“Aye,” he said. “I’ll take over the chieftainship, after the oath is fulfilled.”
Then he stood, and walking unheeding straight through the small fire, kicking the embers across the dirt floor of the cottage, Angus seized his brother, pulling him up off the stool and embracing him with a strength born of love and despair.
And then he let him go, turned and walked out of the cottage without another word.
So now, two days later, he sat on the side of the mountain carving a fox for the wife who was both worried about him and upset with him, because he had told her only that he’d spoken with Alex, which she knew anyway, and that he had been told things in confidence, that he had to think about what he’d been told, and needed time to do so.
He finished the bannock and the water, and then stared across the loch some more. Then he picked the little carving up again and started fashioning the tail. He had to watch the brother he had loved and worshipped since he was a tiny child walk out of his life, never to return. And there was nothing he could do to stop him, just as there had been nothing he could do to stop Duncan from being killed at Culloden. Better never to have had brothers than to have to suffer the loss of them. No, that was a stupid, self-pitying way to think.
The knife slipped, slicing off both the end of the fox’s tail and the skin on the top of Angus’s finger.
“Magairlean!” he cursed, throwing both the carving and the knife on the ground and sucking the tip of his finger. That was what came of not concentrating. The whole damn thing was ruined now. What a fucking horrible week this was turning out to be. Nothing had gone right. Nothing would go right.
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to try to calm himself down, recognising that if he didn’t he was in danger of going in search of someone to pick a fight with, just to release some of the pent-up emotion burning through him.
When he opened them again he saw wee Jamie heading towards him. He sighed. The last thing he wanted now was to talk to anyone. Unless it was to start a fight. You could not start a fight with an eight-year-old. Angus took another deep breath and composed his face into what he hoped was a pleasant expression.
“What’s amiss?” he said as Jamie got closer.
The boy stopped and looked at him.
“What’s wrong wi’ your hand?” he asked. Angus looked down. His whole finger was red.
“Nothing,” he said, wiping it on his shirt. “Just a wee cut, that’s all.”
Jamie nodded.
“Ye said a bad word,” he commented.
“Aye, I did. Dinna tell Morag, though, or she’ll gie me a hiding,” Angus said, winking at Jamie and making him laugh. “So, why are ye here?”
“I was away up the hill to tell Alex there’s people coming along the lochside, frae over there.” Jamie waved his hand vaguely to the left.
“How many people? What kind? Redcoats?” Angus asked, instantly alert.
“No, there’s just two o’ them, with a wee garron. They’re no’ redcoats. Lachlan’s watching. He sent me to tell Alex, or you if I couldna find him. He said to come quick.”
What the hell was he talking about? Angus stood up.
“How far away are they?” he asked. He might as well investigate. The carving was ruined anyway.
“A good way, maybe half an hour? They’re walking.”
“Come on then, show me,” Angus said.
They jogged off down the hill together, then along the track a short way, before heading into the trees so as not to be seen by the strangers. After a while they heard a buzzard call suddenly and as one the man and boy dropped to the ground. Lachlan joined them a moment later.
“What’s going on?” Angus said softly.
“There’s two people coming down the track there. One of them’s that Sasannach mannie, but I dinna ken the lassie.”
“Ye mean Graeme?” Angus said, utterly confused. “Wi’ a lassie?”
“Aye.”
“Are ye sure? Graeme’s away hame. Why would he come back, and wi’ a lassie?”
“I dinna ken,” Lachlan whispered. “Look, there they are.”
Angus crouched behind a tree and watched as the two people came into view. One of them was, most definitely, Graeme, who was leading by the reins a small Highland horse loaded with baggage. The other was a young woman, small and slim, with brown wavy hair. As they passed the place where Angus and the two boys were concealed she turned to say something to the older man, but even before he’d seen her face Angus knew who it was, even while his brain was telling him it couldn’t be.
“Holy Mother of God,” he said softly, crossing himself.
“What is it?” Lachlan said, alarmed. “Is it a fairy?”
Angus just stopped himself from laughing out loud at that.
“No,” he whispered. “I canna believe who it is, but no, it’s no’ a fairy. I need ye to do something, Lachlan. I need ye to walk down the path to them, and tell them that the man they’re looking for is up the mountain, and offer to show them the way. It’s Alex they’re wanting to see.”
“How d’ye ken that?” Jamie asked. “Who is she?”
“Never you mind. Ye’ve seen her before when ye were a wee bairn, too wee to remember. You can come back wi’ me. Can ye do that, Lachlan?”
“Aye, of course I can!” the boy said.
“Go then, and dinna tell them I tellt ye to say it, just act as though ye thought of it yoursel’.”
Lachlan shot off, heading through the trees until he was ahead of the couple before making his way down to the track and strolling casually along, as though about to meet them by chance.
Angus grabbed Jamie’s hand and backtracked through the woods and back up the mountain at a run. The ruined fox and knife were still there, and he lay flat on the ground next to them, beckoning the boy to do the same so they wouldn’t be seen.
“What’s happening?” wee Jamie asked, thoroughly confused.
Angus was shaking with suppressed excitement. This was unbelievable. But unless all three of them had gone mad, he had to believe it. The miracle he’d prayed for for so long was happening.
“Isd,” Angus said softly. “Just watch. It’s a game. I’ll tell ye later.”
They lay and watched as the two adults and the boy, who was now leading the garron, made their way slowly up the hill. Graeme stopped at one point to get his breath, and then they carried on. Angus waited until they’d passed where he and Jamie were concealed, and then waited again until they were about half way between him and the top of the slope. Yes, that was about right.
He rolled onto his back and very loudly mimicked the sound of a buzzard calling, as Lachlan had earlier, followed in quick succession by a crow cawing, twice. Then he rolled back onto his stomach and waited.
As he’d known, within a few seconds of their agreed warning call there was a very slight movement at the edge of the saucer-shaped depression; it was Alex, but Angus only saw him because he was expecting to, and knew exactly how his brother moved. The couple below continued, unaware that they were being observed.
And then the slight movement became a big one as Alex stood and looked down the hill, and Angus knew that he too could not believe what he was seeing, was convinced he was imagining it, or seeing a ghost.
The ghost stopped and looked up and then laughed, a joyful laugh that Angus had thought never to hear again and which brought tears to his eyes.
For a long moment Alex stood frozen, perfectly outlined at the top of the hill, his hair and kilt blowing around him in the freshening breeze. And then Beth raised both her arms to him and the spell was broken and he came running down the hill barefoot, heedless of the heather and the gorse, heedless of the unevenness of the ground.
When he reached her he was running too quickly to stop, and with one arm he swept her off her feet and carried on, slowing as he went. And then he toppled into the heather, taking her with him in a flurry of skirts and tartan. They rolled on for another few feet and then stopped.
Angus heard Beth laugh again, followed by the deep tones of his brother’s voice, although he didn’t hear the words.
And then Angus looked away, because regardless of the fact that they were on a mountain in full view of anyone who cared to look, this was a private moment; the most private moment that there had ever been. The most wonderful moment that he had known in all his twenty-three years, excepting the birth of his son.
Angus stood and waved to Graeme, who had watched Alex run past him taking Beth with him and had observed with obvious amusement the big Highlander’s attempts to slow down; and then he too had turned away.
He made his way across to Angus, who was standing with tears pouring down his face, a still-bemused little boy sitting at his feet, and the older man’s expression told Angus that he too considered this to be one of the most wonderful moments of his life. When Graeme reached him, they both looked at each other for a second, and then by unspoken mutual agreement they embraced roughly, slapping each other on the back as men do when united by profound emotion, before stepping away again.
“Well,” Graeme said to Angus, paraphrasing a sentence he’d uttered over three years previously to Thomas at the kitchen window in Didsbury, “I think that’s what you’d call a reunion.”
Angus smiled broadly.
“Aye,” he agreed. “I think it is.”
When the two men and the child arrived in the village Lachlan was nowhere to be seen, but the garron, still loaded, was tied up outside Alex’s house, which was a hive of activity. As they approached Morag emerged through the front door, her arms full of bedding. She laid it on the bench outside and looked at them.
“Graeme,” she said. “It’s a wonderful thing ye’ve done.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Graeme replied. “Nothing would have stopped her coming back. I just came with her to make sure she didn’t get herself in any more trouble. And I’d a mind to see if there’s anything left of the beautiful garden I put you in charge of.”
She laughed.
“There’s no’ so much growing at the moment, no. I’ve been growing other things.” She patted her stomach, causing Graeme to grin. “I’ve turned the soil and dug the shit in, like ye tellt me to. Ye can help me with it, if ye’re staying a while.”
Graeme glanced back up the hill, and everyone except Angus thought he was looking up to the current site of the vegetable garden.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll stay a while, if you’ll have me.”
“Right then,” Morag replied, turning to her husband. “Now ye’re here, ye can help me wi’ the mattress.” Without waiting for an answer she ducked back inside the house. Angus followed her. Inside Peigi was sweeping the floor while Alasdair was making up the fire. “We thought they’d want to be together in their own house the night,” Morag said. “If ye’ll help me get the mattress outside, we can gie it a good shake and air it a wee bit. We havena the time for more, I’m thinking.”
“Ye ken she’s back,” Angus said, a bit disgruntled at not being the first to deliver the wonderful news.
“Aye. Lachlan tellt us that Graeme was here wi’ a beautiful lassie, and that when ye saw them ye went white as snow, and then Alex nearly killt her by running at her frae the top o’ the ben like a madman. It’s Beth, is it no’? She isna dead after all. Like Simon.”
“No, she isna dead.” Angus forbore from saying that the cases of Simon and Beth were somewhat different. Everyone except Janet had assumed Simon to be dead; but they hadn’t been told, twice, by reliable people that he was. He took one side of the mattress and together they manhandled it out of the house.
“Simon and Janet are going back to their own house,” Morag said. “They said it’s about time, anyway.” They shook the mattress out, leaving it on the ground to air, and Morag picked the bedding up off the bench. “I’ll away down the loch and wash it,” she said. “It’s a good day for it.”
Angus took the bedding from her and accompanied her down to the lochside.
“Is she well?” Morag asked quietly when they were out of earshot of the rest.
“Is who well?”
“Beth, ye loon, who else?” his wife answered.
“Aye, I think so,” Angus said, putting the sheets down on a rock and watching appreciatively as Morag kilted her skirts up to keep them from trailing in the water, in the process revealing a tempting amount of shapely leg. “I didna see that much of her.”
“I should hope not,” Morag said drily, following his gaze. He looked up and their eyes locked. The day suddenly seemed to get considerably warmer. “Simon said he’s well enough to have the bairns back now,” she added, “so we’ve the house to ourselves the night. Apart from Sandy, but he’s too young anyway.”
“Too young for what?” Angus asked
“For understanding what his Ma and Pa are doing in bed.”
A great smile spread across Angus’s face. The day that he’d thought could not get any better just had. The last few weeks had not been conducive to romance, with tiny inquisitive faces liable to intrude at any moment.
“D’ye have to be washing they things now?” he asked, suddenly impatient.
“Aye,” Morag replied firmly, “I do. Ye can help me wring them out, and we can spread them to dry. Anyway, I want to be there when they come down off the mountain.”
She had a point. Angus wanted to see Alex and Beth when they arrived in the village too. And the faster the sheets were washed, the sooner…
“Here, let me help ye, then,” Angus said eagerly. They washed the sheets together, Angus more of a hindrance than a help. But it was nice to be alone together.
“Ye’ll be able to help me wi’ chores a lot more, now ye’ve no need to be looking for redcoats to kill,” Morag said as they twisted the sheets to wring as much water as possible out of them.
“What do you mean?”
“A hundred and ninety-two. Ye’ve no need to be killing ten for Beth now. So that means ye’ve two to count towards the next stupit oath ye decide to take,” Morag pointed out.
She was right. He did not have to kill any more redcoats. Nor did he have to become the chieftain, because Alex no longer needed to go to London and kill the Duke of Newcastle.
This was the very best day there had ever been, not just in his twenty-three years, but since the dawn of time.
From the look on Beth and Alex’s faces as they walked into the village some time later, they both shared Angus’s sentiment. Their faces were scratched, Beth’s dress had a long tear in it, and Alex was limping slightly. There was blood on his shirt, though not enough to cause concern. Both of them had bits of vegetation tangled in their hair.
And both of them were glowing as if a light had been kindled inside them, which in a manner of speaking it had. Their hands were clasped as though welded together as they came to a stop in front of the gathered MacGregors, who were all standing, with the exception of Simon, who, being still unable to, was sitting on the grass.
Everyone looked to Angus, who moved forward, trying and failing to remember the formal speech of welcome.
“Fàilte dhachaidh, mo phiuthar-chèile,” he said instead.
Welcome home, sister-in-law.
Beth’s beautiful blue eyes filled with tears, and she started to walk toward him, no doubt to embrace him, but Alex remained still and refused to relinquish her hand, bringing her to a sudden stop.
“Tomorrow,” he said simply. Then he bent and, lifting his wife into his arms, turned and walked into the house, quietly closing the door behind him.
His clan stood silently outside for a moment, then as one they let out a great cheer, which set all the birds in the trees around the village to flight.
Kenneth and Iain had observed Alex’s headlong dash down the mountain and the reason for it, and had made their way down to the settlement by a circuitous route so as not to disturb the couple. They walked over to Graeme now, Kenneth laying one heavy arm across the Englishman’s shoulder, causing him to sag somewhat.
/> “I’m tellt ye’re staying a while,” Kenneth said. “There’s room in my wee house for ye, an ye dinna snore.”
Graeme lifted the giant’s arm and stepped away, looking the enormous Highlander up and down.
“And to think,” he said conversationally, “I came all this way just to see you dressed like a proper civilised man, to find you still wearing skirts like a girl. I could have saved myself a deal of walking if I’d known.”
Kenneth laughed, a huge booming guffaw.
“I canna wear they tight Sasannach breeches anyway,” he said. “I’m in proportion, ye ken. It’d no’ be fair to the rest o’ the menfolk to be showing everything I’ve got.”
“I’m no’ so sure of that,” Peigi chimed in. “We see everything ye’ve got anyway if there’s a breeze, or ye bend down.”
“Aye, well, some people are so wee they dinna need me to bend down,” he threw back at Peigi, who, although not exactly small, was by no means the tallest of the women. “They can see me in all my glory anyway.”
“Aye, there’s truth in that,” Peigi agreed, “and I can tell ye, Graeme, I’m no’ the only thing that’s wee around here.” She looked pointedly at the appropriate region and everyone burst into laughter.
“Never argue wi’ a woman,” Kenneth said, sighing good-naturedly. “I should ken that by now. Come on, man,” he addressed Graeme. “Let’s drink a dram or two to the happy couple. And you too, Iain,” he added, gripping the other man’s arm when he would have moved away. “Ye shouldna be alone, man, no’ the night, at least.”
Iain opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Kenneth was right. Tonight was not a night to be alone with such conflicting emotions; joy, sadness, envy. Tonight was a night to get very, very drunk, and to forget what would not be coming back to him, ever.
The three men walked away together as the rest of the clan dispersed, Angus following his brother’s example by lifting his wife off her feet, carrying her giggling into his house, and closing the door quietly behind him.
Tides of Fortune (Jacobite Chronicles Book 6) Page 43