by Tommie Lyn
He frowned, but he got up and hesitantly walked toward his father’s cottage, looking back over his shoulder once or twice.
“Did you tell him?”
“No. I almost did, but I want to be sure.”
Brìghde chuckled. “If you want to be sure before you tell him, you’ll have to wait a few months,” she said.
They both laughed.
Mùirne looked up at Brìghde with eyes full of love and admiration, thinking, You are so good to me. You, Ailean, being part of your family, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love all of you so much.
But she said nothing.
____________
Ruairidh cancelled the December camanachd game between the Cambeul and MacLachlainn crofters. He thought it best to allow the tense state of affairs between Ailean and Latharn to resolve itself before resuming the yearly competition.
If it could resolve itself.
FIFTEEN
The Southwestern Highlands of Scotland, September, 1745
Ailean, age twenty-four, in the full strength and prime of his manhood, strode along the path to his home. The stiff breeze blew his long hair across his face and flapped the folds of his féileadh-mòr, sometimes tossing the loose fabric dangerously high.
He brushed his hair out of his eyes with his free hand while he continued to swing his walking stick rhythmically with the other. He had developed a habit of carrying it on the many cattle drives he made over the years, and he never went anywhere without it.
The stick was a necessity for herding the cattle, and it made a good weapon of self-defense. Although his sheathed broadsword hung from a belt around his waist and his dirk was fastened in place, ready to be drawn if needed, the stout walking stick could be put to use in an instant if he were set upon.
Traveling through the Highlands presented dangers, especially when a man had an avowed and formidable enemy, and all men carried some means of self-defense. Ailean’d had no confrontation with Latharn since his wedding day, but he stayed alert for trouble at all times. Particularly today.
He was returning from Inveraray, a Cambeul village. He had gone there to sell a large quantity of woolen thread to a weaver. He usually took the thread to Glasgow where he could get a better price, but circumstances delayed his trip and he didn’t have time to go that far. The cattle drive would begin in a few days, and he needed to be at home to help, as he always did. Besides, this year, for the first time, three of his own steers would be part of the herd.
But his underlying motivation for willfully placing himself in jeopardy by traveling alone to Inveraray had nothing to do with the cattle drive. His boyhood fantasy of living a life of adventure, of being a strong and powerful warrior, bravely facing danger, still lived within him, and this was one of the few opportunities that childhood dream could assert itself.
Sometimes, he wore like a burdensome yoke the results of his choice to marry. But at other times, he abandoned himself entirely to the fulfillment his marriage brought him, experiencing a contentment and joy like no other. At those times, he knew he wanted nothing more than a life with his beloved.
The attempt to reconcile his desire for a life of freedom and adventure with his desire for a settled life with Mùirne had not been easy for him. Sometimes he failed and made both himself and Mùirne unhappy. But at other times, he succeeded in making himself believe he was contented with his lot in life and needed nothing else.
The path skirted the side of the hill and led down to cross a small bùrn. As always, Ailean stopped, and, after looking around to be sure no attackers hid in the brush, he laid down his stick and knelt on the lowest part of the bank. He scooped the icy water with his cupped hands and drank, then dipped more water to wet his face. The day was cool and he wasn’t sweating, but this was a custom of his, started when he was a boy watching his father drink, then wash his face, when coming home.
He rose, dusted his knees, picked up his stick and stepped across the narrow bùrn, continuing on the path as it followed the rise in the land. Almost home. He crested the hill and saw the small community of cottages below. He walked faster as he neared his home. And Mùirne.
“Hello, the house.” He shouted a greeting, as always.
A small figure hurtled through the open door of his cottage. His small son, Coinneach-òg, ran toward him, yelling, “Daidein, Daidein!”
Ailean laughed in delight at his son’s heartfelt greeting, and he leaned down to tousle the curly blond hair. Coinneach-òg lifted his arms, trying to persuade his father to pick him up.
“What?” Ailean said in mock surprise. “You want me to hold you?”
“Yes, yes, I want a ride. Please.”
Ailean laid down his stick, lifted the small boy and swung him onto his shoulders. Coinneach-òg giggled, put his arms around his father’s head and hung on while Ailean skipped and jumped about. Soon, they were both laughing hard. Mùirne came to the door and watched their antics with a blissful smile.
At last, breathless and flushed from exertion, Ailean took Coinneach-òg from his shoulders and set him on the ground.
“That’s enough for today. I think you must grow an inch and a pound every week, son. You’re tiring your old da out.”
Coinneach-òg looked up at his father, a yearning showing in his eyes, and Ailean knew he wanted more. But the boy did not whine, did not beg. Coinneach-òg’s manly acceptance of his father’s decision pleased Ailean.
I’m raising a fine son. Maybe someday he will be the warrior I wanted to be.
The boy picked up the walking stick and followed his father to the open door where his mother leaned against the door jamb. He watched his parents as they greeted each other.
“Welcome home, wanderer,” Mùirne said, as she looked into Ailean’s eyes. “Come sit down and eat. We were waiting for you. I thought you’d probably be back today.”
She took Ailean’s hand and led him inside. Coinneach-òg followed and put the walking stick in its place by the door.
Ailean closed the door. He removed his bonnet and hung it on a peg. He took off his sword and hung it next to his targe and went to his chair by the fire. He sighed in contentment as he sat.
“Ah,” he said. “It’s good to be home.”
He lifted his son to his knee and watched Mùirne dip stew from the iron pot suspended over the fire. She poured it into wooden bowls and sliced a thick slab of oaten bread for each of them. A wavy tendril of red hair escaped from her white linen curtch and hung loose beside her cheek. He watched as the light from the dancing flames of the fire played across her pretty features.
How is it that I, of all men, am so blessed to have won the heart of one so beautiful? Desire stirred within his body.
“It’s time to eat. Go sit on your chair,” Ailean told Coinneach-òg.
The little boy got down from his father’s knee and scrambled onto his own chair. Mùirne gave them each a bowl of stew and took her seat on the other side of the fire. They bowed their heads and Ailean offered thanks to God for their food.
Ailean took a bite of the steaming vegetable stew. “Ah, that tastes good. I missed your cooking while I was gone. Dry bread and cheese lose their appeal after a day or two.”
Mùirne smiled.
“So, what did you do while I was away in Inveraray, son?”
“I watched for enemies and took care of Ma,” the little boy said.
“You’re a fine, brave little man,” his father said. “You’re going to be a great warrior someday.”
“And I helped Ma clean the wool,” Coinneach-òg added, his face displaying his yearning for more of his father’s approval.
“Aye, and a good wool-cleaner he is, that boy,” his mother said, flashing a smile at her son. “He didn’t make even one mat in the fleece, and he got his part as clean as could be.”
Coinneach-òg beamed.
“And how much did you get cleaned?” Ailean asked his wife, between bites of bread.
“Just a bit more, and
I’ll have finished all our fleece. When I have it all cleaned and spun, I’ll have to wait until next spring for more,” Mùirne replied.
She took a bite and swallowed before she continued. She asked the question Ailean knew she had wanted to ask the moment he walked through the door. “And were you successful?”
“Aye,” he replied. “That I was. A few more coins for the bag.”
Mùirne smiled. Her work tending their small Highland sheep, collecting the wool they shed, cleaning, carding and spinning the wool into thread to sell was slowly adding to the small hoard of coins they were saving.
When they finished eating, Mùirne looked at Coinneach-òg. “Son, go tell your grandma that your da is home.”
“But, I want to—” Coinneach-òg began.
“You do as your mother says,” Ailean said. “Maybe your grandma has some bonny clabber. If you’re a good boy, she might give you some.”
Coinneach-òg’s face brightened. “I like it the way Grandma fixes it.” He slid off his chair and trotted outside without another word of protest.
Muirne followed him to the door and closed it behind him. She lowered the bar to lock it, crossed the room and knelt by the wall. She pulled a small, loose stone from it, put her hand into the hole and drew out a leather pouch.
She moved her chair closer to Coinneach-og’s and sat. She shook the contents of the pouch onto her son’s chair and looked expectantly at her husband.
Ailean fished in his sporan for the money and laid it on the chair by the other coins. “You’ve done well, lass,”
She painstakingly counted the money from the pouch, then added the newly acquired coins to the total, a little ritual she always performed whenever they had a coin or two to add to their savings.
“Look how much we have now. Doesn’t that look good,” she asked as she smiled at Ailean. “My work is worth something, isn’t it?”
Ailean smiled, happy to see her so pleased with herself. “Yes, it is. But you are worth more, my love. You are worth more than the work you do, worth more than all the coins in the world,” he said as he watched her rise from her chair.
“We’ll have enough to buy Coinneach-òg his sword and targe by the time he’s of an age to need them, won’t we?”
“Yes, my love. I’m sure we’ll have more than enough for his equipment.”
Ailean stood, circled the fire to stand behind her and put his arms around her waist. He leaned over to kiss the nape of her neck, nuzzling the curtch aside. She turned her face toward his and smiled at him over her shoulder. She leaned her head back on his chest briefly, turned toward him and put her arms around his waist. She lifted her face to receive his kiss on her lips.
“It’s getting dark outside,” he murmured. “And I’m getting so-o-o tired…” His voice trailed away.
“Then to bed with you.” Mùirne sighed and released him. She pulled away and leaned over to gather the coins into the pouch.
“Not without you, my love,” he said, taking her in his arms again.
____________
A physical need for him swept through her. She enjoyed a few moments in his arms, then pulled herself away, leaned back and looked up at him, her blue eyes brimming with love and desire.
“Go call your son home from your da’s. You must listen to his prayers and put him to bed while I wash the dishes. Then I’ll put you to bed.”
Ailean smiled and released her.
After Mùirne replaced the money pouch in the hiding place, Ailean raised the bar and opened the door. He glanced back at her and smiled again. “You be ready for me, lass, when I get back,” he said. And he was gone.
She smiled and blushed. He still has the power to bring color to my cheeks. Even after all this time.
And she was thankful he did. She kept smiling in anticipation of the night ahead as she cleaned up from their meal.
____________
Latharn Cambeul’s success at managing the tack he inherited from his father became known beyond the limits of his clan. The wealth he’d inherited increased due to his tireless efforts and shrewd decisions. He seemed to be everywhere, all the time, supervising his crofters, trying new methods of farming, extracting profit from every endeavor.
Mothers decorated their unmarried daughters, schooled them in the feminine art of flirtation and pushed them at Latharn, but he showed no interest in marrying and sharing his fortune. All his energies were expended on money-making activities.
There was considerable speculation about his reluctance to pursue the fairer sex, but no one knew why he was apparently content to lead an austere and disciplined existence. Odhran and Dùghall knew the reason why, but they had learned a frightening and painful lesson about the wisdom of maintaining silence about anything concerning Latharn and did not speak of it.
The two still accompanied him almost everywhere he went. They were on hand to see the wistful, painful expression on his face each time he passed the church building which stood where MacLachlainn lands adjoined Cambeul territory. The church where Ailean and Mùirne MacLachlainn had said their vows. They also observed how every glimpse of any red-haired woman caught his attention, how he could not rest until he knew who the woman was.
And they were the ones he sent on secret errands.
Latharn saw a small girl with curly red hair and blue eyes one day in Inveraray. He dispatched his two men to learn who she was. They discovered her father had been injured while in service to the king and was crippled, and her mother did what work she could find to provide for her destitute family.
After Latharn learned about their plight, the family regularly found gifts of food on their doorstep, and once, a new garment for the child had been left there, by whom, no one knew. Except Odhran and Dùghall. And Latharn.
____________
Before sunset the day after Ailean’s return from Inveraray, the men of the croft met in front of Aodh’s cottage to make plans for the cattle drive. They decided which of them would go to the airigh the next morning to search for any steers that had strayed and start bunching the cattle in preparation for the drive. The rest of the men would attend to all the last minute chores on the croft and join them the following evening. They would stay the night at the airigh so they could get an early start for Dumbarton the next day.
They were almost finished with their discussion when they heard a shout.
“Aodh! Aodh MacLachlainn!”
All the men turned to see who had yelled. Ailean’s stomach knotted when he saw Ruairidh’s servant, Fearghus, run down the hill toward them carrying a fiery cross.
SIXTEEN
When a man of Clan MacLachlainn saw a runner carrying a fiery cross, he knew it meant one thing: he must arm himself and go to Castle Lachlainn. Ailean had heard tales of the fiery cross told at the ceilidh, though he’d never seen one himself. A flood of excitement billowed up from his tightened stomach into his chest.
Aodh raised his arm to signal Fearghus they’d seen the summons. Fearghus spun around and ran back the way he’d come. He had to deliver the message to other crofts.
The men glanced at one another with worried expressions. All of them would have to answer the summons. Gabhran MacEòghainn and his sons, Faolan and Gòrdan, as well as all the MacLachlainns: Boisil and his sons, Raghnall and Seumas; Aodh and his three sons; and Raibeart MacLachlainn. All the men kept themselves trained and in readiness as warriors for their chief, even though they were not often called upon to fulfill that duty.
Although the MacEòghainns were not MacLachlainns, they were a protectorate of Clan MacLachlainn and therefore, part of the clan. Each man, whether MacLachlainn or MacEòghainn, owed the chief loyalty and obedience, and all the men of Clan MacLachlainn gladly gave it. The clansmen’s affection for their chief was unwavering, their devotion to him fierce and unquestioning.
The cattle drive would have to be postponed.
Aodh told his sons, “Go and get yourselves ready. Have something to eat now and bring along food for later. And
hurry.”
When Ailean went to his cottage, he found Mùirne standing in the doorway, wringing her hands. She had been bringing in the sheep from the day’s grazing, herding them into the byre for the night and saw the runner.
Ailean sought to calm her anxiety. He put his arm around her shoulders and steered her inside. He closed the door, took her in his arms and held her.
“It will be all right,” he murmured as he kissed her forehead.
“Something’s wrong. You know that as well as I do. So don’t say it will be all right.”
Ailean sighed and released her. “Don’t worry so much. We don’t even know why the chief sent for us. Maybe he wants to…to announce a wedding or something.”
But he knew better. He knew the fiery cross was only used to summon clansmen as warriors, and he was eager to prepare himself and be on his way.
He took his targe from its peg, unstrapped his sword and dirk and sat for a moment on his chair by the fire to examine his weapons. Mùirne pulled her chair close and sat on the edge of it, leaning toward him.
“What if it’s something bad? What if something should happen to you? What if you get hurt? What if…” She didn’t finish her thought. Tears filled her eyes and she began to tremble.
“I’ll be all right, I told you. Don’t worry about me. Nothing is going to happen to me.”
____________
But Mùirne knew something could happen to him. She knew all she could count on were these precious moments in his presence. She knew from her own experience the future could hold happiness or it could hold heartache and bereavement. No one could say for certain what lay ahead.
He stood and set his weapons on his chair. He took her hand in his, pulled her to her feet and embraced her. She put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. But she didn’t stop trembling. After a few moments, Ailean relinquished his hold, drew away and looked into her eyes.