Summer of Love

by Gian Bordin

  "Lieutenant Gordon, I’ll report this to Lord Glenorchy," Andrew shouted enraged.

  "Shut up and get back to your station or I’ll have you in chains!"

  Ignoring him, Andrew went over to Mary. The old woman looked lifeless. "Can I bring her water, Mrs. MacGregor," he murmured in Gaelic.

  "She’s dead."

  "Oh, I’m sorry. I tried to prevent it," he stuttered.

  "Go! You are no better than them." She did not even look up, but continued stroking the hair of the old woman.

  She could hardly have said anything more devastating. He just wanted to run, run and never stop. This was the end. He had lost all rights to even think of Helen. His head lowered, he led his horse to the edge of the wood. Staring blankly into the trees, his mind repeated her words over and over.

  By midmorning, a group of soldiers drove the cattle from the glen. The goats were missing. So they got them away in time, mused Andrew bitterly. Maybe they hid them already earlier. Shortly afterward, the rest of the troop marched out with their loot, leaving a miserable burnt-out clachan behind. Before entering the trees, Andrew turned around. Mary had not moved. She was still cradling the old woman on her lap.

  4

  Middle of June, rumors abounded that Donald MacLaren, who had held a captain’s commission with the Appin Stewarts and had fought at Culloden, had been sighted in the area, together with a small group of his followers. Andrew was again summoned to serve as guide to Lieutenant Gordon, heading his infantrymen in a thorough search of Glen Ogle, the pass between Glen Dochart and Lochearnhead. They reached that town without finding any signs of the fugitives. While the soldiers returned to Killin along the road, Lieutenant Gordon ordered Andrew to guide him and his group of four dragoons over the crest of the mountain range. "They might as well check out the tops for any traces of MacLaren," he argued.

  Andrew didn’t like the idea. If they strayed too much to the east, it would lead them right into the shielings of the MacGregors, where he expected them to hide. Not only was this fraught with danger—Dougal and his group still had their arms—but Andrew was loath to meet up with them. He was sure Lieutenant Gordon would want to arrest the men, and he didn’t dare to think what that brute might do to the women and children. So, he selected a path that deliberately stayed along to top of the steep ridge above Glen Ogle. But when the small schist outcrop that marks the flat top of Beinn Leabhain came into view, the lieutenant steered them to the right over the gently undulating high plateau to the upper glen of the Achmore Burn, which opened up the view to the distant light blue waters of Loch Tay. Andrew realized that this would bring them closer to the MacGregor shielings. Barely over the saddle into the glen they surprised a group of women digging roots near the creak about a half a mile further down. The women spotted them too. After a moment’s hesitation, they dropped whatever they were doing, raised their skirts and started running toward the ridge several hundred feet to the east. Gordon and his dragoons immediately gave chase and had the group surrounded before they managed to reach the ridge that dropped down to the forested ravine below. Andrew followed more slowly. As he got closer, he recognized Mary MacGregor, Helen, her younger sister Betty, and two other women in their early thirties, one with a young boy of six or seven. Betty was crying hysterically. The women were breathing hard and eyeing the dragoons apprehensively.

  His heart pounding high in his throat, Andrew held back. He couldn’t tell if they had recognized him. He was in turmoil. Part of him simply wanted to gallop away so that he wouldn’t have to face Helen. Part wanted to charge Lieutenant Gordon and kill him. But he also knew that this would be foolish. They were five well-trained soldiers. It would be suicide and wouldn’t help the women.

  Lieutenant Gordon seemed to have guessed who they were. "So, you’re the MacGregors from Loch Tay who got away the other day before we arrived. Aren’t you the one with the old hag?" he addressed Mary directly. "And where are your men?"

  Mary’s expression did not hide her contempt for the Englishman, nor did she deign him with an answer.

  "Woman, I’m talking to you. Where are your men?" shouted Gordon, anger reddening his face for being ignored so contemptuously in front of his men.

  She responded with a sneer: "I don’t know. But even if I did, I would hardly tell you!"

  "We can easily make you talk, woman. Don’t expect me to show you mercy again as I did the other day."

  "It doesn’t take much courage to attack defenseless women and children, but then we wouldn’t really expect more from the English," came her derisive answer.

  Fuming, Gordon dismounted and approached her threateningly. She stayed proudly put, her eyes fierce. He grabbed her plaid and ripped it off. The brooch holding it in place tore the front of her petticoat, revealing her bosom. He laughed and reached for a breast. She spat in his face.

  "I’ll teach you, you bitch," he shouted, landing a punch under her rib cage. Winded, she pressed her fists into her stomach, fighting her urge to buckle forward. He started tearing her petticoat. For a moment she was stunned and then fought back. But he was a big, strong man and threw her easily to the ground. She got up, naked, facing him defiantly. He threw her down again. She tried to stumble back on her feet. Grabbing her with his left arm around the waist from behind, he forced her to her knees. He twisted her right arm up her back, pushing her upper body forward. She stifled a scream of pain, biting her lips. He went down on his knees and opened his breeches. With a rough push he entered her from behind. She gasped and closed her eyes.

  This was the signal for the four dragoons to fall on the other women and girls. The two women started to run away again. They were hunted down by two pursuers. A third went after Helen. She dodged him several times.

  It all escalated so fast that Andrew’s first reaction was paralysis. No, this can’t be happening! He needed to retch. Then he saw the fourth dragoon jumps off his horse near Betty. She had not moved, like frozen to the ground, still whining hysterically, a hand over her mouth, watching in terror the lieutenant rape her mother.

  This shook Andrew into action. He shouted: "Leave her alone, she’s but a child," adding in Gaelic: "Run, Betty, run!"

  The dragoon hesitated for a second. But that seemed enough for the girl’s survival instinct to take over. She ran to the ridge and the safety of the trees in the ravine, the little boy at her tails. The dragoon grinned, and went to help a comrade subdue one of other two women who was fighting him off wildly.

  For a short moment, Andrew gave in to his own urge to run, to gallop away from this ugly scene. His spurs already pressed into the horse’s side, when he saw dragoon Kelly, a hideous, big man in his forties, rough up Helen, who pummeled him with little effect. He just laughed, finding it funny. Her plaid lay already on the ground and her petticoat had a big tear in front. Andrew turned his mare and rushed to them. Jumping off the horse on the run, he made a flying tackle on the dragoon. Kelly had seen him coming and easily parried the assault with his shoulder. Then he stepped back, feigning surprise. Holding the struggling Helen at arms length, he exclaimed: "Aye, aye, master Andrew, you may ravish her first. I’ll hold her down for you."

  When Helen saw Andrew, she suddenly stopped struggling, big, frightened eyes on him. And then came his realization that he couldn’t save her by fighting Kelly. Even his fighting skills were no match for the big man, who could easily knock him out with one or two well-aimed punches, and Helen would remain at his mercy. On the spur of the moment, he changed tactics. Agree with his suggestion and get Helen away from him, cried his mind.

  "I can handle her. I don’t need your help," he said, hardly recognizing his croaking voice.

  With Helen struggling no longer, Kelly let go, lustily eyeing Helen’s breasts showing through her torn petticoat. "So get on with it, lad. I’ll take her after you," he urged.

  Andrew pulled Helen a few steps behind low shrubs and then pushed her to the ground. Kelly laughed again and exclaimed: "Bashful, master Andrew, are you?"


  Andrew opened the front of his trews and lay on her. Helen’s frightened eyes met his, mirroring his own terror. He, covering her bosom with the torn petticoat, and after pulling her skirt up a bit. "Help me, Helen! Pretend! … For God’s sake, scream," he whispered hoarsely, as began to pump on top of her the way he had seen one of the dragoons do earlier. Suddenly, a piercing scream tore through the heath.

  "When I get off, run to the ravine. Don’t look back. Just run!" There was a heart-rending urgency in his voice. He didn’t know whether she understood. He rolled to the side and hissed between his teeth: "Now!"

  She jumped up and, fast as a deer, darted toward across the slope to the ridge, holding her petticoat above her knees. Kelly yelled for Andrew to hold her and, swearing wildly, took up the chase. Just as he was about to run past Andrew, the latter stumbled into his path. Both rolled heavily to the ground. By the time Kelly scrambled back on his feet, Helen was too close to the ravine for him to catch her. Once in the bushes and low trees hiding the ravine, she quickly looked back, and then she was gone. Andrew watched, lightheaded, the sick feeling of shame and delayed fright deep in his guts.

  "You clumsy fellow! You did this on purpose!" railed Kelly. He looked as if he was going to jump Andrew.

  "I’m sorry. I was clumsy!" exclaimed Andrew, retreating a few steps away from Kelly. But his hand was on the hilt of his dagger, ready to throw it. The latter seemed to sense his intention. He knew that he would not manage to knock down Andrew or discharge his pistol before the blade would pierce his throat. Disgustedly, he spat on the ground and complained aggrieved: "Look, now I missed out because of you!"

  Andrew turned his head just a bit. The three women were also running to the ravine. Before they disappeared in the bushes, Mary turned, and holding her torn petticoat to her bosom, she raised her fist and shouted defiantly: "You’ll pay for this! Your days are numbered!"

  The dragoons taunted her, and Gordon yelled back: "You want some more?"

  His echo returned mockingly. The soldiers laughed again and then collected the four plaids and the brooches, the women had left behind when they fled. Three of them were silver with the MacGregor code of arms engraved. More loot to sell and supplement their meager pay, were Andrew's bitter thoughts. Suddenly, an all-consuming hatred was burning inside him.

  * * *

  Catching her breath, Helen scrambled down to the ravine. Her first thought was to look for Betty. She found her cowering behind a large boulder. The girl was shivering and sobbing silently. Helen took her in her arms, stroking her back.

  "It’s all right, little Betty. Nothing happened to you." She kissed her hair.

  Betty looked up, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks. "Did … did the men … ?" She could not bring herself to utter the ugly word.

  "No, … they didn’t."

  "But I saw master Andrew holding you."

  "He helped me get away, like he helped you."

  Up to that moment this fact hadn’t really sunk in. Just getting away had been her only aim. Why had he done it? Betty buried her head again on her bosom.

  Shortly afterward, she heard her mother curse the soldiers and then the three women came down into the ravine, the two younger ones badly shaken, one with a glassy look, the other crying, while Mary’s face was somber, like set in stone. She was still naked.

  "Come to the creek, lass," she ordered Helen with a grim voice and headed for a pool. There, she crouched down and washed her crotch, letting the icy liquid enter her. Without being told, the other two women did the same.

  "What are you waiting for, lass? Come, wash yourself. It may prevent you from getting with child."

  "I wasn’t raped."

  "I saw the factor’s apprentice push you down."

  "He didn’t rape me."

  "Child, don’t lie to me. I heard you scream."

  "I screamed because he begged me."

  "I don’t believe you. Why do you want to protect that lad?"

  Helen lifted her petticoat, exposing her crotch, and said, almost shouting: "Here, look! There’s no blood. You want to check me?"

  "Why did he then—?"

  Helen interrupted her: "Because he wanted to help me, the same as he helped Betty get away. He—"

  "Don’t defend him. He may have spared you. But it was he who brought the soldiers to our clachan and watched them burn it. He brought them up here. He’s as guilty as they are."

  Helen did not answer. It was all true. Maybe he had little choice about that. She didn’t want to defend him. She was too stunned and confused herself.

  After the three women had washed themselves, they tried fixing their torn petticoats as best as they could to cover themselves. Mary wrapped Betty’s plaid around her, since the top of her petticoat was in shreds. Then, she climbed cautiously back to the ridge and checked if the dragoons had left. The last of them, trailed by Andrew, was just disappearing in the scattered trees farther down the glen. She waited for a while to make sure that they were not returning, and then called the others to come up too.

  They had come here to dig roots for a meal. In the rush to escape, they had left their tools and the roots already dug behind. They still needed to finish their job if they wanted any food on the table that night. Although deeply distressed and frightened, nobody needed any encouragement, except Betty who still was in a state of shock, periodically shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. Helen remained close, holding her and offering words of solace. The girl’s slight body suddenly seemed so fragile. Taking care of her sister’s anguish relieved her own mind from the hideous pictures that relentlessly assailed her—her mother’s brutal rape, the loathsome face of the dragoon who caught her, Andrew’s frightened eyes.

  * * *

  Under the cover of the fading light, the MacGregor men came out of their daytime hiding places in the ravines or the moors near the mountain tops and returned to their families.

  "Is dinner ready?" Dougal called out as he entered his hut, the largest of three. "We are hungry!"

  "We’re all hungry," muttered Mary, her back turned to him, as she stoked the fire under the big soup kettle.

  "There is no game left, just a few crows. Not worth wasting our bullets on them… What’s for dinner?"

  Mary did not respond.

  "Maybe I should lift a sheep or two from the McNabbs up Ardeonaig’s way. Trouble is their guards carry guns, as if they expected trouble. And if they suspect us they will call the soldiers in."

  He looked at her expectantly. She still busied herself with the fire.

  "Woman, why don’t you talk to me?"

  She rose, facing him, and he saw the roughly stitched rips of her petticoat. "What happened to you? Was there a fight?"

  "We were roughed up by English dragoons. They tore away our plaids."

  "Did they come into our shielings?"

  "No, it was over by the Achmore burn."

  "What were you doing over there? Didn’t I tell you not to leave our shielings?"

  "And where do you think our food comes from? There are no oats left, and you men haven’t brought us anything yet."

  He looked at her outraged and raised his voice: "Didn’t you hear? There’s no game left. We’ll have to kill our goats. That will give us some decent food."

  "You will not touch the goats, not over my dead body! We need their milk. Or do you want to bury your son before the summer is over too?"

  "All right, woman. But why did you go all the way over there?"

  "Because we have to dig roots where they grow. The same as you will have to get meat where there’s some."

  "Don’t you ever listen, woman? I told you the shepherds are armed. Or you want us to get shot at?" retorted Dougal angrily.

  "And you want us to get raped?" It was said with vile vehemence.

  "What do you mean, woman?" Dougal thundered. Then he noticed Helen huddled in a corner, holding Betty. The girl started to tremble again when Dougal raised his voice.

  All color drained f
rom his face, and then he roared: "The bastards! I am going to kill them all! Robbing me of my honor."

  "Is this all you care about? Your honor?" Mary asked, hurt, the tears she had suppressed all that time suddenly bursting.

  For an instant, he looked at her as if she had slapped him. Then he yelled: "If you hadn’t gone over there, this wouldn’t have happened. But you always know better! … And why couldn’t you run away?"

  "Because they were on horses," she cried.

  "One of you should have been a lookout?"

  "It wouldn’t have made any difference. They came over the top and were upon us before we reached the ravine below the lochan." Her voice sounded resigned again.

  "Oh, God!" He pressed both fists onto his forehead and pushes out an angry groan. "I will kill every one of them," he growled between clenched teeth. "These bastards, defiling my wife and daughters." He slumped onto a stool.

  "Betty and I weren’t harmed," Helen murmured. "Master Andrew helped us get away."

  "Ah, I should have guessed it. It was he who brought the dragoons over the top, the conniving bastard," Dougal raved again. "He led them to our clachan, killed my mother, and now he brought them up into the shielings to rape our women. I will strangle him with my own hands."

  "But he helped Betty and me escape! … He could have raped me, and there was another soldier there to help him. He tricked him into letting me go," she pleaded.

  "He probably could not get it up," sneered Dougal. "Yes, that’s it."

  "Dougal, watch your words," muttered Mary, but he ignored her and ranted on: "He is impotent, the miserable, despicable coward. That’s why he was afraid to go to battle… I should have known not to trust him… Burn this into your minds, children, all of you. Never trust a Campbell. You could not trust them fifty years ago when they murdered the MacDonalds of Glencoe in cold blood and you can’t trust them now. Listen, they even were their guests for two weeks and ate their food." He caught his breath. "How gullible I was to believe him! He was so sly with his talk of not taking sides, and then he brings the soldiers into our clachan and burns our houses and steals our cattle."