by Gian Bordin
"I love you," he whispered. She mumbled something in response without opening her mouth and snuggled up to him again.
* * *
Thursday morning, after a late, but hearty breakfast—Helen’s first chocolate drink—Mrs. Morgan informed them that she had arranged with the minister for the wedding to take place at eleven in the morning, but that the minister wanted to talk to them half an hour earlier. She also told them that she and her husband would serve as witnesses. While Helen blushed, Andrew beamed.
When the landlady was out of hearing, Helen whispered: "You know, she told me yesterday that you seemed to be a very nice and considerate young man and that I would surely be happy with you."
"Is that the reason why you changed your mind about marrying me?"
"No, you silly. I knew that myself. What other man would find it all right when his wife tells him that she’s too tired to make love?"
"Oh, such lame excuses won’t count anymore once you’ve promised in front of the minister to obey me." He winked at her.
"Then I won’t promise to obey you." It was now her turn to wink.
He laughed.
Their intention was to stop at the inn after the ceremony just long enough to change into riding gear and leave town right away. Helen wore her new blue gown. She had again borrowed Andrew’s long white silk stockings and a pair of his underdrawers, which she found intriguing and practical. While in Italy, he had adopted the habit of wearing them. The bonnet completed her outfit. Andrew had put on his good spare clothing which the landlady had tidied up early in the morning.
While Helen packed the saddle bags and folded her new clothes into a cloth bag obtained from Mrs. Morgan, Andrew visited the local goldsmith and bought two gold wedding bands. When he came back, they finished packing, got the horses saddled, and settled the account with the innkeeper.
Shortly after ten, they walked up to the church, just two crooked streets away. The minister received them in his sanctuary off the little side-chapel where he conducted weddings and baptisms. He was an elderly man with a kind face. His relief was obvious when he heard that they were both over twenty-one. He instructed them about the responsibilities of marriage and the duties of bringing up their children as good Christians. After several attempts, he finally posed the question that had seemed to be on his mind all along, whether the bride was with child. He was somewhat disconcerted when Helen answered firmly "no", but then praised them for their abstinence, elaborating at length on the sin of intercourse prior to marriage. A sly smile fleetingly crossed her face.
The minister then explained the ceremony. By that time, it was close to eleven, and they all entered the side chapel. Two old women knelt in the second to the last row of seats, praying. They sat up, sticking their heads together and whispering, when the minister led Andrew and Helen to the front, where Mr. Morgan and his wife were already waiting. The latter smiled at them, while her husband looked somewhat embarrassed.
Andrew beamed happily at his lovely bride, standing in front of the minister, with Mr. Morgan to Andrew’s right and his wife to Helen’s left. The two old women rose too. After a short preamble, announcing the intention of Andrew Matthew Campbell to join in holy matrimony with Helen Mary Campbell, the minister raised his voice and asked into the empty church: "If any Christian has reasons for this marriage not to be made, ye shall speak now or remain silent forever more."
Suddenly, the ominous sound of running footsteps reverberated loudly through the high Gothic vaults of the church’s main nave, and Dougal MacGregor’s booming voice echoed: "I do!"
Startled, Andrew and Helen shot around. Her father, Robert, Robin, her oldest brother, and a fourth man that looked familiar, although Andrew failed to place him right then, came trotting down the aisle, their hands on their pistols stuck in their belts.
For an instant, the seven people in the chapel stood like frozen statues. Then Andrew reacted. He grabbed Helen’s hand, rushed into the minister’s sanctuary, locked the door from inside, and wedged a chair tightly under the door handle. Helen was white as a sheet and trembling like a leaf.
"What are we going to do?" she moaned.
Andrew gave no answer. He studied the windows which were about six feet up. Then he moved the minister’s desk under one of it, climbed on top, opened it, and peered out. It looked onto a narrow alley. The earthen pavement was about ten feet down. He swung himself onto the wide window ledge and straddled it. Bending down, he held out one hand for Helen. For a moment she looked at him without comprehension.
"Quick, Helen," he urged in a low voice.
By then somebody was trying to open the door. Finding it locked, he erupted into angry shouts, immediately joined by several others. They began to bang loudly on the door, and Dougal’s demanding voice ordered Helen to open it. The minister’s weak protests got drowned out. This triggered her into action. She climbed onto the desk, grasped Andrew’s hand and pulled herself up to the window ledge. When she saw the high drop, she almost backed down again. Only his firm grip kept her up.
"Hold on, Helen. I’ll go ahead."
He lowered himself, until he only hung on the window ledge by his hands, and let go, catching the fall with slightly bent knees. But even so he winced as a sharp pain shot through his thigh. Then he stood under the window: "Sit on the ledge and then push yourself off. I’ll catch you."
She moved both legs over the ledge and looked down. Big, frightened eyes met his.
"No, I can’t," she exclaimed.
"Jump, Helen. I will catch you. I promise."
The banging at the door got more insistent and the threats louder. She closed her eyes and jumped. He caught her, staggered backward, lost his balance, and slowly fell on his back, Helen on top of him.
"Can you run?" he asked, getting up quickly.
She nodded. He again took her hand, and they ran down the alley, Andrew limping, while Helen raised her skirts. Before entering the square in front of the church, he quickly checked if any of their pursuers were already coming out. Its door was still fully shut. So they ran past it and within a few seconds disappeared in the narrow streets, leading to the inn. A few minutes later, without taking time to change into riding gear, they galloped out of town on the road to Falkirk.
They kept to the road for about two miles, rapidly putting distance between them and the town. At a small forest near Bannock Burn, Andrew checked whether any other travelers were in sight. The road was empty in both directions. He entered the trees and headed straight into the eastern spurs of the Touch Hills south of the River Forth. They carefully steered away from any settlements, even if it meant making a detour. No word had been exchanged between them since they had left the inn. After about an hour, he slowed down and let Helen ride beside him.
"That was close," he said. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, but I think I’ve never been so frightened as when I jumped from that window."
"I know, Helen. You closed your eyes… I love you for your trust in me."
She smiled wearily. "Do you think we lost them?"
"Yes, at least temporarily. There were few people on the road and it will take them a while before they discover that we left it. That gives us two or three hours head start, and they’ll have trouble deciding which way we went. Hopefully, they’ll go on to Edinburgh, expecting to catch us there."
They rode again in silence.
"I was all set on getting married," she said suddenly, her tone of voice reflecting her resigned expression. "Maybe it’s not to be… I just pray that father didn’t harm Mr. Morgan and his wife. They were both so kind to us, especially Mrs. Morgan. I think she liked us. But with father, you can never tell what he might do when he’s in a rage."
"Surely, he would restrain himself in church!" After a short pause he added: "Helen, we will find another minister. I’ll not give up, if you’re still willing."
She did not answer, just looked at him thoughtfully, and then asked: "Where are we going now?"
"
I thought we would go to Glasgow, rather than stay on the road to Edinburgh where your father is bound to catch up with us since they can ride so much harder than we."
"But we’re not on a road."
"Oh, I thought that initially we simply ride through the hills, keeping off any roads and away from people as much as possible. We still have enough food left from Mr. Nichols pouch. If they find us in these hills, it would be by mere coincidence—"
"I pray they don’t."
"I must say, I’m surprised how quickly they were on our trail and caught up with us. They must have ridden through the whole night. But sooner or later they’ll have to let their horses rest also."
"When my father sets his mind on something, he’s very stubborn, and Robert must be seething for revenge." She paused, and then continued more softly: "His father and mother got killed in that Argyle ambush. That’s when he came to our clachan… He frightens me. He has such a short temper. I don’t know why I ever agreed to marry him. I’m so glad, Andrew, that you never lose your temper."
He smiled and then asked: "Didn’t you love him at all?"
"No," she shrugged. "I was fond of him. When he’s in a good mood, he is a likable fellow and he can be quite funny. Not as serious as you. Many lasses were vying for him."
"Would you like me to be funnier?"
"No, Andrew. You misunderstand. I love you the way you are. Serious. Considerate," she chuckled when she said the last word, "as Mrs. Morgan said… And I can talk with you. Robert and I never talked much. Mind you, he’s not the only young man like this. Talking for him means that the other person listens to what he has to say. And that’s not much. I doubt he ever read a book. I don’t even know if he can read."
"So what did he then talk about?"
"Oh, he would mainly brag about how he and his friends got drunk, or how he beat that other fellow in a fight, or played a bad trick on him."
"You never talked about your future together?"
"No, I don’t think he ever gave it any thought except that he would finally be able to ravish me. That was foremost on his mind… In fact, our last fight was because I refused to go for a walk with him, so that he could fondle me."
"But I also like kissing and fondling you."
"Yes, I know, but with you it’s different."
"Maybe you see it differently, because you love me."
"Maybe. But it is different… With you I never feel used, and when I tell you to stop, you do so immediately. He would never take a ‘no’ for an answer. It was a constant struggle to keep him off me."
Andrew gave her a mischievous smile. "I can’t remember you ever telling me to stop."
"I did."
"When?"
"You’re teasing me!"
"Yes, I am," he replied, winking at her. "You remember how we chased each other in the heath that summer?"
"Yes. And you remember the sumptuous feasts we had on the rock?" she said, her eyes becoming unfocussed, as if she were looking inside herself.
"—and how you let yourself be caught by me?"
"— and the long talks we had about books."
"— and how we lay in the grass?"
"— and how you told me about your work?"
"— and we kissed,"
"— and never wanted to stop."
"Yes, I remember our summer." His face had become serious again. "It sustained me for almost four years."
"I felt like the world had come to an end when mother told me you were my half-brother."
"So did I, and then I cursed her… I still feel ashamed about it. She did what she thought she must do."
"You’re kinder to her than she deserves. She betrayed me. She sent me into the shielings, knowing that I would try to find you, and then had Robert follow me… I can’t forgive her for this."
They rode in silence for a while. Andrew picked up their conversation again: "Yet, I still admire her. Don’t judge her too harshly, Helen. She didn’t have an easy life. All she wanted was to protect her family. And I’m not her family, even if she thinks that she gave birth to me."
"Oh Andrew! How can you be so forgiving?"
"She was used by my father, like my own mother when she was sent there to learn to become a lady, and the little I know of my father’s family tells me that they didn’t make it easy for her once she was pregnant."
"No, they didn’t. She told me that she wasn’t given a choice; that shortly after giving birth, she was sent back to her parents, without her child."
"That’s what aunt Lorna said."
"Who is she? You have an aunt?"
"No, I just called her that when I was a boy. She used to look after me. She is the one who told me who my mother was."
"Did you have any other siblings?"
"Not that I know of. I think after getting two girls pregnant, Lord Archibald was sent to England for several years. I remember seeing him for the first time when I was about five years old… Helen, please marry me! We will find another minister."
"Let’s not rush it."
He searched her eyes and simply said: "I love you."
* * *
By late afternoon they got to the upper reaches of Endrick Waters, a river emptying into the southern shores of Loch Lomond. Hidden in a small coppice along the river, they rested and ate the remaining sausage, a slice of cheese, and bread. The clear stream meandering through bushes and stunted trees invited them to bathe. They both felt rather dirty and sweaty. Not just the healthy sweat of exertion, but the bitter, pungent sweat of fright and anxiety. They quickly shed their clothes and dipped into a dark pool of clear water, soaping themselves, their hair, and each other with Andrew’s soap.
After changing into their riding gear, he retrieved the two wedding bands he had bought and offered her the smaller one without a word. She took it hesitantly, studied it, and then slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand. Holding up the hand in front of her, she looked at it and smiled bashfully. He put on his and kissed her cheek.
They were soon on their way west again, now keeping close to the ridges of the Campsie Fells, south of Endrick Waters, rather than to the more populated valley floor. They started looking out for a secluded glen to spend the night, where their horses could graze without risking discovery. Below the Corrie of Balglass, they saw a short valley, enclosed on three sides by steep crags, its entrance blocked by a dense copse of trees and bushes. Leading the horses on foot up the stony creek through the trees, they found a small meadow at its far end, offering succulent grasses for their horses.
They laughed with joy and spontaneously embraced. After releasing the horses, they lay on Andrew’s riding coat, their first occasion for talking leisurely. Helen wanted to know everything of his travels. Dusk was settling into the glen when their stomachs asserted themselves again, and they ate more cheese and bread. When darkness had swallowed the glen, they wrapped themselves in his coat, snuggling tightly up to each other, listening to the sounds of the night, until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
13
Midmorning on the next day, they saw in the far distance the church tower of Killearn, surrounded by a few whitewash houses and cottages. Andrew turned south, and they soon joined the road to Glasgow. Their pace picked up, and they again watched out for a group of four riders. Periodically they cantered, letting their horses recover their strength in between. By late afternoon, the faint outlines of St. Mungo’s Cathedral heralded their approach to Glasgow.
They put up at the Hotel of the Good Shepherd, the first inn they came across into Glasgow, just below St. Mungo’s Cathedral at the intersection of Rottenrow Street with the top of High Street. This time, they were not met with suspicious glances. Helen’s neat, fashionable outfit, their expensive looking horses, particularly the black stallion, and Andrew’s impeccable English accent, cultivated for the occasion, were thoroughly convincing.
After a leisurely evening meal, crowned by an excellent bottle of French wine, Andrew suggested with a telli
ng smile that they retire to their bedroom. Helen immediately knew what was on his mind, and what she wanted too. Once the door was securely locked, they smiled at each other, and without a word each began to undress the other teasingly, giggling, kissing, and cuddling.
"Oh, Helen, you’re so lovely," he whispered, holding her away from him, his hands on her hips, admiring her sensuous womanly curves. He bent forward and kissed her left nipple. She lifted her right breast for him to kiss also, giggling as he did. Their eyes met, full of anticipation. She put her arms around his neck, and their bodies came together, skin on skin. He felt her soft, warm breasts against his chest. She clasped his hot manhood inside her thighs. They kissed, their tongues playfully teasing each other.
"It’s the first time we make love in a bed, Helen," he whispered.
She simply smiled and continued kissing him peckishly. "Andrew, don’t make me with child yet. Not as long as we aren’t married and still on the run."
* * *
Lying on the bed in blissful contentment, tenderly stroking each other, she said: "Andrew, do you believe me that I never lay with Robert. He was lying."
He kissed her nose. "Yes, Helen, I do."
"You’re the only man I’ve ever been with," she whispered, and then she added, accusingly: "But you’ve been with other women, I know."
"How do you know?" he replied, smiling.
"Because you’re so much more skillful. You do things that you didn’t do the first time we made love up on the lochan. Sometimes I can hardly stand it."
"Maybe I just invented them, dreaming of making love to you these past four years." There was a teasing twinkle in his eyes.
"Maybe you did dream of making love to me, but you also were with other women… You can’t fool me!"
He nibbled on her left earlobe. "Yes, I was with a few women," he whispered huskily into her ear.
"Many! … How many?"
