Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series)

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Shona had been able to report that she had phoned the hospital to learn that Ruth was being prepared for surgery and was bearing up well. Rachel had been glad of Shona’s relaxed attitude to the whole situation. She had offered to take Douglas over to Mo Dhachaidh to relieve things, but Rachel had declined the offer. Ruth had entrusted her to look after the children and she was determined to keep her promise. Besides – she had smiled her radiant smile at Shona – she didn’t mind and was actually quite looking forward to the experience.

  With Shona’s departure she felt less confident. Supper had been a sloppy, disorganized affair. There had been all the dishes to do as well as the washing, the children to bathe and get ready for bed. Once in his room Douglas had wailed fretfully for his parents and though Lorna’s lips had puckered and she looked as if she might join forces with her brother, she seemed to think better of it, deciding instead to be a big girl and help Rachel pacify her brother. The little boy had finally fallen asleep, leaving Rachel free to slip back into the kitchen to replenish the hot water in the tub and finally to sink into its blissful warmth, content in the knowledge that the children were safely in bed and she could soak in peace for as long as she liked.

  Now here was Lorn to disrupt her relaxed frame of mind, dark, exciting Lorn whose unexpected presence was making her heart beat uncomfortably fast . . . The thought came to her – he could easily have walked in while she was bathing – in all the bustle of the evening she had forgotten to lock the back door. Flushing, she turned away to retrieve a blue ribbon from the mantelpiece with which to tie back her hair. As she stretched upwards the hem of her robe ascended an inch, showing her bare feet, her ankles, her toes curling into the pile of the hearthrug, and he sensed that she wore nothing under the robe.

  ‘I’ll empty this.’ Abruptly he bent and lifted the zinc tub away from the fire to take it outside and pour the contents into the burn. Taking it back to the house he hung it on its hook in the little wash house by the back door. Rachel came out of the house still in her bare feet, going to the drying green to collect the washing from the line. Leaning back against the inside wall of the shed he allowed himself the luxury of observing her at his leisure, unseen by her, but able to see every move she made. She walked like a cat, he noticed, lithe and graceful, each step carefully considered and surely taken. Her round, firm hips had a distinctly provocative sway to them; her unfettered breasts rose and fell under the fine material of the garment she wore. She looked excitingly sensual – desirable. With deliberate enjoyment he watched her removing the washing from the line. There was no one to observe his enjoyment, no one to be shocked by it, there was only himself, cool, fully aware of what he was doing. Why shouldn’t he savour the sight of her, stretching, bending? He had no one to answer to, only himself . . . Before she came back, he went indoors with the intention of saying goodnight to Lorna. Ruth’s unfinished painting on the little table by the window caught his eye. Her hanky, half hidden by the cushions on the couch, seemed to leap out at him. Fool that he was! A stupid buggering fool! Of course he had someone other than himself to answer to. Ruthie was all around him. She might be far away in a hospital bed but her presence was here in this room – this home – the home in which he had dared to allow himself to look with pleasure at another woman when his own darling wife lay ill and alone in some strange place.

  Rachel had come in at his back. She was sorting out clothes, hanging them on a wooden clothes horse over by the fire. She bent over to retrieve a fallen garment, the lapels of her robe drew apart, the full, creamy channel of her cleavage was revealed. The firelight was playing on her hair, throwing one side of her face into shadow, brushing the other with gold. Lorn licked his dry lips. It would be the easiest thing in the world to rip the flimsy garment from her, to push her voluptuous body down on the warm rug, to . . .

  Abruptly he turned and strode to the door, forgetting his intention to go and look in on the children. ‘I’ll let you know how things are.’ The words came out harshly. ‘If you need anything – let me know.’

  Thankfully he walked away from the house, glad of the cool night air which washed against his burning face and gradually allowed the heat to go out of his loins. He wouldn’t go back to the house again if he could help it – not till Ruthie came home. He paused at the edge of the fields, realizing suddenly that he hadn’t collected any of his things, he hadn’t done any of the things he had gone to the house with the intention of doing. He didn’t turn back again – he daren’t think of Rachel in there, looking like a goddess in her robe of purest white – in fact he daren’t think of Rachel in any way if he was to keep his sanity. The lights of Laigmhor beckoned – like a safe anchorage in a stormy sea. His steps quickened and he all but ran to the safety of the haven of his old home.

  Chapter Ten

  Three days later, Erchy the Post came whistling through the door and into the kitchen where Kirsteen was making a batch of soda scones. ‘Letter for you, Mistress McKenzie – it will be from young Grant – it’s his postmark.’

  Kirsteen wiped her brow with the back of a floury hand and smiled at him in fond exasperation. ‘Oh, so Grant has his own postmark now, has he? Well, seeing you are so clever and obviously know just what goes on in the world, you could maybe tell me what’s inside the envelope. It would save me the trouble of opening it.’

  Erchy scratched his head and grinned. ‘Ach, I’m no’ that clever – no, I was hoping to hear the laddie’s news from your own bonny lips.’

  He ignored her look of outrage and made a few exaggerated puffing sounds. ‘My, it’s hot, more like summer than spring. I’ve seen April worse than December, but this is no’ natural, no’ natural at all. The towrists are all out in summer frocks and the men are wearin’ thon awful shorts – more like short longs if you ask me – I wouldny be seen dead in them. Have you seen some o’ their knees? God, I’ve better myself but wouldny show them off like that even if you paid me.’

  ‘You show them when you’re wearing the kilt,’ Kirsteen pointed out, glancing anxiously at his sack to see if he had any intention of producing her letter.

  ‘Ach, that’s different,’ he asserted smugly. ‘The kilt has a dignity to it that lends itself to folk’s knees, besides, it’s worn in a way that allows only a wee bit o’ them to show. These shorts hide nothing – and some o’ they folk have big bellies on them as well – they pop out over the rim at the top. One o’ the cratur’s I saw had his shirt tails hangin’ loose but even so I couldny help seein’ his belly button.’ He paused, made a few more exaggerated thirsty noises and Kirsteen, taking the hint as always, bade him sit down for a strupak.

  ‘And how is our Ruth?’ he asked between mouthfuls of tea and scone. ‘I hear tell she’ll be home in a few days.’

  ‘Ay, she will though she almost left the whole thing too late, for it would seem that she was suffering for quite a while before the appendix came to a head. Lachlan says she could easily have done herself a lot of harm but thankfully it’s turned out fine.’

  ‘Ach well, she had her bairns and her man to see to,’ Erchy said indulgently for he had always been extremely fond of Ruth. ‘Forbye that, she had Rachel staying – though you would have thought the lass could have gone to bide wi’ her own people.’

  ‘Oh, hardly, Erchy, you know what Annie’s like.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and fixed him with a blue, accusing stare. ‘Am I to get this letter you know so much about – or do you want me to beg for it?’

  ‘Och, here, I forgot all about it.’ He delved into his satchel and handed over the letter which Kirsteen immediately tore open, her face wreathing into smiles. ‘They’re coming home in September – Fiona wants to have the baby on the island—’ She looked up frowning. ‘September! That’s leaving it a bit late. She’ll be dropping the bairn in the middle of the ocean if she’s not careful.’

  ‘Ach, Grant will see she gets here in time,’ Erchy assured her placidly. ‘Where will they stay when they arrive?’

  ‘Oh,
here.’ Kirsteen’s reply came quickly to her lips. ‘It’s years since I had a chance to have my son to myself and I’m not going to miss the opportunity.’

  Erchy slid her a sly look. ‘No doubt Mistress McLachlan will feel exactly the same about her daughter – she’ll be wantin’ her at Slochmhor wi’ her. I know fine she’s looking forward to it and is beginning to talk of little else.’

  Kirsteen lifted her chin. ‘There’s plenty of time yet to decide – we’ll see what happens nearer the time.’

  Fergus came in with Lorn and a horrified Kirsteen jumped up to rush to the stove and peer into the various pots simmering there. ‘I had no idea it was so near dinner time. This man aye keeps me back with his blethers!’

  ‘Well, that’s a fine thing to say to a guest!’ Erchy hooted indignantly. ‘If I mind you were the one doing all the blethering – I only listened.’

  ‘Oh, get away with you.’ Kirsteen shooed him out of the door just as Old Bob arrived to bang his boots against the outside wall, blow his nose on the cobbles, and yell at his dogs to lie down, his usual preliminaries before entering the house for his midday meal.

  ‘If you have any letters for me I’ll take them now,’ the old man said imperiously to the good-natured Erchy. ‘It will save you a journey up to my cottage.’

  ‘Ach, you know fine I always leave your mail down here,’ Erchy remonstrated gently. ‘I’m not daft enough to go hiking up to that Godforsaken house o’ yours.’

  Old Bob looked wistful. ‘Fine I know it. It would be nice, just once, to have a letter poppin’ through my door. Never once, in all my years o’ livin’ up yonder has the likes ever happened.’ He stretched out a hairy hand for the brown envelope Erchy was extracting from his bag. ‘It will be a bill,’ Erchy predicted with suave assurance. ‘They always come in these shitty brown envelopes.’

  ‘It will no’ be a bill,’ grunted Bob dourly. ‘I have no electrics and no tellyphone and no other buggering thing to rob me o’ my hard-earned money. I never incurred debt in the whole of my life and I am no’ likely to start now.’

  His hands were trembling a little as he took the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. When, over the dinner table, the family were engrossed in chatter over Fiona and Grant, he carefully perched his specs on the end of his nose, slit open the envelope with a horny thumbnail, and proceeded to read, his lips moving as his eyes slowly absorbed the words. Laying the letter carefully by his plate, he removed his specs with slow deliberation, slipped them into their case, returned them to the inside pocket of his ancient tweed jacket, and sat back to stare at the wall, his gaze transfixed as one in a trance.

  Fergus looked up from his plate and saw that the old shepherd hadn’t touched his food. ‘What ails you, Bob? You’re not eating – it’s your favourite mince and doughballs too.’

  ‘You’re not ill, are you?’ Kirsteen eyed Bob’s somewhat pallid face anxiously. ‘It’s not bad news, is it?’

  Bob swivelled his head towards her and came back to earth. ‘I wonder if I could impose upon you to get me a good big glass o’ whisky?’ he asked courteously but with an effort.

  Lorn was first up, going through to the cupboard in the parlour, returning shortly with a bottle of spirits and a large glass, which he set up at the old man’s elbow. Into it he poured a generous amount of liquor and all three watched as Bob downed it in two noisy gulps.

  ‘I am feeling more like myself now,’ he announced with dignity and a loud hiccup.

  ‘Good, that’s good, man—’ Fergus eyed Bob’s face doubtfully. ‘You’re sure it isn’t bad news?’

  Bob raised his hand to his face, his thumb rasped over the grey stubble on his chin. A twinkle appeared in his rheumy blue eyes. He seemed bemused, bewildered, and amused all at the same time. He looked as if he was about to blurt something out but instead played for time, his mottled hand roving over the cutlery, replacing each item carefully on the white linen cloth. He looked at the wall again and appeared to address it as he announced without a tremor, ‘I have won ten thousand pounds on the football pools.’

  There was a stunned silence. Bob lapsed once more into a trance-like state – as if the utterance of the words had brought home the reality of the news contained in the brown envelope.

  ‘Ten thousand!’ Fergus stammered out at last. ‘Are you having us on, man?’

  ‘Indeed no,’ Bob replied haughtily. ‘I wouldny joke about a thing like that – here – read it for yourself.’ He shoved the envelope across the table and everyone crowded beside Fergus to stare in disbelief at the typed words. Kirsteen raised wide, astounded eyes. ‘It’s true enough, well I’m blessed.’ She sat down with a thump and stared at the now smug countenance of the old shepherd and one by one everyone followed her example. Fergus ran his hand through his hair. ‘I – I don’t know what to say. I had no idea you even did the pools.’

  Bob fumbled for his hanky and wiped his nose as nonchalantly as he could. ‘Ach well, it is something I have always done to occupy my evenings. It can get gey lonesome living alone and the pools was just a wee pastime o’ mine . . .’ He paused and his voice lifted in awe. ‘I never gave one thought to ever winning the damty things. By jove! I canny believe it.’ He sat back and relapsed once more into a stunned silence as the full import of the news seeped more thoroughly into his head.

  ‘This calls for a celebration dram.’ Fergus’ hand slid over the table to seize the whisky bottle. ‘Go you through and fetch more glasses, Lorn. I’m thinking I’ll have a good stiff few to steady my nerves. It’s not every day I get to sit beside a rich man—’ He eyed Bob’s shocked countenance. ‘No doubt you will be retiring now and taking life easy for a bit?’

  Bob glared at him. ‘Indeed I will no’. I’ll work till I drop!’ he scolded indignantly. ‘What good would it do me to sit up yonder, counting my money like a miser? Ach no, I’m happy as I am—’ He thought for a moment then added slowly, ‘Mind you, I have a fancy for a wee place o’ my own, somewhere nearer the village wi’ a good plot o’ land in which I can grow vegetables – that’s for the future mind,’ he stressed hastily. ‘Just now I am quite content wi’ my cottage up on the ben and my dogs for company – later on I’ll maybe think about taking a wife to myself.’

  This last utterance was even more earthshattering than his news of a win on the football pools. Everyone stared at him in renewed astonishment and, as one, burst out laughing.

  ‘You romantic old rogue,’ Fergus chuckled. ‘You always swore blind you wouldn’t have a woman in your home! I wouldn’t be surprised if you had one in your mind all along.’

  Bob was unperturbed though his eyes were twinkling as he nodded. ‘Ay, you might be right at that. I could never ask a woman to stay wi’ me up yonder, forbye the fact I wasny ready to settle down. Now I have this wee bitty money I can afford a wife and anyway – it’s high time I settled down and took a good woman to look to me – I’m no’ gettin’ any younger.’

  It was the understatement of the year. Bob would be eighty-six on his next birthday though he had stopped counting at eighty, insisting that someone had been spreading lies about his age. Fergus hid a smile as a thought struck him. ‘When news of this gets around the women will be flocking for your attentions, you’ll have to be on your guard, Bob. There will be a few gold diggers after you.’

  Bob looked down his rather aquiline nose at this. ‘Ach well, I can afford to be fussy wi’ a good herd to pick from – you needny worry about me, son. I wasny born yesterday and I’m no’ a daft wee laddie any longer, I know fine what I’m doing – besides – I have a nice wee body already in mind, I can court her in the manner which I have dreamed of all my life.’

  At this the kitchen erupted into gales of merriment which had not diminished an hour later. Fergus looked at the clock and reluctantly scraped back his chair, saying he was not one of the idle rich and it was high time he got back to work. Bob too stood up only to stagger and fall back in his seat with a surprised hiccup and decided thump. He had alwa
ys been able to hold a good dram but this time he had gone beyond his limits and for the first time in his life was drunk and incapable. Kirsteen winked merrily at Fergus and helping the old shepherd to his feet she assisted him through to the parlour where he collapsed on the couch to sink into a dreamless stupor.

  Fergus and Lorn went laughing outside. ‘I’ll manage by myself for an hour or two,’ said the former. ‘You had better get along home and see how Rachel is coping.’

  Lorn was feeling lightheaded and very relaxed after consuming a fair amount of alcohol. His father’s words caught him unawares and he answered flippantly, ‘Och, she’ll be fine. Shona has been going over a lot to make sure the bairns are behaving.’

  Fergus’ black eyes glittered. ‘They aren’t Shona’s bairns – they’re yours, Lorn, and you must take the responsibility of them. Rachel was good enough to say she’d look after them but that doesn’t mean to say you’ve to neglect them. You get along there and let her know the latest news about Ruth.’

  Lorn knew it was useless to argue further. Abruptly he left his father and made his way over the fields. The sun beat down warmly on his back, making him remove his jacket and throw it over his shoulder, his fingers hooked into the collar. He thought of Ruth. Yesterday he had gone to Glasgow to see her, glad of the company of Mark James who went to the city several times a year to visit old haunts and former parishioners. Ruth had been delighted to see them both. Now that her ordeal was behind her she had been relaxed and happy, eager to hear all the news from home. Lorn didn’t tell her that he had only been once to the cottage since her departure. The little anecdotes he passed on about the children had been second hand, gleaned from Shona on her visits to Laigmhor. But Ruth had suspected nothing and had chattered eagerly about getting home as soon as she was able. Though she had only been gone a few days, he missed her in his life though perhaps not as much as he might have done if he had continued to spend his days and nights at Fàilte.