High on a Mountain (7 page)

“Hello, the house!” Aodh called when they
emerged from the woods into a clearing surrounding a large
house.

The door opened and Ruairidh stepped
outside.

“Aodh, is something wrong?” Ruairidh, a
tacksman of the chief, Lachlainn MacLachlainn, rented land from him
and subleased it to crofters like Aodh and his neighbors. His
crofters came to him for advice when they faced trouble.

“We have something to ask,” Aodh said.
“Ailean, tell him.”

Ailean shuffled his feet and cleared his
throat. “I’ve met a girl I want to marry, and I need to build a
house for her. I’d like to build it on the croft, be a joint tenant
with Da and the others.”

Ruairidh looked at him a moment, a tinge of a
smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “So, you can escape
Cambeul players on a
camanachd
field, but you can’t escape a
fair lass.”

Ailean blushed and grinned. “Not
this
lass.”

“Congratulations, lad. I wish you every
happiness. As far as the croft is concerned, we’ll have to consult
the other tenants to see if everyone is agreeable, but I don’t have
any problem with it. There’s a section that’s not under
cultivation, isn’t there, Aodh?”

“Aye. Just past the upper woods.”

“If the others are agreeable, it will be fine
with me. Talk to them first and then we’ll discuss the details,”
Ruairidh said.

Ailean thanked him and started for home. He
and his father traveled along without speaking most of the way,
each lost in his own thoughts. Ailean’s thoughts were filled with
anticipation.
I’ll build Mùirne a home where we can be happy
from now on, where our lives will be perfect.

Aodh’s thoughts were filled with worry.
How can so many families survive on the worn-out soil of our
little croft? We can hardly raise enough food for everyone as it
is.

____________

“Won’t you please come in?” Grandma
MacPhàrlain said when she opened the door and saw Latharn Cambeul
standing before her.

“Yes. I need to speak to Mùirne’s
grandfather.” Latharn strutted through the doorway, followed by his
attendants.

“Please have a seat by the fire. I’ll fetch
her granda,” Grandma MacPhàrlain said, and hurried out the door, a
broad smile on her face.

Latharn looked with distaste at the low
chairs arranged around the open fireplace, at the smoke-blackened
walls and rafters. A tremor of revulsion passed through his body as
he contemplated yet again what life in this squalid hovel must be
like for Mùirne. And smiled.

Yes. Father was right. These poor people
would be impressed with his display of wealth. Mùirne’s family
would realize what an honor was being bestowed upon them by his
proposal and would agree to the marriage.

____________

Ailean and Aodh arrived home to find Brìghde
at work tidying the cottage. Niall sat by the fire tuning his
fiddle. In his excitement over the prospect of marrying Mùirne,
Ailean had forgotten it was Friday. Each Friday night, all their
neighbors gathered at Aodh and Brìghde’s cottage, the largest on
the croft, for the weekly
ceilidh
.

“Getting it tuned for tonight?” he asked
Niall.

Niall looked up and nodded without speaking.
He thumbed the string and listened, turned the peg, thumbed it
again.

“Think Raghnall will let you play more than
one song?”

“Yes, I’ll play that one song with him again,
and he said I could play the one by myself that I’ve been
practicing this week.”

“Then maybe it will be worth the torture of
listening to you screeching away—”

“Ma! Make him stop—”

“Ailean! Leave your brother alone,” Bridghe
scolded. “And Niall, stop whining. Act like a man. If you two keep
this up, I’ll send you both to the barn to spend the evening, and
you’ll miss the party altogether.”

“Sorry. I’ll behave, Ma,” Ailean said.

He didn’t want to miss
ceilidh
; he
loved it. Some of his happiest childhood memories were of the
story-telling at the
ceilidh
. As a boy, he sat wide-eyed and
enthralled as he listened to tales of the bravery and gallantry of
his ancestors. He thrilled to stories of the glory of battle,
stories of how clansmen fought with honor and defeated their
enemies.

He pictured himself as the hero of the
stories, saw himself, sword in hand, fighting bravely for his clan,
giving no thought to his own safety. In his daydreams, he saved
others through his strength and ability as a warrior. He saw
himself accepting accolades and receiving the glory and honor due
his exploits.

Ailean also enjoyed stories of selkies and
kelpies. And tales of the fairies, little people who lived inside
the hills. He absorbed superstitions from the frightful narratives
of the supernatural which sustained many of the ancient beliefs of
the Highlanders, legends handed down from their Celtic ancestors
and passed from one generation to the next.

And he loved the dancing and singing. Each
week, everyone danced while Raghnall MacLachlainn played the
fiddle. Raghnall’s older brother, Tòmas, had been the fiddler at
the
ceilidh
until last year when he married and moved to the
nearby croft where his wife’s family lived.

Now Raghnall played the fiddle for the
dancing, and Niall was learning to play, too. Each week his fingers
became more adept as he pulled his bow across the strings of the
fiddle Aodh had inherited from his father.

Singing was an integral part of Highland
life. Highlanders sang as they worked, worshipped and played. Each
Friday night, Ailean always sang a song or two by himself and then
led everyone in song.

He smiled as he anticipated the evening of
fun and wished Mùirne could be at his side to enjoy the party with
him. But he told himself that there would be other Friday nights,
other times of enjoyment he and Mùirne would share once they were
married.

____________

Mùirne watched and waited all day, but Ailean
didn’t come. She had believed him when he said it didn’t matter to
him that she was a MacGriogair. She believed him when he said he
loved her, believed he wanted to marry her.

But now, her faith in him was shaken. Doubt
dragged her shoulders down like a heavy burden, and it grew deeper
with each passing hour.

He doesn’t love me after all.

But she remembered how he looked at her, his
eyes misted with love, and she recalled the things he’d said.

Surely he loves me. What if he hasn’t come
because he’s hurt? What if something happened to him?

She chided herself for her faithlessness. But
doubts about Ailean’s love for her arose once more. Anxiety and
disappointment swirled within her, unsettled her stomach and she
was unable to eat her noon meal.

When evening came and she led the ewes to the
cottage, she hardly noticed her surroundings. Her inner turmoil
consumed her thoughts. She herded the sheep into the byre and went
to sit by the fire.

Grandma looked up from her spinning. “Well,
Mùirne, your future is assured,” she said. “You have been spoken
for. And your Granda gave his permission for you to marry.”

“Ailean came here? Without me?”

A joyous smile brightened Mùirne’s face and
delight brought a sparkle to her eyes. The doubt and worry that had
plagued her all day dissolved, washed away as if it never
existed.

“Who is Ailean?” Grandma said, without
looking up.

“You said I’ve been spoken for. Ailean was
going to speak to Ma today.”

Grandma frowned. “No. I don’t know any
‘Ailean.’”

“But…you said—”

“Latharn Cambeul asked for your hand and your
granda gave his approval.”

The color drained from Mùirne’s face, and her
whitened lips moved but made no sound. She stood, backed away from
the fire, shaking her head, her eyes widening as the full horror of
Grandma’s words descended upon her.

“And what’s this about a man we don’t know
speaking to your ma? What’s going on with you, girl?”

Mùirne didn’t answer. She stumbled past the
curtain to her bed and fell across it, panting.

Latharn Cambeul! No! She couldn’t do it,
couldn’t marry the man, couldn’t allow him to touch her. Her skin
crawled at the thought of his hands touching her the same way
Ailean had touched her. Dread filled her at the prospect of being
tied in marriage to a man like Latharn. Waves of anger and fear
undulated through her and over her like the surging of stormy sea
against a beleaguered shore. A trickle of tears became a flood.

She became aware that someone was calling her
name.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice tremulous and
faint.

“Mùirne, what are you doing? I’ve been
calling you to come eat your supper,” Ma said.

Mùirne sat up and dried her eyes, rubbed the
wetness from her cheeks with a corner of her
airisaid
. She
crept to the hearth, took her seat, and Ma handed her a bowl of
steaming vegetable stew. Nausea billowed through her empty stomach
and bile climbed into her throat at the sight and smell of the
food. She set the bowl on the earthen floor beside her chair and
leaned over, arms clamped together over her midriff, weak and
miserable.

“Eat your supper,” Ma said.

“I…I can’t,” she whispered.

Ma frowned. “Why not? There’s nothing the
matter with it. It’s perfectly good—”

“I feel sick.”

Mùirne raised her head and Ma looked closely
at her daughter, at her disheveled clothing, her tousled and
tangled hair, at her ashen face with its large eyes that were
sunken and hollow.

“What’s the matter, Mùirne?” Ma asked.

“Please. I…can’t do it. Please…I can’t marry
Latharn.”

Ma regarded Mùirne for a long moment. “You
don’t have to,” she said. “We’ll—”

“Yes, she
does
have to.” Grandma
interrupted. “It’s all settled. We gave our word.”

“I’ll not force her to marry the man. She’s
so afraid of him…look at her. The very idea of it is making her
sick.”

“Dearshul, you have to take a firm hand with
that girl. This foolishness has to stop.”

“No. I won’t make her do it.”

“You have to,” Grandma said. “Think of it.
You could go live with her in that fine house, not have to worry
where your next meal will come from. What else are you going to do?
You’re too old to marry again.”

“No.”

“Me and your da are getting too old to work.
We need someone to take care of us. We’ll all have an easy life
when she marries the man.”

“No. She’s not going to marry him.”

“Then you’re no daughter of mine! If she
won’t agree to marry him, I want you both out of this house!”
Grandma shouted.

Dearshul laid a hand on her daughter’s
shoulder. “Come, Mùirne. Let’s get our things and go.”

EIGHT

“Hello, the house!”

The greeting from a strange voice had Grandma
peering from the doorway, apprehensive. She’d never seen either of
the young men, one of whom towered over his companion. His face
bore the marks of a beating. Grandma thought he must be a dangerous
man, and she backed away when he stopped in front of her.

“Is this where Mùirne MacPhàrlain lives?” the
tall one asked.

“Who are you, and what is your business?”
Grandma demanded.

“I’m Ailean MacLachlainn, and this is my
neighbor, Raghnall MacLachlainn. We’re here to speak to Mùirne’s
mother and her granda.”

“No. You can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked. “Is Mùirne here? I
couldn’t find her anywhere.” A ewe bleated in the byre and the
young man raised his eyes, tried to see inside the darkened
cottage. “The sheep are here…she must be, too.”

“Ah.” Grandma’s eyes narrowed as she
remembered Mùirne’s words. “So you are the Ailean she spoke of. You
can leave. You’re not welcome here.”

“But—”

“Leave, troublemaker! “

“But—”

“Go!”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mùirne’s grandma.”

“Where is she? I need to see her. And her
mother.”

Grandma squinted at him. Her anger at
Dearshul and Mùirne still burned in her belly. And it ascended into
her chest where it lay coiled tight and heavy like a serpent. Now
its venom oozed from her lips in a lie she hoped would pierce the
heart of the young man who stood before her. She would relieve her
own distress by trying to cause him pain.

“She is away, preparing to marry Latharn
Cambeul.”

The wounded expression that distorted
Ailean’s face satisfied Grandma’s need for revenge, assuaged it, if
only for a moment.

“That can’t be true. She loves me. She said
she’d marry me—”

“Go. You are not welcome here,” Grandma
MacPhàrlain started to close the door.

Ailean put his hand on it and stopped her.
“No. You have to let me see her.” His voice grew louder. “Mùirne!”
he shouted. “Mùirne!”

There was no answer.

Raghnall pulled Ailean’s hand away and the
door slammed shut. “Come. Let’s go.”

“What do I do now?” he asked Raghnall.

“I don’t know. Let’s go home.”

Ailean stumbled down the path beside
Raghnall, his conflicted emotions and thoughts vying with each
other for ascendancy. All his plans and dreams of the valorous life
he had wanted before he met Mùirne were gone, erased by the
consuming need to have Mùirne beside him, to hold her in his arms,
to kiss her lips, to stroke her velvet cheek. A need grown
stronger, pushing all else from his mind, now that it had been
denied.

Coinneach’s words echoed through his mind.
“You’ve compromised her, compromised yourself. You’ve behaved
dishonorably. Who knows if they will accept you now.”

What could he do? How could he get Mùirne’s
family to accept him?

His wanted to run back to the cottage, break
down the door, push past the old lady and find Mùirne, drag her
away with him. But he realized his usual impetuous approach to
whatever situation he faced would not help him now. He needed to
think things through with a cool head, make a careful and
considered plan of action.