Highlander’s Secret

by Adams, Alisa

  The captain smiled, showing yellow but even teeth. "I am Captain Niall O'Shaughnessy," he informed them. "As ye can hear fae the name, my mammy an' paw were fae the Emerald Isle, an' I'll aye be proud o' that, but I am a Scot through an' through."

  "But we are cousins to the Irish," Gregor answered, smiling. "Anyway, we all fight on the same side against the English."

  "Aye, sir." Niall's face darkened for a moment. "That we dae. noo, let me show ye where ye'll be sleepin’." He showed them to two comfortable-looking berths underneath the main deck, one above the other. Both were set into enclosures built into the hull of the boat. They were built up at the sides in case rough seas should tip anyone onto the deck, and they looked strong and sturdy. There was a pile of rough woolen blankets on each but they had soft feather pillows. Columba picked one up and held it to his chest.

  "How beautifully soft," he observed, forgetting his fears for a moment.

  "My wife makes them," Niall said proudly, "she is a fine seamstress, Faither."

  "Indeed?" Columba smiled, "and do you have children, Captain?"

  "Four, so far, an' anither on the way." Niall was glowing with pride. "Ane girl, three boys. We are hopin' fer anither wee lassie."

  Columba made the sign of the cross over him. "Then I hope you get one," he said warmly.

  Niall bowed his head in thanks. "Now we must get goin'!" he called up to the five men on deck. "I will be back doon in a wee while," he informed them, then ran up the steep stairs like a monkey.

  When they were alone, Gregor took a little flask out of his pack. "Father," he said, "I know you don't drink but under the circumstances do you not think that God would make an exception?" He took the stopper off the flask and they immediately smelled the mouthwatering aroma of whisky.

  Columba struggled inwardly for a moment. He had not drunk whiskey for years and it was so, so tempting. "After the Valerian tea," he said at last. Gregor nodded and put the flask away.

  Presently, they heard Niall ordering the ship to cast off. Columba was twisting his rosary beads between his fingers and muttering 'Hail Marys' under his breath. Gregor got out his prayer book and began to page through the Psalms. He stopped at the twenty-third and began to read aloud. The comforting words read in Gregor's deep, expressive voice had a soothing effect on Columba, and combined with the effect of the valerian tea, lulled him to sleep.

  Gregor was a better sailor than he had expected to be. He could feel the shuddering motion of the sea under his feet, but it did not disturb him. He felt no nausea at all, and even a sense of well-being when he climbed the stairs onto the deck and felt the fresh breeze on his face. There was a thick layer of pale gray cloud in the sky, but along the horizon, it was a dark threatening purple.

  Gregor asked one of the sailors what it meant. He glanced at the horizon and didn't bat an eyelid as he said, "Storm comin'." His voice was unconcerned and matter-of-fact. He had probably seen hundreds of them, Gregor reflected. Columba was still sleeping, and Gregor hoped he would do so right through the storm, but Gregor had a plentiful supply of valerian tea and he could open the flask of whisky. If all else failed, Columba could drink himself into unconsciousness. It was not a very monk-like thing to do, but these were exceptional circumstances.

  It may have been a rather threatening and intimidating spectacle to witness, but Gregor was fascinated by the clouds coming nearer and nearer. The great towering heaps of cumulus were at once terrifying and beautiful. He had never seen a real thunderstorm before passing through the warm climes of the Mediterranean Sea. The North Sea was too cold to generate them, but he wished he could see another one now.

  As he watched, the already choppy waves of The Minch, the stretch of water between the Scottish mainland and the Hebridean Islands, began to throw themselves angrily against the boat. The foam hissed and the wind howled like some imaginary monster out of folklore, then the rain began to fall. It came down in great sheets, angling itself almost horizontally across the deck and driving Gregor off the bridge and downstairs into the relative safety and warmth of the cabin.

  Columba was sitting up, looking confused and dazed. His eyes were glassy and round with terror and, as Gregor watched, he clamped a hand over his mouth to stop himself being sick. Gregor hastily fetched a bucket and Columba vomited into it with a horrible retching noise that had been dragged all the way from his stomach. He managed a flash of humor. "There goes my breakfast," he said ruefully, shaking his head.

  "You obviously did not need it, Father," Gregor said and laughed. He stood up with some difficulty and looked outside. The wind had picked up speed and force, and the sailors were gripping onto the handrails for dear life. They were all tied to it by thick ropes, so there was little chance of them drowning, but it was freezing, and Gregor pitied them. He was glad he did not have to earn a living that way.

  5

  Arriving in Skye

  It was becoming harder and harder to speak above the shrieking of the wind, so Columba had to shout to get Gregor's attention. "Gregor! Come and pray with me!"

  Gregor sighed. He had been praying non-stop since they'd left Drummond Castle, and he was becoming a bit tired of it. He had concluded that if God hadn't granted their prayers for safety by now he was deaf, wasn't listening, or didn't care. Now, he sat down beside Columba, held his hand, and began to mechanically recite the Lord's Prayer. His lips moved and sound came out of them but his mind went drifting back to his boyhood, to the carefree time when all the cares he was experiencing now were still far in the future. If someone had told him that he would walk halfway around the world - twice - with the cleverest person he knew he would never have believed them.

  If the same person had told him that he would be sitting on a boat in the middle of The Minch helping a priest to be sick, he would have laughed at them. But here he was, having had thousands of unexpected, unusual and sometimes dangerous experiences, having largely enjoyed them. The future was an unknown country, but he had no regrets about the past. He would not have changed a thing.

  "...forever and ever, amen," they finished.

  Gregor went upstairs on deck to see that the storm was clearing. The clouds had stopped being their ugly bruise color and become a pale dove gray. The deck was slippery with seawater though, and Niall advised him to go downstairs before he slipped over the side.

  "Ye'll be better aff doonstairs, lad," he advised. "I had tae pull a man oot that had gone owerboard afore, an' it wisnae pleasant."

  Gregor nodded, made his way downstairs and was thankful to see that Columba had dozed off again. Gregor lay for a while listening to the storm abate then slipped into a light sleep. This time there were no dreams.

  It was late afternoon when Gregor woke. Being the beginning of September, the daylight would last till the middle of the evening before fading gently into darkness. Gregor loved this time of the year, just before harvest time. Soon the hazelnuts and blackberries would bear fruit and could be had in abundance. The barley and oats would ripen and the whole world would seem to be full to bursting with good things.

  He was amazed but gratified to see that Columba was still asleep. He had not been looking forward to holding his hand all the way to Skye which was still two days' journey away. Still, he reminded himself, there was always tomorrow, and the day after that. He groaned inwardly. He was still asleep when Gregor began to eat his supper of mackerel and oatcakes washed down with a nip of whiskey. He was nowhere near satisfied but did not want to ask for more.

  Columba woke up just after darkness had fallen. The storm had gone and for the first time ever he felt relaxed on a boat. He went upstairs very cautiously to see Gregor sitting with some of the sailors, talking and laughing with them. It suddenly occurred to him that this was something he had never done.

  In his priestly duties, he came into contact with other men all the time, yet he had no friends. Perhaps his intellect frightened them, or perhaps he was just not likeable. He hated to think of himself that way; he always strove to b
e the best man he could be. He could make people laugh, and think, and wonder. He had never had a way with ladies, but that was not because he had no liking for them; it was just that he had loved God more.

  Deep in thought, he had not heard Gregor as he came quietly downstairs. "I thought you were going to sleep all night, Father!" He laughed. "You did well in the storm today. I expected tears and tantrums."

  "So did I!" Columba laughed. "Maybe it was just your reassuring presence, Gregor. Thank you."

  Columba was able to eat and even finish his meal that evening. He and Gregor leaned over the railings on the upper deck and listened to the sailors singing sea shanties. Columba felt peaceful as he had never felt before. The Minch held no terrors for him anymore, and he had not even had to resort to the whiskey.

  Later in the evening, the sailors asked him to say mass for them, which he did. He blessed the boat and everyone aboard, then went to bed and slept dreamlessly till dawn. It was indeed a miracle. Two days later they sailed into the harbor at Portree on a fine sunny morning. The rest of the journey had been uneventful; after the storm, they had sailed on a sea that was as flat and calm as a mill pond. Columba seemed to have left his fear behind on the mainland, and it never troubled him again.

  They stayed overnight at the local monastery, St. Mary Magdalene's, then began to walk inland through Portree. Columba could not stop smiling. Everything caught his eye; the purple of the heather, the call of seagulls, the blueness of the inland lochs and the wind in his face. His mind was not dwelling on high and lofty planes today. It was wandering along the grassy track toward the town of Dunvegan on the other side of the island, where sat the Bishop of the Isles. The incumbent at the moment was one Hamish McDonald, famous for his long monologues. He had a biblical quote for every occasion and usually a very long one.

  "But first we must take shelter overnight," Columba said as the evening sky was beginning to darken. "I have someone I would like you to meet."

  "Who, Father?" Gregor asked, smiling.

  "Do you remember me talking about the McClures?" Columba asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

  "Not the McClures?" Gregor laughed in disbelief. "The Sure McClures?"

  “The very same,” Columba confirmed. "If they did not all freeze to death that day. Their house is just over this rise."

  He had told the story many times. The McClures were a big family, and very devout. They had decided, under the influence of the family matriarch who had been speaking from her deathbed, that they should go on a pilgrimage to Portree, the capital of Skye. There they would be baptized in The Minch, just as Jesus had been baptized in the River Jordan by John the Baptist. Such was the family’s fear of the indomitable old lady that they had done as she asked, but there was a difference between the River Jordan and The Minch. One was warm and balmy, and the other one was bone-chillingly cold.

  Columba had asked them again and again if they were sure that they wanted to go ahead, but they replied again and again that they were. Part of the ceremony involved ducking each candidate’s head underwater, and they insisted on doing everything properly. It was the fastest baptism ceremony Columba had ever performed. They came out purple with cold but thanked Columba profusely for his services. After that, they became the Sure McClures. Gregor was not sure if they ever knew about their new name.

  They walked up the hill and stood at the top for a while looking over the valley below. There was a cottage there with a thatched roof out of which a chimney emerged which was smoking lazily. Beside the cottage, there was a large barn and an enclosure holding three cows and two calves. Sheep were dotted around the emerald green hills which surrounded it, and a stream flowed at the bottom of a large vegetable garden. The McClures were not rich, but they were certainly not poor either.

  As they walked closer to the house it was apparent that they had been spotted. A little girl in a white smock came out, saw them and went back into the house, coming out a moment later with a thick wooden shovel. Probably for self-defense, Gregor thought. This farm was very isolated.

  As they came closer, however, it was evident that Father Columba had been recognized. A lanky red-headed ten-year-old boy came running up the hill, his face beaming with delight, and threw himself into Columba's arms.

  "Faither! Faither!" He hugged Columba as tightly as he could, and Columba, laughing with pleasure, hugged him in return and kissed the top of his head.

  "How are you, Donny?" he asked, laughing, then he frowned, his eyes searching the boy's face quizzically. "But you can't be Donny. He was six inches smaller, at least!"

  "Ye're still funny, Faither." He giggled. "I grew! I grew, an' grew, an' grew!"

  Columba looked doubtful. "Are you sure?" he asked, turning the boy's head this way and that. "The Donny I remember had great hands that were too big for his body. I said that he was like a puppy that had to grow into his paws."

  Donny held up his hands, splayed to their full size. Indeed, Gregor thought, they were large in proportion to the size of his body.

  "You are Donny!" Columba cried in delight.

  Gregor was amazed at his ability to deal easily with children and adults alike. It had been four years since they had seen him and yet the children still remembered him. Donny gave Gregor a passing glance and then ignored him.

  "Ye're awfy daft, Faither." Donny laughed again.

  They walked down the hill to the cottage, where a plump, short woman with curly red hair came out to give them a warm welcome. "Faither!" she cried, smiling all over her round, apple-cheeked face. "'Tis so good tae see ye again!" She curtsied briefly and looked at Gregor, taking in his monastic robes. "Good day, Faither," she said politely, smiling. "I am Lina McClure."

  "I am not yet a priest, Mistress McClure," Gregor informed her, "only a novice monk. My name is Gregor Carmichael." He smiled at her and she blushed.

  Lina McClure looked up at the handsome face gazing down at her with its long-lashed dark green eyes. She was a simple soul, and she had never seen anything like this exotic, stunning creature who was now gracing her humble home. She had been baking bread and was covered in flour, and suddenly she felt ashamed of her appearance. "Nice tae meet ye, sir," she said dropping her gaze. "Come in."

  6

  The McClures

  It was a typical Highland farmhouse, perhaps a little bigger than most, but what struck Gregor as soon as he went in was its warmth, not just in temperature, but in its welcome. There were three children of assorted ages sitting on rough chairs around a plain wooden table, and Gregor was surprised to see that two of them, a red-headed pair of boys of around nine years old, were playing chess. The third was a girl of about twelve, and Gregor could see that every one of the family was a carrot top.

  They looked up at Columba and Gregor once, smiled briefly, then went back to the game. They were obviously in the middle of a fierce battle and were too absorbed in it to take any notice of them. The board was made of oak and the beautifully carved pieces were marble. Gregor presumed that they were a gift from Columba and resolved to ask him later.

  The youngest of the children was a baby and was perhaps six months old. A young woman with darker red hair sat beside its crib sewing what looked like baby clothes. She looked up as they came in, then frowned at Father Columba before recognizing him.

  "Faither!" she cried delightedly, then broke every rule of propriety by getting out of her chair then rushing over to embrace him. "Where have ye been?"

  "On pilgrimage," he replied, "but I am very glad to see you again, Martha! This is my friend, Gregor."

  She curtsied and looked up at him with astonished eyes. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen and when he smiled at her and kissed her hand she almost fainted.

  "Is the baby yours, Martha?" Gregor asked, going over to look at the child, sleeping peacefully, its little hands, clenched into tight fists, on the pillow beside its head. His heart skipped a beat. Was he ever going to sire one of these? "Boy or girl?" he asked.

  "Boy,
" she answered, "and his name is Columba."

  Columba, hearing his name, came up to admire the baby. "You called him after me?" he asked in disbelief.

  "Aye, Faither," Martha smiled, "because I love the name, an' you, o' course!"

  "Thank you!" he exclaimed, "has he been baptized yet?"

  Martha shook her head. "We are too far away tae get tae a church, Faither." She smiled. "Noo that ye're here it seems fittin' that a wee boy ca'ed Columba should be Christened by a priest ca'ed Columba."

  The priest smiled, and made a sign of the cross on the baby's forehead, then kissed it. Gregor wondered if he ever regretted his decision to be celibate. "We will do it after supper," Columba announced, "and we have not come empty-handed." He handed Lina a parcel of half-a-dozen fat cod, a dozen red apples, a round of cheese, and a very rare treat: a bottle of red wine which Columba had brought all the way from Inverness.

  Lina's eyes widened as she looked at the feast. "Faither - we were gaunnae have rabbit stew wi' turnips the night—this is a feast!"

  "I'm glad you're happy," Columba said warmly.

  "And I have this," Gregor announced, taking the flask of whiskey out of his bag. "It is not much, but we should each be able to get a nip or two."

  Lina almost burst into tears.

  "We can wet the babe's head wi' that,” Martha announced, smiling. She made them all sit down and poured ale for all the company except Columba, then looked at Gregor. "An' when are ye takin' yer vows, sir?" she asked politely.

  "The end of the year, I think," he answered. When he smiled at her she dropped her gaze to the table. This handsome stranger was making her painfully shy.

  "When can we expect all the menfolk?" Columba asked, sipping his milk.

  "Paw's oot in the wee field plowin'," Martha told them. "Francis an' Malky are helpin' him."