‘Donnie Ross has married Seonaid Fraser – and you haven’t been here to be informed.’
The long silence that followed Wyatt’s announcement was finally broken by the factor.
‘Seonaid’s married … young Ross? I don’t believe it.’ The words came out in a hoarse incredulous whisper.
‘It’s quite true, I can assure you. I married them myself, this afternoon. ’
Again there was a long silence, broken this time by Wyatt. ‘It’s customary for a landowner to give his good wishes, at least, to a young couple. Is there anything you would like to contribute on Lord Kilmalie’s behalf?’
‘Damn your Highland customs! I’ll not be taken for a fool. I should have been told of this. I should have been told….’
Wyatt waited for the factor to add to his surprising statement, but John Garrett had said all he intended to say this evening. Jerking his mount around, he dug the heels of his riding-boots into the flanks of the horse and clattered back the way he had come.
As Wyatt stood alone on the darkened road the sound coming from the school grew even louder. The newly wed couple had decided it was time to bring the celebrations to an end – for them, at least. They were to spend the first night of their married life at the Eskaig inn. A room had been placed at their disposal by Annie Hamilton, the somewhat disreputable landlady of Eskaig’s only tavern.
The only Englishwoman in the village, Annie Hamilton had made her appearance in Eskaig at the end of the Napoleonic Wars, with her crippled ex-soldier husband, son of the inn landlord. Although there was always some doubt, she insisted she was legally married. Such was her character that no one in the small village possessed the courage to challenge her statement.
She had met the landlord’s son when he was a soldier in the 79th Regiment, passing through London. She, like Magdalene Ross, had accompanied her husband on the campaign that took the 79th Regiment from Portugal through Spain and on to the final battles inside the French border. It was rumoured Annie Hamilton had carried her wounded husband on her back from the final battlefield and ensured he received immediate treatment from the overworked military surgeons.
She continued to nurse her semi-invalid husband when he took over the inn from his father. After she was widowed, Annie Hamilton ran the Eskaig inn herself, despite vociferous opposition from the scandalised village elders.
Annie Hamilton had heard every one of the rumours about Seonaid’s morals and the probable father of the baby the young bride carried. She paid no heed to them. Annie Hamilton had never been one to accept the narrow views of the others. She was one of the few villagers to have visited Magdalene Ross in the isolated Highland croft, drawn there by the common experiences both women had shared.
Annie Hamilton knew what Magdalene Ross would have wished for her son and his bride. Loyalty to her husband might have prevented Magdalene from attending the wedding, but the inn landlady determined the young couple would want for nothing on their wedding night.
Led by two pipers and the inebriated fiddler, the young couple made their way to the inn surrounded by revellers. At the inn someone crumbled a cake over the head of the bride and there was a scramble among the unmarried girls to retrieve the pieces. Superstition had it that the girl who picked up the largest piece of cake would be the next to wed.
Then it was the turn of the men of Eskaig who claimed the right to kiss the bride. Bowing to custom, Seonaid stood by the inn door. Unfortunately, fuelled by whisky and Seonaid’s reputation, some of the ‘well-wishers’ crossed the bounds of propriety. Wyatt saw what was happening and plunged into the excited crowd to go to Seonaid’s aid – but Annie Hamilton was there first. Wielding a long-handled copper warming-pan, she emerged from the doorway behind the young couple and quickly drove off the liberty-taking revellers.
Reaching the doorway where Annie Hamilton stood on guard in the manner of an avenging Britannia, Wyatt said: ‘You wield a handy bed-warmer, Annie.’
Annie Hamilton brandished the long-handled ‘weapon’ menacingly. ‘Had there been a bayonet attached, I’d have driven them all the way to the lowlands. You’d have done the same if all I’ve heard of your past service is true.’
‘I’ve seen bayonets wielded to less purpose than your warming-pan,’ countered Wyatt. ‘There’ll be a few bruised heads in the morning. You’ll be closing the inn now, no doubt?’
‘Closing? Not on your life, dearie. This lot have got the taste for drink now. I’ll stay open until the last man drops to the floor. I expect to do more business tonight than in any two weeks of the year.’ She looked up to where a lamp shone dimly through the curtained window of the ‘bridal suite’. There will be little sleep tonight for them, but I doubt if they’ll be complaining in the morning, poor dears.’ The lewd wink she gave Wyatt would have shocked many ministers. Wyatt only grinned. ‘If you’d like a drop of good whisky yourself, I’ve a quiet room at the back. It will be on the house.’
Wyatt shook his head. ‘I need to be up early. Lachlan Munro is ill again. I’ve promised I’ll pay him a visit.’
‘The poor man. With such a nice little family, too. Until you came to Eskaig he’d received scant reward for serving his country well. Call in to see me before you go. I’ve a bottle of something that will cheer him up. There should be plenty of food left over from this lot, too. It’d be a pity to see it go to waste. There’ll be more than you can carry, I’ve no doubt.’
Thanking Annie Hamilton for her generosity, Wyatt set off for the manse. He had gone only a few paces when Mairi fell in beside him.
‘It was a fine service you gave for Donnie and Seonaid. It got their marriage off to a good start, in spite of their circumstances.’
‘They’re not the first young couple to have found the restraints urged upon them by the Church hard to accept. I doubt if they’ll be the last.’
‘I wish I could accept the child as Donnie’s.’ Mairi looked towards her companion, but it was too dark to make out his expression. ‘You’re no fool, Wyatt. You know what’s been going on between Seonaid and the factor. What do you think?’
‘I’ve just married two very nice young people who have to face a great many difficulties together in the months and years ahead. I think we should give them all the help we can.’
‘They’ll get that from me. From Ma and Pa, too, if they ever get into any real trouble. But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘And I don’t intend to.’ Wyatt changed the subject abruptly. ‘I didn’t see you scrambling for the cake back there at the inn door.’
‘If marriage depends upon a piece of cake, I don’t think I’ll bother.’ Mairi spoke scornfully, at the same time uncomfortably aware that she carried a large piece of cake carefully wrapped in her handkerchief. She had snatched it up unnoticed from inside the inn doorway, while other girls were scrabbling on the ground in the street outside.
‘How are your lessons coming along?’ Wyatt asked the question as the silence that fell between them began to lengthen.
‘I can read well enough now, and my handwriting is much improved.’ Mairi spoke nonchalantly, as though what Wyatt thought did not much matter. Yet the thought of earning his praise had driven her on for long firelit hours after a hard day’s work at the shielings and, more recently, by candlelight in the mountain cot while the rest of the family slept.
‘You can read already?’ Wyatt’s admiration was genuine. He had not forgotten the many night hours he had put into studying – and he had been fortunate enough to have a literate and enthusiastic father to give him help and encouragement. ‘You’ve done marvellously well. Better than if you’d stayed at the school, I don’t doubt.’
It was exactly the response for which Mairi had been working so hard. She was determined to prove she could learn without tuition from Evangeline Garrett.
Behind them a discordant wail rose upon the night air as a set of bagpipes was brought into use. The wedding revellers would not end their celebrations for a long time yet. There would
be little sleep for the newlyweds or for anyone else in Eskaig tonight.
‘You’re not on your way home to the croft?’ Wyatt asked the question as they left the lighted windows of the last house behind and were engulfed in the darkness of a starless night. The way to the mountain croft would take Mairi past the manse, but to attempt to find the faint mountain path on such a night would be foolhardy.
‘I’m staying in the village, with a married friend. Why do you ask?’
‘I didn’t like to think of you walking across the mountains in the darkness. It’s dangerous. I also wondered whether you would come with me to visit the Munro family in the morning. Lachlan’s ill again. Annie Hamilton’s promised as much food for them as can be carried.’
‘Poor Elsa. Her family are a constant worry to her. Yes, I’ll come, if that’s what you would like.’
‘I would.’
Mairi stopped walking, and Wyatt stopped, too. They stood in silence, no more than a foot apart, each aware of the other’s closeness.
‘I’d better get back to the village…. Not that I’ll be missed with all that’s going on….’
Mairi waited for a reply. When none came, she said: ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Yes.’
‘Goodnight, Wyatt.’
‘Mairi…?’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t go…. Not yet.’
Then he was holding her and kissing her as he had kissed her once before in the darkness, at the shielings. They kissed for long minutes, and when he held her close she clung to him. They were both aware of the hunger of their bodies. For Mairi it was a new and wonderful, yet frightening, experience. Suddenly she wanted Wyatt with a ferocity that allowed no restraint. She forced herself against him and gasped as she felt him respond. There were moments of near-ecstasy as body explored clothed body – and then they both heard the sound of someone approaching along the road.
They stood self-consciously apart as the ‘clump and drag’ of the approaching steps identified the unseen man as Alasdair Burns.
The schoolteacher sensed rather than saw them in the darkness and he stopped when still a few paces away.
‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s me, Alasdair.’
‘Wyatt! What are you doing standing here in the darkness? I would have thought you’d have been in Eskaig, bible in hand, warning your flock against at least three of the deadly sins. Neglect your duty tonight and you’ll end up with a whole crop of brides, all carrying their past before them….’
There was a slight sound from the darkness, but it was missed by the chuckling schoolteacher. When Wyatt reached out he discovered Mairi had gone.
When Alasdair Burns, still laughing, had gone on his way to the schoolhouse, Wyatt retraced his steps to the village, but there was no sign of Mairi. Wyatt made his way home to the manse, deeply troubled.
Twenty-seven
WYATT THOUGHT IT probable Mairi would find an excuse for not coming with him to the Munro croft in the morning. Not until he came face to face with her at the Eskaig inn did he realise just how much he had wanted her to be there. He needed to talk to her. He, better than she, knew how close they had been to committing the sin he had warned others against on so many occasions from the pulpit of his kirk.
Each carrying a heavy sack of food, they said very little to each other until the village was well behind them and they stopped for a brief rest.
‘I’m ashamed of myself for what happened last night.’ Wyatt knew he had not found the right words, even before Mairi replied.
‘Nothing happened last night – at least, nothing to make either of us ashamed.’
‘It was no thanks to me, Mairi. If Alasdair hadn’t come along when he did…. And after all I’ve had to say to others about resisting “the lust of the flesh”.’ Wyatt’s face contorted in self-recriminatory anguish.
Mairi turned to face Wyatt. ‘Since arriving in Eskaig you’ve endeared yourself to many people – especially those from the mountains – because you’ve come among us as someone who’s as human as anyone else. All the other preachers we’ve seen – and there haven’t been many – have set themselves up as the closest thing to God that Highland folk are ever likely to see. Minister Gunn was one. You’re different. You’ve never tried to impress us with being better than any of us. You’ve simply pointed out what’s right and what’s wrong. Telling us what God would want us to do. That’s why you’re well liked. That’s why I’ve grown so fond of you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in being mortal, surely?’
Mairi struggled to lift the heavy sack to her shoulder. She did not succeed until Wyatt came to her aid. Shrugging the burden to a more comfortable position, Mairi added scathingly: If it was only lust you were feeling, then perhaps it is a good thing Alasdair Burns came along when he did.’
With this observation, Mairi made off along the edge of the loch, setting such a pace that by the time Wyatt shouldered his own sack and caught up with her he was puffing and panting like Donald McKay’s steam-launch. When he tried to correct the erroneous impression he had given to Mairi, she told him curtly: ‘Save your breath for walking, Minister Jamieson; you sound as though you haven’t too much to spare.’
Wyatt planned to make his peace with Mairi when they next rested, but fate in the form of Ewan and Elsa Munro and the youngest Munro girl interceded.
They were gathering wood close to the loch. When they recognised Wyatt and Mairi they waved cheerfully and hurried to meet them.
Elsa Munro took possession of all the wood that had been collected, and Ewan relieved Mairi of her load.
The boy had sprung up during the summer months and he looked far healthier than when Wyatt had first met with him.
When Wyatt commented upon this, Elsa Munro smiled. ‘Ewan’s a different boy, Minister, thanks to you. He’s doing a man’s work on our land and enjoying every minute. He’s felt especially good since that doctor from Edinburgh put his leg to rights. Not that you didn’t do a good job in removing the rest of the lead shot,’ Elsa Munro added hurriedly. ‘The doctor said if it hadn’t been for you Ewan would probably have lost his whole leg….’ Elsa Munro shuddered. ‘I dread to think what would have become of us if that had happened. Ewan’s the man about our house, and no mistake.’
‘Lachlan’s no better, then?’
Ewan Munro had dropped behind to readjust the position of the heavy sack on his bony young shoulder. With a quick glance in his direction, Elsa dropped her voice. ‘Lachlan will never be any better. The Edinburgh doctor said we could expect bad days and very bad days. All the good ones are behind us.’
Mairi was carrying the young Munro girl, but she put an arm about her friend’s shoulders and gave her a sympathetic hug. ‘Lachlan’s a good man, Elsa. He deserves better fortune.’
‘So does Ewan. He’s enjoyed the school, Minister, but we need him to work the land now.’
Wyatt nodded. It was a problem that educationalists were having to face throughout the land. By the time a boy or girl reached an age where they could benefit most from schooling they were needed to contribute to the support of the family. ‘I’ll bring some books along for him to read in the evenings. It would be a pity if he wasted all he’s learned. He’s a bright boy.’
Lachlan Munro was in the garden of the croft, directing his daughters in a hunt for caterpillars among an impressively sprouting crop of late greens. Leaning on a stick, the ex-soldier looked frail, emaciated and much older than his years.
He was genuinely pleased to see the Eskaig minister. When food and whisky were produced from the sacks the sick man’s gratitude was overwhelming. Although it was not yet mid-morning, Lachlan made his wife set out the food on the only table in the house. When it was ready the young family sat down on home-made benches and ate. With a pewter mug of warming whisky in his hands, Lachlan Munro watched happily as his family tucked in to the best meal they had ever eaten. He declared Donnie and Seonaid must have had a fine marriage feast indeed in Esk
aig.
Later Wyatt sat with Lachlan on the low freestone wall that encircled the garden, enjoying the winter sunshine. Each man held a pot of whisky in one hand, and blue smoke from two clay pipes drifted lazily upwards from where they sat.
Looking about him, Wyatt said: ‘You’ve put in a lot of work here, Lachlan. It’s a different croft from the one you took over.’
‘Ewan and Elsa have done most of the work. Ewan’s a good boy. He’s a hard worker and he loves the land.’ Lachlan Munro knocked out his pipe against the wall beside him. ‘My biggest worry is what’s going to happen to them all when I’m gone.’
Wyatt began to protest that Lachlan Munro would outlive them all but, shaking his head, the ex-soldier waved him to silence.
‘I knew the truth better than anyone, Captain – and I include your Edinburgh doctor. I’ll be lucky if I see another planting-time. I don’t mind so much for myself; I’ve had a good life. Seen places that most Highlanders have never heard about. Besides, I’ve outlived this body of mine. It’s not comfortable to live in any longer. You know all about it, Captain. You’ve gone through it yourself. Can you imagine what it’s like living with such pain day and night, week after week, month after month? It will be a relief for me when the time comes. It’s Elsa and the children I’m worried about. Do you think you can help them?’
‘How? Do you have something particular in mind?’
‘Speak to Garrett. See if he’ll let Elsa take this place on when I’m gone. She and Ewan can make a go of it, helped by the girls. They’re doing it now in all but name.’
Wyatt doubted whether the factor would be willing to grant him any favours, especially after the humiliation Wyatt had caused him in Edinburgh. Wyatt doubted, too, whether he would be able to call on support from Lord Kilmalie again. Then he looked at Lachlan Munro’s face. There was an expression of fevered pleading there. ‘I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.’
‘Thank you, Captain. If anyone can help them, it’s you. It’s likely every crofter and cottar will need all the help he can get before long. A flock of sheep came through near here last week, driven alongside Loch Shiel so as to avoid any trouble around Corpach and Eskaig, I reckon. Ewan watched them crossing the shallows. He said they were ten and twelve deep and it took most of the daylight hours to drive them over.’
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