. “Alex is overreacting. It’s no’ that bad. We wouldna do it to ye if we didna think of ye as one of us now.” He smiled reassuringly.
Beth was not reassured. This time when Duncan looked over her shoulder, Beth twisted in his grip to see what he was looking at. A file of women was making its way towards her. Beth didn’t know whether to be comforted or not by the fact that Maggie was indeed carrying a bowl, which could be used for washing feet.
“Well,” said Duncan as the women reached them. “I’ll away off and see how my brother’s doing. I wish ye a pleasant night.” His brother had been hauled unceremoniously from the loch, having put up a ferocious struggle, during which he had swallowed a considerable amount of water, and as Duncan relinquished Beth to the brawny arms of Peigi, Maggie and the other females, the men began to make their triumphant way back through the trees carrying their reluctant and dripping chieftain by the arms and legs.
Duncan picked up the discarded swordbelt and made his way leisurely after the other men, whistling softly as he went, and leaving his sister-in-law to the tender ministrations of her recently adopted clanswomen.
* * *
“Honestly,” said Beth much later that evening, in the house. “I don’t know why you made such a fuss, running off like that. I was frightened to death. I thought they were going to flay me alive, the way you reacted.”
Beth had been firmly pinioned and had had her feet and legs thoroughly ‘washed’ in soot and some sort of smelly paste which had left her lower limbs an interesting shade of mustard yellow, even after repeated washings with soap and water. The women had reassured her as they passed the whisky around, that the colour was harmless and would fade in a day or so. Alex wouldn’t be put off performing his marital duties by having a wife who looked half-chinese, they laughed, and if he was, she should look for an alternative man. This comment had led to some more ribald observations about sex, and on the whole, in spite of her yellow legs and slightly malodorous smell, she had enjoyed herself.
“Aye, well, it all depends on what they decide tae wash ye with,” he said, scrubbing furiously at his shins to remove the final traces of shoe blacking from his skin. “And which bits they decide tae wash.” He had cleaned his private parts down by the loch, in spite of his men’s suggestions that he get his wife to do it for him. That would have been very pleasant indeed were he not playing host to her aged grandmother at the moment.
The old lady was sitting in a chair by the fire, her face wreathed in smiles.
“He’s right,” she said now, briskly wringing out a cloth in a bowl of water and passing it to him. He thanked her and began to wash between his toes. “Ye’ve got off lightly. They often use manure, and the more it reeks, the better,” she said.
“Even if they had used manure, there was still no reason to hare off like that,” said Beth. “And you could have warned me that I was in danger too.”
“Aye, you’re right, I’m sorry. But I kent as they wouldna do anything bad to you. Whereas I thought Duncan might take the opportunity to get his revenge for what I did to him on his wedding eve.”
“Duncan?” said Beth, surprised.
“I was a lot younger then, ye understand, and more like Angus, a wee bit stupid at times. I’d only been the chieftain for a few months, and hadna grown into the responsibility of it. I wouldna do such a thing now.”
“What did ye do?” the old lady asked.
Alex stopped scrubbing and looked up, the wicked gleam in his eye saying clearly that whether he would do whatever it was now or not, he certainly didn’t regret having done it then.
“We tarred and feathered him,” he said.
Beth’s mouth fell open, whilst her grandmother hooted with laughter.
“Oh, the poor bairn!” she cried. “Ye used proper tar, then?”
“Aye,” Alex said. “And feathers from the hens we kept at the time. I canna even say it was a spur of the moment thing. I’d been saving the feathers for weeks. Of course we only did his legs and arms, ye ken. We didna tar his…er…other bits. Even so, Mairi, his wife that was, was awfu’ angry.”
“Well, I’m no’ surprised!” said Ealasaid.
Alex laughed.
“It took him ages to scrape and scrub it all off, and his arms and legs were brown for days. I had tae keep away from Mairi for weeks after that. I couldna even claim it was someone else’s doing. It’s no’ easy, being the chieftain at times,” he said ruefully. “Ye have tae take the blame for everything.”
“I didn’t know Duncan had been married,” said Beth.
“Ah. I wasna sure if he’d tellt ye or no’. He doesna talk about it overmuch. It was all over a long time ago. He was only nineteen when he married.”
“What happened?” asked Beth. “Didn’t they get along together?” She couldn’t imagine anyone not getting along with Duncan. He was so easy to be with.
“Christ, no! It wasna that. They loved each other like…well…like you and I do. No, she died.”
Beth was so surprised at finding out that Duncan had been married, she didn’t notice the finality of tone that said Alex didn’t want to pursue the subject further.
“Oh, that’s terrible,” she said. “How did she die?”
Childbirth was the most likely cause, she thought.
“Er…it was an accident, in a manner of speaking,” he said.
She heard the reluctance in his voice now, and saw his uneasy glance at her grandmother.
“I think it’s best we dinna talk of it now,” he said.
“I ken what happened, laddie, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the old lady said. “I didna get back from the colonies till it was all over, but Glencoe holds no grudges now. He thought ye dealt with it well, ye being so young an’ all.”
“That’s good to hear, sheanmhair,” he said, “but it isna polite tae speak of a blood feud between your clan and that of the one you’re hosting.”
“It’s your wife’s clan too,” pointed out the old lady, smiling at his addressing her as grandmother. He was a courteous man. “She has a right to know of it, unless ye’re thinking your brother would have an objection.”
Beth’s eyes were burning with curiosity, but she wouldn’t push Alex into pursuing the subject unless he wanted to.
Alex sighed, and abandoned his ablutions.
“No,” he said. “Duncan wouldna object, although he wouldna volunteer the information himself. He thinks very highly of Beth.”
The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) Page 12