Part 4 (2/2)
Andrew pulled Helen a few steps behind low shrubs and then pushed her to the ground. Kelly laughed again and exclaimed: ”Bashful, master Andrew, are you?”
Andrew opened the front of his trews and lay on her. Helen's frightened eyes met his, mirroring his own terror. He, covering her bosom with the torn petticoat, and after pulling her skirt up a bit. ”Help me, Helen! Pretend! ... For G.o.d's sake, scream,” he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, as began to pump on top of her the way he had seen one of the dragoons do earlier. Suddenly, a piercing scream tore through the heath.
”When I get off, run to the ravine. Don't look back. Just run!” There was a heart-rending urgency in his voice. He didn't know whether she understood. He rolled to the side and hissed between his teeth: ”Now!”
She jumped up and, fast as a deer, darted toward across the slope to the ridge, holding her petticoat above her knees. Kelly yelled for Andrew to hold her and, swearing wildly, took up the chase. Just as he was about to run past Andrew, the latter stumbled into his path. Both rolled heavily to the ground. By the time Kelly scrambled back on his feet, Helen was too close to the ravine for him to catch her. Once in the bushes and low trees hiding the ravine, she quickly looked back, and then she was gone. Andrew watched, lightheaded, the sick feeling of shame and delayed fright deep in his guts.
”You clumsy fellow! You did this on purpose!” railed Kelly. He looked as if he was going to jump Andrew.
”I'm sorry. I was clumsy!” exclaimed Andrew, retreating a few steps away from Kelly. But his hand was on the hilt of his dagger, ready to throw it. The latter seemed to sense his intention. He knew that he would not manage to knock down Andrew or discharge his pistol before the blade would pierce his throat. Disgustedly, he spat on the ground and complained aggrieved: ”Look, now I missed out because of you!”
Andrew turned his head just a bit. The three women were also running to the ravine. Before they disappeared in the bushes, Mary turned, and holding her torn petticoat to her bosom, she raised her fist and shouted defiantly: ”You'll pay for this! Your days are numbered!”
The dragoons taunted her, and Gordon yelled back: ”You want some more?”
His echo returned mockingly. The soldiers laughed again and then collected the four plaids and the brooches, the women had left behind when they fled. Three of them were silver with the MacGregor code of arms engraved. More loot to sell and supplement their meager pay, were Andrew's bitter thoughts. Suddenly, an all-consuming hatred was burning inside him.
Catching her breath, Helen scrambled down to the ravine. Her first thought was to look for Betty. She found her cowering behind a large boulder. The girl was s.h.i.+vering and sobbing silently. Helen took her in her arms, stroking her back.
”It's all right, little Betty. Nothing happened to you.” She kissed her hair.
Betty looked up, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks. ”Did ... did the men ... ?” She could not bring herself to utter the ugly word.
”No, ... they didn't.”
”But I saw master Andrew holding you.”
”He helped me get away, like he helped you.”
Up to that moment this fact hadn't really sunk in. Just getting away had been her only aim. Why had he done it? Betty buried her head again on her bosom.
Shortly afterward, she heard her mother curse the soldiers and then the three women came down into the ravine, the two younger ones badly shaken, one with a gla.s.sy look, the other crying, while Mary's face was somber, like set in stone. She was still naked.
”Come to the creek, la.s.s,” she ordered Helen with a grim voice and headed for a pool. There, she crouched down and washed her crotch, letting the icy liquid enter her. Without being told, the other two women did the same.
”What are you waiting for, la.s.s? Come, wash yourself. It may prevent you from getting with child.”
”I wasn't raped.”
”I saw the factor's apprentice push you down.”
”He didn't rape me.”
”Child, don't lie to me. I heard you scream.”
”I screamed because he begged me.”
”I don't believe you. Why do you want to protect that lad?”
Helen lifted her petticoat, exposing her crotch, and said, almost shouting: ”Here, look! There's no blood. You want to check me?”
”Why did he then-?”
Helen interrupted her: ”Because he wanted to help me, the same as he helped Betty get away. He-”
”Don't defend him. He may have spared you. But it was he who brought the soldiers to our clachan and watched them burn it. He brought them up here. He's as guilty as they are.”
Helen did not answer. It was all true. Maybe he had little choice about that. She didn't want to defend him. She was too stunned and confused herself.
After the three women had washed themselves, they tried fixing their torn petticoats as best as they could to cover themselves. Mary wrapped Betty's plaid around her, since the top of her petticoat was in shreds. Then, she climbed cautiously back to the ridge and checked if the dragoons had left. The last of them, trailed by Andrew, was just disappearing in the scattered trees farther down the glen. She waited for a while to make sure that they were not returning, and then called the others to come up too.
They had come here to dig roots for a meal. In the rush to escape, they had left their tools and the roots already dug behind. They still needed to finish their job if they wanted any food on the table that night. Although deeply distressed and frightened, n.o.body needed any encouragement, except Betty who still was in a state of shock, periodically shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. Helen remained close, holding her and offering words of solace. The girl's slight body suddenly seemed so fragile. Taking care of her sister's anguish relieved her own mind from the hideous pictures that relentlessly a.s.sailed her-her mother's brutal rape, the loathsome face of the dragoon who caught her, Andrew's frightened eyes.
Under the cover of the fading light, the MacGregor men came out of their daytime hiding places in the ravines or the moors near the mountain tops and returned to their families.
”Is dinner ready?” Dougal called out as he entered his hut, the largest of three. ”We are hungry!”
”We're all hungry,” muttered Mary, her back turned to him, as she stoked the fire under the big soup kettle.
”There is no game left, just a few crows. Not worth wasting our bullets on them... What's for dinner?”
Mary did not respond.
”Maybe I should lift a sheep or two from the McNabbs up Ardeonaig's way. Trouble is their guards carry guns, as if they expected trouble. And if they suspect us they will call the soldiers in.”
He looked at her expectantly. She still busied herself with the fire.
”Woman, why don't you talk to me?”
She rose, facing him, and he saw the roughly st.i.tched rips of her petticoat. ”What happened to you? Was there a fight?”
”We were roughed up by English dragoons. They tore away our plaids.”
”Did they come into our s.h.i.+elings?”
”No, it was over by the Achmore burn.”
”What were you doing over there? Didn't I tell you not to leave our s.h.i.+elings?”
”And where do you think our food comes from? There are no oats left, and you men haven't brought us anything yet.”
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