Summer of Love

by Gian Bordin

  At that moment, Owen called softly. They ran across the approach of the bridge and blended again into the darkness of the buildings to the west of Stockwell Street. While they silently retraced their steps, an idea began to grow in Andrew’s mind. These fellows had laughed about him getting convicted for a crime of the MacGregors of Balquhidder. How about turning the tables on them? He would discuss this with Owen once they were safely at The White Heron.

  Fifteen minutes later, they sneaked into the backyard of the inn. Rose was waiting by the kitchen door and hugged Helen heartily. "Oh, my dear lass, am I glad to see you again. I wish you could stay. I miss you already." She winked at Andrew and chuckled: "And that handsome husband of yours."

  Helen kissed both her cheeks. "I’ll miss you too. Without you, Andrew would still be in prison."

  "Don’t forget Owen. He was instrumental!" murmured Andrew.

  "Oh yes. Where’s my gallant little man? Let’s settle our account with you now." She pulled the string purse from a pocket of her skirt and took out two gold coins. "You must let me double your fee, Owen. Here’s your pay."

  He fingered the coins, inspecting them carefully.

  "They are good," remarked Andrew.

  "I know. I just haven’t seen new ones like these," he beamed and put them proudly in his pocket.

  "Maybe, you should consider investing your money so that it will grow," Andrew suggested.

  "Oh, I’ve ways to double it easily every few months."

  "I believe you, but it will also be much more risky. You could lose it all… I’ve been in that business too, you know."

  "You have, sir?" Owen sounded surprised, as if he didn’t quite believe it. "What kind of business then, sir? You don’t look like somebody who knows much about smuggling, if I may say so."

  The three adults chuckled at the brashness of the little fellow.

  "I was part of a band of brandy smugglers, first around here and then later in the north of France. Not so long ago."

  "Pardon me, sir, you sure could have fooled me, but you look like a most honest fellow. You must have been successful then."

  Rose too glanced at him sideways. "You a smuggler? I can’t believe it… So, this innocent face of yours, is it just a front?" She slapped her side in delight.

  Andrew laughed, while Helen tousles Owen’s hair, sending his cap flying on the floor, and then looked proudly at Andrew. "I would like to take him along," she whispered into his ear.

  "I know. He’s a delight. But he’s far too independent to be mothered, my love. You’ll have to wait for one of our own."

  "I guess you’re right." Her lips brushed his smooth cheek.

  "And now, I better turn in or else I’ll be no good this morning," Owen remarked importantly.

  "Owen, I need to discuss another job with you if you’ll indulge me."

  "Speak, sir."

  "I want to exchange the black stallion with one of the horses of the Highlanders at the Golden Eagle."

  Helen and Rose both pricked their ears.

  "Why," asked Helen, and then she frowned. "I see, you want to pay them back for selling you a stolen horse… Don’t Andrew, it’s too dangerous to venture again into the city, now that the police are searching for you."

  "There’s a small danger, but if I pull it off, the police will soon hold the real thief in prison."

  "Andrew, I’m afraid. Don’t do it! It’s not worth the risk. Let’s just disappear now."

  "Lady, this plan is brilliant," interjected Owen. "At this time of the night, nobody’s on the streets anymore. I bet that even the police patrols have given up until tomorrow morning. At least, that’s what the two constables said that passed close by us. You remember, sir?"

  Andrew nodded, while Helen looked at Owen in consternation, as though she hadn’t expected to be to contradicted by her trusted helper.

  Rose joined in the argument: "Helen, if they’ve the real thieves, then master Andrew and you both get exonerated. Don’t you think this is worth taking a small risk?"

  Helen’s gaze switched from one to the other. She seemed to get more and more uncertain.

  "At least, hear out what master Andrew has to say," encouraged Rose.

  "I would exchange the horses, and write two letters. The first one to the police, telling them where to find the horse, the second to Fergus Drummond, telling him that I return the horse since it was reported stolen and take his own steed instead. I’ll leave this letter attached to the saddle, so that when the constables come to the stables of The Golden Eagle they’ll find it before Fergus does. I think that should convict him."

  "I volunteer to deliver the letter to the tolbooth," ventured Owen.

  Helen’s expression still betrayed her hesitation.

  "What do you say, Helen?" asked Andrew. "Don’t you want me to do it because he is your cousin?"

  She nodded, feeling caught, blushing.

  "You’re a strange one," exclaimed Rose. "He’s the reason your husband ends up in jail, and he’s an accomplice in kidnaping you, and you hesitate because he’s your distant cousin!"

  "He’s so young. Getting transported may kill him."

  "And he’ll just goes on thieving and bringing grief to other people."

  "Don’t push her, Rose," Andrew begged. He turned to Helen: "I understand your reasons, Helen. In fact, I share them… What gave me the idea was you telling me how Robert bragged they had such a laugh that I should pay for Fergus’ crime."

  "Oh, Andrew," she rushed to him and put her arms around his neck, "I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I wasn’t thinking straight. There he gloated about you paying for him and I wanted to spare him? You go and do it."

  "You’re sure?"

  "Yes, Andrew. I am. But be careful."

  He searched her eyes, and then kissed her forehead. Rose had already put paper and a quill on the table.

  "That’s a sensible girl," she said, patting Helen’s shoulder. "Here, master Andrew, get writing."

  He sat at the table and quickly wrote the two letters, only signing the one addressed to Fergus.

  "Owen, will you help me bring the stallion to the stables of The Golden Eagle and then afterward deliver the letter to the tolbooth?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "How will you get it into the hands of the chief constable?"

  "I’ll knock at the prison door, and when the turnkey opens the wicket, I’ll throw the letter inside and disappear before he has time to open the door. I’m sure he’ll pass it on to the chief constable right away."

  "And are you sure that there’s no danger for you? I don’t want to get you into trouble."

  "No, sir, this’ll be child’s play—"

  "Really," chuckled Andrew.

  "—but we should put cloth around the horse’s hooves to muffle the sound. Just to be on the safe side."

  "Good idea, Owen," exclaimed Rose, "I get old sacks."

  * * *

  Andrew rode the stallion, with Owen in front. The lad had never been on a horse and was rather apprehensive. But it was probably more a reflection of not being in control of the situation and having to rely entirely on Andrew.

  When they reached the ramp of the bridge, he made Andrew stop and slid off the horse. After scanning the adjoining streets and the bridge, he darted across on foot, checked once more, and then waved to Andrew to follow. He ran ahead to the inn.

  Andrew reined the horse in front of the stables and Owen quickly checked the tavern, just in case. He soon returned with an oil lamp and reported that the five were still asleep around the table. It took Andrew a few minutes to figure out which horse belonged to Fergus, but in the end was pretty certain that he had picked the right one. He attached the letter easily visible to the saddle knob of the stallion with a piece of twine.

  The two conspirators now separated. While the boy went to the tolbooth by narrow alleys, Andrew rode Fergus’ horse back to the White Heron, its hooves again wrapped in sack cloth.

  Helen awai
ted him in the yard, anxiously. When she heard the muffled sounds of the hooves, she quickly opened the gate.

  "I was so nervous that something might go wrong," she said, as she hugged him. "I don’t want to be separated from you again."

  Andrew kissed her. "Neither do I."

  They joined Rose at the kitchen table.

  "All done? Owen off to the tolbooth?" she asked, yawning unashamedly.

  Andrew nodded.

  "What time is it then?"

  He consulted his pocket watch: "It’s already half past two. Time flies fast. When are we supposed to be on the boat?"

  "Around five o’clock… I guess I won’t go to sleep anymore tonight. Would you young ones like to have a cup of strong coffee too?"

  They said "yes" in unison, and then smiled at each other. Helen’s lips brushed Andrew’s cheek. "I love your smooth skin when you’re clean shaven," she murmured.

  He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. "I would like to eat you slowly, my love bird," he whispered huskily, nibbling her earlobe.

  She moved away teasingly and replied mockingly: "Oh no, there’s no time for that now."

  "Now, now!" exclaimed Rose. "Is this all you’ve in mind at a time of crisis?" And then she added with a light chuckle: "But then you got cheated out of your wedding night, young man, didn’t you?"

  The two young people blushed, and hid their faces behind their mugs.

  "So, I’ve two horses to sell, legitimate ones," said Rose with a big yawn, "now that the offending animal has been disposed of so neatly. This brings in more than you owe me for Joe’s supply of liquor and the ten-pound gift to Owen."

  "You keep the rest for your own trouble," said Helen.

  "And what does your husband say to this?"

  "I trust Helen to decide wisely."

  Rose looked at them for a while, a warm glow in her eyes. Suddenly, she got up and disappeared in her private quarters. She returned a minute later with a gold medallion on a fine filigree chain.

  "Helen, I want you to have this heirloom of mine. My mother gave it to me when I left for Glasgow. I can’t really wear it here, … and have no children to pass it on."

  She put the medallion around Helen’s neck. Andrew instantly recognized its fine Italian craftsmanship. Helen opened the tiny lid. Inside was an ivory carving of a Madonna.

  "Look Andrew, how beautiful," and turning to Rose, she murmured: "Rose, I can’t take this. Really. It’s too precious. You must keep this for yourself."

  She raised her hands to take it off, but Rose prevented her. "I want you to have it, Helen. To remember me. You’ve become very dear to me, like a daughter of my own." Her usually boisterous voice trembled, and her eyes had a watery sheen.

  "Oh Rose," exclaimed Helen, hugging the chubby motherly figure. "How can I thank you?" she cried, wiping her tears. "I love you also… And I owe you so much."

  "It makes me happy to see you happy," whispered Rose.

  Helen turned to Andrew: "May I keep it?"

  "Helen, you’re your own master. But if you ask me, I would like you to wear it always so that I’m reminded of a true friend when we needed one."

  Rose grabbed him spontaneously and gave his a hearty hug. "You’re all right, young man. She’s in good hands."

  * * *

  Shortly after three, Owen returned, beaming broadly. He did not wait for Rose to ask him why, but began spouting out the news. "I waited around the tolbooth. It only took a few minutes, and one of the jailers ran straight over to the chief constable’s office with the letter, and raised the alarm, and soon afterward three constables went at the double down Saltmarket and into Bridgegate. I followed them at a safe distance and then sneaked around to the Golden Eagle from the back. And sure, they had found the stallion already. Two of them went into the tavern and tried to wake the Highlanders. It must have taken five minutes before they managed to rouse the old man."

  "That’s what he calls your father," Andrew whispered with a chuckle.

  "He wouldn’t be pleased to hear that," she answered smiling.

  "And then?" questioned Rose.

  "Then … nothing. I left. I thought you all wanted to know!"

  Rose stared at him with her mouth open. "This is so unlike you to leave when things start hotting up."

  "As I said, nothing happened. Each time a constable got one of the guys awake and then tried to rouse the one next to him, the first one would simply slump back on the table. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were still at it."

  Helen giggled. "I would have liked to see this. But mind you, once they are awake, three constables will hardly contain them."

  "Two constables," Owen corrected her, "the third was guarding the horse. But now, I want to turn in. So master Andrew, and lady, it was a pleasure to be of service to you and I wish you a good journey to America. I may want to make that journey too, one of these days."

  "May I hug you, Owen," asked Helen. Her eyes got moist again. After a short hesitation, he came over to her and allowed her to hold him briefly.

  "Bye now, lady, sir." He looked first at Helen, then at Andrew, bent forward slightly, and with a "Bye, Rose" he walked out of the kitchen.

  "That one’s a character," exclaimed Rose with a motherly chuckle after the door had closed behind him.

  "I will miss him," replied Helen, drying her eyes.

  19

  Shortly before five o’clock Rose reminded Andrew and Helen that it was time to go to the boat which would take them to Greenock. The young couple fetched their few belongings from Helen’s little room and waited in the courtyard. A low, murky cloud cover diffused the early morning light to a dull, depressing grey. The sharp westerly went right through their clothing, chilling them to the bones. Helen shivered, crossing her arms tightly over her bosom. She didn’t know whether it was the cold wind, or her lack of sleep, or her anxiety, or all three of them.

  Andrew plucked a delicate rose from her favorite bush, stuck it into her hair, and kissed her.

  "I love you. You’re so beautiful," he whispered.

  She answered with a smile, trying to suppress her shivers. It still surprised her how often and freely he told her that he loved her, that he found her pretty. She couldn’t remember hearing her father ever say that to her mother, nor had Robert ever used the word love. He had said "I fancy you" a couple of times, "I want you" more often, but never "I love you".

  Andrew put his arms around her, shielding her from the wind. She buried her head under his chin, drawing warmth and energy from him.

  "Don’t let me disturb you, my love birds," Rose chuckled as she came into the yard. "I go reconnoiter first, to make sure no policemen are about."

  She left the yard and returned a few minutes later. "All’s clear. Ready?"

  "Yes," replied Helen, with a weary smile.

  Andrew hoisted the saddle bags onto his left shoulder and followed the two women. Before they entered the wharf, Rose again checked if everything was clear. In fact, except for the four people busy on one boat, the wharf looked deserted, all the boats still asleep.

  "There’s your boat! The Clyde!" Rose pointed to the one farthest downstream, the one with the sailors on its deck. It rode high as the tide filled the river. "Captain McGeorge is her owner."

  She hugged Helen again, and both women fought their tears, finding it hard to say farewell to each other forever. Finally, Rose tore herself away, gave Andrew a quick kiss on the cheek, whispering: "Look well after her," and rushed off.

  Andrew and Helen walked briskly to the Clyde and climbed up a narrow plank to its deck. The captain welcomed them in a hushed voice, briefly scanned the wharf, and ushered them below deck into the small cargo hold full of crates and bales of wool. Its ceiling was so low that Andrew had to stoop.

  "I want you to hide here until we’ve left the wharf. Just to be on the safe side, you know! Make yourselves comfortable, nobody will disturb you for a while," he said with a leering grin.

  Helen was glad that
the darkness concealed her blushing. Once they were alone, Andrew pulled her to him, searching her lips.

  "No, Andrew. Not here! Not with four men up there!" she whispered.

  "No, love. But I want to kiss you while we wait. I missed you so much," he murmured and began to nibble her earlobes. She folded her arms around his neck. They kissed, their tongues meeting, pressing their bodies together for warmth. His right hand cupped her breast, and squeezed it gently, found its hardening nipple, rubbing it lightly through the cloth. Their kissing rose in urgency. He pushed a leg between her thighs.

  "No, Andrew, you promised," she cried out, trying to keep her voice low.

  "I did, my love, and I meant it… Let’s just savor being alone."

  He kissed her again. Riding on his leg, she felt the swelling of his manhood. He lifted her up by her buttocks, rubbing her crotch against his thigh. She sensed her quickening arousal and responded to his kisses with barely suppressed passion. His index finger found her center of pleasure and lightly circled it. She sucked in her breath, her own irrepressible response taking her by surprise.

  "No, Andrew!" she begged.

  "Yes, love, just let go," he replied huskily.

  "Oh, Andrew."

  His mouth covered her lips, swallowing her moans. She pressed her eyes shut tightly, arched her back, fighting the intensity of her climax. Her fingers dug hard into his shoulders. And then she surrendered with a light shudder, melting slowly into his embrace. Breathing hard, she remained still in his arms for several minutes, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, sensing her own. He stroked her back, his right cheek on her hair.

  She found it hard to accept how readily she had let her passion run away with her. Did her own sexual attraction to Andrew render her helpless? Too weak to resist? Simply sweeping away any intention or resolutions? It had happened at the lochan the first time, almost four years ago. And again when he came back.

  Andrew’s softly spoken "I love you, Helen" startled her.

  She responded by putting her arms around his chest.

  "I’m ashamed, Andrew," she whispered.