by Gian Bordin
"Is that better? Do I now look decent enough for my man?" she teased him.
"Yes, Helen… You’re not annoyed with me?"
"No, you silly man, I’m not."
He took her right hand and held on to it for a few second, searching her eyes. Then he kissed her palm, and she withdrew her hand, giggling.
"This tickles… Shouldn’t we be off?"
They took to the road to Callander again, riding at a brisk pace, side-by-side. Whenever it went downhill, they cantered. Although Helen had never ridden a full-size horse—her only experience had been riding bareback on the smaller Highland ponies—she quickly got the hang of it. Initially, they just looked at each other from time to time, exchanging smiles, Andrew’s full of happiness, Helen’s often revealing a troubled sadness. The finality of her decision of following Andrew and never seeing her family again weighed heavily. Her biggest regret was that she hadn’t said goodbye to Betty, of never seeing her best friend again. She already missed her.
After a while, Andrew seemed to become aware of it. He reached out to touch her hand. He told her what he knew about America. This took her mind temporarily off her trouble, and she wanted to hear about the Indians, about the kind of boat they would sail on, how long it would take them to traverse the Atlantic, whether Andrew intended to buy land there which she had heard was so cheap.
Shortly after midday, they passed through Callander and late afternoon Andrew pointed out a hill rising in the distance.
"Look, we can already see Stirling Castle. We’ll soon be at the Golden Chalice. I’ve stayed there before. It’s a cosy place. You’ll like it, I’m sure."
"I need it. I can feel every muscle. I don’t know if I can still walk."
"I’ll carry you."
"No, you won’t. We’ll have to behave and make a good impression."
"Then let’s pretend we’re married, Helen."
She felt pushed into a corner again. "But we are not."
"If we claim to be brother and sister and anybody suspects us to be lovers, we’re in serious trouble. If we claim to be married, it’s difficult to challenge us. And there are always people who see it as their duty to safeguard the mores of society and who may denounce us the moment they suspect anything, and that could delay us badly."
"All right," Helen said, pursing her lips. "You win… Men always need to win."
"You’re not fair, Helen," he murmured.
They rode silently side by side. Helen stared straight ahead. She could sense Andrew glancing at her from time to time. After a while, he said: "Helen, if you want us to be brother and sister, we’ll do that."
She looked at him for several seconds. His pleading eyes made her feel bad. "No, Andrew. We do as you said… I accused you unfairly. I’m sorry. I think I just reacted that way because I felt you were again pushing me into marrying you right away … in a round-about way."
"I want to marry you, but I’m willing to wait for you to make the decision."
"Even if it takes a lifetime?"
"Even then, but I don’t think it will take a lifetime, my love," he replied, looking at her smiling. She did not respond to his smile and he turned serious. "Helen, there is something you are not telling me. I can feel it."
Should I tell? Could I? Do I really know my own mind? Conflicting feelings were tearing her in different directions. Would he even understand?
"Why don’t you want to tell me? … Please, Helen, I need to know. Nay, I deserve to know."
"Don’t you know what happened to my cousins from Glengyle, that same summer of 1746?"
He looked at her blandly. "No."
"Argyle cavalry brutally killed my uncle, his wife, my cousin Mary and many more—women and children. Your people did that. How can I even think of marrying a Campbell after that?" As she said that, her voice became more and more strident.
His face became somber. "I am sorry, Helen. I did not know. But why do you say ‘my people did that’?"
"—You are Lord Archibald’s blood."
"That’s true and I wish it were not so. But they are not my people. The Campbells of Argyle would rather not know me. They don’t consider me one of theirs, nor do I see myself as one of them… Please, let this not come between us." When she did not respond, he added: "Helen, look at me."
"It is there, Andrew. I can’t help it. I feel disloyal to my clan."
"Time will heal those wounds, as it heals everything."
"It has not and its almost four year now."
"Helen, it will and I refuse to let the quarrels of the clans come between us, but I will not press you. I’ll give you all the time you need."
She could feel his love reaching out to her and felt suddenly small, petty, adding to her confusion.
A flicker of a smile crossed his face. "For what it’s worth, I am also half MacDonald."
She felt relieved to be offered an escape and eagerly asked: "You found out who your mother is? Did you meet her?"
"No, she died young. She was a MacDonald, Elizabeth was her name. She married a year after I was born and died in childbirth."
"How sad!"
"Yes, I would have liked to meet her, to know my MacDonald side."
* * *
Helen was awed by the size of the castle dominating the little town on the flank of its hill. But even that little town was larger than any settlement she had ever seen. It was the first real town she visited in her life, with its narrow streets, even narrower alleys of two- and a few three-storey buildings tightly clustered together, with many shops open every weekday.
The Golden Chalice was a small, cosy inn at the lowest part of the town. When Helen attempted to get off the horse, she was too sore to lift her leg over the saddle. She begged Andrew for help, and he slid her out of the saddle. She sensed his desire to embrace her right there and looked at him sternly.
The innkeeper, a man in his early forties, eyed them rather curiously. There was something odd about them—Helen still wearing Andrew’s riding coat, Andrew’s saddle bags their only luggage. He showed them to a small room on the first floor. Once alone, Andrew took Helen into his arms. She simply melted into his embrace, both mentally and physically exhausted.
12
"Would you like to rest a bit?"
Her head under his chin, she just nodded. He lifted her up and laid her on the bed, kissing her forehead. After removing her boots he sat next to her and held her left hand, stroking it. She smiled, her eyes closed. Within a few minutes, her regular breathing told him that she was asleep. He watched her, his heart overflowing with love, with a wish to protect her, to make her happy.
His thoughts began to drift. He made a mental list of things that they needed to do. Uppermost in his mind was his desire to marry Helen, to bind her to him forever. But the two arguments they had earlier that day showed that she wasn’t ready for such a final step yet and that pushing her would simply get her defenses up. He would just have to be patient. In the meantime, they had to avoid drawing the attention of any prying, self-appointed guardians of morality on them. That made it all the essential that she got suitable clothing. Her single petticoat with the same little russet jacket that he had given back to her four years ago, showing off her shapely figure to full advantage, was too immodest for city people. She needed town dresses. A full-length woman’s riding coat to cover herself on the horse would also help avoid any accusations of immodesty. Once in the Lowlands, it might raise eyebrows if she wore his. Wearing wedding bands would bear up their claim of being a married couple, although not all Highlanders wore them. Would she agree to that? It would be a first step to get her accustomed to the idea of marriage, Andrew mused wistfully.
With Helen soundly asleep, he decided to find out about clothing. This was by far the most urgent. He covered her lovingly with a blanket. She turned to her side, mumbling something unintelligible, and he rested a hand on her shoulder for a short while. Then he collected his dirty clothing and tiptoed out of the room in search of the innkee
per’s wife. She had viewed them kindly when they arrived, he remembered, and might have advice. He found her in the laundry. Face to face, he all at once felt awkward and embarrassed about asking and didn’t quite know how to begin. For a moment, he stood in the door frame, undecided.
She was a pretty woman in her mid-twenties. Her swelling waistline hinted that she was pregnant. Noticing his hesitation, she asked: "Have you some clothing to be washed, sir?"
"Yes, that would be kind of you. I dirtied them quite badly in a fall."
"No trouble, sir. They’ll be as new by the morrow."
She took the clothing. When Andrew continued lingering around, she asked: "Is there anything else we can help you with, sir?"
"Maybe," he replied eagerly, relieved that she was making it easy for him. "My wife and I are in a bit of a predicament. We lost her portmanteau and this leaves her with only the clothing she’s wearing. Would you know of a way for her to get an additional dress, and maybe a riding jacket, and even a long riding coat? We would be willing to pay well."
She looked at him questioningly for a few seconds. Andrew couldn’t prevent blushing. Suddenly what he just said sounded a bit threadbare. Finally, she answered: "I’m afraid, I can’t advise you there. Maybe in a bigger town you might be able to buy ready-made dresses and coats, but not in a small place like Stirling, unless somebody is willing to sell you theirs." Then she smiled at him. "But maybe I can help your wife. I have a few gowns that won’t fit me any longer. Your wife is about my size. Maybe some might suit her." She chuckled when she saw Andrew’s visible relief.
She paused for a moment and then added in a soft voice: "You are running away with her, aren’t you?" Her smile showed that she didn’t judge them.
Andrew went crimson, but also had the sense of a burden falling off his shoulders. "Yes, we love each other very much, and her parents refused to let her marry me because I’m a Campbell."
"You’re gentry, aren’t you?"
"Yes, but I’ve no parents." It was no lie, even if it might be misinterpreted.
"Is your lass with child?"
"No."
The young woman scrutinized him for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to believe him. Finally, she smiled again and said: "Tell your lass to come and see me."
"She’s asleep right now. We rode rather far. I’ll tell her as soon as she wakes." He half turned away and then added: "Thank you, madam."
She looked at him kindly. "You seem a nice young man."
Andrew blushed again, not knowing how to respond, except to murmur: "I love her very much."
He returned to their room and sat on a chair next to the bed, watching Helen. He hadn’t asked the woman to keep their secret. But there seemed little need for it. She wouldn’t tell anybody, of that he was sure, at least not as long as they were at the inn.
An hour later, Helen stirred and opened her eyes. At first she was disoriented. Then she saw him and raised herself halfway. "I slept," she exclaimed. "How long?"
He sat on the bed and took her hands. She leaned against him.
"About an hour," he answered. "Do you feel a bit better now?"
She nodded, smiling, as he kissed the top of her head.
"I’ve talked to the landlady. She said that she might have an extra dress or two for you. It would be good to have a riding coat, but I doubt she has that. But she might have a suitable jacket."
"You asked her about frocks for me?"
"Yes."
"Weren’t you embarrassed?"
"Yes, but she was very nice… She also guessed that we’re running away, and I didn’t deny it."
Alarmed, she withdrew her hands.
"I don’t think she’ll tell anybody," he added.
The anxious expression fled her face.
"Are you willing to go and see her? You need extra clothing, even if simply to allay any suspicions."
"Yes. Should I go now?"
"She said you should come when you woke."
He retrieved a little string purse from his pocket and handed it to Helen. "Here’s our money."
"How much may I spend?"
"As much as you need to," he replied, smiling.
She gazed at him, uncertain, and then got up, straightened her clothing, and tidied her hair. At the door, she turned. "Will you wait here, please?"
"Yes, I will. Buy nice things if you have a choice!"
Somewhat uncertain, she answered his smile and left.
Half an hour later she returned, animated, her cheeks rosy, several pieces of clothing draped over her arm.
"Look, Andrew, how beautiful! It goes with a corselet."
She held up a dress against herself. It was a French sack, dark blue, enhancing the color of her eyes, with two double box pleats falling from the neckband and merging into the fullness of the long skirt, the bodice shaped to the figure in front, buttoned to the waist. Holding a matching bonnet to her head, she pirouetted in front of Andrew. He caught her in a hug.
"You’re crushing it!" she exclaimed reproachfully, but returned his light kiss.
"And here’s an extra petticoat and blouse that I can wear over my own, and this waistcoat will do nicely for riding." She held up a gray skirt and white blouse and a dark gray long jacket. "And she also sold me a pair of pumps to go with the blue gown. They fit. She said she could replace them… It cost a lot of money, though," she added in a subdued tone, handing back his purse.
He put it back into his pocket and just smiled, pleased by her enthusiasm.
"Don’t you want to know how much?" she asked, disappointed.
"No, but you may model the things you got," he answered with a smile.
Dismayed by his lack of interest in the cost, she laughed embarrassed. "Would you like me to?"
"Yes, I can hardly wait."
She removed her little russet jacket, and began slipping out of her petticoat. "Turn around. I don’t want you to look at me like that."
"Do I have to? I love to see you."
"Only if you promise to stay where you are."
"Promised!"
She slipped her petticoat over her head, lifting her proud, full breasts.
"You promised, Andrew!" she exclaimed, when she saw the desire in his eyes. She put on the soft corselet and turned around: "Lace it up for me, please, but not too tightly."
He did it and took advantage of it to kiss her neck, murmuring: "You look gorgeous, my love."
She reached for the dark blue gown and opened the buttons in front.
"But you can’t wear this dress over my pants," he chuckled.
Disconcerted, she turned her back to him, removed them, and quickly slipped the dress over her head. Then she put on the pumps and straightened to face him again, slowly buttoning the front of the dress, looking at him provocatively. The dress made her seem taller, accentuating her bust.
He was stunned by the transformation. In front of him stood not the lass in the shielings that he had known, but a fashionable society woman.
"You like it?"
"Oh, Helen, you look so beautiful, like a lady."
"Do I? Will you take me like this to Edinburgh?"
"In this gown, I’ll take you to London to parade in front of the king."
"Mrs. Morgan said that the color suits me well… She’s pregnant, so she doesn’t think that she’ll ever get into these dresses again… She asked me if we were married yet, and I said no." Helen paused, blushing deeply. When she continued, her voice was almost inaudible. "She said she would be willing to ask the minister of their church to marry us tomorrow morning, Andrew."
Andrew’s heart leaped in his chest. "But you said you needed more time."
"I know I said that, but I’m confused. My mind tells me one thing, my heart another." She took three rapid steps and put her arms around his neck. "I love you, Andrew, more than anything. I want to be with you forever … be your wife. Do you still want to marry me?"
"Oh, Helen, how can you even ask. It’s my greatest wish."
Her lips searched his and he responded eagerly.
"Shall I tell her to arrange it?"
"Yes, Helen, please do."
Quickly she sauntered out of the room. His head was still spinning from the sudden turn of events. We’ll get married! He could hardly believe it.
Helen returned soon and said that dinner was ready and that they were expected in the dining room on the ground floor.
"May I come like this, Andrew?"
"I would be very proud if you came like this."
She hooked her arm into his and they walked down to the dining room, her face radiant. The landlady greeted them with an approving smile and showed them to their table.
It was apparent that Helen was intrigued, almost embarrassed to being served attentively. Initially, she struggled a bit with the cutlery, but copying Andrew, she quickly managed. The meal was simple, but tasty. They drank a bottle of light claret. Not being used to wine, Helen got giggly. By the end of their leisurely meal she could hardly keep her eyes open any longer. The strain of the long ride and the excitement, aided by the drink, was taking its toll. She tried to stifle her yawns. Andrew suggested that they go upstairs.
Once back in their room, he asked almost timidly: "Helen, may I sleep with you in the same bed?"
"Yes, Andrew, but I’m too tired and too sore to make love."
"That’s fine. Just holding you close is more than I dared hoping a day ago."
She let him undress her like a child. He opened the buttons of her dress and helped her out of it. Then he undid the laces of her corselet. Without even looking at him, she literally fell under the covers, turned to the wall, and within a few seconds was asleep. He put her clothing carefully over a chair, undressed himself, and lay at her back. He folded an arm protectively around her, cupping one of her breasts. She snuggled up to him. For a long time, he experienced the full intensity of the softness of her skin, the subtle shifts of pressure on his body as she breathed, the euphoria of his happiness, being pleasantly aroused, until sleep transported him away too.
In his dreams he heard Helen’s stifled cries and was suddenly wide awake. She was sitting up, trembling, and sobbing silently. He put an arm around her, rocking her gently back and forth, crooning her name. After a while her sobs subsided, and they lay down again.
