Page 120 of Sighs of the Highland Wind
“Is this any good?” she asked, holding it up so that he could inspect it.
Tearlach remembered the look in her eyes at that moment. They had changed from their usual light silver-grey to a dark slatecolor. He remembered that she had smelled of lavender, and whenever he smelled that fragrance from then onwards he was reminded of her eyes on that day.
It had taken her six weeks. Six weeks of utter dedication and perseverance, practicing even when he was not there, but she eventually achieved her goal. The day her stone bounced off the water eight times, once more than his, she turned to him with a triumphant smile on her face.
“There!” she said smugly. “Am I the king now?”
He shook his head, frowning deeply. “No,” he replied.
Norah put her hands on her hips and opened her mouth to protest, but he held his hand up.
“You’re a lassie!” he said, laughing. “You are the queen!” Then he picked up her hand, bent over and kissed it. “Your majesty!”
He had relinquished his crown, and he never got it back again.
The memory flitted through his mind in a second, but at that moment, Norah barrelled into him, and Davie came down after her. His hand was bleeding and his face was a mask of fury.
“Norah! Enough!” Tearlach hissed. He pushed her away, back into Davie’s clutches again, but this time Davie did not waste any time trying to drag Norah away. He simply hoisted her onto his shoulder and carried her, and this time she knew she was beaten. As she was borne away from Tearlach, she stopped struggling. It was time, at last, to give up.
Davie had carried her for a hundred yards or so before she managed to lift her head high enough to see Tearlach, but even as she tried to catch a last glimpse of him, she saw a number of flashes of red between the trees. The redcoats were closing in on him, and as she and Davie passed out of sight of Tearlach, Norah felt her heart break.
17
Before they left, the men had managed to grab all that was left of their food supplies. Fortunately they had just been fishing before they left, so there was plenty of carp for them to eat, and they were able to use the last of the daylight to light their fire and extinguish it before the redcoats saw it in the dark. They had brought one lantern, by the light of which they could just about see each other.
They sat around the camp as darkness fell, and the air was heavy with tension. Murdo, Davie, Tommy, and Alec were sitting morosely in a circle, each one wrapped up against the cold in only a single blanket each. Norah wished she had one of her own homemade sweaters with her, since she had only a cloak and a thin blanket. That would have kept out the cold, at least. If only that were all she had to worry about!
These men had not been brought up in the comfort and luxury that she had, and were used to the cold, the rain, and sleeping in the open under the stars or the clouds, so they were much better prepared for a life on the run than she was.
Norah thought of the life she would be leading if she had not managed to leave her father’s house. No doubt she would be living in the lap of luxury in Archie Patterson’s far bigger house by now. And no doubt she would be utterly miserable too.
She had never realized, until she moved into Caitrin’s house, how chilling and unfriendly her own home was. Yes, she had the best of everything, but there was little love inside the four walls, and the only warmth and affection she received was from the cook, Morag. She was a plump, motherly woman with deep brown eyes who always gave Norah hugs, kisses, and little treats which she sneaked into the pockets of her dress with a wink and a conspiratorial smile.
Norah guessed Morag’s age to be in her middle fifties, but she might have been younger, since hard work aged people before their time, and she could not remember a time when the cook had not been there.
It was strange, she thought, that she had never really felt at home, or even known what a home was, until she went to Caitrin’s humble little cottage, when the old lady had welcomed her without reservation. Since then she had been showered with more love than she had for the whole of her life up till that moment, and Caitrin was on her mind now; she must be worried sick. And what was happening to Tearlach? Were the redcoats torturing him? Was he even alive?
Norah had lain down on the hard ground and curled into a ball, listening to the four men talking amongst themselves. They sounded weary, she thought, and very dejected.
“Tearlach is a strong lad,” Murdo was saying. “Remember that time he fought off that wild boar all by himself wi’ nothin but a tree branch? Them things have tusks that could drive a holeright through ye. Now I come to think of it, that lad is built just like one of them big hogs!” He tried to laugh, but it petered out feebly.
“May I remind you that he has been weakened by a musket ball?” She sat up, her eyes blazing with fury as she glared at Murdo.
Alec shook his head ruefully. “That is true, an’ even if he wasnae hurt, he couldnae stand up to three muskets or three swords!” He looked at Norah. “I know that ye are smitten wi’ him lass, but ye must prepare yourself for the worst.”
“And whose fault is that?” Norah’s voice was a most unpleasant growl. “You should not have left him behind! Who knows what they are doing to him at this moment? They might be torturing him to find out where we are. Tearlach might be strong, but there is only so much pain a person can take before he gives in!”
“Norah,” Tommy said patiently, “Tearlach is one man. There are five of us here. Should we have lost five lives to save one? If they had caught us Tearlach would have died anyway, because they are not goin’ to spare him even if we are a’ killed tryin’ to rescue him.”
The men nodded their heads in agreement.
“Anyway, nae matter how much they hurt him, our Tearlach will never tell them anything,” Murdo said, his voice confident and determined. Norah had already decided that Murdo was the empty vessel amongst them that made the biggest noise, most of it nonsense.
“No.” Tommy was the only dissenting voice. “What Norah says is right.” He screwed up his face in revulsion. “Ye cannae say things like that until ye have been through it yourself an’ survived, orseen the results for yourself. I have seen torture victims, lads.” He shuddered. “It is no’ pretty.”
Norah could listen to no more. She sprang to her feet. “We must get him back!” she cried. “I can’t bear to think what they are doing now!”
Tommy sighed, nodding. “Aye, Norah,” he concurred. “What dae we think, lads?”
