Frustration boiled in Grant. Punching his fists together, he vowed that he would never give in even while he knew in his heart that Captain Mac was right. ‘It’s the miracle o’ Ruth that he needs.’ The old man’s words rang inside his head till he thought he would go mad listening to them. For long he had suspected that Dugald knew more about his daughter’s whereabouts than he would ever let on. He had been very quiet about her of late, hardly, if ever, referring to her at all, and so Grant had gone to see Dugald, only to be so shocked by his aged appearance that he hadn’t mentioned Ruth at all but instead had turned to Totie, who, her strong, handsome face set into grim lines, told him, ‘He’s as wise as you are about Ruth. It hurts him to think that his very own lassie, whom he trusted and adored, doesny trust him enough to write tellin’ him how she is. He just canny bring himself to talk about her anymore.’ Her eyes had grown hard. ‘And to think that lassie lectured me about her father’s happiness. I tell you this, Grant my lad, if I could get a hold o’ her right now I would shake some sense into that prim wee head o’ hers – ay, that I would.’
Grant had left the house in a worse state of frustration than ever but there was a new light in his eyes that day he burst into the parlour and a firmness in his voice when he announced, ‘Rachel’s back! She and Jon have bought a house over near Croft na Ard. It seems Anton’s been keeping a lookout for a suitable house for ages. It’s only a cottage – a sort of hideaway when things get on top of them. I’ve seen Rachel and I’ve asked her to come over here as soon as she can.’
Lorn had turned a livid white. He was up sitting in a chair by the fire, the glow of it tanning his pale skin to a rich copper. He exploded into a stream of wrath, shouting at his brother that he couldn’t, he mustn’t see Rachel ever again. If such a thing got to Ruth’s ears it would jeopardize any slim chance there was of her coming back to the island.
A muscle worked in Grant’s jaw, but he strove to remain calm. ‘Rachel has a gift, Lorn, the gift of healing. You need all you can get of that, so shut up for once in your life and do as you’re damned well told. I’ve just about had it with you. I’ve tried to help you, Christ Almighty how I’ve tried!’ His patience finally snapped. ‘And so has everyone else in case you haven’t noticed. Mother and Father don’t know what to do for the best and the only way you repay them for tending you hand and foot is by scowling and sulking and shutting yourself in this room. Look at you now! Sitting on your lazy arse at the fireside like a buggering old man! God, when I think what you were like as a wee laddie, game for anything, letting me teach you things that everyone said was beyond your capabilities. Now you haven’t the gumption left in you to even fart in case it lets you know you’re alive and kicking.’
Grant was white-faced, his breathing loud and heavy, his fists clenching at his sides. Lorn opened his mouth to speak but the other gave him no opportunity. Banging his fist down on the table he roared, ‘Open your lugs and hear this! I’ve had enough – for the moment – but I’m damned if I’ll ever give up on you even if you’ve given up on yourself! I have a wife and new baby who need me, but I’ll be back, as sure as my name’s McKenzie I’ll be back. Meanwhile, Rachel is coming to take over and don’t you dare turn her away or I’ll come round and personally thrash the shit out of you!’
He stamped away, banging the door shut, leaving Lorn open-mouthed and utterly bereft of words. In the hall Kirsteen apprehended him. Her blue eyes were sparkling fire as she demanded, ‘What on earth was all that about? You’re driving him too hard, Grant, I warned you it would do no good . . .’
Taking her by the arm he propelled her into the kitchen, banged shut the door with his foot, led her over to a chair by the fireplace, and, twisting her round, pushed her into it where, despite an indignant protest, she remained seated. Taken aback she stared up at this brawny eldest son of hers, surprised to see so much anger in the one member of the family normally so placid and easy going.
‘Now listen to me, Mother,’ he began in tones that brooked no interruption. ‘Ever since I came home I’ve put everything I had into the effort of getting that young bugger up on his feet . . .’ She opened her mouth but he held up his hand and glared at her. ‘Hear me out, Mother, I’m not a stupid wee laddie at your apron strings any longer. I’m free, I’m independent, I can go anywhere in the world I buggering well choose and if you don’t want to listen to what I have to say I am quite capable of taking Fiona and my son and clearing off out of it all. I don’t need any of this, Mother, but because I love my family and because I have a heartfelt desire to see my brother behaving like a man again I’ve taken it on. I can’t go it alone though, I need all the help I can get and that includes yours.’
A faint smile touched Kirsteen’s lips. If she didn’t know better she might have thought it was Fergus who stood before her now, black eyes full of fight, jaw muscles working. Grant had very seldom displayed the McKenzie temper and she realized that he had taken the affair of Lorn very much to his heart. ‘Grant, Grant, calm down and sit down,’ she said resignedly. ‘You’re towering over me like a glowering big mountain and I’m getting a crick in my neck.’
Rather ashamed of his outburst, he seated himself in the inglenook opposite the chair and stared down at his thumbs twisting together. ‘Ach, I’m sorry I shouted at you – it’s just – well – I need someone to see my point of view and you haven’t been exactly bubbling over with enthusiasm for anything I’ve so far attempted.’ He raised his head and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Mother, I’m going to tell you something that might make you angry – a few things in fact. First of all Lorn is as paralysed as I am. On his last visit to the hospital you said yourself that the doctors told you they couldn’t understand why he wasn’t yet up on his feet. I could have told them the reason for that. He’s not trying. Oh, he pretends that we are all making his life a hell by forcing him to do something the can’t, but the truth is he can and damned well won’t – a lot of it has to do with his pining for Ruth – but a great deal of it is because of you, Mother.’
She was incredulous. ‘Me! What on earth are you saying, Grant?’
‘This. Cast your mind back to when he was a frail wee laddie. Father was aye afraid for him but you – you turned a blind eye to the things I used to teach him simply because you longed for him to be less dependent, to be strong while he was at his most weak – you encouraged him to do all the things he shouldn’t because you had faith, Mother, faith that one day he would be as strong as your other sons and in the end – you were right and Father was wrong.’
Kirsteen sat back and stared at her son. It was true, every word, she and Fergus had had many a bitter argument over their divided opinions on the matter. Her vision had been clearer and because of her continued resistance to Fergus, her son had grown up to become a strong young man, the farmer that Fergus had thought he could never be . . .
‘You’re pampering him, Mother,’ Grant’s voice came almost apologetically. ‘You’re making the same mistakes Father made all these years ago because you think Lorn isn’t strong enough to take me and my browbeating.’
Her fingers curled on the arm of the chair and she gave a funny little laugh. ‘It must be old age, Grant, I can’t see things as clear as I used to . . .’
He squeezed his hands together till the knuckles were white. ‘It isn’t old age, Mother, and bloody fine you know it – it’s – well – I don’t know how to say this without hurting you, so you’ll just have to be hurt.’ He glanced away from her. ‘I think you’re enjoying having Lorn at home – looking after him – knowing that at least one of your sons is depending on you – like – like when we were all children and you were the only woman in any of our lives.’
He kept his face averted, not daring to look at her. She was staring at him aghast, a furious outpouring of denials springing up to her lips. But somehow she held it all back, swallowed the bitter words – for she saw in a flash that he was right – that from the moment she had gotten over the shock of Ruth’s leavin
g she had started to enjoy having him back at Laigmhor, all safe and cosy in a little nest where she could spoil him, see to it somehow that nothing, no one, could ever hurt him again . . . She put her fingers to her lips.
‘God forgive me, Grant, it’s true,’ she whispered, shocked by her own confession. ‘So much has happened – I wanted to hold one of my sons to my bosom and keep him safe.’
He raised his eyes to her then and said softly, ‘But that’s not possible, is it, Mother? Lorn’s more hurt, more unhappy than he’s ever been. You could keep him locked up forever and he will never be truly yours again – now that his heart belongs to another woman.’
A mist of tears drowned the blue brilliance of her eyes. She bit her lip and said huskily, ‘It’s hard – to give up your sons. I never realized till now how painful it really is for all along I had thought that all of you had kept a corner of your hearts especially for me.’
Laughing he took her in his arms and rocked her like a little girl. ‘Daft, bonny Mother. You know how we feel about you. Lewis worshipped the ground you walked on – so too does Lorn – as for me, I’ve always been a big lump of dough in your hands. Of course we fall in love and give ourselves to other women – but in the end it’s Mother we run to when we’re afraid or unhappy.’
She gave a watery, laughing sniff and pushed him away. ‘No wonder women fell for you – that tongue drips pure honey – you even know how to sweeten up Elspeth.’ Her chin went up. ‘Right then, my lad, what is it you want me to do for Lorn?’
Briefly he told her about Rachel. At first she was aghast at the very idea of letting the girl over her doorstep because deep in her maternal mind she blamed Rachel for having led her son astray, for the subsequent unhappy events that had clouded all their lives. But in a few short sharp words Grant had rid her of her illusions.
‘Make no mistake, Mother, Lorn was as much to blame as Rachel for everything that happened. He chose the wrong time to sow his wild oats – most of us manage that before we pledge ourselves to one girl. In his case he never got the chance – that’s the only excuse I can make for him, though there’s probably others. But it’s over between him and Rachel, infatuation like that rarely lasts.’
‘But if, as you seem to think, there’s nothing wrong with Lorn’s legs, what good can Rachel possibly do?’
‘Lorn’s illness is all of the mind, Mother. He knows – we all know that Rachel does possess the power of healing. Whether it’s a matter of pure psychology that works on receptive minds, or whether it’s something else beyond our understanding doesn’t really matter. What matters is that Rachel just might be the means we need of getting through to Lorn, one way or another. At least give it a try.’
He was so earnest in his desire to see his brother fit again that Kirsteen experienced a renewed surge of respect for this eldest son who had been born of the pure love and passion she and Fergus had shared in those wondrous, far-off days. With a sense of wonder she reached out and touched Grant’s hair – so like his father’s when he was young – and then she saw the tiny white hairs gleaming like silver among the jet black. It seemed impossible that any son of hers should be old enough, but then Grant was almost thirty, no longer the boy she had always thought him, but a mature young man perfectly capable of talking to her in the same determined manner as his father.
‘Let Rachel come,’ she said softly. ‘They’re bound to have crossed paths sooner or later so better get it over with now.’
Grant nodded and gripped her hand. ‘I knew you would see sense. I’ll leave it to you to tell Father so that he doesn’t go up in smoke when he sees Rachel here at Laigmhor.’
Rachel was shocked to see how much Lorn had changed. She stood in the doorway of the parlour, eyeing him with some trepidation. It had taken a lot of courage for her to come here like this – to face Lorn – to face his family – in fact all the people who had been affected in some way by that brief passionate affair which seemed to have happened in a far distant dream which had no part in reality. She had marvelled at Jon for letting her come here – but he had looked at her with those steady brown eyes of his and told her, ‘I trust you, liebling, more than ever I trust you.’
She took a step further into the room and gazed long at the man who had so easily and swiftly carried her to heights of euphoric rapture, and she was surprised at how calm she felt – at the lack of excitement which she had thought the sight of him would surely bring her. But it was over, whatever she had felt for him, and whatever fantasies of Lewis his brother had satisfied in her were gone, as dead and as pale as the ashes of the past. Jon was right to trust her now. Lorn McKenzie was as attractive as any of the young men she might be likely to encounter on her travels, but that was all and her heart flipped over with relief that she could look at him and no longer be afraid of the emotions he could arouse in her.
Her one great emotion now was sorrow, sorrow that it had happened at all. She recognized that Lorn was the loser in it all. Except for Ruth, she still had everything that she had had before – and more. Her mother had unexpectedly and miraculously welcomed her home with open arms and for the past few days had challenged anyone to dare to speak about her daughter. In a way Rachel understood why. Annie had been unfaithful to her own husband in his lifetime. In defending her daughter she was defending her own reputation and in the process getting back at all those who had talked behind her back – yet Rachel could never forgive her mother for so easily casting aside the memory of the big, black-bearded giant Rachel had adored, to take in his place Torquill Andrew, a good man but one she could never accept in her father’s place . . . She cast such thoughts from her mind and concentrated on Lorn, on how much he had changed since her last vision of him at the gate of Fàilte when she had said her goodbyes to him and to Ruth . . .
Lorn had wondered how he would feel seeing again the girl who had so completely changed his life that sunny spring day not so many months ago – God, as short a time ago as that! It seemed like years. He had heard all about her of course. Rachel was news these days, young, lovely, successful, she was a newspaper reporter’s dream. The Song of Rhanna had been played continually on the wireless, and because of it more tourists than ever had come to the island, many to stand gaping at Rachel’s birthplace till Annie could stand it no more. In a fit of exasperated inspiration she had erected a notice outside her house which read, ‘BEWARE OF TICKS. The grass is hotching with them, the sheep are hotching, the dogs and cats are hotching and YOU will be too if you don’t KEEP OFF.’
The items concerning Rachel in the newspapers had been many and varied and the islanders, despite gossiping their heads off about the ‘Lorn and Rachel affair’, glowed with pride in her achievements and were quick to defend her name should a stranger dare to say one word that might be construed against her.
Lorn studied her intently as she came through the door. She was still as beautiful, still as vibrantly alive as she had always been, but he felt no more for her than the same sort of affection he might feel for any attractive woman of his acquaintance. Relief washed over him. He had lain awake for several nights dreading this meeting but it was going to be all right after all – yet even so, the sight of her opened up all the deep raw wounds of guilt he had tried so hard to keep buried.
‘Rachel.’ Lorn’s acknowledgement in his lilting tongue seemed to startle her out of a reverie. Slowly she came forward and putting her arms around him embraced him and kissed the top of his dark head. It was a warm, brief, impulsive gesture but it said all that was in their hearts. A mist blurred his vision, the flames in the hearth wavered. She drew away to seat herself in the chair opposite and he saw that she too had been moved to tears. Her huge dark eyes were glazed with them. She stared into the fire and didn’t look at him for a long time.
The door opened. He was surprised at the sense of relief he felt at the intrusion of his mother bringing in a piled tray, never a word or a glance giving away the doubts she had harboured since Grant’s suggestion. She spoke warmly
to Rachel, making her feel welcome and at home. ‘Be firm with him, Rachel,’ she instructed. ‘He’ll make all sorts of excuses for not letting you see those bonny hairy legs of his, but men are like that – all vanity and no sense.’
It broke the ice. A smile broke the solemnity of Rachel’s face, visibly she relaxed and when Kirsteen left the room she poured tea and they drank it in companionable awareness of one another’s feelings.
After that she came almost every day to massage his legs, to encourage him to try and move about the room. To his amazement he found a strength returning, life flooding back to muscles he had imagined would never work properly again. Whether it was purely psychological or whether it was because Rachel truly did have the gift of healing he neither knew or cared. All that mattered was the wonder of experiencing returning movement. Two weeks after Rachel’s first visit he was moving about the room with the aid of walking sticks which had hitherto been mere family heirlooms sitting in the stand in the hall. Every day there was some improvement. He progressed from his room to other parts of the house, soon he was taking his first steps outside. On that day he stood at the gate, letting the air from the hills fill his lungs. It was a damp raw day but to him the island had never looked more beautiful. The stark tracery of winter branches clawed at the wet grey rainclouds, a steady drizzle bathed his upturned face. Putting out his tongue he tasted the coolness of it. Life had never seemed more precious, more desirable in those wondrous moments of longed-for freedom.
At the window Fergus put his arm round Kirsteen and said huskily in her ear, ‘Thank God.’
‘Not forgetting Grant and Rachel,’ Kirsteen reminded him, delighting in the little bubble of joy that burst suddenly within her heart.
On Christmas morning Lorn watched his son tearing open his gifts. He had had his flaxen curls recently cropped and overnight it seemed he had grown from a baby into a sturdy little boy. A parcel had arrived for him the day before. It had contained gifts from Ruth, but though Lorn had searched frantically for some sort of sign that might tell him her whereabouts there was none, only the postmark gave him a clue for it had come from Ayrshire. With hope choking him he had phoned Dungowrie Farm only to learn that Ruth had been there, leaving the parcel for Jean to post. She hadn’t given away where she was staying.
Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series) Page 28
