“But what about the cattle, Mr. Simon, do you want us hide them?” Hamish panted breathlessly.
“Forget the cattle Hamish, just get the men and hide yourselves,” Simon shouted.
I watched with stunned horror as Simon sprinted the length of the field, grabbed Duncan in one arm and raced back toward me, signaling me with his free hand and shouting orders for me to clear up the picnic. The men raced past me at a frantic pace, and headed toward the forest. Hamish fell behind them and stopped beside me.
“Ma’am, the picnic,” he said, bending to the ground and hastily throwing everything into the wicker basket, lifting it and handing it to me. I took it off him. My movements were slowed and dream-like. Then Simon was beside me with Duncan hooked under his arm. He grabbed me and dragged me back toward the house, pushing me through the front door and into the kitchen. I dropped the basket on the floor. He put Duncan down, grabbed the long wooden pole and thrust it toward the ceiling. The hatch sprung open, the ladder dropped. He ran back to the front door, locked it and pocketed the key, slammed the shutters closed, and ran back to the ladder. He pushed me toward it.
“Climb woman, climb, and now!” He shouted, terror filling his voice. I put my hand on to the rope and my right foot onto the wooden slat, and slowly began to climb. Simon was behind me, Duncan still in his arms. I reached the top and moved through the hole into the room. Simon hoisted the little boy into my arms and slid back down the ladder, grabbing the pole and throwing it up to me. I caught it and pulled it up through the opening. Then he was on the ladder. I heard the pounding and the shouting.
They were here, at the front door, demanding entry. Simon was on the ladder, frantically moving his feet and hands, pulling himself closer and closer. My heart raced and my head swam as I listened with horror as they ordered us to unbolt the door. I jumped back as he grabbed hold of the corner of the hole and pulled himself up into the room. Bending down through the hole, he hoisted the ladder in and then grabbed the hatch and then pulled it shut. I passed him the pole and he slid it into the brackets. We sank to the floor as a loud bang from downstairs told us the Red Coats were in the kitchen.
I pulled Duncan onto my knee, whispering into his little ear. “Mummy and daddy need you to be very quiet now little man. If you are a good boy now then mummy and daddy will give you a very nice treat.”
Simon put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a stick of dried meat. He extended his arm, offering the meat to Duncan. “Give him this. Sucking on it will keep him quiet for now,” he whispered.
As Duncan chewed on the stick, I held him tightly against me, hardly daring to breathe, but gently whispering encouragingly to the little boy to stay still and quiet.
“Duncan thirsty, Mamma.”
“Christ!” cursed Simon under his breath. “Will you keep the boy quiet Corran.”
I put my arm around him and hugged him lovingly, “Duncan you have got to be very, very, quiet. There are bad people in the kitchen and we have to hide from them.” I shot Simon a look, “You gave him the salted meat. That’s why he’s thirsty,” I hissed.
“There is a bucket of water in the corner, over there by the window,” he whispered, nodding in the direction of the window. “Stay here with the boy and don’t move, I will go and get it.”
I clung to my son watching as Simon crawled tentatively across the floor. I gasped as a floor board creaked. He froze, the full weight of his body resting on his hands and one knee. Slowly he lowered his other knee to the floor. I tensed, anticipating the creak, but it did not come.
“Why is dadda on the floor?”
I raised my finger to my lips, “Shh, little man, you must be quiet, please?”
Simon’s head turned toward us, his eyes heavy and fear-filled. ‘Keep him quiet,’ he mouthed.
Shrugging, I mouthed, ‘Sorry,’ back at him. A great roar of laughter and jeering rose up from downstairs and Simon used the distraction to heave the bucket swiftly back to us. Water sloshed over the side as it hit the floor and I tensed, praying the spill would not leak into the ceiling below.
Cupping his hands, Simon filled them with water and lifted them toward Duncan’s mouth. “There you go little man, you will feel better now,” he whispered into the child’s ears.
The air hung heavy and stale in the confined space of the attic room. I breathed deeply, seeking fresh air for my lungs. Simon mopped at his brow with a square of linen. Duncan had lowered his head into my lap, his eyes closed in sleep.
“Can we not open that window, just a crack?” I whispered, lifting the edge of my skirt to fan my face with.
He shook his head. “Sorry Corran, but no.”
‘How long do you think they will be here?’ I mouthed.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It sounds like they are getting drunk on my ale down there. I don’t think it will be tonight.”
“Well I hope they go soon. It’s too hot in here and the walls feel like they are closing in on me. I need to get out, Simon,” I said, as panic to escape the room grew inside me.
He put his arm around me. “Just take deep breaths Corran, and think of something else, you will be alright.”
******
CHAPTER 21
I turned to the small window and watched as the sun fell behind the hills and night descended upon the tiny space of the attic room.
There were people up ahead. I could see them as faint shadows against the stark white blanket of the snow. As they drew closer I realized, that like me, they were only half-dressed, and they were fleeing from Glencoe. Unlike me, they were weak, stumbling in the thick drifts of snow, wrestling against the storm, half-starved and frozen.
I approached them with the caution of one who believed themselves a spirit in the Earthly World. They noticed me but did not flinch, scream or cry out in hysterical fear at my presence. They greeted me as their friend, as their neighbor, as they had always welcomed me. Only their voices were flat, exhausted and lifeless as if it were they that were dead. The elderly woman, Marta, a close friend of my grandmother who had known me all my life, reached out to embrace me. My heart was black with anger at the men of Campbell. Marta’s sunken, wet eyes met mine and I knew that her heart was as bitter as mine. I extended my hands toward her offered embrace and whispered in her good ear, “Take my hand, Marta, you can share my warmth.” I felt the ice cold of her bony hands and prayed to my God to help this lady. I begged him to warm her body and strengthen her limbs so that she may live through this travesty, as my grandmother and I had not.
A blistering heat seared though my hands and I wanted to jerk them away from the old lady but an instinct told me I must not. I felt the life returning to the frail hands I held and knew that her strength was returning. Silently, I thanked my God for the blessing and the life of this old friend. A gentle smile crossed the old woman’s lips and her eyes surveyed me with a knowledge I didn’t understand. She moved slowly toward me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Thank you, wee Corran, for this day you are who your grandmother knew you would be.” I returned her smile but was confused at her meaning. A flicker of a glance passed between her and her husband, old man Dùghall. Clearing his throat, he edged toward me, affectionately resting his hands on my shoulders. I felt his long, strong fingers and the ice that had penetrated his ancient joints stabbing at my collar bone. He was still healthy, despite his age and I knew he would survive this day. He was a tall man and his sad, flat eyes had far to look before meeting mine.
“Come lass, you will travel with us.” His voice was deep, strong and commanding. Only his long graying hair and slightly bent frame betrayed his many years. He was a cattle farmer from our glen. No! I realized with deep sadness that he could no longer be a cattle farmer from the mighty Glencoe, for our village was lost to us. Dùghall smiled down at me and encouragingly squeezed my shoulders before letting go. “Best get along then, aye lass.” I hesitated briefly, before nodding in reply to Dùghall.
Silently, without further comment, we
moved off as one, further up into the vengeful mountains, each one of us preoccupied with the task ahead. For me, it was the ever-constant vigil of seeking a sign or clue from God. For the rest, I imagined it to be the single task of staying alive. The snow and wind had dropped but I knew in my heart that tonight they would return. A chill ran through my body as I contemplated the effect the returning blizzard would have. Instinctively, I cast an assessing eye over our small party of travelers, noticing that the little girl, Giorsal, was struggling.
Broken and weak she staggered next to her mother, my friend, Nansaidh. This little girl had come into the world five years ago, I had witnessed her birth, touched her tiny pink toes and kissed her plump rosy cheeks. Terror struck, I realized that I was about to witness her death. I grabbed for the child and held her tiny frame close to mine. I murmured softly as I cradled her in my arms, “Close your eyes wee Giorsal, for God will protect you this day.” Her pain became mine as our bodies merged and united in her need for strength and my overwhelming urge to provide her with that strength. Her hunger ripped at my stomach and her cold coursed through my body like a knife. There was heat, burning, unbearable, scorching heat that tore at our bodies, pulling us apart. I prayed to my God to save this child. “Dear God, I know I am not of this physical world any longer, but please hear my prayer. I beg of you, please don’t take this child, for she is so young and innocent. Dear God, please hear my prayer.”
As I prayed the heat diminished and my strength returned and I looked at the child in my embrace and realized that whatever I was, I was not dead and nor was the child; she was well and strong and her eyes twinkled once more, as a child’s eyes should. Nansaidh turned to me wordlessly, her brows slightly furrowed, eyes filled with unshed tears. She took hold of my hand, seeking the reassurance of flesh and drew a long silent breath. I met her eyes with the sincerity of friendship and love. “Don’t be afraid, your child is safe now Nansaidh.” As I spoke, I squeezed her hand, hopeful that it would provide the reassurance we both sought. For I had no idea what the recent past had made me.
“There is the wee cave,” sighed Dùghall without warning. “I don’t know if it will take us all though.”
Looking closely I could see the snow covered outcrop that hid the entrance of the cave and wondered briefly how Dùghall had known of it. We followed the old man round the outcrop and into the damp darkness of the crevice in the mountain. On any other day I would have found little to entice me into this cramped space. We crouched, five bodies in the mountain hollow barely large enough to hold us, yet each one of us gave thanks to God for the shelter.
I watched in amazement as Marta and Dùghall both scrambled around on the dusty rock floor, seemingly looking for something. There was an almighty thud from the general direction of Dùghall, followed closely by an exclamation of “Gonadh air!” from the man himself.
Judging from the earlier thud, resonating at just the right tone to suggest that Dùghall’s head had connected with a large metallic object, and the curse that followed, I concluded that Dùghall had just found what he was looking for. Desperately I fought to adjust my eyes, wanting to know what the two older people were doing, but realized very quickly that there was no need. Emanating from the ground were tiny, warm, spitting, sparks of fire which very soon connected with dried autumn leaves to form a gloriously hot, glowing fire at our feet. The flames threw a comforting orange light around the cave and I could see the little circle of prepared rocks around the outer rim of the fire. The fire illuminated a black iron cauldron, set neatly to the side and in one tiny corner of the cave a large tidy pile of plaids. Dùghall, Marta and Nansaidh were all unpacking the cauldron, which appeared full to overflowing.
Dùghall’s hand came out of the pot, clutching a large bottle of amber liquid, kindly he asked, “Anyone for a wee warming dram then?” I couldn’t help but smile to myself as he popped out the cork and swigged a healthy gulp of whisky. Marta was breaking a chunk of thick, creamy cheese which she handed to Giorsal. The little girl took the food gratefully and wasted no time in swallowing the piece whole. Nansaidh rushed to her daughter’s side.
“Slowly, wee one, or your tummy will be sore.”
Giorsal nodded, replying, “Sorry, mummy, I'm so hungry.”
Marta smiled across at me, “Corran, come share our food, there is plenty to be had.”
Gratefully, I accepted her offer and huddled up to Giorsal who was tucking into some oatcakes.
Nansaidh moved across the cave to the plaids. She returned to the fire with one for each of us.
Wrapping Giorsal like a cocoon in one, she handed them out to each of us in turn. With a belly full of food and whisky, a fire at my feet and a warm plaid wrapped around my shoulders I was puzzled at how we had come by such good fortune in finding this cave, so prepared for our unexpected needs. Suspiciously, I looked to Nansaidh, then to Dùghall and lastly to Marta. They did not seem to share my surprise at our excellent fortune or at least if they did they were not showing it. I was compelled to ask. “Nansaidh how is it that we have been so fortunate for Dùghall to have found this cave?” My brow furrowed and a slight frown crossed my features as I watched a broad grin fill my friend’s face.
“Oh Corran, you really don’t know, do you?” Her reply was delivered with a smile but a flicker of fear lurked in her deep eyes.
“Know what?” I asked pleadingly, desperate to make sense of the chaos.
Nansaidh shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head toward where Dùghall and Marta sat huddled together around the tiny fire. “Talk to Marta and Dùghall, they can answer your questions my friend.”
I sighed heavily: feeling cruelly dismissed by Nansaidh, nonetheless, I decided to follow her advice.
Moving slowly across the tiny cave toward the two older people I felt a knot of fear tightening in the pit of my stomach that told me I was not going to like what I was about to hear.
I had no need to repeat my question. It was obvious by the furrow of their brows and the dark shadow of concern that lingered behind their eyes that both Marta and Dùghall knew what I needed to know.
Patting his hand firmly on the ground Dùghall invited me to join him and Marta by the fire. “Come wee lass,” encouraged Dùghall, “it is warmer by the fire. We can’t give you all the answers but we can give you a few,” he smiled as I sank to the floor beside him. Drawing one deep purposeful breath before beginning his story. “Have you not wondered why we have not inquired about Seasaidh?”
Shocked I looked blankly at Dùghall. “My grandmother?” I stammered slightly, more confused than I ever thought possible. “No, Dùghall, I can’t think... I... mean, I don’t really know why I didn’t mention what had happened to her. She was killed, in her bed, by the smoke of the fire.” The tears in my eyes overflowed onto my cheeks in a raging torrent of grief, pain and sorrow.
“Hush, wee one,” comforted Marta, putting her arm around me and drawing my shaking body to hers. “Seasaidh knew that she would die yesterday, wee Corran.”
My eyes were wide with shock and blurred by tears, I was sobbing and questioning. “How could she know and if she knew why did she stay in the village?”
Dùghall rested his hand lightly on my shoulder and I felt the strength he was trying to share with me. “My dear child,” he said in a calm, kind whisper, “your grandmother knew her time had come and she accepted that fate. Two nights before the raid Seasaidh came to our home, Marta offered her a wee dram to ward off the cold. I noticed your grandmother’s hands trembling as I passed her the dram. I didn’t know for sure what had made the lass so jumpy but guessed it had something to do with the Campbell man and his Red Coats.”
Dùghall paused thoughtfully running his hands over his long silver beard then shook his head as if to clear a memory before continuing.
“Seasaidh was suspicious of them; said she had no trust for the soldiers of an English King. She believed they had come as a punishment to MacIain for his late swearing of the Oath to their English Kin
g. She tried to warn MacIain’s sons and told them not to trust the man they called Robert Campbell, she begged them to hear her and warned them that no good would come to our village while the soldiers of the English King remained. The thirteen days they were in the village Seasaidh had remained unsettled. The night she came to our home and her trembling hands held her wee dram, we drank as old friends, by the warmth of the fire. This was the last time Marta and I saw your grandmother.”
I could see the tears in the old man’s eyes as he battled against his sorrow to give me the answers I desperately sought.
“You see, Corran,” he continued, “Seasaidh came to warn Marta and me as she had warned the Old Fox’s cubs. She reminded me of this cave.” A smile crept across his lips, “Old Duncan and I used to hide in here, many a year before you were born, in the days when we were a cattle raiding from the Campbell’s lands in Glen Lyon. A right ol’ pair we were back then, your grandfather and me.”
My heart tightened at the mention of my grandfather. He had been dead many years now but I still had the smell of his pipe in my nose, the feel of his rough, hard worn hands in mine, and prickle of his gray beard when he kissed me goodnight. He was a tall man, slim and strong but the sickness had come one winter and taken him from us forever.
“The thing was,” continued Dùghall, “when Seasaidh mentioned that I should take Marta and visit the cave, we understood her warning. Marta said that we would take you, Corran, to the cave with us, but Seasaidh objected saying that your destiny was to be fulfilled by staying in the village that morning and that you would find us on the mountain when you were ready.”
“Marta and I respected your grandmother’s wishes and heeded her warning. We stocked the cave and went home to wait. When the gunshots came in the early hours of the morning, we knew what it was and fled.” The old man fell silent. I was staring at him, repeating in my mind the words he had spoken and wondered how to make sense of them.
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