by Tommie Lyn
Aye, kill me, Latharn. Send me home to my loved ones.
But memory of Mùirne’s death flashed into his mind, assaulted him with renewed force and ignited his need to seek vengeance on the man who killed her. Ailean crouched and glared at Latharn while inside, in some part of his mind beyond rational thought, Da’s values took precedence and guided him. He would do the honorable thing: he would avenge Mùirne.
As Latharn raised his pistol and aimed it, Ailean sprang toward him. But before Latharn could fire, a knife whistled through the air within an inch of his neck and embedded in a tree growing on the other side of the stream. He pivoted toward the source of the knife and aimed the pistol.
“NOOOO!” Ailean shouted as he reached Latharn and charged into him. He knocked the pistol to the side as it fired, and the lead ball narrowly missed Kutahyah. Ailean saw her standing, holding the axe in her left hand, her right hand still extended, having completed the arc of the knife throw.
Latharn turned as he fell, grabbed Ailean’s shirt with his left hand and brought him down to the ground. The two men grappled and struggled. They rolled across the ground almost to the brink of the drop-off.
Ailean panted and faint whimpers and groans rose in his throat as he fought to escape the death he would willingly have embraced only minutes before. His fear for Kutahyah fueled his desperate battle for life as much as his need to wreak vengeance on Latharn. If Latharn killed him now, what would happen to Kutahyah?
Latharn slammed the heavy pistol into the side of Ailean’s head as they inched toward the precipice. He lifted it again and brought it down with all his might. Ailean turned his head to the side, and the pistol struck him a glancing blow on the temple. Sparks filled his vision and his ears rang. The light faded and blackness cloaked the day. Ailean lay dazed and unable to move.
____________
Latharn scrambled to his feet. His hands shook as he tried to reload his pistol. With a screech, Kutahyah ran toward him with the axe. He turned to face her and hunkered down, his eyes searching for something he could use to deflect the blow of the axe. He grabbed one of the saplings lying on the ground. He swung it up as Kutahyah reached him.
The sapling struck her stomach and stopped her attack, but her forward momentum coupled with the upward thrust from Latharn tumbled her over his head, past him. Kutahyah dropped the axe as she reached for something, anything, to stop her fall over the drop-off. Her feet were kicking and her arms were flailing as she disappeared over the rim.
Kutahyah hit the side of the embankment and slid down it beside the waterfall, rolling over the flat extension that was part of the second ledge of rocks. As the force of her fall carried her to the brink of the ledge, she grabbed at the loose rocks, seeking to stop her fall, searching for something to grasp that would stop her plunge to her death.
With one hand, she caught hold of the protruding root of a tree growing out of the embankment. It stopped her descent as she reached the sheer rock face that dropped straight down from the ledge. Kutahyah hung precariously from the whorl of the root, suspended, dangling over the open space below her.
____________
Latharn grabbed the axe and stood over Ailean. As he raised it for the death blow, Ailean’s head cleared enough for him to see the axe, to see the maniacal gleam in Latharn’s eyes and the demented grin on his lips. He rolled onto his side as Latharn brought the axe down, and the sharp metal blade struck the earth where Ailean’s head had been.
He saw Latharn raise the axe for another blow. A realization that Latharn had the axe came to him. If Latharn had the axe, he must have taken it from Kutahyah! Where was Kutahyah?
Panic overwhelmed him, gave him strength, and he struggled to his knees. As Latharn started to bring the axe down again, Ailean thrust forward, slammed his shoulder into Latharn’s legs and knocked him off balance. Latharn stepped backward with his left foot to regain his balance, the ball of his foot coming to rest on the crumbling brink of the drop-off, leaving the heel with nothing to support it.
Latharn dropped the axe as he teetered on the edge of the bank, swinging his arms wildly in an effort to regain his balance. He spun his body as he fell, and he screamed. Latharn’s cry ended abruptly when he landed head-first on the rocks of the second ledge of the waterfall. His body flipped over backward when he hit the ledge, and his neck snapped. His body lay quiet and still on the ledge. Then, slowly, it slipped over the edge of the rocks, and, propelled by the water, it dropped out of sight.
Ailean’s head jerked from left to right and back again as he searched for Kutahyah.
“Kutaaaaaahyaaaaah!” he screamed. His chest heaved with dry sobs and he screamed her name again.
FORTY-SEVEN
A small sound below the rim caught Ailean’s attention. He approached the edge and leaned over to look for the source of what he’d heard. He saw Kutahyah, hanging from the root by one hand, out of reach, her face a mask of dread. She whimpered softly.
A sob of relief burst from Ailean. He turned and lowered his legs over the edge of the rim. He slid down to the narrow flat area leading to the rock face and worked his way to the root from which Kutahyah was suspended. He lay across the base of a tree to anchor himself and strained to reach her. He grasped her free hand and lifted her, dragged her onto the ledge. She let go of the root, and he pulled her near.
Ailean raised himself to his knees, drew her close and embraced her. Kutahyah threw her arms around his neck, and they held each other tight, both of them shaking uncontrollably. At last, he released her, and, with one arm around her body, pulled her along as he crawled toward the bank. Ailean braced himself against the stump of a large tree and stood. He put his hands at Kutahyah’s waist and lifted her toward the lip of the drop-off. She struggled to climb over it.
Ailean watched until Kutahyah pulled herself to safety. He regarded the edge of the rim several feet above his reach and took a few deep breaths. He dug his fingers and toes into the earth and rocks of the embankment and slowly clawed his way toward the top. Sweat poured from his body, and his muscles quivered from the effort. At last he climbed onto the flat ground and lay panting, his feet still hanging in mid-air.
When he had the strength to move, Ailean crawled away from the precipice and stood, trembling and weak. He took a few steps and dropped to his knees, holding his throbbing head in his hands. Kutahyah went to his side and knelt by him. She examined his wounded head, pushed his hair away from the bleeding cut on his temple. Ailean pulled her hands away, held them in his and kissed them. He looked for a long moment into her soft brown eyes, realizing he had almost lost her.
Ailean took Kutahyah’s chin gently in his hand, pulled her face close to his and kissed her lips tenderly. Then kissed her again as she returned his kiss. He put his arms around her waist, drew her close and held her, rested his face on her shoulder. She put her arms around his neck.
As they held one another, something inside Ailean’s heart cracked open, and the hot tears he’d never shed flooded up from the depths of his soul and spilled silently into the cool mountain air.
Ailean cried for Mùirne, for Coinneach-òg, for all his family. He cried for the men who died all around him on the moor and for those who died on the ship. The tears gushed through his heart and his soul and washed away some of the guilt he felt for being alive when none of the others were.
As he cried, his tears began to soothe the searing torment he felt for wanting Kutahyah. And he cried in relief and thankfulness that she had not been taken from him.
Gòrdan’s words had made him realize that Mùirne died loving him, wanting him to live, to be happy. And he knew that if he had died instead of Mùirne, he would have wanted her to find love and happiness again. He had accepted that idea with his mind, but not with his heart.
But now, his heart was softened and the last remnant of resistance that stood in the way of his being able to love Kutahyah was washed away.
And his anger at God dissolved in the hot flood of tears, and he w
as able to pray.
Father, thank You for giving me Kutahyah. And thank You for sparing her. I couldn’t go on living if I lost her now. Please forgive me for turning my back on You.
Ailean waited until the last tears coursed down his cheeks. He wiped his eyes and face dry with his hand. He didn’t want Kutahyah to see him crying like a little boy. He raised his head from her shoulder, with his face turned away from hers.
He stood and walked to the precipice, looking down at the valley in the distance where his life was anchored now. He took a few deep breaths, wiped his hands over his face again to remove the last vestiges of his tears and pushed his hair back from his face.
He reached behind the waist of his triubhas and pulled out the remnant of his tunic he’d saved. He fingered it lovingly and kissed it.
“Goodbye, Mùirne, my love. I’ll love you forever,” he whispered. “Forever.”
He held it out over the precipice, and it fluttered softly in the breeze. His fingers gripped it tightly, but he forced himself to release it. As it left his hand, it dipped, then was buoyed up by a current of air. It swirled and twirled as the wind carried it away from him, past the treetops on the mountainside. He watched until he could no longer see it.
Ailean turned to Kutahyah, who still knelt where he’d left her. She looked at him and rose. He went to her, took her in his arms and kissed her.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
EPILOGUE
Cherokee Territory, June, 1756
A little boy with shiny black hair raced down from the woods when he saw his father riding home along the path from Gulahiyi.
“Edoda! Edoda!” he shouted.
His father reined the horse to a stop and turned in the saddle to watch his son. When the boy reached him, he leaned over, grasped the small hands that reached up and lifted his son, placing the boy in the saddle in front of him. They rode to the log house on the hillside, the home Ailean had built for his wife.
Kutahyah came to the open door, having heard her son’s shouting, holding a toddler in her arms. A small boy trailed behind her, clinging to her skirt. She smiled as she watched Ailean swing down from the saddle. He lifted Aodh from the horse, set him on the ground and handed him the horse’s reins. She waited for her husband to come take her in his arms and kiss her, as he always did when he came home from a trip.
After he kissed her, he caressed her swollen belly, “How’s the little one?” he asked. “And how’s his mother?”
“We’re both well. I have food almost ready to eat. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, I am. But I’ve got to unsaddle the horse first.”
The small girl in her mother’s arms reached both hands for her father. Ailean took her from her mother. He didn’t notice his younger son, Niall, who stood at Kutahyah’s side, reaching for him, too. Ailean stroked the girl’s dark brown hair and kissed the little forehead while Niall watched, one of his hands still extended in a mute request for his father’s attention, the other holding onto his mother’s clothing.
Ailean gave his daughter another kiss and said, “Brìghde, go back to your mother.” He gave the girl to Kutahyah and went to the horse.
As he took the reins from Aodh, he squared his shoulders and raised his head. He was a man who had survived the unsurvivable, who had endured the unendurable. A man who knew he could take what life dealt him and stand unbowed, unconquered.
His eyes scanned the crops growing in the fields he’d cleared, and he surveyed the cattle grazing on the other side of the stream. He looked at the barn he’d built and cast a loving glance at his home, where he lived a satisfying life with a woman he loved. He took a deep breath and sighed contentedly.
Yes, Da, you were right about some things. The view from the mountaintop is beautiful, but I don’t live there. I live my life here in the glen. But, Da, sometimes, once you get through the bad places, you find the glen can be lovely, too.
Ailean looked down at the son who bore his father’s name. “Like to ride to the barn?”
“Yes!” Aodh said, with a wide grin, his dark eyes sparkling.
Ailean lifted Aodh and set him on the saddle, gave the horse a pat on the neck. “Come along, old fellow.”
And he led the horse to the barn while Niall watched from the open door.
THE END
Special Bonus!
A bonus preview of Deep in the Valley, A MacLachlainn Saga, Book Two: Niall is placed after the Acknowledgements section. Don’t miss it!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My friend, Jim Walters, owner of The Caledonian Kitchen, who is the “Laird o’ th’ Haggis,” often mentioned the experience of his Highland ancestor who had been sold as a slave to a plantation near Savannah, Georgia. His comments intrigued me, because I’d never heard of the enslavement of the Celtic people of Scotland and Ireland. I also had Scottish ancestors, and “Bro Jim’s” comments spurred me to study and learn more about Scotland and its people.
What I learned surprised me. And the more I learned, the more convinced I became that someone should write a story about the ordinary people of the Highlands and some of the tragic things they suffered. The Rising of 1745, in particular, captured my imagination when I read John Prebble's Culloden. I set out to learn all I could, and there are sources of information I wish to acknowledge which provided me with a rudimentary understanding about that place and time (and I admit that my understanding is possibly flawed, but that is due to my own limitations, not to the accuracy nor completeness of the information from which I gleaned some knowledge).
An online source, http://electricscotland.com, was also helpful in rounding out my “education.” It has a series of articles about Prince Charles Edward Stuart and his ill-fated attempt to reclaim his father’s throne. And a site which has accounts of three battles that took place during “The ’45” is http://www.britishbattles.com/. Also helpful were two books which filled in some of the gaps in my knowledge about certain facets of life in the Highlands: Highland Folk Ways by I.F. Grant; and, Celtic Warfare 1595-1763 (Modern Revivals in Military History) by Dr. James Michael Hill.
Although I was taught much family lore about my Cherokee ancestors, I also did research to fill in the gaps in my knowledge about the Cherokee. Particularly helpful were the books: The Memoirs of Lieutenant Henry Timberlake by Lieutenant Henry Timberlake; Weaving New Worlds: Southeastern Native American Women and Their Basketry by Sarah H. Hill; The Trail of Tears: The Rise and Fall of the Cherokee Nation by John Ehle; Myths and Formulas of the Cherokee by James Mooney; and, Cherokee Women by Theda Perdue.
I learned the Gaelic terms for some items integral to Highland life which I used in the text, and I verified those Gaelic words using Dictionary of the Gaelic Language by Norman MacLeod and Daniel Dewar. And I wish to say “thank you” to Norah Burch, who kindly granted permission for me to use the pronunciation guide for Gaelic given names from her site, http://www.namenerds.com/scottish/ in the Glossary.
I also wish to acknowledge the support and help of my long-suffering family, especially my husband, Hoyt, who took me on a research trip to Georgetown, South Carolina and to Cherokee, North Carolina. And thanks to family members and friends who provided encouragement, who served as my readers and gave me valuable feedback: Rex Saare, Penny Edmondson, Amy Sinkus, Connie Ward, Toyin Onabowu, Betty Bond, Mike Mefford and Myra Shofner. Without their assistance, High on a Mountain would never have seen the light of day in print.
— Tommie Lyn
March 2010
Special Bonus
Deep in the Valley, A MacLachlainn Saga,
Book Two: Niall
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
Tsalagi Territory, South Carolina Colony, April 1760
Tayeni MacAntoisch loosened the sling, pulled it around and took her two-month-old daughter into her arms. With a satisfied smile, she brushed a kiss onto the tiny forehead. She loved her two sons, but her daughter filled her with pride. Her line of descent would continue.
&nbs
p; “Etsi, I’m hungry,” six-year-old Raibeart complained.
“You’re always hungry. Let me finish nursing the baby, and I’ll cook something for you.” Tayeni frowned. “Where is Seumas? You’re supposed to watch him.”
Raibeart groaned and gave his mother an exasperated glance.
“You know he—” She broke off as he stomped out. She shook her head. “That boy.”
The baby drowsed, her appetite satiated, and Tayeni lifted her onto a shoulder. A few pats on the little back brought a dainty burp. Tayeni nuzzled her daughter’s neck, kissed her. “Such a sweet girl. You’ll be a—”
“Tayeni!” Her aunt poked her head in the doorway. “Quick! Get the children and let’s go!”
“What is it?”
“Soldiers are coming! Everyone is running to the hills!”
Soldiers! Tayeni swept an anxious glance over the neatly stored trade goods Gòrdan had arranged on shelves along one wall. She couldn’t leave their belongings at the mercy of soldiers. All their wealth could be stolen or destroyed. Besides, Gòrdan was a white man. Soldiers surely would respect that and wouldn’t bother the wife and children of a white man.
“I…I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“I know what you’re thinking, but they won’t care who you are. I’ve seen what soldiers can do. Come with me!” her aunt insisted. “Now!
Tayeni shook her head firmly, but her quavering voice betrayed her uncertainty. “No. I have to stay and look after our things.” Gòrdan would expect me to do that. She took a breath to quell her uneasiness. “I’ll be all right. You go ahead.”