An Ancient Strife

by Michael Phillips

  The children were now six. Murdoch’s little Culodina had grown so much in the year since Aileana and Kendrick had last visited the Hall. It hardly seemed possible that the little girl stood nearly three inches taller than their own Sandy. But Sandy made up for the difference with his rambunctious nature.

  Aileana glanced back as she walked, listening to the happy yells and cries of the children at play. Poor Culodina, she thought with a smile. It wasn’t easy to be the only girl in a company of boys. But Culodina could run faster than any of them, so that should keep her safe enough from mischief for now. And tomorrow, perhaps Aileana would invite some of the village girls to the castle for Culodina to play with.

  The viscount would disapprove, of course. Murdoch Sorley wasn’t as eager as they to mingle with the commoners of the region. She more than half suspected the statement that had popped out of Culodina’s mouth earlier about Highlanders had indeed come straight from her father.

  Murdoch had changed over the past few years, Aileana thought. She knew Kendrick had noticed it too, though they never spoke of it. He was not the same man Kendrick had grown up with. In any event, the exposure to some of the local girls would be good for his daughter.

  Aileana sat down on a rock as she continued distractedly to watch the youngsters in the distance. She tried so hard to dissuade Sandy from battle play. Her dream prior to his birth was ever before her. But it was no use. Fighting was in his blood, in the blood of all Scots’ youths. He would never know what anguish the sight caused her, or the fears she harbored concerning his future. Sometimes it nearly broke her heart.

  She sent her eyes gradually around in an arc from the northern mountains of Monadhiliath down toward the two triangular glens that met at the northern end of Loch Ericht at Dalwhinnie. She strained to see if she could make out her husband and the other riders making their way along the easternmost of the two southern roads.

  While she was still gazing in the distance, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a voice behind her.

  “Why do boys always pretend to fight, Lady Gordon?”

  She turned to see little Culodina standing beside her with a confused expression on her face.

  “I don’t know, Culodina,” Aileana replied, mustering a smile out of the midst of her own similar reflections. “It is something all boys seem to do.”

  She reached up and took the girl’s small, soft, warm hand.

  “I don’t like it. That’s why I left.”

  “Neither do I, dear. But you may call me Lady Aileana if you like,” she added as Culodina sat down beside her, still keeping hold of her hand, “or Aunt Aileana.”

  “What is an aunt?” she asked.

  “An aunt means something like your parents being brothers or sisters,” replied Aileana. “Your father and my husband, Lord Kendrick, are actually second cousins.”

  “What is a cousin?”

  Aileana laughed lightly. “That means that your papa and Lord Kendrick had the same great-grandmother.”

  Culodina seemed to take the idea in thoughtfully, though how much she understood of the conversation was unclear.

  “I wish I had a mother, Aunt Aileana,” she said suddenly after a moment. “I wish I had a mother like you.”

  The poignant simplicity of the words sent a stab of affection into Aileana’s heart. She pulled Culodina toward her, took her in her arms, kissed her, then set her down in her lap amid the folds of her dress.

  “You poor dear,” she said. “I will be as much a mother to you as you will let me be.”

  They sat awhile in contented silence. How ironic, Aileana thought, that she had once prayed for a daughter and had none, while this darling child wanted a mother but had lost hers. Perhaps they could each be for the other what neither possessed of her own.

  Gradually little Culodina relaxed back and leaned her head on the mother’s breast. Aileana held her in her arms, gently caressing the small head and hair with one hand, rocking slowly back and forth. Softly she began to croon an old Gaelic fairy lullaby her own mother had used many a time to soothe and calm her at the end of the day.

  Dh’fhàg mi’n so ’na shìneadh e,

  ‘Na shìneadh e, ’na shìneadh e;

  Gu’n d’h’fhàg mi’n so ’na shìneadh e,

  ‘Nuair dh’fhalbh mi ’bhuàinnam braoileagan.

  Hòbhan, hòbhan, Goiridh òg O, Goiridh òg O, Goiridh òg O;

  Hòbhan, hòbhan, Goiridh òg O, Gu’n d’fhalbh mo ghaol ’s gu’n d’fhàg e mi.

  Gradually Culodina’s breathing slowed and deepened. The haunting Highland melody softened.

  Fhuair mi lorg na h-eal’ air an t-snàmh,

  Na h-eal’ air an t-snàmh, na h-eal’ air an t-snàmh,

  Gu’n d’fhuair mi lorg na h-eal’ air an t-snàmh,

  ’S cha d’fhuair mi lorg mo chóineachain.

  Hòbhan, hòbhan, Goiridh òg O, Goiridh òg O, Goiridh òg O;

  Hòbhan, hòbhan, Goiridh òg O, Gu’n d’fhalbh mo ghaol ’s gu’n d’fhàg e mi.

  I left my darling lying here,

  A-lying here, a-lying here,

  I left my darling lying here,

  To go and gather blueberries.

  Hovan, hovan, Gorry og O, Gorry og O, Gorry og O;

  Hovan, hovan, Gorry og O, I’ve lost my darling baby, O.

  I found the track of the swan on the lake,

  The swan on the lake, the swan on the lake;

  I found the track of the swan on the lake,

  But not the track of baby, O.

  Hovan, hovan, Gorry og O, Gorry og O, Gorry og O;

  Hovan, hovan, Gorry og O, I’ve lost my darling baby, O.

  Aileana realized Culodina was asleep. Her voice faded. The sounds of the distant play had now all but left her ears. She remained quiet and still, as full of motherly love even as she felt for her own son, unable to prevent tears of grateful contentment rising in her eyes to hold this child in her arms.

  How she loved this precious, lonely little girl!

  If only she might be allowed to give her a tenth of what swelled in her heart at this moment, it would make her a happy woman for the rest of her days.

  Later that night, after the sounds of pretended battle had faded from young boys’ lips and the cooling mists of the summer gloaming had overspread the Highlands with its subtle hues of orange and pink, Aileana Gordon went to both children’s rooms for final kisses and prayers. She tiptoed softly into the room where she had tucked Culodina in ten minutes before and crept to the bedside. Culodina lay just as she had left her, staring straight up at the ceiling with eyes still wide.

  “Are you ready for a hug and kiss, dear?” she said.

  “Yes, Aunt Aileana,” replied the girl, turning toward her with a sweet and peaceful smile.

  Aileana sat on the edge of the bed, bent down, and stretched her great strong arms about the tiny body. Culodina leaned up from the bed and kissed her on the mouth.

  “I wish I could stay here forever,” she said.

  “But wouldn’t you miss your papa?” said Aileana. “I know he would miss you very much.”

  “I am always cold at the Hall.”

  “Then whenever you are with us, we shall try to make you warm.”

  “Will you pray with me, Aunt Aileana?”

  The words took Aileana by surprise. The viscount’s sentiments toward Catholics were well known. Though he had always treated her with courtesy, out of respect for her husband, she strongly doubted he would want a Highland Catholic such as she praying with his daughter.

  “What would your father say?” she asked.

  “I won’t tell him. Please pray with me, Aunt Aileana. Father never prays with me.”

  “All right, dear,” consented Aileana. “I will say an Our Father. Surely there will be no objection to that.”

  She glanced down. Already Culodina’s eyes were closed.

  Uor fader quhilk beest in Hevin, she began, lapsing into a mingling of her childhood tongue with the Lowl
and speech she now used. Hallowit weird thyne nam. Cum thyne kinrik. Be dune thyne wull as is in Hevin, sva po yerd. Uor daile breid gif us thilk day. And forleit us uor skaiths, as we forleit them quha skaith us. And leed us na intill temptatioun. Butan fre us fra evil. Amen.

  Aileana quietly made the sign of the cross upon her breast, leaned to kiss the girl again, then rose. “Good night, dear,” she said softly.

  “Good night, Aunt Aileana,” murmured Culodina in reply.

  Aileana left the room, walked down the hall, turned a corner, and entered Sandy’s room. He was already nearly asleep. She sat on his bed and leaned down to embrace him. This was her favorite time, with the day behind and his boyish energy spent. Toward whatever destiny his manhood might lead him, she would treasure these precious quiet moments as long as she could.

  “Did you have fun today?” she said.

  “Yes, Mummy. How long will Culodina be here?”

  “Until her papa is back. A few days perhaps.”

  “Good. I like her to be here. I pretend she is my sister.”

  “Do you think she might like to play something other than fighting?”

  “Why?”

  “Because she is a girl. Girls like other kinds of games besides fighting. Quieter games.”

  “Not me.”

  “Perhaps you could show her the rabbit warren. Girls like rabbits.”

  “All right. I like rabbits too. Will you sing me the lost little baby song, Mummy?”

  Aileana smiled, then softly repeated the lullaby she had already sung once today, this time singing it through to its end.

  Fhuair mi lorg an laoigh bhric dheirg,

  An laoigh bhric dheirg, an laoigh bhric dheirg;

  Gu’n d’ fhuair mi lorg an laoigh bhric dheirg,

  ‘S cha d’fhuair mi lorg mo chóineachain.

  Hòbhan, hòbhan, Goiridh òg O, Goiridh òg O, Goiridh òg O;

  Hòbhan, hòbhan, Goiridh òg O, Gu’n d’fhalbh mo ghaol ’s gu’n d’fhàg e mi.

  Fhuair mi lorg a’cheò ’sa bheinn,

  A’cheò ’sa bheinn, a’cheò ’sa bheinn;

  Ged fhuair mi lorg a’cheò ’sa bheinn,

  Cha d’fhuair mi lorg mo chóineachain.

  Hòbhan, hòbhan, Goiridh òg O, Goiridh òg O, Goiridh òg O;

  Hòbhan, hòbhan, Goiridh òg O, Gu’n d’fhalbh mo ghaol ’s gu’n d’fhàg e mi.

  I found the track of the yellow fawn,

  The yellow fawn, the yellow fawn;

  I found the track of the yellow fawn,

  But could not trace my baby, O.

  Hovan, hovan, Gorry og O, Gorry og O, Gorry og O;

  Hovan, hovan, Gorry og O, I’ve lost my darling baby, O.

  I found the trail of the mountain mist,

  The mountain mist, the mountain mist;

  I found the trail of the mountain mist,

  But ne’er a trace of my baby, O.

  Hovan, hovan, Gorry og O, Gorry og O, Gorry og O;

  Hovan, hovan, Gorry og O, I’ve lost my darling baby, O.

  Aileana tightened her squeeze slightly, then silently prayed, “Holy Father, keep Sandy tonight, and be with his papa and Culodina’s papa. Help us to sleep well. Protect Sandy, dear God.—Good night, Sandy dear,” she added. “I love you.”

  “I love you, Mummy.”

  Aileana rose, stooped down to kiss the tiny mouth, then tucked him in one last time and left the room.

  Thirteen

  OCTOBER 1728

  King George died in 1727 and was succeeded by his son, who became George II of Great Britain.

  As time passed, hostilities quieted. The majority of Scots gradually accustomed themselves to an inevitable future as a province of Great Britain, and Jacobite sentiment slowly waned. The economy of Scotland improved as well during the two-decade administration of the first British prime minister (1721–42), Sir Robert Walpole, and this further quieted insurrectionist activity. Under his ministry, though it required heavy taxation to do so, the government built roads and bridges and schools throughout the north.

  During the same period, the personal fortunes of the earl of Cliffrose and the viscount of Tullibardglass were changing. They were not the same men as they had been in their youths, though only the latter was aware how great had become the difference between them.

  Tullibardglass had channeled his secret resentments into ambitions after both wealth and power. His deepening association with the duke of Argyll gave him opportunities to rise high in certain English circles of which his cousin was unaware. He knew that the wave of the future lay south of the border and saw how the Campbells had prospered from alliance with the English. Certain dubious investments had forced him to sell off portions of the Tullibardglass property exactly as his grandfather had, causing him to covet his cousin’s estate all the more. He had, however, managed—though it remained unclear exactly how he had done so—to obtain a small though expensive estate south of the border near Carlisle, as security in case his fortunes in Scotland suddenly shifted. With the help of a shrewd solicitor, the property was purchased in his daughter’s name so as to render it untouchable should financial reversals on other fronts present themselves. His new outlook, it need hardly be said, had swayed him entirely away from past loyalty to the Jacobite cause.

  Kendrick Gordon, on the other hand, had become increasingly a quiet and conscientious man, well thought of by other Jacobite nobles as a level-headed Scot whose words one did well to heed. He was viewed as an individual whose loyalty would be important if the Jacobite cause ever hoped to be rekindled at some future time.

  It had been a quiet day at Cliffrose. Aileana Gordon sat in her favorite chair, mending a torn tartan blanket, when the sound of a horse approaching outside interrupted the silence of the morning.

  The servants were busy elsewhere in the house. She went downstairs to answer the door herself.

  “Culodina!” she exclaimed as she opened it.

  “Hello, Aunt Aileana,” replied the daughter of her husband’s second cousin.

  Culodina had just turned thirteen. And though she had not added so many inches as Sandy in the last several years, she had begun to grow in those subtle and mysterious ways that distinguish girls from women. Her hair had lightened almost to blond, making one wonder if she possessed more Viking blood than Aileana herself. It fell down around a face gradually defining its features into maturity—high cheekbones, well-set intelligent eyes of gray, and glistening teeth that showed themselves from time to time in a gentle smile or well-considered comment. Her demeanor had quieted. Though she was prepared to laugh if occasion presented itself, a certain sadness conveyed by the shape and expression of forehead and eyes hinted at the dreary prospects of life alone with her father at Tullibardglass Hall. That she thought about life even at such an age was evident from the way she looked at people—taking in, absorbing, reflecting on what she observed, but rarely revealing what passed through her mind.

  “It is wonderful to see you,” said Aileana, “but—”

  She glanced behind the girl.

  “I am alone, Aunt Aileana,” said Culodina. “My father let me come by myself.”

  “All this way?”

  “He rode with me as far as the road toward Crathie. He had to go south for a few days, perhaps a week. I asked if I could come visit you.”

  “Oh, that’s delightful! I’m so glad you did. Come in, dear. Just a moment . . . I’ll call Daimhin to see to your horse.”

  “I hoped you might help me with a dress I am trying to make,” said Culodina when Aileana returned half a minute later. “Nurse helps, of course, but she . . .”

  “Of course! I cannot think of anything I would enjoy more.—I will set water boiling for tea,” Aileana added as they entered the kitchen. “We shall enjoy some biscuits with cream together first. Where is the dress?”

  “On my horse with the things I brought,” Culodina answered. She glanced about and sensed that the castle felt unusually quiet. “Where is Sandy?” she
asked, a hint of shyness in her voice.

  “He and his father are hunting across the river in the Glenshirra Forest.”

  “Oh,” replied Culodina in a disappointed tone.

  The conversation was briefly interrupted by the appearance of the groom at the door.

  “Miss Sorley’s bag, Lady Gordon.”

  “Thank you, Daimhin,” said Aileana as she took it.

  The two women, so different in age yet friends of the heart, went upstairs together, where Aileana began gathering up her mending things and putting them into a worn basket on the table, so that they might work on Culodina’s dress.

  “That is a curious basket, Aunt Aileana,” said Culodina as she watched. “I don’t remember seeing it before.”

  “You probably just didn’t notice, dear,” said Aileana. “It has been here for years. It’s called a ciosan. The women of the Highlands weave them,” she added with a wistful smile as she thought of her mother. “If you like it, I could show you how to make one.”

  “Oh, would you, Aunt Aileana? I would very much like to.”

  “We shall go down to the river tomorrow and gather grasses.”

  “Do you really know how to weave baskets, Aunt Aileana?”

  Aileana smiled. “Yes, dear—I wove this very basket when I was not so much older than you. You might even say that it was this basket that made me fall in love with Sandy’s father.”

  “How could it do that?” said Culodina, eyes brightening.

  “He bought it from me in the village, to give to his mother,” answered Aileana. “It was the first time we ever saw one another.”

  When Sandy and his father arrived home that evening, they immediately heard more feminine laughter coming from somewhere up the stairs than could be accounted for by Aileana or any of the servant women.

  “By my guess, I would say we have a guest at Cliffrose,” said the weary earl, glancing with curious expression toward his son.

  Already Sandy was bounding up the stairs two at a time. When he entered the large sitting room on the first floor, he immediately perceived the change in Culodina since the last time he had seen her, though he did not pause to define its cause. A momentary flutter passed somewhere in the region of throat and chest. But it lasted only an instant. Then he was a boy again and she his occasional playmate. Thirteen is a very different age for a boy than for a girl. And though Culodina was halfway toward becoming a woman, Sandy had hardly yet begun the corresponding journey toward manhood.