by Alisa Adams
He caught her eye beseechingly one day as if to say: ‘Please come and talk to me,’ but she turned away and went outside, and gradually, although they were still polite and civil to each other, their fledgling relationship soured.
Eventually, after about two weeks, he was able to stand up, and with the aid of a strong tree branch, he could hobble around a bit. He was able to stand at the stove for a while with Catriona and listen to her talking about the village of Drumbeg and all the gossip of the ladies there. He listened avidly. He had no other point of reference in his existence.
"We can move ye soon, I think." Catriona looked down at his leg. "Then go tae see Thora in the village to inspect the leg, although I think 'tis healin' well. Thon medicine helped, did it not?" Thora had given her some bitter willow bark tea to help with the pain.
Lachlan nodded, smiling. "Can I do anything for you, Mistress Donaldson?" he asked anxiously.
"Aye," she replied, laughing. "Sit doon an' listen tae this auld woman talkin' nonsense."
He laughed. He liked Catriona very much. She was cooking carp from the river that night fried in oatmeal, and his mouth was watering. It reminded him of something… He was remembering something!
It was the smell that did it, the smell of beautiful, delicious fresh fish – he was fourteen, and it was his birthday, and he and another boy were cooking fish from the loch. They had just caught it, and Alban – that was his name – Alban had skinned and gutted it because he, Lachlan, couldn't bear to do it. The other boy was teasing him for being a 'big Jessie', and they ended up on the ground in a playful wrestling match, then they got up and roasted the fish over the fire.
"Lachlan!" he said suddenly. "My name is Lachlan!"
"Eh?" Catriona turned around then realized what he'd said. She came over to him and gave him a big hug. "Well done, lad!"
At that moment, Shona came in with a pail of milk.
"Shona," Catriona said, with a bow, "this is Lachlan."
Despite herself, Shona laughed. "Ye remembered!" she cried. "'Tis wonderful!"
As the menfolk all came in, first Campbell, then Brody, then Cameron and Angus, Lachlan was patted on the back again and again. Relief was flooding over him. He was no longer anonymous.
He went to sleep that night fearful, but there were no more dreams.
4. The Kiss
Shona had begun to repent her decision to be so cold to Lachlan. She could feel that he was a good man, but he was in hell. She tried to imagine life without Ma and Da and all her brothers. She tried to imagine walking past her house and not remembering it was her home, tried to imagine her mother hugging her but not remembering who she was. Her life would be without foundation, rootless, just as his was.
She was not a learned person – no farm people were – but she was intuitive, and somehow, she understood how he felt without feeling it herself. And now she was not angry – she felt desperately, desperately sorry for him.
She went about her duties as usual, but at the back of her mind, at all times, was what she could do to help him. She knew that he was immensely frustrated by his lack of ability to recall anything, and thought she might be too under the same circumstances. She resolved not to hold his former fierceness against him.
On the next Sunday, when they went to afternoon service in the village church, they took him with them since his ankle had improved enough for him to limp along on it. He was wearing his own fine clothes again since they were the only ones that would fit him. Shona felt his embarrassment as he tried to be courteous to the friendly people around him. They were curious, but he could tell them nothing.
Shona held his arm and took him outside where they could look over the loch. Suddenly he gripped her hand, and his eyes took on a fixed, glazed look. Shona's heart leaped.
"Ye remember somethin'?" she asked urgently.
He shook his head wildly. "No – NO!" He almost screamed it. "I almost had it, and it – went…"
She locked her arms around him to keep him from hurting himself by pulling his hair out again. Eventually, he stopped and looked down at her, then he did the last thing either of them expected. He kissed her; a hard, bruising kiss that almost made her lips bleed. It was not an expression of affection. If anything, it was an explosive gesture of anger.
It took all her strength to push him away, but she did it. His weak leg gave way, and he landed on the ground and cried out with pain. She wiped her lips on her sleeve, then stood, looking down at him, eyes blazing.
"Dinna' ever speak to me again!" she hissed out. "Unless 'tis to ask for food. I want ye tae ignore me. Dinna' even look at me, ye—" She could not find a word hateful enough for him, so she turned on her heel and went back into the church.
When they were going back home on the ox cart, Shona was so quiet that her mother remarked on it.
"A' right, lass?" She put her hand on Shona's.
She smiled back at her mother. "Jist a wee bit headache, Ma," she said, passing a hand over her forehead. It was true. Just as she had thought she was getting to know Lachlan, he had done something utterly incomprehensible and unforgivable.
Lachlan was feeling wretched. What had possessed him? It must have been the memory that he had seen but not quite grasped. Had it been a face? Whatever it had been, he should never have kissed Shona, and especially not in that demeaning and disrespectful way.
He stared into the distance as the memory of a face came back to him. It was a beautiful woman's face, with deep dark eyes and high arched brows, hair as dark as the night sky and a slender white neck like a swan. Her English, when she spoke, was softly accented and dripped off her tongue like honey. He was gently undressing her and unveiling all the mysteries hidden from him till now, like her softly rounded breasts with their dark aureoles, the curve of her belly, the pit of her navel that made her laugh when he tickled it. She was all he wanted in a woman, and they had been promised to each other for such a long time that neither could wait a moment longer.
Their parents had betrothed them when they were children, and now she was twenty, and he was twenty-five. They had both matured into handsome and beautiful adults, and Pilar – her name was Pilar – was ready and eager to bear him a child. And now here she was, his wife and in his bed at last. He had been gentle with her when he undressed her, but she was not gentle with him. She was in such haste that she ripped his tunic and tore it off him. He laughed. He had bedded a few women in his bachelor days, but none as ferocious as this, and he hoped it was a good omen for their future married life. He would take it as one. He let her carry on frantically divesting him of his clothes till they were both naked, then she studied him from head to foot, running a hand over the dusting of hair on his chest.
"We are not the same," she whispered, astonished.
Lachlan laughed, took her hand, and rubbed it against his rough cheek. "Feel," he said gently. "Look, of course we're not the same. I am—" He searched for the Spanish word. "El hombre." Then he pointed to her. "La mujer. We are different. Like Adam and Eve."
She shook her head mutely. It had never occurred to her that, although they wore different clothes and had different shapes, somehow, they would be quite as different as this!
Lachlan felt desperately sorry for her, and so angry that they had let her go to her wedding night so unprepared, so sheltered that she knew nothing of life.
"There is nothing to be frightened of," he whispered.
He lay down on the bed and pulled her with him, then she lay with her head on his shoulder for a while, and he stroked her hair. He kissed her, then gently let his hand trail over her body. She was trembling as his mouth followed the path of his hand. He kissed her softly all over and came back to her lips, then looked into the dark depths of her eyes.
"I'm a man, and you're a woman," he whispered, "and this is how we make children. You will grow to love it, and me, I hope."
"Yes, Lachlan," she answered trustingly, "show me – I am yours."
As gently as he could, he pushed
past the resistance inside her. She gave a gasp and a moan of pain, then her body jerked, just once. But when they were moving together there were moans of pleasure, and just after he had spilled his seed into her, he heard her give a deep, satisfied sigh.
She pulled his head down for a kiss. "Oh, mi carino." She smiled into his eyes. "Am I your wife now?"
He laughed softly. "Yes, sweetheart, you truly are."
5. Consequences
"Lachlan!" Campbell's voice jerked him out of his reverie. He started, then scrambled out of the cart. Another few days and his leg would be able to bear weight without the splint, then he could go – where?
Shona went into the house, and his eyes followed her. He felt embarrassed, regretful, and most of all angry with himself. Why had he done it? What on earth had possessed him to attack her like that – because, yes, it had been an attack. He groaned as he thought of it.
After they had eaten their Sunday mutton stew that night, Shona went out for a walk, as was her custom occasionally. Lachlan looked after her thoughtfully as she walked down the path to the lake. He should speak to her, he knew, but he could not yet navigate the path on his own. Angus came up behind him so quietly that it gave him a fright, then laughed. Lachlan decided to keep the memory to himself. It was too precious to share.
"Sorry," Angus said, "I am told I have very quiet footsteps. My sister is very bonny, is she not?" His eyes were twinkling.
"She is indeed," Lachlan replied, smiling.
"Ye could dae much worse." Angus gave him a teasing look, and Lachlan sighed.
"Let me remember a few things first," he said grimly. "I may be married already for all I know. Anyway, she doesn’t favor me."
Angus laughed. "Pfft! Our Shona doesna' favor any lad," he said airily. "Says she will never get married, but you watch, Lachlan, she'll be wantin' bairns like any other lass, an' she wilna get them withoot a man!" He paused for a moment. "There are dozens of upright young men oot there wantin' her hand, and she turns doon every one of them. Thinks she's something special, does our Shona."
Lachlan looked moodily out at the loch as Angus left. Something about it troubled him today. It looked much the same as any other day but there was a hint of sun peeking out from behind a cloud, and a perfect rainbow was making a marvelous arch over the water. On the shore, he could see that Shona was standing still watching it, as immobile as a statue. He sighed. There was something waiting under the surface of his mind, just like the mythical monster under the water. He had dreamt of that, and it was terrifying, and he hoped that his memories – if they came back – would not be equally so.
The days were very short now, and the evenings very long. After the goats had been milked and the eggs brought in it was the family's custom to sit and sing, talk and tell stories. It was a happy time, and Shona's face in the candlelight was full of the joy of being with the ones she loved. She was sitting on a wooden settle, and she and her father had their arms around each other, her head on his shoulder. She was laughing at the ridiculous story he was telling, and her glance suddenly fell on Lachlan. She gave him a look of pure venom and turned her head away.
He struggled to his feet and lay down on his mattress, feigning discomfort. He told himself he despised her oversensitivity, despised her scorn, but the truth was that it hurt him. It hurt him very, very much.
He was drifting off to sleep, lulled by the voices and laughter of the family, when another one of the strange dreams came to visit him again.
There was a horse, a magnificent gray stallion with a dark velvet muzzle, and it was standing blowing out its nostrils and stamping its feet in impatience. The horse's name was Jamie, and he had acquired him as a birthday present. He had been small and insubstantial as a foal, but in his prime, at seven years old, he was no longer wraithlike, but at least a ton of prime horseflesh, every ounce of it devoted to Lachlan. I must be rich, he thought excitedly, to own a horse like this.
Pilar came running into the stable yard, and there was a little black dog trotting after her. She too was dressed expensively, in a silk and lace riding habit with a fine woolen cloak. Her eyes were alight with excitement.
"Am I riding, Jamie?" she asked, batting her eyelids playfully.
"No, you are not, my Lady!" he answered. "He is too big for you."
"Please?" She wound her arms around his neck, then whispered something in his ear.
Lachlan blushed at the memory and boosted her onto the horse's back in all her finery. I was as happy then as a man could ever be, he thought.
He woke to the noise of the heavy storm that was coming in over the loch. It was still dark, but the fire-warmed room was cozy. Today they were going to take the splint off, and he couldn't wait to walk freely again.
Campbell cut it off carefully, and Lachlan stood with his feet on the floor again, then breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't painful at all – just a tiny bit stiff.
"Seems fine," he said, smiling at Campbell."Now I can work, and pull my weight."
Campbell patted him on the back. "Ye're a fine big lad, but ye're not a farmer."
Lachlan frowned. "How can you tell?" he asked, puzzled.
"Yer hands, son." He held his own hands out, palm upward. They were ingrained with old dirt. When he turned them over, the nails were outlined in it. It was under all the fingernails. "Touch them," he ordered. Lachlan did so and found them as rough as sandpaper. "Now yours," Campbell ordered.
Lachlan held up his hands, smooth and white, soft on the palms and with nails which had no dirt anywhere.
"I wid say ye're a gentleman," Campbell went on, "or a priest, but ye dinna' look like any priest I've ever seen.”
No, I'm definitely not a priest, he thought wryly. He sighed.
"Well, whatever I am," he said determinedly, "I aim to work today, so tell me what you want me to do."
Campbell, not wanting to tire him too much, set him to work on cleaning out the ox's stall – taking out the soiled straw and replacing it with new stuff. It was grim, boring work and gave his mind time to wander.
He remembered sitting by a stream, wishing he could climb the trees on the other bank with their tempting branches that were just out of reach. He would have scrambled up as far as he could and picked all the fir cones off to throw in the water. His nanny was with him, and her name was Nanny Ishbel. He always wanted something – a new ball, his own pony, a puppy, but she always said that he'd get them when he grew up.
"When will I be grown up, Nanny Ishbel?" he asked plaintively.
Nanny had kind blue eyes and dark gray hair, and Lachlan saw her far more than he saw his own mother, and indeed, loved her more. She looked at him now with her steady eyes.
"Why, lad." She patted him on the head and drew him close. "Dinna hurry so. Ye'll know when ye get there."
"How?" he demanded.
"Well, ye'll be much taller, yer beard will grow, and ye'll have a deep growly voice." She dropped her voice an octave. "Like this."
Lachlan laughed. "And will I get married?"
"Indeed, ye will, and ye will have lots of wee Lachlans of yer ain."
Lachlan sighed. "It seems like such a long time to wait." He sighed, putting his arms around her waist.
She hugged him tightly. "'Twill fly past before ye know it, my lovely boy." Ishbel looked down at the chestnut-haired child who seemed like her own. His parents were distant, and he came to her for love, yet he was not hers, nor she his.
Lachlan had drifted off into a daydream. He was staring into space, leaning on the hay fork, and when Shona came in, he was startled, not hearing her. She handed him a cup of milk, and he held onto her hand as he took it from her. She tugged and tugged, but he was too strong for her.
"Let go of me or I'll scream," she hissed out furiously.
"Shona, I wanted to apologize," he said, running his fingers back through his hair in agitation. "What I did was shameful. I don't know what came over me. Please forgive me."
He let go of her hand, and she snatch
ed it away, rubbing her wrist as if he had caused her a serious injury. Then she gave him one last poisonous look and ran out.
He stood, defeated for a moment, then his anger rose to meet her own. He had sinned, yes, but he could not undo what had been done. He had tried to make amends. What more could he do? Damn the woman – why was she so maddening and yet so… desirable?
6. Some Conclusions
Lachlan, after mucking out the barn, had been sent to get some fish out of the loch for dinner. Lachlan realized that having very few memories rendered him almost bereft of conversation, and yet he found great pleasure in listening. These people never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Sometimes Angus, Brody, and Cameron would walk over to the other farms to trade grain, eggs or salted fish because sharing and bartering were natural to them. They brought back gossip from the village and tales about their neighbors, which caused scandalous faces and much hilarity.
When Lachlan went down to the fish traps he pulled out eight small brown trout – One each and one left over, he thought with satisfaction.
Catriona was delighted with him. "For a toff, you are an awfully useful man to have aroon'!"
Lachlan was intrigued. "Why do you think I'm a toff?" he asked, laughing.
"The way ye speak, for a start," she replied, putting a hand on his shoulder. "An' the delicate way ye dae things. An' ye have good manners – ye havena' learned tae grab for yer food like my lot. Ye may starve roon' here, mind!"
Lachlan wrestled with his decision for a minute and eventually decided to take Catriona into his confidence.
"Mistress Donaldson," he began, but she flapped her hand at him.
"My name is Catriona, an' you are one of the family now," she said firmly. "Call me by my Christian name."
He nodded, then said awkwardly, "Catriona, may I take you into my confidence?"
"Of course, lad. Sit doon." She smiled at him, then took his hands in hers. They were as rough as Campbell's. "Somethin's troublin' ye, lad. Whit is it? I promise it willna leave this room."
