by J. L. Jarvis
She looked down as she mumbled a breathless goodbye, and then she was gone.
Callum kept his eyes fixed on her until she had gone out of sight, then he leaned his head back against the tree with a heavy sigh. “Bloody hell, MacDonell. You’ve made a pish of it now.”
Chapter 5
Marion ran until she was sure she was out of sight and had not been followed. Then, slowing her pace, she tried to sort through what had happened. “When will you learn?” she scolded herself. She had always been prone to dreaming. She had been told often enough to resist such sinful imaginings, but she had persisted. Love was one such dream for which she would pay dearly. She had longed for what Jamie and Ellen had shared. Thinking she had found it, she was fooled into a love that was false. It taught her that love could not be trusted. Men could not be trusted. She had too easily given her heart. That was a mistake she could not make again. If she ever gave her heart to another, it would take a long time before he earned her trust. And yet, before she gave her heart and body to the bairn’s father, she had known him her whole life. Even that had not been long enough.
And this man—this Highlander—was a stranger, a royalist enemy. He had happened upon her at a vulnerable moment. He could have taken advantage of her, but he had not. Savage Highlander or not, she would have gone over the edge of the falls to her death had it not been for him.
How could she even have thought to do that? Yes, she wanted the pain to be over, but now she could see that she did not want to die. She wanted, more than ever, to live. He had given that to her. If a stranger could care that she lived, perhaps someone might one day care for her, too. Where, minutes before, she had felt only despair, she now felt a small bit of hope.
She drew in a quick breath as she touched her lips. She could still feel it—his kiss. The kirk folk would say she was wanton. But the kirk folk would say it, with or without this particular kiss. Still, this was not at all like her. A stranger! What had possessed her—his fine face and braw body? No, although he did possess both. He was kind when he need not have been, and that won her trust. When he touched her, a thrill went through her; and that won her heart. She had not meant to give it, but with him she had forgotten to guard it. That frightened her most.
He would never kiss her again because she would not see him. He was gone, but she would not forget him. She would always remember his kiss, and that he was her enemy.
*
Callum MacDonell stormed into camp with a scowl that not only caught his men’s notice, but further reduced them to silence.
“We break camp in the morning,” he told them as he stormed about, packing and moving things.
“What happened to ‘bide here for a while—watch and wait?’” Charlie asked.
“No need now,” Callum summarily said. No one hastened to ask for the reason, but they all exchanged quizzical looks. They had never seen him like this, so they tried to stay out of his way. No one wished to be first to step into the path of his fury.
It was Duncan who, late in the evening, found Callum sitting alone on a rock looking into the night stars. He sat down beside him. The nearly full moon cast shadows of trees on the ground.
Lifting rueful eyes, Callum said, “He has a sister.”
It took Duncan a moment before he gave a nod of understanding. “James McEwan?”
“Jamie, they call him.”
“They call him that, do they? And how do you ken?”
“She told me herself.”
“The sister?”
“Aye!” Callum barked.
Duncan turned to face Callum directly, but said nothing. There was no need, and Duncan was not one to waste words. Nor was he one to waste emotion, or at least the expression of it. He knew that any chiding due Callum would be self-inflicted. What Duncan did best was to listen.
Callum said, “So you see, there’s no need to camp here when at least one of them kens that we’re out here.”
“Aye, that makes sense.”
“I had no choice but to speak with her,” Callum said defensively.
“I dinnae doubt your judgment,” said Duncan in his calm way.
“It could not be helped. More than that I cannot explain without betraying a trust.”
“But that’s not what troubles you.” Duncan studied Callum.
“No.” Callum stared into the night. “I did the right thing, to begin with.”
The last part caught Duncan’s notice. “Beautiful lass, is she?”
Callum looked up at the stars, and then down at the shadowy ground. “Aye, she is.”
Duncan studied his friend. What a pitiful creature he appeared to be now. They had grown up together. If anyone knew Callum, it was Duncan. But never had he seen his friend in such a state.
“Callum, there’s no one I would rather have beside me in battle. But women can cloud our good senses.”
“Och! A dark thundering cloud.”
Duncan let out a rare laugh. “Aye.”
Callum stared out over the moors at the farm. “I followed her from one of the farms. I thought she might have been taking a message or supplies to her brother.”
“But she was not.”
Callum shook his head. “We’re to quarter ourselves on her damned farm tomorrow.”
Duncan considered their plight for a few moments. “Now that you ken her, could you not use that to get information about her brother’s whereabouts?”
“She thinks he’s dead.”
“If she’s telling the truth.”
“She is.”
“How can you be sure? You’re a royalist. Why would she trust you?”
Callum leveled a dark glare at Duncan. “Trust me. She was telling the truth.”
“He’s bound to contact someone at home sooner or later.”
“Aye.” Callum nodded gravely. “And when he does, I will betray her, and then I will lose her.”
“You just met her. Would the loss be so great?”
Callum turned to his friend with a look of misery that more than answered his question.
Duncan winced. “Just look out for the lads. You’ve embarked on a dangerous path. They will follow you no matter where you take them. So be mindful of where that might be.”
*
For the rest of that day and the morning that followed, Marion’s traitorous heart would not rest. She begged silent forgiveness from Jamie and Ellen each time her thoughts strayed to the stranger. She stayed busy, hoping to distract herself. When that did not work, she found solace in knowing that she would not see him again. Once she accepted that fact, she let herself think of the Highland soldier. He would never be near enough to trouble her again, so her heart would be safe.
Except when she dreamed. In the night she awoke, reaching out for him. And in the dark hours when dreams hung in the air like a fresh mist, her heart and her longing were for him.
The next morning she went walking across the land she and Jamie had explored as children. Such grand adventures they had had on the wild Scottish moors. She went now as a penance to remind her what was proper. For once in her life she would do the wise thing and not love. Love was not like it sounded in stories and ballads. Love was a hollow ember that burned trust and hope, leaving only a fool with an empty heart and full belly. And a hungry one. Marion set out for home with a full bowl of porridge on her mind.
She arrived there to find soldiers in plaids—Highland dragoons roaming the grounds as if it were their right. Other royalist Highlanders had descended upon nearby farms and estates, but her family’s farm had escaped notice. But that was before Jamie and Ellen were killed. Now both their families were suspect. Five men were to be quartered here, and her family would have to house and feed every one of them.
Marion rounded a corner of the byre and bumped into a Highlander. Others were standing nearby, looking as though they’d had a few drams. Even though they were not the dragoons from the moor, they were royalists just the same. The sight of them brought a flush of panic to h
er face as the feelings returned of her last evening with Jamie and Ellen. Her heart pounded. Had they been sent to finish the job they had started? She told herself it could not be. They would have been waiting for her, not standing about drinking whisky and laughing. But she could not gain control of her fear.
“Easy, dearie.” Alex steadied her by taking hold of her shoulders. She had bumped into him, and seemed about to stumble. She pulled free and continued on her way.
She was soon flanked a soldier on either side, arms hooked in hers. On her left, Charlie said, “Dinnae mind my friend there. Alex has spent so much time reiving cattle, he does not ken how to woo a real woman.” He laughed and dodged a smack on the back of his head from Alex.
She glanced nervously from one to the other.
“Charlie, dinnae frighten the lass,” Duncan said gruffly.
“Dinnae be daft!” Charlie grinned and began to sing. Alex joined in. Hughie picked up his fiddle and played. Charlie took hold of her waist and whirled her about in a dance. She grew dizzy and gripped his arms just to stay balanced.
I’m a forester in these woods
An’ you’re the same design
It’s the mantle o’ your maidenhead,
Bonnie lassie, never mind.
And sing diddy i o, sing fal a do,
sing diddy i o i ay
Since you’ve laid me doon,
Come pick me up again
An’ since you’ve ta’en the wiles o’ me,
Come tell tae me your name.
And sing diddy i o, sing fal a do,
sing diddy i o i ay
Sometimes they ca’ me James,
An’ sometimes they ca’ me John
But when I’m on the King’s highway,
Young William is my name.
The men were stomping and singing and passing her, spinning, from one to the next as they danced. She tried to pull away, but could not get free. This was what the minister called promiscuous dancing. She had been cautioned against it since she was a child. If anyone saw her, she would surely be called before the kirk to answer for this sinful display. The savage Highlanders laughed as the bodhrun beat quickened. A tear slipped down her cheek.
Abruptly a pair of strong hands gripped her dance partner’s shoulders and pushed him aside. Alex whirled about and pulled back his arm for a punch, but a fist caught his jaw unawares and he staggered back a step, and then lost his balance and fell to the ground.
Callum took her hand firmly and guided her protectively behind him. She followed his lead as she steadied her breathing.
“This lady is not for the likes o’ you lot, ken?”
“Aye,” came their submissive replies as they exchanged glances. When those looks hinted at grins, Callum quelled them with a glare.
Still sternly eyeing his men, he said, “They’ll not bother you again, lass.” Barely glancing at her, he looked back at the men to deliver one more look of warning.
He offered his arm. Mari hesitated, but seeing his men looking on, she took it, both for protection and so she would not humiliate him in front of the men he had just rebuked for her sake. But his touch made her nervous. She rested her hand on an arm that was hard with muscles. And it was warm. Callum guided her around the corner of the byre and stopped, turning to her.
“Lass.” The deep voice he had used with his men was now gentle. His eyes softened, but maintained a cautious reserve. “Dinnae judge them too harshly. The lads were only having some fun. They did not mean to upset you.”
“Aye, well—” She stopped herself before saying that they had indeed upset her. Instead, she forced a nod of acceptance. “Good evening.” She set off in brisk strides toward her house.
“Lass!” he called after her. He lowered his voice and said to himself, “You need not run from me. I’ll not harm you.”
The heavy door closed.
Chapter 6
“Is that you, Marion?” asked her mother.
“Aye.” Having escaped to the safety of her home, Marion feared, from the tone of her mother’s voice, a request would soon follow.
“Sally is ill. Would you please do the milking?”
Marion inwardly groaned, but said in a pleasant tone, “Aye, Mum.”
“But mind you, stay clear of those Highlanders.”
“Aye.”
She stood at the door for a moment, heaved a sigh, and set out for the field, where she gathered the cows and led them back to the shed. Before long, Callum was there, too conveniently timed for mere chance. He grabbed a spare milking stool and sat beside her. Marion cast a deliberately indifferent glance, and began milking the poor cow with marked vigor and flushed cheeks, yielding little milk but increasing frustration.
“Easy, lass.”
Gently, he put his hands on her wrists, which she slipped away quickly. His amusement showed only in his eyes, which settled on her for a moment, unseen. He took over the milking and yielded much better results.
Now fully vexed, she said, “I’ve been milking cows since I was a wee child. I think I must ken how to do it by now.” She refused to look at him except for his hands, upon which her eyes rested.
“Aye, but you looked about to pull the teats right off of her.”
Her head snapped toward him. Now flustered, she glanced away just as quickly. She could not let him see how he affected her.
“You’ve got to help her relax so the milk will come down.”
A blush tinted her cheeks. “Do you think I dinnae ken that?”
He cast a gentle grin toward her, but refrained from comment. The Highlander then proceeded to stroke the cow’s udder with his palm. His hands were large and well formed, and his touch was gentle. Her mood softened, the realization of which unsettled her more. She got up and moved on to the next cow, where she fought for composure.
A long while passed before either spoke. Marion lost herself in the rhythmic spraying of milk into the pail. Callum finished the first cow and moved onto another. Marion listened, but would not watch him walk by.
The late afternoon sun was nearly gone when Callum finished. Marion was not quite done with her last cow when he sat down beside her.
“I’m sorry about the dancing. The lads meant no harm.”
“Aye, so you said.” She stopped milking and looked at him. She wished she had not, for his eyes held a power that disturbed her. She lowered her eyes, only to notice his lips and recall how they felt when they had kissed. Steeling herself, she said, “We dinnae indulge in singing and dancing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He studied her in a disquieting way.
Marion returned to her milking. “Our ways are very different from yours in the Highlands.” She said this as much to herself as a reminder that he and his men had invaded her home with their wild Highland ways. They were different. They could never be anything to each other—not that she had ever thought that they could.
“We are not as different as you think.”
His voice resonated too close to her ear. Deep and rich, its timbre weakened her. She missed a beat in her milking. “Aye, we are, and there’s no changing that.”
She got up to empty her pail. He took it, and she let him carry it for her. Then she chided herself for having done so. Everything was too easy with him. Every touch, every look, and every word that he spoke won her heart before her will could prevent it.
*
“Lass, I’m not your enemy.” But as he said it he looked away, for he knew he was wrong.
She flashed a look of triumph and said, “You are my enemy, and you ken it. You Highlanders moved in to our homes as if you belonged, but you dinnae belong. We dinnae want you here, and we’ll never forget what you’ve done!”
“I have a duty to my clan, and this is part of it. I will not apologize for that.”
“How could we lowlanders possibly matter to you or your clan way up there in the Highlands?”
Anger flared as he interrupted her. “I might ask you the same. Why did we matter
to you when thousands of Campbells—your fellow Covenanters—marched into our homes? And your people did not merely quarter there, as we are doing here. They killed our women and children and laid waste to our glen. And we have not forgotten. You have suffered a loss, and I’m sorry. But you are not alone in the suffering of losses.”
Her eyes flashed in protest, while at the same time her feelings of guilt kept her silent.
His eyes met hers directly. “My mother watched your blessed Covenanters destroy everything our family owned. Then they murdered her mother. When her father fought back to defend her, they murdered him, too. My mother was spared because she ran into the hills and escaped them. But other bairns and their mothers were killed. And what had they done to deserve it?”
Marion said, “I dinnae ken about that. The Covenanters I know are good men who fight for our freedom to worship.”
“By destroying ours? Lass, I dinnae care a whit about whether you pray to that hedgerow over there. But while your Covenanters hide behind the skirts of religion, they are plotting to bring down the monarchy, and that I cannae abide.”
“I have not heard talk of that.”
“Aye, well it may not have made it to your wee world here, but it’s there just the same.”
His arrogant tone made her bristle. “In that case, our ‘wee world’ can hardly be worth your trouble. So why are you here?”
“Because our chief called us to serve.”
“He calls, and you fight—without question?”
“The more trust a man has, the fewer questions he need ask.”
“And you trust that what you are doing is right?”
“Aye. It’s a matter of duty and honor to my chief and to our king.”
“Aye, well that sounds very manly, but explain to me this: Monarchs go back and forth—from Catholic to Episcopal to Presbyterian. If the king is divinely appointed by God, then why cannae God make up his mind which church he should go to?”
