A Rhanna Mystery

by Christine Marion Fraser

  There was a rumour going about the island that some of the caves on the eastern shores were receiving visitations from a beautiful elusive being, with a voice like an angel and a form more enticing than any of the fabled creatures ever to have roamed the high seas. Some of the local fisherlads had reported several sightings of this magical figure but, as yet, not one of them had dared to go into the caves to ascertain the true nature of it.

  The more cynically minded of the population put it all down to figments of the imagination, others said it was just modern day sea lore, dreamed up by lads who had become bored with the old tales of hags and water witches and wanted to try something new. Only a minority thought there might be something in the rumour but wouldn’t admit to it for fear of ridicule. Others, like Hector the Boat, fully believed every word that was said, while Dodie was so enthralled by it all he began to imagine that it was none other than Fern that the fishermen had seen, flitting about in the great caverns, singing pensive airs and lullabies to the seals as they gathered in the bay to listen to her.

  He was inclined therefore to hold her in utter deference and today was no exception. All he wanted was to stand there drinking in his fill of her for as long as she would let him, and if he could have put her in a picture frame and hung her on his wall just to gape at her, he would have done so willingly.

  Fern Lee, however, was very much a flesh and blood creature, and she made this plain to Dodie when she said with a laugh, ‘Come on, now, Dodie, say what you have to be saying to me for I’m as hungry as a horse and late for my dinner as it is.’

  Dodie roused himself from his trance, one big rough hand sliding into a pocket buried somewhere in the folds of his greasy raincoat. ‘I have a present for you,’ he whispered in an agony of shyness. ‘It isny much, just a wee thing I had a mind to do when I learned o’ the bonny name you have on you.’

  Dodie always apologised for the simple gifts he gave to the people he liked best, things gleaned from the natural bounties of sea and land and painstakingly fashioned into objects of rare and sensitive beauty.

  When Fern saw the large oblong stone that he handed her, decorated with a hand-painted fern frond of palest green, the initial ‘D’ shakily scrawled underneath, tears filled her eyes and reaching up she kissed him gently on one nut-brown cheek.

  ‘You’re a very special man, Dodie,’ she murmured, quite overcome with the emotion of the moment. ‘But there you are now, I knew you were different the first time ever I spoke to you. Don’t be taking offence at that for I mean it in the nicest way possible. I’ll keep this stone always, and every time I look at it I’ll remember you.’

  Dodie’s face burst into a riot of blushing colour. Placing a callused finger on that most favoured spot on his cheek he backed away, staring, staring at her in mesmerised wonderment, before he took to his heels, his boots half tripping him up as he galloped away in the direction of the village, looking back over and over to wave to her, dazed with delight, trying to assemble in his mind what next he could give her that would make her smile at him the way she had and call him a special man.

  Fern went on her way, Dodie’s stone nestling in her hand, feeling strangely honoured to have been singled out by him in such a touching manner. She knew he had spent his entire life on Rhanna, that he was Hebridean to the core, and it would therefore be in his nature to size people up before placing his trust in them. That he had done so with somebody who was new and strange to him made her feel good inside of herself and her heart was light as she went on up the glen, glancing about her with pleasure at the trees and the wildflowers and the river thundering along.

  She loved this glen, she loved this island, she hadn’t been here for very long, but already its beauty and tranquillity had carved a niche in her heart. It was so far removed from everything that was discordant and ugly and she had vowed to herself that she would stay for as long as she could. She felt safe here. Laigmhor was like a haven, and Fergus McKenzie was like a rock, just thinking about him made her feel good and she prayed that he wouldn’t get tired of her and send her away. She very much needed such a man in her life at the moment, and at sight of Laigmhor’s chimneys prodding into the watery April sky, she found herself hurrying.

  On reaching the track leading up to the farm her pace quickened even more, and she started to run as she approached the sturdy white farmhouse building that she had begun to think of as home.

  It was well after mid-day and Fergus was alone in the house, Bob having gone on ahead to the lambing fields.

  ‘It’s sorry I am for being so late,’ Fern apologised as soon as she got inside. ‘I am after meeting old Dodie on the road and he spent several minutes just looking at me before giving me this lovely painted stone.’ Uncurling her fingers she showed Fergus her prize before going on, ‘You will never guess what else happened to me on this day of rich adventure! I came across Elspeth Morrison in Mairi’s place and before I knew it, my tongue ran away with me and I told her I would help her to get ready on the morning of her wedding. At first she was all starchy and stiff and wailing like a cat with its tail in a trap but she soon melted when I spun her a bit of the blarney and told her she had nice hair.’

  Fergus stared, then he laughed. ‘That old yowe! Melted! What did you do? Pour boiling oil on her?’

  ‘Ach, no, nothing so drastic. Am I not after telling you? I gave her a taste of the Irish and in two shakes of a lamb’s tail we were blethering away like old pals in a pub. Mairi was fair tickled by it all and began making plans in that nice daft way she has about her.’

  ‘I was right about you,’ Fergus said appreciatively, ‘you are a witch, one who can wind anybody round her little finger . . .’

  ‘Anybody? Have I done it to you? Have I bewitched you, Fergus?’

  ‘Bewildered me, more like,’ he answered gruffly. ‘I don’t know whether I’m coming or going these days and I was thinking – maybe the time has come for you to find somewhere else to stay. It would be the best thing for everybody in the long run. I – I’m buggered if I know how to handle this anymore.’

  ‘Fergus.’ His name came out in a whisper. Dread, stark and naked, looked out of her eyes. ‘Come on now, you can’t just send me away like that, there is nowhere else in the world for me to go, it isn’t safe for me out there. I have nothing, nobody else . . .’

  With one quick movement she was beside him, pulling his dark head down towards her, kissing him over and over, her hands sliding under his shirt, gliding over his skin.

  ‘No!’ Roughly he tore himself away from her. ‘I won’t let you do this! I can’t cope with this sort o’ thing! You’re young, only a lass – I’m . . .’

  She gazed at him standing there, black eyes wild and burning, his body firm and weatherbeaten, his face ruggedly handsome, and she smiled, a small, lingering, secretive smile. ‘Surely you know you’re at your peak, Fergus, the sort of man who would appeal to any woman of any age. You’re as strong as an oak tree . . .’ She ran her hands over his shoulders, her fingers playing with the crisp black tendrils at the nape of his neck, ‘Ah, is it not a real man you are? I can feel your heart beating against my breasts, wanting me as much as I am wanting you . . .’

  He could stand it no longer. The last remnants of his resistance fled, he wasn’t aware of where he was, nor did he care. His mouth came down on hers, drowning out her words, engulfing each of them in a tidal wave of excitement as they went wild together, kissing, touching, lost in a world of fierce and untamed longing . . .

  The creaking of the opening door came to Fergus through a welter of dazed emotions. Looking up he saw Bob framed in the doorway, mouth agape, face a study of blank disbelief.

  Bob had come back because he had forgotten his pipe, and he immediately forgot it all over again as his astounded eyes absorbed the scene before him. Rough and tough as he was from a lifetime of shepherding and farming, Bob was first and foremost a gentleman, one whose loyalty to the McKenzies had never faltered through all the years he had known and w
orked with them. He recognised their strengths and their weaknesses and knew things about them that no one else outside of the family would ever know. Their secrets were safe with him; he had tried never to interfere with their lives, though there had been occasions when it had taken him all his time to hold his tongue.

  This was one of those occasions, and it was maybe just as well that the said organ had stuck to the roof of a mouth that had gone suddenly dry with dismay and shock. That, however, was only a temporary condition. He would have his say later. By God and he would! This was more than just a household concern, unless it was stopped it could affect every member of the family, including him! And he was damned if he was going to stand by and allow that scheming little minx of a girl to ruin the good McKenzie name!

  The knuckles of Bob’s hands grew white on the stem of his shepherd’s crook. He clamped his lips together. It wouldn’t do to start ranting, not in front of a stranger. His dignity had always been important to him and he had no intention of losing it now, in spite of what he had just witnessed. With that in mind he muttered, ‘Begging your pardon,’ and hastily withdrew, venting his anger on Gaffer who, expertly tucking in his rear to avoid the tackity boot aimed at him, made off down the track with all haste.

  ‘Christ! That had to happen!’ Fergus said worriedly. ‘And Bob of all people! I’d better go after him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Fergus,’ Fern said in a quick, strange, breathless voice. ‘I only want to please you and give you the things that I know you want from me. All I ask in return is a roof over my head and food enough to fill my belly. I’ll work for all of that if only you’ll give me a chance to gather my wits together. Terrible things have happened to me – if only I could tell you . . .’

  Breaking off she held onto his arm and gazed up at him beseechingly. ‘I’ll do anything you ask of me, if you see fit to grant me this. It’s worse for me at night, when I’m alone and my head won’t stop going round in circles. I’m frightened of the dark and the silence and all I want is a bit of human company. If you care for me at all you’ll come to my room tonight when the little ones are asleep. I’ll be ready for you and I’ll bless you for your kindness.’

  Fergus didn’t answer. Going to the door he shoved his feet into his boots and hurried to catch up with Bob just as he was opening the gate into the fields. Without a word he fell into step beside the old shepherd. There was silence for a few moments then, unable to keep quiet a moment longer, Bob turned to glare at his companion. ‘You’re playing wi’ fire, Fergus,’ he snarled, ‘I know fine you’re going to tell me it’s none o’ my business, but if I were you I’d leave that girl alone.’

  ‘You aren’t me,’ Fergus grunted, ‘and you’re right, it is none o’ your business.’

  ‘Bugger it, man!’ With clenched fists Bob swung round to face Fergus, stopping so suddenly in his tracks he tripped over Gaffer who had been skulking along at his heels in a very subdued manner. Bob released a string of oaths, and the dog retreated to the safety of the trees, there to flop on his belly onto the grass and wait till it was safe for him to come out.

  By this time Bob was boiling with rage and he didn’t mince words when he roared at Fergus, ‘It is my bloody business! I consider myself to be part o’ your family, and I’m damned if I’m going to sit back and watch you ruin your life for a slip o’ a girl who means nothing to you! I’ve known you since you were born! I thought I knew all there was to know about you but I was wrong, today you are a stranger to me and I don’t like the man I see! If I wasny so old and you wereny so tough I’d have a go at knocking some sense into that bloody stubborn head o’ yours!’

  The minute Bob had started shouting Heinz had started growling, warning sounds that rumbled deep in his throat with ferocious intensity. He was quivering from head to foot; his whole being had undergone a metamorphosis in the last few minutes. No longer was he the friendly domestic creature that everyone knew and loved. His lips were drawn back over his fangs, an action that moulded his nose into fearsome furrows that gave him an alarmingly savage appearance.

  He looked ready to spring on Bob at any given moment and sharply Fergus ordered him to, ‘Stay back and be still!’

  Bob paid no heed to the dog. He was breathing heavily, his nose was running, and impatiently he drew a hand across it. Shaking his head he went on in quieter tones, ‘That lassie will only wreak havoc in your life if you don’t get rid o’ her. There’s something gey strange about her. I’ve seen her, wandering about on the shore over by Camus nan Uamh, searching amongst the rocks . . .’ Bob looked uneasy, he shuddered slightly, ‘And that’s a dangerous place for anybody to be, never mind a young lassie who says she doesny know the island. I’m no’ a one for idle gossip, as well you know, but I canny help thinking there’s more to her than meets the eye and I wouldny trust her as far as I could throw her.

  ‘She’s up to no good and yet, there she is in your home, as bold as brass, behaving as if she owns the place and owns you wi’ it. Instead o’ kissing and cuddling her you should be trying to find out more about her. She’s trouble, lad, trouble, and if you carry on as you’re doing you’ll live to rue the day!’

  He glared at Heinz, who was sitting back on his haunches, licking his lips. ‘And it’s about time you trained that dog o’ yours to be a dog and no’ a wild beast! One o’ these days it will hurt somebody and if it ever goes for me I’ll kill the bugger wi’ my own bare hands!’

  With that Bob spat viciously onto the grass, called on his own patiently waiting dog to ‘come ahint’, and strode away, bristling from head to foot with emotion, blue eyes glinting fire, shoulders back, gnarled fingers holding on tightly to his shepherd’s crook as if he badly needed its support in those fraught moments.

  Fergus, who had been stunned into silence for the last few minutes, held onto Heinz’s collar and watched till Bob was out of sight behind a hillock. Never, in all the years of knowing the old shepherd, had Fergus heard him expressing himself with such loquacity, and in his heart he knew that Bob was right to have spoken out as he had; but the heart and mind of Fergus McKenzie of Laigmhor were two very different entities.

  ‘Pig-headed as a mule’s arse!’

  Mirabelle used to say that about him, and if she had come back that day and seen the set expression on his dour, dark handsome face, she would have uttered those self-same words all over again, and maybe a bit more besides. Because, where Fern Lee was concerned, Fergus had no intention of lying down meekly to the laws laid down by anybody, far less Bob Paterson, whose views of the world around him were old fashioned and outdated in the extreme.

  All Bob had done was to weaken Fergus’s earlier resolve to tell the girl she had to go. Let her stay! For as long as she liked! It was his home and he was the boss! Bob and all the rest of them could rant and rave forever if they wanted but in the end what he said went and that was an end to the matter!

  So Fergus convinced himself as he commenced his belated afternoon’s work, but somehow it didn’t make him feel any better. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get Fern out of his mind, and he went over every detail of that breathless interlude he had recently shared with her.

  He remembered how excited he’d felt at her nearness, the softness of her mouth on his, the pulsating sensations he’d experienced at the feel of her hands caressing him. He ached for her and wanted only to know again the sweetness of her young body next to his own, her perfume in his nostrils, the sensual feel of her hair gliding through his fingers.

  She had brought him to a pitch of unbearable longing and for the rest of that afternoon he could hardly concentrate on what he was doing. He wished only for teatime to come, that he might see her again and read in her eyes the messages that he wanted to know.

  Chapter Seventeen

  That night Lorna and Ellie Dawn were in a lively mood and had no intention of going early to bed. They were delighted with the clasps that Fern had given them to adorn their hair. After they had soaked in lathers of scented bubbles in fro
nt of the fire, nothing would do till their locks had been shampooed and dried and the clasps tried out in different hairstyles.

  ‘I want mine in plaits, Aunt Fern,’ Lorna decided, preening herself in front of the bedroom mirror.

  ‘And I want a ponytail,’ Ellie Dawn nodded, her lip jutting a little as she tried to elbow Lorna away from the mirror.

  ‘Ach no, your hair’s too fine for a ponytail,’ Fern said patiently, running her fingers through the child’s silken blonde tresses, ‘and yours is a bit too curly for plaits, Lorna. How would it be if I just gave each of you a good brushing and we’ll try out the clasps in the morning?’

  Ellie Dawn clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘You don’t brush people, Aunt Fern,’ she admonished with a giggle, ‘only dogs and cats and monkeys and horses and nephelants and . . .’

  ‘Elephants,’ corrected Lorna triumphantly. ‘It’s elephants, Ellie Dawn, I’ll show you tomorrow on the blackboard and maybe if we’re very quiet we’ll see a real live one grazing in the woods by Loch Tenee.’

  ‘Nephelants don’t live there!’ cried Ellie Dawn in shock, her eyes widening, her lip trembling. In a faint voice she added, ‘They really and truly don’t, do they?’

  ‘Come on you two,’ laughed Fern, ‘you’ll be seeing pink elephants in your dreams if you go on like this.’

  Lorna shook her head. ‘You don’t get pink elephants, Aunt Fern, only grey ones and green ones and sometimes white and maybe a blue one like Neil Black paints in his colouring book in school.’

  ‘Bed!’ Fern herded the pair of them across the room and they were soon tucked cosily in between the sheets.

  ‘Is Grampa coming up?’ Lorna asked. ‘I want to read him a story.’