Part 5 (1/2)
He looked at her outraged and raised his voice: ”Didn't you hear? There's no game left. We'll have to kill our goats. That will give us some decent food.”
”You will not touch the goats, not over my dead body! We need their milk. Or do you want to bury your son before the summer is over too?”
”All right, woman. But why did you go all the way over there?”
”Because we have to dig roots where they grow. The same as you will have to get meat where there's some.”
”Don't you ever listen, woman? I told you the shepherds are armed. Or you want us to get shot at?” retorted Dougal angrily.
”And you want us to get raped?” It was said with vile vehemence.
”What do you mean, woman?” Dougal thundered. Then he noticed Helen huddled in a corner, holding Betty. The girl started to tremble again when Dougal raised his voice.
All color drained from his face, and then he roared: ”The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! I am going to kill them all! Robbing me of my honor.”
”Is this all you care about? Your honor?” Mary asked, hurt, the tears she had suppressed all that time suddenly bursting.
For an instant, he looked at her as if she had slapped him. Then he yelled: ”If you hadn't gone over there, this wouldn't have happened. But you always know better! ... And why couldn't you run away?”
”Because they were on horses,” she cried.
”One of you should have been a lookout?”
”It wouldn't have made any difference. They came over the top and were upon us before we reached the ravine below the lochan.” Her voice sounded resigned again.
”Oh, G.o.d!” He pressed both fists onto his forehead and pushes out an angry groan. ”I will kill every one of them,” he growled between clenched teeth. ”These b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, defiling my wife and daughters.” He slumped onto a stool.
”Betty and I weren't harmed,” Helen murmured. ”Master Andrew helped us get away.”
”Ah, I should have guessed it. It was he who brought the dragoons over the top, the conniving b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Dougal raved again. ”He led them to our clachan, killed my mother, and now he brought them up into the s.h.i.+elings to rape our women. I will strangle him with my own hands.”
”But he helped Betty and me escape! ... He could have raped me, and there was another soldier there to help him. He tricked him into letting me go,” she pleaded.
”He probably could not get it up,” sneered Dougal. ”Yes, that's it.”
”Dougal, watch your words,” muttered Mary, but he ignored her and ranted on: ”He is impotent, the miserable, despicable coward. That's why he was afraid to go to battle... I should have known not to trust him... Burn this into your minds, children, all of you. Never trust a Campbell. You could not trust them fifty years ago when they murdered the MacDonalds of Glencoe in cold blood and you can't trust them now. Listen, they even were their guests for two weeks and ate their food.” He caught his breath. ”How gullible I was to believe him! He was so sly with his talk of not taking sides, and then he brings the soldiers into our clachan and burns our houses and steals our cattle.”
He isn't a coward. A coward wouldn't have dared to oppose that big, ugly man. Maybe he is cunning the way he helped me get away, Helen's mind protested, but she said nothing. She knew that her father, raving and ranting, would not hear her words. She was back to her unanswered question: Why had he helped them? She turned inward, stopped listening to the repeated outbursts of her father, holding Betty who, exhausted, had finally fallen asleep in her arms.
The communal dinner that night was a somber affair. n.o.body spoke. Despite being hungry, the women only played with their food. One of the two young ones who got raped suddenly rushed out of the hut, silent tears running down her cheeks. Her husband followed her immediately, his face worried. The other one still had a vacant look on her face. Her man occasionally shot her a glance, his expression a mixture of anger and loathing. Only Mary's face was again set in stone, closed up, betraying nothing.
At the end of the dinner, Dougal announced that from now on the men would remain in close proximity of the huts, rather than hide in the ravines, and that no woman or girl was to venture away from the s.h.i.+elings unless accompanied by two men.
In the waning light of the evening-it never gets really pitch dark in June and July at these northern lat.i.tudes-the growling bark of the dogs heralded the approach of strangers. The men readied their pistols and swords and sneaked noiselessly out of the huts.
The dark silhouettes of four men, all wearing Highland plaids, stood out sharply against the horizon on the small rise protecting the huts from the incessant westerly winds. One of them limped badly and was supported by another. They halted.
”Creag an Tuire!” came their battle cry. ”Friend or foe?”
”I am Dougal MacGregor! And you are Donald MacLaren,” Dougal answered their call. ”The last time I saw you was in Inverness. Welcome to our humble abode!”
”Aye, Dougal MacGregor. You made it back safely.”
”Yes, just to see our clachan burned and our cattle driven away!”
The four slowly walked down to the huts. Dougal met them halfway and embraced the limping man.
”Come inside. You are wounded?”
He helped him to a bench in the hut. ”Woman, look at his leg!”
Mary brought a fir candle and carefully removed the b.l.o.o.d.y cloth wrapped around Donald MacLaren's thigh. He looked her over questioningly. ”And who ripped your clothing, lady?”
Dougal answered instead: ”They got attacked and robbed by five dragoons this afternoon.”
”Ah, that must have been the same group who surprised us on the slopes of Beinn Leabhain. That's how I got wounded.”
Mary looked up from her task, hope in her face. ”Did you kill them?”
”No, we did not.”
Visibly disappointed, she went back to cleaning the wound.
”How did you get away then?” asked Dougal.
”Something very strange happened. I still don't comprehend it. We were resting behind bushes, when suddenly four dragoons with their officer and a young Campbell lad came riding down the glen.”
”Yes, that's them all right,” interrupted Dougal.
”Anyway, we ducked for cover, but the officer must have spotted us, and they came charging. We ran down into the ravine-the only escape route-but a bullet hit me in the thigh, and I fell. I ordered the others to make a run for it. The four dragoons pursued them, while the officer stayed behind. He had his second pistol out and was aiming at me, when suddenly the Campbell lad shot him at close range-”
”You were probably his target and he hit the officer by mistake,” Dougal interrupted again. ”That deceiving b.u.g.g.e.r could not even hold a pistol straight-the coward that he is!”
”No, Dougal, you are wrong there. It was a very clean, well-aimed shot. Almost like an execution. Went into the man's temple and out the other side.”
”Mm,” mutters Dougal, waving his hand with a sneer.
”But now it gets even stranger. The lad calmly reloads his pistol and then only checks the officer, and ties him over the horse... All done in absolute silence. He never even looked at me. Then, he tosses the officer's pistols to me, and says calmly: ”You killed him, understood?” and off he rode, after the dragoons. I was too stunned to say something, and that takes quite a bit... A very strange lad. And a Campbell of Argyle! The very people I just faced in battle! I owe him my life. I was sure to meet my maker right then. The English had his pistol trained on me and was pulling the trigger. I was lying on the ground, hardly twenty feet away... And I didn't even thank the lad... My cousins soon came back to fetch me after they were able to shake off their pursuers in the ravine.”
As he told the story, Mary stopped tending his wound, her eyes almost taking the words off his lips. When he finished, she sighed. ”The officer is dead, you said.”