Part 12 (1/2)

Sat.u.r.day, he stayed in his room on the first floor of the inn, watching people come and go until well into the afternoon. Again, he felt that something was missing. Except for an occasional colorful tartan jacket worn by a few women, it was impossible to tell what clan the people claimed.

Finally, the sound of the music drew him to the green. Leaning against the trunk of an oak on a small rise, he observed the couples dancing in pairs and in groups. Some faces looked familiar, but n.o.body seemed to recognize him. A few young women and la.s.ses walking by cast curious glances at the stranger. Suddenly, he spotted a young woman whirling around among the dancers. She looked like the Helen he knew. The same blaze of red hair. The same smile. His heart missed a beat. His left hand reached for the chest, as if trying to calm his heart, to comfort it. It cannot be Helen. She would look older. He remembered her features cut more boldly, more defiant. Betty, flashed through his mind. So Helen might be here too. He searched the dancing couples nearby. There! That's my Helen!

She smiled at the young man with her. Something he said made her laugh. How well he remembered those smiles, the way her eyes opened wide for a short moment and then became narrow slits. After the dance, the young man led her away, a hand resting on her shoulder, a possessive expression on his face. Was this her husband? No, she would be wearing a mutch-a bonnet, nor would he hold her in such a possessive manner anymore, letting everybody know that she was to be his. So, it must be her betrothed. A numbing ache gripped his heart. Had he hoped deep down that she remained unattached? Wouldn't she have forgotten him years ago already?

Observing their gay interaction, he felt pained, foolish that all these years he had held on to her, that he had never really let go. But this must be the end. It was more final than the belief that she was his half-sister. Now that he could put a face to the man whom she had given her favor, antipathy born in jealousy rose in him. Giving in to the sudden urge to run, to leave town right away, he pushed himself brusquely away from the trunk and headed for the inn. He vaguely heard the musicians announce a creel, and before he was fully aware he paired up with a young woman at the edge of the green.

”New in town?” she asked, a provocative smile playing on her pretty face.

”Yes,” he answered, trying hard to return her smile, but not succeeding convincingly.

As the creel went on, he worked himself down to the middle of the green, where he had seen Helen earlier. Unexpectedly, Betty was his partner.

”h.e.l.lo, Betty,” he greeted her, forcing a smile that he didn't feel.

They turned a figure eight, and, as they faced each other again, her face lit up: ”Master Andrew! You've come back?”

”Only to say farewell to the Highlands. I'm going to America!”

Again they turned around each other.

”You've become a pretty la.s.s, Betty!”

She blushed, smiling bashfully.

Andrew moved to his next partner. And then his hand held Helen's.

”Helen,” he whispered, as his eyes locked onto hers.

For a moment her face kept the noncommittal smile she would give to any stranger at a dance. Suddenly, a flash of recognition made her falter. His firm grip held her steady as they turned around each other.

”Andrew,” she replied and locked eyes with him again. There was no smile in either face. Hers showed bewilderment, his hurt. Their hands touched again. She responded to his light pressure. They separated, and he moved on. He saw her gaze search for him, but worked himself to the edge.

Turning his back to the dance, the feelings that he had kept suspended during that brief interlude now overwhelmed him. His vision blurred, he b.u.mped into a young man, excused himself in English, and got sworn at in Gaelic as ”a b.l.o.o.d.y Sa.s.senach” or Englishman. Back in his room he threw himself on the narrow bed. What a fool he had been to come back, pouring jealousy into old wounds! Nothing had changed over these four years. He had opened the lid and found his love for Helen burning as fiercely as ever.

”I saw master Andrew,” whispered Betty to Helen.

So it was Andrew! The emptiness that had gripped her when she saw Andrew got darker. ”Did he talk to you?”

”Yes, I asked him if he had come back-”

”And?”

”-he said no. He said he only came to say goodbye. He's going to America.” Her face took a dreamy expression. ”I envy him. I would like to go there, leave this b.l.o.o.d.y country where folks like us never have any hope of getting ahead ... not being poor all our lives. I heard you can get land there, lots of land very cheap, and own it forever, do with it what you want, run your own cattle on it. Not be at the mercy of our lords who can kick us out at their whim, and take away the land to run thousands of sheep, as they did last year to Angus McNabb... And get away from the strife between the clans.” She got carried away.

Helen wasn't listening. Her eyes were unfocused, gazing inside. Vaguely, she felt Betty's hand touch hers, saw her face as if she wanted to ask a question. Her emptiness turned into turmoil.

She had resigned herself to never see him again. She hadn't thought of him since last March when Robert, her cousin who after the Argyle ambush, now almost four year ago, had come to live with her clan and had asked her father for her hand in marriage. Then she had searched her heart and confirmed that she still couldn't think of Andrew without a sense of loss, although the hurt was largely gone. And now he showed up again, just weeks away from her wedding. The box that she had locked away deep inside her soul, that she thought she had buried for good, without warning sprung open again, and the memories of their short summer of love came all flooding back.

At first, she hadn't recognized him with his dark beard. It had only been the touch of his hand that made her look again. She knew of no other man whose palms were so soft and silky. It triggered a fleeting smile. Why did he talk to Betty and not to her? But would she have been able to respond? She didn't know. Her eyes were driven to search the crowd again.

”Come, Helen, dance!” Robert's voice felt like an intrusion. For a moment she looked at him without comprehension.

”What's the matter, la.s.s?” He did not wait for an answer and grabbed her hand, trying to pull her up. ”Come, people are lining up.”

”Take Betty! I'll sit this one out.”

He shrugged and took Betty's hand. She followed reluctantly, looking at her sister with a worried face.

”Just go, Betty! I'm all right.”

All this time, Mary MacGregor had watched her intensely. After Robert and Betty were out of hearing, she asked: ”That young man? It was master Andrew, wasn't it?”

Helen nodded.

”Why's he back? What does he want?” Her mother's voice sounded anxious.

”I don't know, mother. We didn't speak.”

”La.s.s, you stay away from him and you know why! His coming back can only spell trouble! And you know father swore that he will kill any Argyle man to revenge his brother.”

”I'm almost married, mother. Don't tell me what to do anymore! ... And as to father, it has only been words so far.”

Her mother did not respond, just looked at her sternly.

Helen caught herself time and again searching the crowd for Andrew all afternoon, but to no avail. She tried hard to get back into the dancing. She returned Robert's smiles, made an effort to laugh at his banter. However, it was all a facade. Her heart was not in it. Her thoughts invariably strayed back to Andrew. Why did he come back? Why didn't he talk to her? Why didn't he greet her with a smile? She had no answers, just the ominous feeling that her mother might be right, that his coming back could only spell trouble. It had already upset the fragile inner peace she had fought so hard to find and keep these last three years.

On their way back home, Robert asked her pointedly: ”What was the matter with you all afternoon? Mad at me or something?”

”No, Robert, I'm not. Nothing's the matter... I don't know, maybe I'm just a bit preoccupied about our wedding... How's our cottage coming along? Is there much left to do?”

”You saw it yesterday. So why ask? It'll be ready for our wedding.” He eyed her suspiciously. ”You'll come for a walk with me tonight.” It wasn't a question, more a command.

Out of habit, she almost said 'yes'. She had learned that with Robert it was simplest to say yes. He took a 'no' almost as a personal affront. He needed to dominate everybody around him. It was best to reserve the 'no's' for really important things. But now she hesitated. She didn't feel like kissing and cuddling with Robert today-his only reason for enticing her on a walk. They rarely talked. They didn't have much to talk about, and then it was mainly Robert who talked. He didn't know how to listen. Not like Andrew! ... Why did she compare them? She had never done this so far.

”Why don't you answer? See, you're mad!”

”No, Robert, I'm not mad at you. But tonight I would rather not go for a walk. I feel tired. We can go another day.”

”See! I knew you're mad at me or else you'd come. I know you like it too! ... There's something the matter. Why were you always looking around at the dance? ... Searching for somebody?”

”No, I wasn't.”

He stopped, grabbing her arm roughly. ”Yes, you were... It's another man, I know!”

She tried to pull her arm free. His grip tightened. ”Robert, let go! You're hurting me!”

His eyes narrowed to threatening slits, his face reddening. He raised his voice: ”Who is it? ... Answer, I asked you a question!”