by Flora Kidd
She crossed the room to the door. Logan did not move. His smile revealed his appreciation of her relief.
‘Linda to the rescue,’ he commented as she tried to pass him.
At that moment Linda arrived at the top of the stairs. She was breathless and dishevelled. Her shoes were caked with mud and her hair was sliding out of its confining band and slipping forward over her face.
‘Oh, what a gorgeous kilt!’ she exclaimed immediately. Nancy, suspecting that her impetuous sister was about to bend down and examine the kilt more closely, rapped out, ‘Look at your shoes! Wherever have you been?’
‘We found a most odd building ... or ruin of a building. It was made of stone, like the walls around here, with no mortar to hold them together, and it was circular. We met a lady and she said she was Mrs. Maclaine. She told us the building was a broth...’
‘Broch,’ corrected Logan, quietly.
‘That’s right. She can’t be your wife, she’s too old. Are you married?’
‘Linda!’ warned Nancy.
‘No, I’m not married,’ answered Logan calmly, seemingly quite unperturbed by Linda’s question.
‘I’m so glad,’ cooed Linda. ‘It makes it much easier for me to write my story.’
‘What story?’ asked Logan curiously. He was still blocking the doorway and Nancy was imprisoned in the bedroom.
‘I’m writing a story, and you’re the hero,’ explained Linda.
Logan laughed. ‘I’m afraid I’m not the stuff of which heroes are made. Couldn’t you find someone better?’
Linda shook her head.
‘No. Anyway, what are you both doing up here in the bedroom?’ she asked.
‘I’ve been examining the leaks in the ceiling,’ he replied gravely.
‘Did you bring the cows and goats? Mrs. Maclaine said you were coming over. Nancy, I’m famished. Aren’t we ever going to have food? I mean real food?’
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Nancy, who had at last managed to squeeze past Logan. ‘I’ll make a snack lunch and put the beef in the oven. You go and look at the cows and goats, and—’
‘No. Linda will make the lunch, while you and I go and look at the cows and goats,’ said Logan.
Linda turned a wide surprised gaze in his direction.
‘But I don’t know how,’ she said.
‘Then it’s time that you learned. Your sister will not always be at your service,’ he replied firmly. ‘And you should know how to make a meal by now. You can’t really go wrong with eggs, bread and butter and fruit. I shall be staying to lunch because I want to talk to your brother and give him some advice, so do your best. Come on, Nancy, and make the acquaintance of Jamie the billy goat. From the sounds I hear coming from the garden Don has met him already.’
In a curious trance-like state induced by his calm firm handling of the situation Nancy followed him downstairs. Behind her Linda continued to grumble about making the lunch. When they all reached the little hallway Logan spoke curtly, cutting across the grumbles.
‘You’ll find everything you need on the table in the kitchen, Linda. Put the trivet over the fire and place a pan of water over it to boil the eggs. I expect you know where the pans are kept by now. I like my egg boiled for four minutes. Call us when everything is ready. We’ll be at the byre.’
Linda stamped one foot on the floor, her usual form of expressing her annoyance, and Nancy braced herself as she expected an explosion of defiance. But the explosion did not occur and to her surprise Linda swung on her heels and went into the kitchen.
Nancy turned to Logan, who was about to open the front door.
‘I’d better go and show her what to do,’ she said, ‘I’ll look at the goats later.’
‘No. You’ll be doing as I tell you ... and so will Linda,’ he replied sternly. ‘It’s very obvious that she requires discipline. She will soon be completely unmanageable if someone isn’t firm with her. You’re not consistent enough.’
‘Oh!’ Nancy could only gasp as he opened the door and stepped into the rubber boots which he had left in the porch. Before she could gather her wits and retaliate sudden laughter transformed his dark face as he looked into the-garden.
‘At the moment it looks as if Don is more in need of your help than Linda,’ he observed.
As she followed Logan into the garden she saw Don running towards the house. One hand clutched the back of his trousers. Behind him the billy goat, its head lowered threateningly, horns at the ready, rushed after him.
Red-faced and panting, Don reached them and immediately placed himself behind Logan.
‘It butted me!’ he blurted.
‘And there was your sister telling me you have such a way with animals,’ remarked Logan softly. He bent swiftly to pick up the tethering rope which was round the goat’s neck as it rushed past him. A strong jerk on the rope and the goat stopped at once, pulled on to its haunches. For a second or two it pulled from one side to the other in an attempt to break free, but as it realised its freedom was over for the day it dropped its head and began to munch quietly at the grass.
‘Why did you untether it?’ asked Logan.
‘It seemed a shame that it should be tied up.’
‘Jamie will be better tied up until he’s grown used to you, and you don’t want him to be wandering away. Go and change your trousers and come out again. I’m taking Nancy to see the cows. You come with us and I will be telling you how to milk them ... and how to feed them.’
Caught and held captive by her awakening interest in Logan, Nancy followed him to the tethering post in the rough grass of the garden, and watched him hitch the rope round it. As he straightened up he laughed again and she noticed how the sudden change of expression lightened his face, breaking the polite facade, replacing it with warmth and gaiety.
‘Your neighbours will be appreciating that little entertainment, although they will not outwardly approve of such behaviour on a Sunday,’ he said.
‘Where are they? I haven’t seen anyone this morning,’ said Nancy.
‘Over there are Ian and Meg Macrae.’ Logan jerked his head in the direction of the trim white house on the green knoll. ‘And in the house across the bridge lives their aunt, Agnes Macrae. You won’t have seen them to-day because they don’t go out on a Sunday except to the meeting in the church later. But they’ll have been watching, peeping through the curtains at the heathen newcomers.’
‘But don’t they consider you a heathen too? I can’t imagine you staying in all day.’
‘Yes. My family is past all redemption,’ he replied with a slight ironic smile. ‘My great-grandfather returned to Scotland from the Far East, having made his fortune planting tea. He bought Lanmore Lodge and the estate from the rather impecunious clan chieftain who once lived here.’
‘Then you’re not descended from the original owners of the estate?’
‘No. Does that disappoint you?’ The amusement which had irritated her yesterday was back in his voice and in his glance, but to-day she was more able to appreciate his mockery.
‘Not as much as it will disappoint Linda. She has it all worked out that your family has lived here since the thirteenth century and that you must be a clan chieftain.’
‘I thought she might. You’ll have to break it to her gently. Perhaps if you tell her that my great-grandfather was feared by the crofters because he’d learned all sorts of black arts in the East which he practised on his return she won’t mind so much.’
Although she realised he was still making fun Nancy shuddered. She wanted to ask more, but he had turned away and was walking towards the byre. She followed him. The two great golden-horned cows looked fierce, but were quite placid. Don joined them and he and Nancy listened carefully while Logan instructed them about feeding the cattle and about milking times. All the time she was listening Nancy’s mind was busy wondering about the enigma of Logan Maclaine. She was surprised that he was so knowledgeable about farming. He was no more like her idea of a farmer than he was o
f her idea of a Highlander. He surprised her perpetually—a characteristic which attracted her while at the same time she was repelled by his cool authoritativeness.
After lunch, which was unexpectedly successful, Logan took Don off to inspect the fields. Linda, her liking for him restored, went with them and Nancy, left to herself once more, continued to air the bedding, rearing the mattresses up against the windows so that the sun could warm them. It was while she was doing this that she saw a man and woman walk past the house. They were fairly young—she guessed them to be in their late twenties. The man had crinkly brown hair and a thick brown beard, and the woman was small and dark. They looked neither left nor right and as they crossed the bridge over the burn they were joined on the other side by an older woman dressed all in black. They set off at a brisk rate along the road, presumably to the chapel.
Logan stayed until milking time so that he could supervise Don’s efforts to milk the cows. Apparently satisfied with what he had seen and with the talks he had with Don, he looked into the kitchen where Nancy was busy preparing the dinner.
‘I’m going now. I’ve told Don what to do. It’s time he was setting the early potatoes, and you and Linda will have to help him. Ask Ian about the tractor. He’ll be across tomorrow, I expect, to offer his advice. You’ll find the Macraes will treat you well as long as you don’t try to lord it over them. You would like to have the electricity?’
‘Yes, if it isn’t any trouble.’
‘No trouble. The poles are up and the other crofts have it. It’s only a question of bringing a line across and wiring the house. A telephone would be advisable too. You know about the school bus?’
‘School bus?’ repeated Nancy rather vaguely.
‘Of course. You weren’t thinking of letting Linda miss a whole term of schooling, were you? The school is over there.’ He pointed through the kitchen window at the dark pines and white buildings across the glittering sea loch ‘School starts to-morrow as the Easter holidays are over now. If you haven’t registered Linda you’d better go with her.’ A frown pulled his heavy eyebrows together and he gave her a sharp assessing glance. ‘No. Perhaps a better plan would be for me to pick her up and take her across and explain everything. It will be easier that way.’
‘Why?’ asked Nancy, all prickles again because he was taking over, and managing her.
His grin was disarming.
‘She won’t argue with me,’ he announced with exasperating authority.
‘She doesn’t want to go back to school and I’m not sure whether I want her to go back either,’ retorted Nancy with a final flash of spirit.
Logan raised his eyebrows slightly and his disdainful glance told her what he thought of her decision.
‘If she doesn’t go you’ll be breaking the law ... and she’ll miss an important experience. Besides,’ he paused and his smile appeared suddenly, ‘there’ll be less skin and hair flying if you two are separated for part of the day at least.’
Nancy gasped for breath and then burst out,
‘You haven’t a very high opinion of us!’
‘That’s not the way of it at all. I merely know the temper of a redheaded Allan. Goodnight.’
He went from the room before she had time to reply. Suddenly remembering her manners, Nancy ran after him. He might be exasperating and overbearing, but he had accepted them and had gone out of his way to help them today instead of trying to freeze them out. By the time she had passed through the front door into the garden he was already opening the garden gate and walking into the road.
‘Goodnight, Logan,’ she called. ‘Thank you.’
He looked back and waved in acknowledgement, crossed the road and vaulted the stone dyke into a field. Nancy watched him cross the field until he was out of sight.
Linda was not pleased when Nancy told her that school started the next morning and that it would be a good idea if she attended. After the usual passage of hot words between them and which accompanied any proposition which tended to frustrate Linda’s desires, the girl burst into tears.
‘But you said I needn’t go any more once we came here. You promised and now you’re going back on your word. I hate school, you know I do! I won’t go,’ she sobbed.
Nancy sighed wearily, wishing that she hadn’t mentioned the subject.
‘Look, Linda, I know I promised, but when we were in Dulthorpe I didn’t realise that there would be a secondary school here and I thought it would be simpler if you stayed at home. But Logan says there’s a bus which takes all the children from Lanmore over on the ferry. He also said that if you don’t go we shall be breaking the law, which is true. He said he’ll come for you in the morning and take you over to register.’
The transformation of Linda from a tearful slumped bundle of frustration into a smiling, shining-eyed, pretty girl was almost miraculous.
‘He did?’ she breathed. ‘That makes all the difference. If he thinks I should go then I’ll go. I’d better go and get my school clothes ready.’
Her head aching after the clash of wills, Nancy felt slightly disturbed by her sister’s reaction to the news that Logan would take her to school. She hoped that Linda’s tendency to hero-worship was not going to cause any embarrassments between the Allan family and the laird. Coping with Linda’s tantrums was exhausting enough without any further complications being added to the already difficult relationship she had with her sister.
Next day they were all up early because there were cows to be milked. At half-past eight Logan arrived and whisked an obviously delighted Linda away with him. Nancy watched them go with a twinge of uneasiness, but she had little time to wonder how her sister fared at school because she had hardly cleared the breakfast dishes when Ian Macrae arrived. After shaking hands with her and with Don he said authoritatively,
‘You’ll be wanting to set the tatties. I’ll be helping you. I’ll away to get the tractor.’
By the time he returned with the tractor, a Land-Rover had arrived driven by a hatchet-faced man dressed in tweeds who introduced himself as Harris, factor of the Lanmore estate. He had brought with him two other men who were slaters, and they unloaded their ladders and proceeded to inspect the roof. Meanwhile Harris himself unloaded a wire basket which contained several clucking hens and a cockerel. After releasing the fowl which began to peck amongst the grass at the roadside, Mr. Harris asked Don if he was interested in taking another job besides farming his croft.
‘They’re needing an extra hand in the forest over on the north side. There’s a lot of fencing to be done to keep the sheep out. You’d be picked up at the road junction every morning at seven and you’d be brought back at four-thirty in the afternoon. Plenty of time to do your own jobs in the long summer evenings. You can be telling me later in the day when I come to collect the men if you want the work.’
Mr. Harris had hardly left when Ian was back with the tractor and the rest of the day was spent following him round the field and setting the seed potatoes in the furrows which he ploughed. Halfway through the morning just when Nancy thought her back would break Meg Macrae arrived, bringing a flask of tea and some buttered scones which they all shared sitting against the drystone dyke looking down the newly ploughed brown earth to the misty blue sea and the faint shapes of distant islands.
Far from being resentful that the Allans had come to claim their croft as Nancy had expected, the two Macraes were very friendly. Ian, who was stockily built, had a forthright way of speaking, quite different from his brother who kept the garage.
‘I’m not saying I wasn’t disappointed when Maclaine told me ye were coming,’ he admitted, ‘and like him I was a wee bit worried in case ye were just coming to squat like some of the younger townspeople we’ve been hearing about. But I can see ye’re not like that at all, and. we’re glad ye’ve come, aren’t we, Meg? It’ll be fine having young neighbours. Most young people go away from the crofts.’
‘I wonder why,’ asked Nancy. ‘It’s so beautiful here. How can they possibly
prefer the towns?’
‘They are looking for an easier way of life with more amenities,’ said Meg, who was small and dark with shy secretive brown eyes.
‘You have to love the place to stay and ye have to be prepared to make haste slowly,’ explained Ian. ‘I have eight crofts now and three hundred sheep. Every time a croft is abandoned I ask if I can take it over so that I can get more sheep on the hill. With six hundred sheep I’d have a fairly decent living. At the moment both Meg and I have to do other work. But we’ve been lucky here in having good lairds. The Maclaines brought electricity to Lanmore a long time ago. They know how to farm too and how to conserve the land and make the most of it. They haven’t let the sheep have their own way. They’ve fenced and reafforested ... and they’ve kept the heather. Ye won’t find anyone burning heather on Lanmore after the end of April.’
‘But why is it so important to keep it, and why do you burn it?’ asked Don.
‘Ach, I can see ye have a lot to be learning,’ said Ian with a grin. ‘Ye have to burn it because it grows so well here and makes such a close carpet that regular burning has to be done if a good crop of heather is to be kept going for grouse and sheep. So it’s burnt every ten to fifteen years. But if ye burn it after April, it’s too late, and instead of new growth appearing the place of the heather is taken by moor grass and bracken.’
As Ian had said, there was a lot to learn and from that first day the Allans were all busy learning. Surprisingly enough Linda settled down in the school and had soon made friends with the other children who travelled from Lanmore to the school at Glenarg. Don took the job offered to him by the factor and left every morning to travel to the north side of the estate to work in the new forest.
Nancy found that she had very few spare moments because with Don away she was responsible for the hens and the other animals, although he did the milking every morning and evening and they both worked in the fields in the evening if there was any hoeing to be done. But if Nancy had been asked to describe her memories of the first six weeks on the croft she would have had difficulty in drawing a clear picture, because her memory was a jumble of impressions, of soft Highland voices greeting her when she went shopping in Glenarg, of sunlight glittering on the sea, of sudden sharp squalls of wind and rain which swept in from the sea and blotted out visibility and made the waves hiss as they tumbled on the shingle beach. There was the memory of the weekly ceilidhs or informal meetings of friends at the Macraes’ cottage and a vivid portrait of Agnes Macrae, Ian’s aunt, tall and angular with a strangely raddled face and a heart of gold. And all memory of this time was accompanied by the smell of paint with which Nancy systematically covered up the red which her grandfather had daubed all over the cottage.