Part 1 (2/2)
”How old do you think that young man is?”
She shrugged. ”Seventeen ... maybe eighteen at the most.”
”So he sired him after you left there.”
”That seems right, la.s.s.”
They continued walking in silence.
”Mother, why were you sent to Inveraray?”
”To fulfil my mother's ambitions and become a lady.”
Helen smiled to herself. Didn't work, did it? ”But why did she want you to become a lady?”
”She was Rob Roy's youngest daughter and may have had a secret wish herself to rise in society. I was her only surviving child. Both my brothers died in infancy, and the pox took my older sister just before I was born. So she loaded all her ambitions onto me. She never forgave me that I lasted less than two years there.”
”Why did you leave?”
”I was very unhappy. Everybody looked down on me and laughed behind my back. I was barely tolerated. I hated it, and ...” She let the words hang.
”And what, mother?”
”Oh, nothing. I was very homesick.”
”And the man you fancied didn't want you?”
”Don't be nosy, la.s.s! It's all long in the past and better forgotten and left alone.”
”Was that the reason why you married father so quickly after you returned?”
She did not answer, and Helen hesitated to press her any further. Her mother had already told her more than she had ever done. So father wasn't mother's first love. Who would have believed that she fancied a Campbell of Argyle. Her parents never spoke a good word about any of those Campbells. What a surprise! She sensed that this wasn't something to be talked about.
After a few minutes she said with a frown: ”I didn't like the way he looked at me.”
”Who? ... Ah, that young man. Why, he gave you a nice, warm smile. He seemed to be quite taken with you. You are a pretty la.s.s that will make a laird proud, one day.”
”Ha, me making a laird proud. I don't want to get married.”
”Why would you say that?” Her mother's voice betrayed her surprise.
”Oh, men just loaf around and put on airs, while we do all the hard work and don't even get thanks for it.” Helen startled herself. She had never consciously formulated these thoughts. But they sounded true. ”Why do I have to go barefoot, while my younger brothers have boots?”
”You will get married one day, la.s.s, sooner than you think-”
”No, I won't!”
”We'll see. And besides, there's little point in grumbling over trifles. It has always been that way and will always be that way. The men's honor is to keep our clan growing and their women folk safe.”
”Paff, they can't even do that properly. Why did they get us chased off our ancestral lands?”
”Don't you get impudent now! That isn't your father's fault. And hasn't he found us a good place to live?”
”A stony glen in the shadow of two mountains, with hardly any decent earth to sow oats! You call this a good place?”
”Don't you dare talk like this about your father.” Mary raised her voice sharply. ”You hear me, la.s.s? Be grateful that we have a decent roof over our heads and land for our cattle.”
Helen was on the verge of repeating one of her grandmother's favorite sayings: ”A patch of land too poor to live off, but too big to starve.” She caught herself in time. It would simply provoke her mother into a holy ire.
Her thoughts strayed back to the encounter with the young man. She could not remember any man ever looking at her in this way, not that she had been given much opportunity to meet any. Just at the occasional clan gathering, or when a few MacGregors of the Braes of Balquhidder stopped by their place, usually to hide for a few weeks. Mother is right. He has a warm smile, she mused silently. With a man like him, she could break out of the MacGregor curse. A factor made good money. She could have many nice dresses and even shoes, like Miriam McNabb. She could live in a big house with a parlor, a proper bedroom with its own fireplace to keep her warm in winter, a big separate kitchen with a real hearth, maybe even a cook and a maid ... like in the books. She would never have to toil in the fields or tend the animals, no more going hungry in winter if the harvest is bad. Her children would be dressed in sweet frocks with lace ribbons, not hand-me-downs.
Her own thoughts horrified her. No true MacGregor would ever stoop so low as to marry a Campbell of Argyle. Did the fool think that I would be charmed by a mere smile? No, she definitely didn't like him.
The first heavy rain drops smacked her face. The two women quickly stripped off their plaids and covered their creels. It would be no good to get their grains wet.
The young man standing behind the factor let his eyes roam over the crowd in the market square, hoping to catch another glimpse of the young woman with the flaming red hair.
”That is Dougal Campbell's oldest daughter. A good-looking la.s.s, proud and fiery like her mother. But you might as well forget her, Andrew, my lad,” Dougan teased his young charge. ”Her mother would never let her tie the knot except with another MacGregor.”
”I wasn't thinking of marriage,” Andrew answered, blus.h.i.+ng just a bit.
”No harm dreaming of a pretty la.s.s. I wish I still could,” chuckled Dougan, as he lifted his hat to scratch the bald scalp under his peruke. ”You know, I was quite a lady's man in my younger days. I bedded a few.”
”I bet you did... The MacGregors, are they any relations of Rob Roy?”
”It is said that Mary Campbell's mother was his youngest daughter.”
”Where is their clachan?”
”On Allt Breaclaich west of Creag Gharbh, two miles along the loch. Just enough land for the half-dozen families of their immediate clan. But then beggars can't be choosers, can they?”
”I guess not... Are they in with Rob Roy's sons' blackmail racket?”
Dougan shrugged his shoulders, rubbing his chin. ”Difficult to say. No extra cattle have ever been spotted on their land yet. But no telling what is going on at night, and they are in arrears with the rent... Andrew, you are an observant lad. Why, you go pay them a visit one of these days and check out how they are doing. Just for a friendly chat, mind you. We don't want to give cause for trouble.”
”You can spare me for a day, next week, Mr. Graham?”
”Sure, lad. Thursday or Friday.”
The factor looked over to the fair. n.o.body had come their way for a while. He fastened the buckle of the leather-covered ledger and then tied his purse. ”We took in sixty-two pounds and eight s.h.i.+llings.”
He got up, groaning, and placed both hands on the small of his back, trying to straighten. The b.u.t.tons of his little waistcoat threatened to pop open over his pot belly. His face distorted into a grimace of pain. ”This gout just does not want to go away this year.” He groaned again. ”Never get old, laddie, never get old,” he muttered. ”It's but a bane. Better you go young, while you are still a man.”
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