When Fate Dictates (21 page)

“Climb woman, climb, and now!” He shouted,
terror filling his voice. I put my hand on to the rope and my right
foot onto the wooden slat, and slowly began to climb. Simon was
behind me, Duncan still in his arms. I reached the top and moved
through the hole into the room. Simon hoisted the little boy into
my arms and slid back down the ladder, grabbing the pole and
throwing it up to me. I caught it and pulled it up through the
opening. Then he was on the ladder. I heard the pounding and the
shouting.

They were here, at the front door, demanding
entry. Simon was on the ladder, frantically moving his feet and
hands, pulling himself closer and closer. My heart raced and my
head swam as I listened with horror as they ordered us to unbolt
the door. I jumped back as he grabbed hold of the corner of the
hole and pulled himself up into the room. Bending down through the
hole, he hoisted the ladder in and then grabbed the hatch and then
pulled it shut. I passed him the pole and he slid it into the
brackets. We sank to the floor as a loud bang from downstairs told
us the Red Coats were in the kitchen.

I pulled Duncan onto my knee, whispering into
his little ear. “Mummy and daddy need you to be very quiet now
little man. If you are a good boy now then mummy and daddy will
give you a very nice treat.”

Simon put his hand in his pocket and pulled
out a stick of dried meat. He extended his arm, offering the meat
to Duncan. “Give him this. Sucking on it will keep him quiet for
now,” he whispered.

As Duncan chewed on the stick, I held him
tightly against me, hardly daring to breathe, but gently whispering
encouragingly to the little boy to stay still and quiet.

“Duncan thirsty, Mamma.”

“Christ!” cursed Simon under his breath.
“Will you keep the boy quiet Corran.”

I put my arm around him and hugged him
lovingly, “Duncan you have got to be very, very, quiet. There are
bad people in the kitchen and we have to hide from them.” I shot
Simon a look, “You gave him the salted meat. That’s why he’s
thirsty,” I hissed.

“There is a bucket of water in the corner,
over there by the window,” he whispered, nodding in the direction
of the window. “Stay here with the boy and don’t move, I will go
and get it.”

I clung to my son watching as Simon crawled
tentatively across the floor. I gasped as a floor board creaked. He
froze, the full weight of his body resting on his hands and one
knee. Slowly he lowered his other knee to the floor. I tensed,
anticipating the creak, but it did not come.

“Why is dadda on the floor?”

I raised my finger to my lips, “Shh, little
man, you must be quiet, please?”

Simon’s head turned toward us, his eyes heavy
and fear-filled. ‘Keep him quiet,’ he mouthed.

Shrugging, I mouthed, ‘Sorry,’ back at him. A
great roar of laughter and jeering rose up from downstairs and
Simon used the distraction to heave the bucket swiftly back to us.
Water sloshed over the side as it hit the floor and I tensed,
praying the spill would not leak into the ceiling below.

Cupping his hands, Simon filled them with
water and lifted them toward Duncan’s mouth. “There you go little
man, you will feel better now,” he whispered into the child’s
ears.

The air hung heavy and stale in the confined
space of the attic room. I breathed deeply, seeking fresh air for
my lungs. Simon mopped at his brow with a square of linen. Duncan
had lowered his head into my lap, his eyes closed in sleep.

“Can we not open that window, just a crack?”
I whispered, lifting the edge of my skirt to fan my face with.

He shook his head. “Sorry Corran, but
no.”

‘How long do you think they will be here?’ I
mouthed.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It sounds
like they are getting drunk on my ale down there. I don’t think it
will be tonight.”

“Well I hope they go soon. It’s too hot in
here and the walls feel like they are closing in on me. I need to
get out, Simon,” I said, as panic to escape the room grew inside
me.

He put his arm around me. “Just take deep
breaths Corran, and think of something else, you will be
alright.”

******

I turned to the small window and watched as
the sun fell behind the hills and night descended upon the tiny
space of the attic room.

There were people up ahead. I could see them as faint
shadows against the stark white blanket of the snow. As they drew
closer I realized, that like me, they were only half-dressed, and
they were fleeing from Glencoe. Unlike me, they were weak,
stumbling in the thick drifts of snow, wrestling against the storm,
half-starved and frozen.

I approached them with the caution of one who
believed themselves a spirit in the Earthly World. They noticed me
but did not flinch, scream or cry out in hysterical fear at my
presence. They greeted me as their friend, as their neighbor, as
they had always welcomed me. Only their voices were flat, exhausted
and lifeless as if it were they that were dead. The elderly woman,
Marta, a close friend of my grandmother who had known me all my
life, reached out to embrace me. My heart was black with anger at
the men of Campbell. Marta’s sunken, wet eyes met mine and I knew
that her heart was as bitter as mine. I extended my hands toward
her offered embrace and whispered in her good ear, “Take my hand,
Marta, you can share my warmth.” I felt the ice cold of her bony
hands and prayed to my God to help this lady. I begged him to warm
her body and strengthen her limbs so that she may live through this
travesty, as my grandmother and I had not.

A blistering heat seared though my hands and I wanted
to jerk them away from the old lady but an instinct told me I must
not. I felt the life returning to the frail hands I held and knew
that her strength was returning. Silently, I thanked my God for the
blessing and the life of this old friend. A gentle smile crossed
the old woman’s lips and her eyes surveyed me with a knowledge I
didn’t understand. She moved slowly toward me and kissed me lightly
on the cheek. “Thank you, wee Corran, for this day you are who your
grandmother knew you would be.” I returned her smile but was
confused at her meaning. A flicker of a glance passed between her
and her husband, old man Dùghall. Clearing his throat, he edged
toward me, affectionately resting his hands on my shoulders. I felt
his long, strong fingers and the ice that had penetrated his
ancient joints stabbing at my collar bone. He was still healthy,
despite his age and I knew he would survive this day. He was a tall
man and his sad, flat eyes had far to look before meeting mine.

“
Come lass, you will travel with us.” His voice
was deep, strong and commanding. Only his long graying hair and
slightly bent frame betrayed his many years. He was a cattle farmer
from our glen. No! I realized with deep sadness that he could no
longer be a cattle farmer from the mighty Glencoe, for our village
was lost to us. Dùghall smiled down at me and encouragingly
squeezed my shoulders before letting go. “Best get along then, aye
lass.” I hesitated briefly, before nodding in reply to
Dùghall.

Silently, without further comment, we moved off as
one, further up into the vengeful mountains, each one of us
preoccupied with the task ahead. For me, it was the ever-constant
vigil of seeking a sign or clue from God. For the rest, I imagined
it to be the single task of staying alive. The snow and wind had
dropped but I knew in my heart that tonight they would return. A
chill ran through my body as I contemplated the effect the
returning blizzard would have. Instinctively, I cast an assessing
eye over our small party of travelers, noticing that the little
girl, Giorsal, was struggling.

Broken and weak she staggered next to her mother, my
friend, Nansaidh. This little girl had come into the world five
years ago, I had witnessed her birth, touched her tiny pink toes
and kissed her plump rosy cheeks. Terror struck, I realized that I
was about to witness her death. I grabbed for the child and held
her tiny frame close to mine. I murmured softly as I cradled her in
my arms, “Close your eyes wee Giorsal, for God will protect you
this day.” Her pain became mine as our bodies merged and united in
her need for strength and my overwhelming urge to provide her with
that strength. Her hunger ripped at my stomach and her cold coursed
through my body like a knife. There was heat, burning, unbearable,
scorching heat that tore at our bodies, pulling us apart. I prayed
to my God to save this child. “Dear God, I know I am not of this
physical world any longer, but please hear my prayer. I beg of you,
please don’t take this child, for she is so young and innocent.
Dear God, please hear my prayer.”

As I prayed the heat diminished and my strength
returned and I looked at the child in my embrace and realized that
whatever I was, I was not dead and nor was the child; she was well
and strong and her eyes twinkled once more, as a child’s eyes
should. Nansaidh turned to me wordlessly, her brows slightly
furrowed, eyes filled with unshed tears. She took hold of my hand,
seeking the reassurance of flesh and drew a long silent breath. I
met her eyes with the sincerity of friendship and love. “Don’t be
afraid, your child is safe now Nansaidh.” As I spoke, I squeezed
her hand, hopeful that it would provide the reassurance we both
sought. For I had no idea what the recent past had made me.

“
There is the wee cave,” sighed Dùghall without
warning. “I don’t know if it will take us all though.”

Looking closely I could see the snow covered outcrop
that hid the entrance of the cave and wondered briefly how Dùghall
had known of it. We followed the old man round the outcrop and into
the damp darkness of the crevice in the mountain. On any other day
I would have found little to entice me into this cramped space. We
crouched, five bodies in the mountain hollow barely large enough to
hold us, yet each one of us gave thanks to God for the shelter.

I watched in amazement as Marta and Dùghall both
scrambled around on the dusty rock floor, seemingly looking for
something. There was an almighty thud from the general direction of
Dùghall, followed closely by an exclamation of “Gonadh air!” from
the man himself.

Judging from the earlier thud, resonating at just the
right tone to suggest that Dùghall’s head had connected with a
large metallic object, and the curse that followed, I concluded
that Dùghall had just found what he was looking for. Desperately I
fought to adjust my eyes, wanting to know what the two older people
were doing, but realized very quickly that there was no need.
Emanating from the ground were tiny, warm, spitting, sparks of fire
which very soon connected with dried autumn leaves to form a
gloriously hot, glowing fire at our feet. The flames threw a
comforting orange light around the cave and I could see the little
circle of prepared rocks around the outer rim of the fire. The fire
illuminated a black iron cauldron, set neatly to the side and in
one tiny corner of the cave a large tidy pile of plaids. Dùghall,
Marta and Nansaidh were all unpacking the cauldron, which appeared
full to overflowing.

Dùghall’s hand came out of the pot, clutching a large
bottle of amber liquid, kindly he asked, “Anyone for a wee warming
dram then?” I couldn’t help but smile to myself as he popped out
the cork and swigged a healthy gulp of whisky. Marta was breaking a
chunk of thick, creamy cheese which she handed to Giorsal. The
little girl took the food gratefully and wasted no time in
swallowing the piece whole. Nansaidh rushed to her daughter’s
side.

“
Slowly, wee one, or your tummy will be
sore.”

Giorsal nodded, replying, “Sorry, mummy, I'm so
hungry.”

Marta smiled across at me, “Corran, come share our
food, there is plenty to be had.”

Gratefully, I accepted her offer and huddled up to
Giorsal who was tucking into some oatcakes.

Nansaidh moved across the cave to the plaids. She
returned to the fire with one for each of us.

Wrapping Giorsal like a cocoon in one, she handed
them out to each of us in turn. With a belly full of food and
whisky, a fire at my feet and a warm plaid wrapped around my
shoulders I was puzzled at how we had come by such good fortune in
finding this cave, so prepared for our unexpected needs.
Suspiciously, I looked to Nansaidh, then to Dùghall and lastly to
Marta. They did not seem to share my surprise at our excellent
fortune or at least if they did they were not showing it. I was
compelled to ask. “Nansaidh how is it that we have been so
fortunate for Dùghall to have found this cave?” My brow furrowed
and a slight frown crossed my features as I watched a broad grin
fill my friend’s face.

“
Oh Corran, you really don’t know, do you?” Her
reply was delivered with a smile but a flicker of fear lurked in
her deep eyes.

“
Know what?” I asked pleadingly, desperate to make
sense of the chaos.

Nansaidh shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head
toward where Dùghall and Marta sat huddled together around the tiny
fire. “Talk to Marta and Dùghall, they can answer your questions my
friend.”

I sighed heavily: feeling cruelly dismissed by
Nansaidh, nonetheless, I decided to follow her advice.

Moving slowly across the tiny cave toward the two
older people I felt a knot of fear tightening in the pit of my
stomach that told me I was not going to like what I was about to
hear.

I had no need to repeat my question. It was obvious
by the furrow of their brows and the dark shadow of concern that
lingered behind their eyes that both Marta and Dùghall knew what I
needed to know.

Patting his hand firmly on the ground Dùghall invited
me to join him and Marta by the fire. “Come wee lass,” encouraged
Dùghall, “it is warmer by the fire. We can’t give you all the
answers but we can give you a few,” he smiled as I sank to the
floor beside him. Drawing one deep purposeful breath before
beginning his story. “Have you not wondered why we have not
inquired about Seasaidh?”