Page 82 of Laird of Secrets
“Oh, the ball game—they played it in the schoolyard. Why are they at it so early this morning?” As she and Mary walked closer, she recognized some of her students and their kinsmen.
“They are practicing,” Mary said. “There will be a game soon, for all the glen.”
Fiona raised her brows in surprise. “The whole glen?”
“It is a tradition in Glen Kinloch to play on New Year’s, and also in the spring on the first of May. It is nearing May now, so the laird has called for a game.”
“I heard nothing of it.” She watched the players as they ran in a cluster that seemed characteristic of the ball game they favored in Glen Kinloch.
“Word went round with the men. The women do not generally play.”
“I played at the football with my brothers when I was young.”
“You may have, but this sort of game is different. They play from the east side of the glen to the west. All the men and boys, a hundred and more, with the one ball.” Mary gestured wide to indicate the whole of the glen. “They form two packs, those from the north glen and those from the south, and they start in the center—there, where the burn crosses past those rocks,” she said, pointing.
“They play over the whole glen?” Fiona asked, incredulous. “All of them?”
“Aye, from the fieldstone wall below Kinloch House, across the glen floor, and down near the lochside road, where the standing stones are.”
Fiona knew the place. “That’s about two miles.”
“Not far for this game.” Mary nodded as if it was nothing much.
Astonished, Fiona watched the players on the hillside. “And one ball?”
“Just the one. ‘Tis sturdy leather stuffed with goose feathers, and hardly survives the day, let me tell you, with two enormous teams playing the length and breadth of the glen. It goes on all day and into the night, sometimes the next day.”
“Does the laird play too? His house is in the middle of the glen. Which side does he take?”
“The previous lairds did not always play, but our Dougal does—no one could keep him out of it. He is strong and good at the ba’ and both sides want him. So each year he plays a different side. He will play for the North this year. The South has more players.”
“Are they not even, the two teams?” Fiona said.
“Oh no, it is decided by where a person is born. All but the Laird, born in the midst of it.”
As they crossed the glen and began to climb the slope toward Kinloch House and the school, Fiona could see the spaniel chasing back and forth, and the men and boys hooting and pushing. Somewhere in the middle of the pack she saw the ball thrust upward triumphantly, only to sink into the cluster of players again. “When will they play this game?”
“The laird called for the game on the Thursday, I think.”
“But the lads have school!”
“Oh, there will be no school that day. All the glen will either be playing the game, or watching it. The laird did not tell you?”
“He did not.” Again Fiona felt that tiny, sharp pull of separation, and with it a tug of sadness and hurt. Despite feeling better accepted by the glen folk, she sighed, knowing she was still very much the outsider again. Yet it felt even more important to be included lately.
“It sounds like good fun. I am sure you will all have a wonderful time.” She forced a smile.
“You will be there, too,” Mary said. “We will go watch and cheer them on. We could not miss a game of the ba’!”
“I would like to see it. Thank you.”
“The Laird would want you there, no doubt.Tcha,” Mary said. “Do not feel the outsider here. Himself thinks very kindly of you now.”
Fiona slowed, staring at Mary in wonder, then hurried along.
* * *
In the dim blue light of dusk, Dougal stood on the hill above Kinloch House, bagpipes tucked under his arm as he lifted the chanter to coax out plaintive, haunting notes. He had spent most of the day out in the hills, and earlier he had seen Mary MacIan with Fiona as the two women crossed the glen toward Kinloch House. He had guessed that Mary was bringing her rent, but he did not go to meet her. Some urge, perhaps the preservation of heart and hope, told him to keep distant from Fiona for a while yet. He needed time to think.
