High on a Mountain Page 2

  Ailean, unaccustomed to being singled out for praise and recognition, enjoyed the attention. “Thanks. I did my best.”

  A growing feeling of being watched nagged at him, made him uncomfortable, and he scanned the crowd. He saw Latharn Cambeul’s dark eyes fastened upon him in a malevolent glare. An almost imperceptible shiver passed through his body, and he turned his back on Latharn. And toward the enjoyment of the victory celebration.

  ____________

  Latharn sat by the fire with his father, who was sipping his usual evening drink of whisky.

  “Are you still fretting about the game?” Eachann asked his son.

  “That MacLachlainn boy. I wish he’d break a leg or something. Ever since he started playing, we haven’t won a game.”

  “Things come and things go. He won’t play camanachd forever. Then, we’ll probably be the winners again.”

  Latharn noticed his father’s empty glass. “Can I pour you another dram, Father?”

  “No. I think I’ve had enough for tonight.” Eachann frowned, in thought. “I saw some of the MacThàmhais boys playing when I rode by their croft a week or two ago. One of the boys is good, quite good. He’ll be old enough to play in a year or two, and maybe he’ll turn our fortunes around.”

  Latharn made no comment. He didn’t care about the MacThàmhais boy, didn’t care if the boy helped Clan Cambeul win in years to come. He only cared that MacLachlainn defeated his clan while Latharn himself played on the team, that MacLachlainn bested him.

  Latharn enjoyed his status as the best player in Clan Cambeul. He resented the erosion of respect resulting from the game losses to Clan MacLachlainn. He looked into the flames, seething, his dislike for Ailean MacLachlainn deepening.

  ____________

  When spring arrived, thoughts of planting, of eking out meager crops on the thin soil of the crofts, replaced thoughts of camanachd competition in most crofters’ minds. Matters of survival took precedence over clan rivalries and ball games.

  Ailean’s family and the neighbors who were joint tenants on their croft drove their sheep and cattle to the airigh, away from the unfenced fields of the croft where the men would plant oats and barley. The women and children tended the animals through the summer months, holding them at the airigh so they would not destroy the growing crops. And the cattle fattened on the lush grass of the upland pasture.

  In late summer, after the people harvested the oats, the men gathered the cattle and sorted them for the drive to the croft. Aodh MacLachlainn discovered one of his cows was missing.

  “Ailean. Go find her. She can’t have wandered far,” Aodh told his son.

  His father’s order rankled. He always gives me the worst jobs, things a child can do. And Coinneach always gets the manly chores. It isn’t fair!

  “Why me? Why not Coinneach?” Ailean asked.

  “Just do as you’re told.”

  Ailean walked away, grumbling under his breath. He went to the hut to get a piece of cheese to carry with him. This trek could take an hour or it could take all day, and he wanted to be prepared. He didn’t enjoy going hungry.

  When he squatted to get a piece of cheese from the bottom shelf, his scabbard banged into his leg and jerked against the strap fastened around his waist. The irritation begun by his father’s order grew with the aggravation caused by the unwieldy sword. Ailean clenched his teeth and tried to push the sword into a better position. But no matter what he tried, he couldn’t reach the shelf in the close quarters of the tiny hut with the sword strapped in place. At last, he unfastened the belt and laid the sword aside while he got his cheese.

  He looked at the sword when he stood and placed the cheese in his sporan, and a spirit of rebellion rose within him. Da told his sons never to go about unarmed. But the heavy sword always got in the way. It would be even more cumbersome in the rough country he’d travel through on the hunt for the missing cow. Besides, it was useless to carry the extra weight. He’d never drawn his sword except in training sessions.

  Ailean’s habitual rashness did not allow him to see beyond his current aggravation with the sword. And the task his father assigned him still irritated like a persistent gnat buzzing around his head. He set his jaw in defiance, giving no thought to how his disobedience could affect him, and, against Da’s explicit orders, Ailean left the sword where it lay and walked unarmed from the hut into the bright sunlight of the August morning.

  TWO

  Ailean located the cow and her calf on the side of a hill before midday. Good. At least he wouldn’t spend the whole day looking for one old cow.

  But the cow refused to be driven up the slope. He tried every tactic to turn her in the right direction. He cajoled, yelled, waggled his walking stick at her and waved his arms, but she stood staring, unmoving, her skewed horn aiming an empty threat at him.

  “You! You there!”

  He turned and looked down the hill. Two men wearing blue Cambeul tartan labored up the incline. When they drew near, Ailean recognized one of them and groaned.

  Just what I needed. More trouble.

  Ailean brushed his hair from his face and tugged the right side of his bonnet further down on his forehead.

  “Well, well. What have we here. A MacLachlainn. Trespassing on Cambeul land,” Latharn Cambeul said. “And trying to lift some of my cattle, besides.”

  “No, I’m not. This cow belongs to my da. She wandered from the airigh.”

  “You’re a liar. And you’re a cattle thief.” Latharn moved to the left and signaled his companion to circle to the right.

  A flush of burning anger colored Ailean’s face a deep red. “I’m no thief. That’s my da’s cow, and I can prove it.”

  “Let’s see you try.”

  “Before we drove our cattle to the airigh this spring, we put Da’s mark on them all with tar. On the right side of the neck, like we always do. You can see it from where you stand.”

  Although the small, shaggy cow was black, the clotted black tar mark was visible on her neck.

  “I don’t see a thing,” Latharn said. “Do you, Odhran?”

  His companion hesitated, then shook his head.

  “You can leave now, MacLachlainn. Without my cow.”

  “No. I’ll not leave without this cow!” Ailean shouted.

  “I think you will.” Latharn drew his sword.

  Ailean gritted his teeth and reached for his dirk, berating himself for leaving his sword in the hut. His dirk would be no match for Latharn’s sword. If only he had his sword, he’d teach Latharn a thing or two about tangling with a MacLachlainn.

  “Odhran,” Latharn said. “Your sword.”

  When Ailean heard the metallic scrape of Odhran’s sword leaving its sheath, he began backing away from the two men as they advanced, keeping his eyes fixed on Latharn. The cow, intimidated by the two additional men, wheeled and ran clattering up the rocky slope, followed by her calf. Ailean turned and ran after her.

  Latharn laughed. “Look at the coward run, Odhran. Isn’t that the funniest sight you’ve ever seen?”

  Ailean stopped for a moment and looked down at Latharn. “Not nearly as funny as watching you lose the camanachd game year after year.”

  “Get off my range!” Latharn shouted.

  I’ll never run from him again. No matter what, Ailean thought as he ran behind the cow, humiliation dogging his steps like a hound on the trail of a fox. Even if he cuts me to pieces, I’ll stand and fight.

  ____________

  The cow reached the pasture of the airigh with no further trouble. She and her calf trotted to join the herd, and Ailean circled around the cattle to his father’s side.

  “Da, that old cow brought me some trouble today. With Latharn Cambeul.”

  His father glanced at him. “How so?”

  “She wandered onto their range. He and another man came along when I was trying to get her moving, and he accused me of trespassing. He called me a liar and a cattle thief.”

  Aodh turned to face him
. “And did you demand an apology for the insult?”

  “No.”

  “And why not?”

  Ailean looked away, unable to meet Da’s piercing stare. “I was without my sword.”

  “You were without your sword?”

  Ailean didn’t answer.

  “Sometimes, Ailean, I despair of you ever learning to do the right thing.” He took a deep breath, released it in a disgusted sigh. Aodh emphasized each word as he said, “What have I told you, again and again.”

  Ailean ducked his head, fixed his gaze on the grass at his feet and repeated his father’s directive. “‘Always be armed, always be prepared for trouble if it comes, but don’t make trouble.’”

  “That’s right. Remember that. Don’t ever go about without your sword again.”

  Ailean stood, stiff and unable to move, embarrassment and frustration, like twin spikes, fastened him to the spot. He had disappointed Da again. His impatience and disobedience cost him more of Da’s respect.

  “Where is it?” Aodh asked.

  “What?”

  “Your sword.”

  “In the hut.”

  “Put it on. Now!”

  ____________

  When the men finished sorting and separating the cattle, they left the ones they intended to drive to market at the airigh and drove the ones they would keep down to the croft. Ailean slipped away from the herd when it passed the trail to his favorite place, a nearby mountain peak.

  He loved his homeland. Scotland claimed his heart, but her mountains filled his soul. Happiness and sadness alike elicited a single response from Ailean: go to the mountaintop to think things through.

  Sometimes, he settled himself on an outcropping of rock near the top of the mountain and surveyed the land below like a king on his throne. But on this day, he had disappointed Da again and embarrassed himself through his impetuous behavior. The rock became a gibbet for displaying him in his shame for all the world to see. He sighed and took his accustomed seat.

  As he viewed the panorama spread before him, the late afternoon sun changed its hue. The rays of light bathed the glens and hills below, and Loch Fyne beyond, with golden light, enriching all they touched. The rude stone dwellings of the croft, with their thatched roofs, looked warm and peaceful. The furrows of the mown fields drew lines of light and shadow across the smooth-looking yellow stubble in satisfying uniformity.

  The serenity of the landscape soothed Ailean. His mistakes didn’t appear so dire when seen against the vastness of the beautiful scenery. The feeling of humiliation he suffered at Latharn’s hands diminished, and his frustration over his failure to live up to Da’s expectations faded in the warm glow. His spirits lifted a little, and his natural optimism began to reassert itself.

  He daydreamed again about his future life. He pictured himself as the hero of adventurous exploits, a respected and celebrated warrior of the clan. He lost himself in his exciting inner world, one in which he made no mistakes. A world where everyone in the clan respected him and spoke his name with awe.

  Sometimes, he daydreamed about following in his father’s footsteps. Yes, he would be a farmer, like Da. Of course, that would come later in life, after he had established himself as a larger-than-life hero, braver than the bravest of men. He would have a beautiful, strong wife, the envy of his clansmen. And she would bear him a houseful of virile, handsome sons to follow in his own footsteps.

  Ailean smiled as the visions of his future took shape in his mind. His chest expanded, and he drew his shoulders back, raised his head in an attitude of superiority. He would be a man of substance.

  He scanned the croft below. When Coinneach married Una, he built a cottage for her beside Da’s. Ailean expected to do the same when he married. After he had led a glorious and adventurous life. There, on the other side of Da’s cottage, that was the site where his own cottage would stand, where he would live with a wife who loved him, who would be happy to do his bidding, who…

  He heard a small noise and turned to see his father standing behind him.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” Da said, his voice rasping with exasperation.

  “Look, Da. Doesn’t the croft look beautiful from up here?”

  Aodh was silent for a moment. He passed a glance over the land below. “Aye.” He turned to Ailean and looked into his eyes. “It looks beautiful from up here on the mountain, but you must remember that your life is lived down there in the glen. And sometimes, life isn’t so lovely when you’re there in the midst of it.”

  “But—”

  “Ailean, you walked away and left your work for others to do. A man doesn’t do that if he’s any kind of an honorable man. He shoulders his share of the burdens and pulls his own weight when there’s work to be done.”

  Ailean looked down in shame at his bare feet. His spirits, which had lifted when he viewed the beauty of his homeland, plummeted at Da’s words.

  ____________

  “You should have seen him run,” Latharn said. He chuckled and took another sip of whisky.

  “I suppose it was amusing,” his father said.

  “More than amusing, it was gratifying. I just wish you had been there to see it.” He laughed again.

  Eachann moved his foot on the stool where it was propped and winced. Latharn saw his father’s discomfort and frowned.

  “Do you need another cushion?” he asked.

  “Yes, if you will get one, please.”

  Latharn brought a pillow, lifted his father’s foot and arranged the padding under it.

  “Will that do?”

  “Yes. Much better, thank you.” He shifted in his chair and grimaced again. “Much better. I’m looking forward to seeing that doctor in Edinburgh. I hope he’ll be able to do something for me.”

  “He’d better.”

  “I understand from Ualraig that he’s done things akin to miracles for some of his patients. But perhaps I shouldn’t get my hopes up.” He sighed. “Now. What was it you were telling me about?”

  “As I was saying,” Latharn went on. “I wish all our crofters had seen MacLachlainn run, not just Odhran. But he’ll tell of it, and that will be almost as good.”

  “Well, you administered a retribution of sorts for the camanachd defeat,” Eachann said. “Now let’s see how they like the way I avenge the humiliation of my clansmen.”

  Latharn looked at his father with a question in his eyes that became a smile on his lips. “A new rate of passage for their cattle?”

  Eachann smiled and nodded.

  ____________

  When all the families completed the move from the airigh to the croft, Aodh asked the men to gather at his cottage for a discussion of the upcoming cattle drive.

  “Latharn Cambeul is taking over more responsibility for his father’s holdings of late. I don’t like having to deal with him,” Aodh said.

  “Me, either,” Gabhran MacEòghainn said. “There’s something about the man I don’t care for.”

  “Yesterday, I sent Ailean to find a cow that had wandered off, and he had an encounter with Latharn. He insulted Ailean, made some accusations, and he and the man with him drew their swords. I don’t want to have a dispute with the Cambeuls, but I think Latharn is determined to make one.”

  “Latharn Cambeul is trouble dressed in a féileadh-mòr and bonnet,” Coinneach said, and all the men laughed.

  “I have a proposal,” Aodh said. “It may be a good idea, or it may be a bad one. If we discuss it, maybe we can decide if it is as good as it seems to me.”

  Boisil MacLachlainn said, “Let’s hear it.”

  “Each year, Eachann charges us more to drive our cattle across his holdings.”

  “Aye.”

  “He does.”

  “He charges too much.”

  All the men made comments. Aodh held up his hand, asking for silence.

  “What if we made the drive to Dumbarton instead of Crieff?” Aodh looked around the group to judge their response to his suggestion.
“We might get less for the cattle in Dumbarton, but I’ve worked out a path that would take us across Tòmas Cambeul’s holdings instead of Eachann’s.”

  The men were silent as they considered Aodh’s words, and he waited for a response.

  At last, Gabhran spoke. “I, for one, would be pleased to do that, no matter what Tòmas charges. Not having to deal with Latharn would make it worthwhile.”

  “What do you say, Boisil? Coinneach?” Aodh asked.

  “I like the idea,” Coinneach said.

  And Boisil said, “Let’s do it.”

  Gabhran smiled. “I’d love to see the look on Latharn’s face when he realizes he won’t get money from us this year.”

  THREE

  Sixteen-year-old Mùirne MacGriogair rolled over, stretched and yawned. She opened her eyes when the sounds of morning penetrated her wakening haze, and she stretched again. She heard Ma stoke the fire, heard Grandma MacPhàrlain’s wooden spoon scrape the inside of the iron pot that hung from the rafters. The porridge would be ready soon.

  At that thought, Mùirne’s stomach growled in anticipation.

  “Mùirne!” Ma called.

  “I’m awake,” she answered.

  Mùirne climbed out of the warmth of her bed and dressed. She tugged a comb through her curly red hair and tied it back with a length of wool yarn. She wasted no time on her appearance; it was of no importance to her.

  She came from behind the curtained partition that separated the sleeping area from the living area and stood by the open hearth in the center of the room, waiting for her breakfast. Grandma handed her a bowl of porridge, and she ate it standing by the fire. She finished, set her empty bowl on the worktable and started toward the cabinet to get bread and cheese for her midday meal. She wanted to hurry, wanted to be out of the confines of the house and in the open spaces.

  The biggest ewe bleated in the byre, the sound loud in the small cottage. She bleated again and Grandma said, “Better get her milked before she makes us deaf.”