High on a Mountain (2 page)

Latharn’s brown eyes emitted a vivid flash of
animosity. He raised his stick, aimed it at Coinneach and jabbed
him in the stomach. Coinneach grunted as his breath left him. He
doubled over and crumpled. Latharn ran after the ball, a satisfied
gleam in his eyes.

Camanachd
was a rough game and players
were often injured during play. But Coinneach had not been injured
because of play. Ailean knew it. Latharn often behaved
dishonorably. Ailean glanced at his brother lying on the ground,
retching and gasping for breath, and rage flowed through him. He
wouldn’t let Latharn get away with his maliciousness. Ailean’s
anger gave him strength and resolve, and he ran after Latharn,
heedless of the pain from his injured leg.

With long bounds, he overtook Latharn,
elbowed him and knocked him off stride. Ailean pushed his
caman
under the ball and lobbed it skyward. Two Cambeul
players hurled themselves at him, but he kept his balance and
raised his stick, watching the descent of the leather-covered orb.
Latharn swung his stick up in front of Ailean, jumped and reached
for the ball with it. His swing missed its intended target, and his
stick collided with Ailean’s head. The ball dropped untouched to
the ground between them.

Latharn snaked his stick in front of Ailean
and took the ball again. Ailean plunged to the left, his stick
extended, but Latharn changed direction to keep the ball out of
Ailean’s reach. Ailean made a long leap and landed in front of
Latharn. Ailean pushed the ball away from Latharn’s
caman
,
took aim and hit it.

It bounced along the ground, with all the
players in pursuit. Latharn thrust his stick in front of Ailean to
trip him again, but Ailean jumped over it and tore down the field
at top speed. His long legs carried him faster and farther than the
other players, and he reached the ball first as it rolled to a
stop. He took a long swing, hit the ball hard, and it streaked past
the goalkeeper.

Ailean made the winning goal. Again.

A raucous cheer went up from the Clan
MacLachlainn spectators, and they ran onto the field. They
congregated around their victorious players, cheering and
celebrating their win. The small clan had beaten powerful Clan
Cambeul for the third year in a row.

Ailean limped back to Coinneach, who pulled
himself to his hands and knees.

“Are you all right, brother?”

Coinneach nodded. “I’m better than all
right.” He smiled, then grimaced and sat back on his heels and
clutched his stomach. He smiled again. “You fixed Latharn. His clan
lost.”

Ailean held out his hand. His brother grasped
it and pulled himself to his feet.

“I couldn’t let him get away with what he did
to you.” Ailean brushed damp hair from his perspiring face and
wiped away the trickle of blood from the cut Latharn’s stick had
made on his forehead.

He caught sight of Latharn, who glowered at
him from the fringe of a group of Cambeul men. He frowned at
Latharn, pointed a finger at him and mouthed the words, “Don’t
ever
hurt my brother again!”

The two stared at each other until some of
Ailean’s clansmen reached him. They patted his shoulder and
congratulated him along with the other MacLachlainn players.
Everyone knew who had won the game, knew who had won every game
each of the three years since he began playing at the age of
fourteen: Ailean MacLachlainn.

His father, Aodh, and mother, Brìghde, made
their way through the crowd to congratulate their sons.

“You did well, son,” Aodh said to Ailean.

Ailean’s smile broadened at the words of
praise from his father. “Thank you, Da. But it wasn’t just me. If
it hadn’t been for Coinneach—”

“Aye, you did well, too, Coinneach,” Aodh
said. “I’m proud of both of you.”

“How is your leg?” Brìghde leaned down to
look at Ailean’s shin. “I need to see to that cut.”

“I’m fine, Ma, just fine.” Ailean,
embarrassed by his mother’s attention, turned his body to keep his
injured leg away from her scrutiny.

“And you, Coinneach,” she continued. “How is
your stomach?”

“I’m fine, Ma.”

“That Cambeul man.” Brìghde shook her head.
“Sometimes I’d like to—”

“Well, little brother.” Coinneach looked up
at Ailean with a smile. “You won the game for us again this year. I
guess they’ll let you claim to be a part of the clan for a while
longer.”

“Maybe.” Ruairidh MacLachlainn, one of the
chief’s tacksmen, clapped a hand on Ailean’s shoulder and laughed.
“Brilliant playing, Ailean, just brilliant! Thanks for winning for
us again.”

Ailean, unaccustomed to being singled out for
praise and recognition, enjoyed the attention. “Thanks. I did my
best.”

A growing feeling of being watched nagged at
him, made him uncomfortable, and he scanned the crowd. He saw
Latharn Cambeul’s dark eyes fastened upon him in a malevolent
glare. An almost imperceptible shiver passed through his body, and
he turned his back on Latharn. And toward the enjoyment of the
victory celebration.

____________

Latharn sat by the fire with his father, who
was sipping his usual evening drink of whisky.

“Are you still fretting about the game?”
Eachann asked his son.

“That MacLachlainn boy. I wish he’d break a
leg or something. Ever since he started playing, we haven’t won a
game.”

“Things come and things go. He won’t play
camanachd
forever. Then, we’ll probably be the winners
again.”

Latharn noticed his father’s empty glass.
“Can I pour you another dram, Father?”

“No. I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”
Eachann frowned, in thought. “I saw some of the MacThàmhais boys
playing when I rode by their croft a week or two ago. One of the
boys is good, quite good. He’ll be old enough to play in a year or
two, and maybe he’ll turn our fortunes around.”

Latharn made no comment. He didn’t care about
the MacThàmhais boy, didn’t care if the boy helped Clan Cambeul win
in years to come. He only cared that MacLachlainn defeated his clan
while Latharn himself played on the team, that MacLachlainn bested
him.

Latharn enjoyed his status as the best player
in Clan Cambeul. He resented the erosion of respect resulting from
the game losses to Clan MacLachlainn. He looked into the flames,
seething, his dislike for Ailean MacLachlainn deepening.

____________

When spring arrived, thoughts of planting, of
eking out meager crops on the thin soil of the crofts, replaced
thoughts of
camanachd
competition in most crofters’ minds.
Matters of survival took precedence over clan rivalries and ball
games.

Ailean’s family and the neighbors who were
joint tenants on their croft drove their sheep and cattle to the
airigh
, away from the unfenced fields of the croft where the
men would plant oats and barley. The women and children tended the
animals through the summer months, holding them at the
airigh
so they would not destroy the growing crops. And the
cattle fattened on the lush grass of the upland pasture.

In late summer, after the people harvested
the oats, the men gathered the cattle and sorted them for the drive
to the croft. Aodh MacLachlainn discovered one of his cows was
missing.

“Ailean. Go find her. She can’t have wandered
far,” Aodh told his son.

His father’s order rankled.
He always
gives me the worst jobs, things a child can do. And Coinneach
always gets the manly chores. It isn’t fair!

“Why me? Why not Coinneach?” Ailean
asked.

“Just do as you’re told.”

Ailean walked away, grumbling under his
breath. He went to the hut to get a piece of cheese to carry with
him. This trek could take an hour or it could take all day, and he
wanted to be prepared. He didn’t enjoy going hungry.

When he squatted to get a piece of cheese
from the bottom shelf, his scabbard banged into his leg and jerked
against the strap fastened around his waist. The irritation begun
by his father’s order grew with the aggravation caused by the
unwieldy sword. Ailean clenched his teeth and tried to push the
sword into a better position. But no matter what he tried, he
couldn’t reach the shelf in the close quarters of the tiny hut with
the sword strapped in place. At last, he unfastened the belt and
laid the sword aside while he got his cheese.

He looked at the sword when he stood and
placed the cheese in his
sporan
, and a spirit of rebellion
rose within him. Da told his sons never to go about unarmed. But
the heavy sword always got in the way. It would be even more
cumbersome in the rough country he’d travel through on the hunt for
the missing cow. Besides, it was useless to carry the extra weight.
He’d never drawn his sword except in training sessions.

Ailean’s habitual rashness did not allow him
to see beyond his current aggravation with the sword. And the task
his father assigned him still irritated like a persistent gnat
buzzing around his head. He set his jaw in defiance, giving no
thought to how his disobedience could affect him, and, against Da’s
explicit orders, Ailean left the sword where it lay and walked
unarmed from the hut into the bright sunlight of the August
morning.

TWO

Ailean located the cow and her calf on the
side of a hill before midday. Good. At least he wouldn’t spend the
whole day looking for one old cow.

But the cow refused to be driven up the
slope. He tried every tactic to turn her in the right direction. He
cajoled, yelled, waggled his walking stick at her and waved his
arms, but she stood staring, unmoving, her skewed horn aiming an
empty threat at him.

“You! You there!”

He turned and looked down the hill. Two men
wearing blue Cambeul tartan labored up the incline. When they drew
near, Ailean recognized one of them and groaned.

Just what I needed. More trouble.

Ailean brushed his hair from his face and
tugged the right side of his bonnet further down on his
forehead.

“Well, well. What have we here. A
MacLachlainn. Trespassing on Cambeul land,” Latharn Cambeul said.
“And trying to lift some of my cattle, besides.”

“No, I’m not. This cow belongs to my da. She
wandered from the
airigh
.”

“You’re a liar. And you’re a cattle thief.”
Latharn moved to the left and signaled his companion to circle to
the right.

A flush of burning anger colored Ailean’s
face a deep red. “I’m no thief. That’s my da’s cow, and I can prove
it.”

“Let’s see you try.”

“Before we drove our cattle to the
airigh
this spring, we put Da’s mark on them all with tar.
On the right side of the neck, like we always do. You can see it
from where you stand.”

Although the small, shaggy cow was black, the
clotted black tar mark was visible on her neck.

“I don’t see a thing,” Latharn said. “Do you,
Odhran?”

His companion hesitated, then shook his
head.

“You can leave now, MacLachlainn. Without my
cow.”

“No. I’ll not leave without this cow!” Ailean
shouted.

“I think you
will
.” Latharn drew his
sword.

Ailean gritted his teeth and reached for his
dirk, berating himself for leaving his sword in the hut. His dirk
would be no match for Latharn’s sword. If only he had his sword,
he’d teach Latharn a thing or two about tangling with a
MacLachlainn.

“Odhran,” Latharn said. “Your sword.”

When Ailean heard the metallic scrape of
Odhran’s sword leaving its sheath, he began backing away from the
two men as they advanced, keeping his eyes fixed on Latharn. The
cow, intimidated by the two additional men, wheeled and ran
clattering up the rocky slope, followed by her calf. Ailean turned
and ran after her.

Latharn laughed. “Look at the coward run,
Odhran. Isn’t that the funniest sight you’ve ever seen?”

Ailean stopped for a moment and looked down
at Latharn. “Not nearly as funny as watching you lose the
camanachd
game year after year.”

“Get off my range!” Latharn shouted.

I’ll never run from him again. No matter
what
, Ailean thought as he ran behind the cow, humiliation
dogging his steps like a hound on the trail of a fox.
Even if he
cuts me to pieces, I’ll stand and fight.

____________

The cow reached the pasture of the
airigh
with no further trouble. She and her calf trotted to
join the herd, and Ailean circled around the cattle to his father’s
side.

“Da, that old cow brought me some trouble
today. With Latharn Cambeul.”

His father glanced at him. “How so?”

“She wandered onto their range. He and
another man came along when I was trying to get her moving, and he
accused me of trespassing. He called me a liar and a cattle
thief.”

Aodh turned to face him. “And did you demand
an apology for the insult?”

“No.”

“And why not?”

Ailean looked away, unable to meet Da’s
piercing stare. “I was without my sword.”

“You were without your sword?”

Ailean didn’t answer.

“Sometimes, Ailean, I despair of you ever
learning to do the right thing.” He took a deep breath, released it
in a disgusted sigh. Aodh emphasized each word as he said, “What
have I told you, again and again.”

Ailean ducked his head, fixed his gaze on the
grass at his feet and repeated his father’s directive. “‘Always be
armed, always be prepared for trouble if it comes, but don’t make
trouble.’”

“That’s right. Remember that. Don’t
ever
go about without your sword again.”

Ailean stood, stiff and unable to move,
embarrassment and frustration, like twin spikes, fastened him to
the spot. He had disappointed Da again. His impatience and
disobedience cost him more of Da’s respect.