Page 98 of Sighs of the Highland Wind
“I have no other clothes,” Norah replied, ashamed. “I had to trade my gold chain for this thing. I was wearing my wedding dress but it was so badly damaged I will have to throw it away.”
“We will find somethin’ hen,” Caitrin said soothingly. She went to look through her own little stack of clothes, but Norah protested.
“I cannot take your clothes away!” she cried. “You have little enough as it is.”
Caitrin sighed, and frowned. “I will find ye somethin’,” she repeated, and the determined expression on her face told Norah that she would. She was beginning to realize that when Caitrin set her mind to something, little could stand in her way.
A few weeks passed, and late summer was turning slowly into autumn. Norah was sleeping on a straw pallet on the floor of the cottage at night and wearing a patched-up old shift that one of the neighbors had given her. A dress had been found for her after one of the villagers had died, and some of them had looked at her oddly, remarking that the body was hardly cold in her grave. Caitrin dismissed them as superstitious fools.
“So what are we supposed to dae with a perfectly good kirtle?” she asked. “Throw it away?” So she stitched it, washed it, and the next day, when Norah put it on, she could not have been more thrilled if she had been wearing a ball gown. In fact, she had always hated dressing up.
Norah ate the most basic of foods, and had to help around the house and take care of the goat and chickens that Caitrin kept for milk and eggs. Caitrin had taught her how to forage for food properly too, ‘so that ye dinnae kill yourself,’ as she put it. However, despite her reduced circumstances, Norah was more content than she ever had been at her own family home.
Norah often wondered why her father had never come looking for her. Perhaps he had, and given up, or perhaps he simply did not care. At any rate, the situation suited her. She found that she did not need a maid to launder her clothes and style her hair, and after a few days she had become accustomed to bathing in the freezing waters of the loch. As well as that, she loved thecompany of the little black cat, who often came to sit on her lap at night, and sometimes even came to her bed and purred her to sleep.
Norah was more content than she had ever been, and as she was drifting off to sleep one night, she realized why. The whole little community of Rosblane was kind. They helped each other, did good turns for one another, and shared what little they had between them. Although she had none of the luxuries she’d had at her father’s house, she was glad to be in the village of Rosblane amongst decent, wholesome people.
On Sunday a big fire was lit outside in the town square, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from drifting to Tearlach as she sat and watched the flames. What was he doing now? Was he still alive? A shaft of sadness pierced her as she thought of him, and she wished she could see him just one more time, even for a moment, and share another kiss. That had been the best moment of her life.
2
At dawn, Norah was preparing to go to market for Caitrin, carrying her dried berries and mushrooms to sell. She was a little apprehensive, as she had never done such a thing before, but Caitrin kissed her cheek and hugged her.
“If an old woman like me can sell vegetables, so can a pretty wee thing like you,” she said sternly, although Norah could see the twinkle in her eye. “Dinnae tell me ye cannae dae it!”
Norah was beginning to love the old lady, who was so much more affectionate than the nannies she had as a child. She had never really known either of her grandmothers, both of whom had died when she was a baby, so she pretended that Caitrin was her grandmother. After all, she was never going to have another one.
The old lady was kind, but she could be stern and unyielding in many ways. She passionately hated the English, and was not afraid to show it. Her husband had been killed by one, not in battle, but in the course of an ordinary day. She had always been a proud Highlander, but that was the moment a bitter, abidinghatred had settled in Caitrin’s heart. She had kept it close and nurtured it ever since.
As Norah packed her baskets, Caitrin looked on approvingly. When she was finished she looked up and smiled at her benefactor. “I hope I do well for you today,” she said anxiously. “I will try my hardest, Caitrin, I promise.”
“I know ye will,” Caitrin answered. “One more thing, hen. There is always a stall full of used clothes there. Get yourself a kirtle an’ a nightdress. If they dinnae fit I will fix them.”
Once more, Norah was overcome by the old lady’s kindness, and she wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug before climbing onto the cart that would take her to the market. She was truly blessed to have found a friend like Caitrin Wallace.
In the midst of the Scottish Highlands, Tearlach’s bright red hair was usually hardly noticeable, since it was such a common color. When he was picking his way through a shady forest trying to avoid capture by the English, however, it might as well have been a beacon. He drew the hood of his cloak over his head and dismounted from his horse. He began to move as stealthily as he could through the thick trunks of the pine trees. The area through which he was moving was uneven and rock-strewn, and he cursed impatiently as he stumbled through it.
For a big man, he could move surprisingly quietly, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the shores of Loch Dubh, because then he could urge his horse into a gallop and outrun them easily. No one could beat his chestnut stallion, Rory, but it had not stopped dozens from trying. However, justas Tearlach was beginning to relax, he caught a glimpse of a familiar bright red jacket through the trees, and stopped dead in his tracks. The English were already here.
The English soldiers were so arrogant they were not even trying to be silent. They were chatting, laughing and joking amongst themselves, and one of them even broke into a bawdy song. There were only three of them, but that was more than was needed to capture him and drag him away. He could see that at least one of them was slightly tipsy, and contempt flared up in him as he watched them. He wished he was carrying his sword and was able to take their heads off with a single swipe.
He knew that the village of Rosblane was only a short distance away, and a market was being held there that morning. It was a blessing because there would be so many people there that he might be able to blend in and make his escape. However, he would have to crouch down a little because he was so much taller than everyone else, and that might make him even more noticeable.
Should he attempt it or stay where he was and hope they passed by without noticing him? If he left, he would have to leave Rory behind, since he could not ride a valuable horse into a crowd of working people. A horse like Rory would make him stand out like a sore thumb.
Leaving his best friend behind would be a huge loss to him, but he had to think of his own life first. He had no idea when he would be back, but he was fairly sure that he would, so he decided to leave him where he was and come back for him later. If the redcoats found Rory, he doubted they would treat him badly, since a valuable horse was always a great asset.
Tearlach took out the little sack of oats he always carried for him and emptied them on the ground. The horse began to eat them at once, giving him time to make his escape, but his heart was breaking.‘I will be back soon, big man’he thought sorrowfully.
He paused to look around for a moment just as he arrived at the edge of the market, then picked his way through the crowds, but his height gave him away, even though he was crouching slightly to hide it. The redcoats, who were still on horseback, glanced his way, and a shout rang out. They had seen him. However, being seated on horses was not to their advantage in a tightly packed crowd like this one.
Eventually they dismounted and began to advance toward him, but the villagers, who had seen the fugitive and grasped the situation in a moment, tried to obstruct them by crowding around them, offering them wares from their stalls. This gave Tearlach time to plunge through the crowd, all of whom made way for him.
One stallholder, a young man, beckoned him and urged him to scramble under his table where he hid between some crates of vegetables. He had never been so cramped and uncomfortable in his life, but anything was better than being captured by the English. God alone knew what would happen to him then!
He stayed where he was for what seemed like an age before he judged it safe to move out, and thanked the young man by slipping a sixpenny piece into his palm. He crawled away, then stood up and began to run, but he looked back to see if anyone was following. Seeing no one in pursuit, Tearlach continued on, looking behind his shoulder until collided with a woman who was standing with her back to him talking to someone.
At the same time, his hood slipped back. The young woman stumbled forward a little and turned to reprimand him, but he had whipped his hood back and was gone before either of them could see the others’ face.
