High on a Mountain Read online

“What are you doing sitting here with this MacLachlainn?” he asked, an angry edge to his voice.

  Mùirne looked at the ground and began twisting her airisaid around her fingers. Her breathing became panting.

  “And what is it to you if I sit here with her?” Ailean asked.

  “That’s my woman you’re sitting with. I don’t like it.”

  Ailean looked at Mùirne. “Is this true? Are you his woman?”

  “No…no—” Mùirne began.

  “Yes, it’s true,” Latharn interrupted. “I decided some time ago that I wanted her to be my wife. She’s mine. So you can just leave. Now.”

  “Your wife?” Ailean asked, a sudden nausea seized his stomach. He turned his eyes toward Mùirne again. “You’re married?”

  “No, I…I’m not his wife. He’s not even spoken to Ma… and…I would never agree to it,” Mùirne said, her words coming in panting gasps. “I would never…say ‘yes’ to him.”

  Ailean closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath of relief.

  Latharn turned his glare back to Mùirne. “But you will agree. You’re mine. I have decided we will be married. And you know your family will agree to it.”

  Ailean stood, crossed his arms and faced the belligerent man. Latharn took a couple of steps backward as he looked up at Ailean.

  “Then, you think she is yours just because you decided that you want her?” Ailean asked.

  “Yes. She is mine,” Latharn said. “I’ve been courting her for several months.”

  “Well,” Ailean said, “I say that she is mine. But what’s important is what she wants, what she says, not what we decide.”

  He turned to Mùirne, who was scrambling to her feet.

  “What do you say? Which one do you choose? Or do you want either of us?”

  “I…I want you, only you,” she said, unshed tears glistening in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

  “Mùirne, please!” Latharn said, desperation sounding in his voice. “You can’t mean that.” He grabbed Mùirne’s wrist and jerked her to his side, away from Ailean. “Come along. I’ll help you herd the sheep to your house, and we can visit.”

  Mùirne looked over her shoulder at Ailean, her face scrunched in pain.

  “You’re hurting her! Take your hands off her!” Ailean shouted, and he seized Latharn’s arm. He pried Latharn’s fingers loose from Mùirne’s wrist and pulled her away. He pushed himself in front of her, shielding her with his body. He turned his head to look down at her and asked, “Are you all right?”

  Ailean caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye and turned toward it just as Latharn’s fist smashed into the side of his face. He staggered backward a step or two before he regained his balance. Blood oozed from the cut on his cheek where Latharn’s fist had broken the skin. Ailean gritted his teeth, doubled his fist and took a swing at Latharn. But he missed when Latharn ducked under the punch.

  “Are you sure you want this whelp, Mùirne? Look at him! He’s not even man enough to know how to fight,” Latharn taunted.

  Latharn swung his other fist, hard and fast, and connected with Ailean’s chin, making him stumble backward again. Latharn followed, punching him in the stomach with first one fist, then the other. As Ailean doubled over, Latharn brought his knee up, slammed it into Ailean’s forehead, and he dropped to the ground.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” Mùirne cried and fell to her knees beside Ailean.

  Latharn drew back his foot to kick Ailean’s head, and Mùirne covered it with her arms to deflect the blow.

  “NOOOOO!!” she shrieked.

  Latharn almost kicked her arm before he gained control of himself enough to pull back and stop his thrust.

  He glared at her. “You want him? He can’t even fight. What protection would he be for you?”

  “Leave! Leave here and don’t ever come back! I never want to see you again!” she screamed at him.

  ____________

  Latharn looked down at them before he turned to leave, and an unfamiliar hollowness in his chest brought an ache that traveled into his throat. He labored to get a deep breath as he struggled to believe what Mùirne said. How could she turn him away for the likes of MacLachlainn?

  But as he regarded MacLachlainn’s bloody face, his discomfort was replaced by the satisfaction of having beaten the boy as he’d wanted to do since the first camanachd loss three years earlier. His anger at MacLachlainn boiled up and over again, washed through him like a raging flood, sustained him as he mounted his horse and rode away. It wasn’t until he reached the trail that his anger subsided enough for him to remember the expression on Mùirne’s face and recall things she said. In an instant, the anger left him, replaced by a cold pang of bereavement.

  I’ve lost her. I can’t endure it. His chest ached, and again, he couldn’t draw a breath. No! This can’t be!

  Latharn swallowed, fought to keep his composure, fought to hold down his rising distress. A thought came.

  I can fix it. She can’t want someone like MacLachlainn. He has no money. She’d be condemning herself to a life of drudgery and poverty. She’ll come to her senses. I’ll see to it. The tension constricting his chest lessened, and he took a ragged breath.

  Besides, her family accepts me as a suitor. They’d never allow MacLachlainn to court her. That must be why he’s sneaking around, seeing her here, just the two of them…alone. I wonder if her family knows about him. Surely they don’t know what he’s been doing…

  The realization that a few words to her family about the situation could bar MacLachlainn from ever seeing Mùirne again brought welcome relief from his agony. He would send his cousin, Suibhne, to talk to Mùirne’s family about MacLachlainn. And that would be the end of that.

  But another a thought occurred to him: if he sent Suibhne to tell Mùirne’s family about MacLachlainn, might that make Mùirne even more angry with him? Maybe he should wait, should only reveal it to her family if she didn’t agree to marry him.

  And he decided it would be best if he didn’t see Mùirne for a while. He would give her time to get over her anger, then he would see her, maybe take her a gift. Things would be better between them. Now that she’d seen what a strong, powerful man he was, she would respond to his overtures. She wouldn’t be withdrawn and silent when he came near.

  Especially if he threatened to tell her family MacLachlainn had been seeing her behind their backs. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Yes, he would win Mùirne over, one way or another.

  A welcome sense of calm settled over him like a warm blanket on a cold night as he convinced himself that the confrontation with Mùirne was a mere disagreement which could be rectified. His charm had gotten him out of trouble before. It would again.

  He laughed at the way he had administered the much-needed drubbing and debased MacLachlainn before her eyes. Once she calmed down, came to her senses, she surely wouldn’t want MacLachlainn now. What woman would want a gangling, awkward weakling? Especially when she could have a man of his stature, his wealth. And, it must be admitted, a man as handsome as he.

  Yes. The proper thing to do now was to wait a little while.

  FIVE

  Ailean lay wheezing, his head throbbing, his stomach in spasms. But far worse than the physical pain was knowing he’d been beaten by Latharn. He’d never fought anyone using his fists and didn’t know how to fight in such a situation. All his training for combat had been with a sword. As humiliated as he felt at losing the fight, Ailean was mortified that Mùirne witnessed it.

  He pulled himself up and sat with his head hanging as the ringing in his ears subsided, his elbows propped on his drawn up knees, hands dangling between them. His belly hurt, and he couldn’t get a deep breath. Nausea pushed the contents of his stomach into his throat, and he feared he’d disgrace himself further if he was unable to control it.

  Mùirne knelt by his side and brushed the dirt and grass from his tunic. “Are you all right?” she asked, tears running down her cheeks. She le
aned over to look at his face. “No, you’re not all right, you’re bleeding!”

  He turned away, too ashamed to face her. “I’m all right.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and wept. His embarrassment faded, replaced by the pleasure he felt from her embrace. He slipped his arms around her waist and held her close.

  Her sobs waned, and she relaxed against him. They didn’t move for a long time, neither willing to release the other.

  “You said you wanted me, not him. Did you mean it?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do want you. And I always will.”

  He raised his head, and she pulled back from the embrace to look into his eyes. The radiance of the autumn sun turned her hair into a flaming halo of curls that framed her delicate face. Her blue eyes still gleamed with tears. She was so beautiful that he ached at the sight of her.

  “I want you, too,” he said with a catch in his voice. “I’ll want you forever, Mùirne. Forever.”

  She put her hands on both sides of his face and turned it so she could see his injuries.

  “Oh, look what he did to you! I hate him. How could he do this?”

  With gentle fingers, she pulled off his bonnet and brushed his hair away from the knot rising on his forehead and away from the cut on his cheek that still trickled blood.

  Ailean pulled her hands away from his bruised and hurting face. He turned away from her, embarrassed again and not wanting her pity.

  “I told you, I’m all right. Leave me be!”

  Mùirne sat on the ground beside him, twisting and folding the edge of her airisaid with her fingers, focusing on the grass at her feet.

  “Please don’t be angry with me,” she said with a quaver in her voice.

  “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at myself and Latharn.”

  “You have a deadly enemy now. Because of me.”

  “No, not because of you. He’s been my enemy for a long time. When I was fourteen, I started playing in the camanachd game each year between my clan and his. His clan hasn’t won a game since that time, and he blames me for it. He hates me.”

  Mùirne raised her head, turned her face toward him and her eyes met his.

  “You won’t leave me because of him? Because of what he did?”

  “Never. I could never leave you.”

  Ailean touched her cheek, stroked it gently.

  “But…even if…even if I tell you something…something that…” She turned her face away and looked off in the distance across Loch Lomond to the mountains beyond, trying to summon the courage to tell him about herself.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her lips.

  “I love you, Mùirne. I will always love you, as long as there is breath in my body. No matter what. Nothing can change that.”

  He kissed her again.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Latharn before now?” he asked.

  “I was afraid if you knew about me, you wouldn’t come back, and I…I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing you again.”

  “Why did you think I wouldn’t come back? You’re all I can think of when I’m awake, and you’re in my dreams when I sleep. All I want is to be with you.”

  “It’s just that…” Mùirne started to tremble and couldn’t continue.

  “What is it?”

  “Th-th-there…there’s something else I haven’t told you…” Her breath came in gulps again. “My name…it isn’t MacPhàrlain…I lied. MacPhàrlain is my mother’s clan. My name is…it’s MacGriogair. You know what that means…”

  He did, indeed, know what that meant.

  Her father’s clan name, MacGriogair, had been abolished, proscribed over a hundred years earlier. Those MacGriogairs who defiantly used their rightful name were persecuted, robbed of their lands and possessions and sometimes killed by Cambeul clansmen, with the blessings of the king.

  “Latharn doesn’t know I’m a MacGriogair. I don’t know what he’d do if he knew. The Cambeuls…they killed my…my father. And Granda.”

  Mùirne began to cry again. And as she gave voice to things she’d never spoken of since she was five-years-old, she shivered as though she was caught in the blast of a freezing wind.

  “They killed Grandma…and my uncle…”

  Ailean put his arms around her and held her close while she cried. When her sobs subsided, he put his hand under her chin and tilted her face so he could look into her eyes.

  “Life is full of dangers, my love,” he said. “I’ll deal with that Cambeul man if he so much as looks at you. What happened today will never happen again. I’ll make sure of it.”

  His fingers drifted across her cheek, over the delicate curve of her ear, pushed the red curls up and away from her face. He couldn’t bear the thought of Latharn’s hands caressing her, touching her hair, her face. Couldn’t endure the idea of Mùirne belonging to anyone but himself.

  Ailean had not, until this moment, considered marriage. He was drawn to Mùirne because she was so beautiful and because of the feelings of desire her beauty aroused in him. And the deep fear and helplessness he saw in her awakened his protective instincts, made him want to shield her from harm.

  Now that he knew Latharn wanted her, too, a determination formed in his mind, took shape and grew firm. He would ensure Mùirne belonged to him, and him alone. Latharn would never possess her, never touch her again.

  His chin jutted out and a steely glint shone from his eyes as he made a decision.

  “You said you want me. Do you want me enough to marry me?” he asked.

  “Oh yes.”

  “Then, will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He kissed her again, nuzzled her neck and whispered, “When can we marry? How soon?”

  “We have to…there are things we have to do. First we have to talk to my mother. And we need to have a place to live,” Mùirne said.

  “I’ll talk to your mother tomorrow, and I’ll build us a house to live in. Whatever it takes, let’s do it quickly. I want you for my own. Now.” And he wanted to lay claim before Latharn could.

  He took his arms from around her and stood, grasped her hands and gently pulled her to her feet.

  “Then you mean it?” she asked. “We really are going to be married?”

  “Yes, my love, just as soon as we can.”

  Ailean took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head, her brow, her wet cheeks. She melted into his embrace and lifted her face to his. He kissed her lips, drew back and looked into her eyes.

  “Mùirne, my love, I’ll take care of you, and I’ll love you forever.”

  A tiny thought, a doubt, pressed against the edges of his awareness. If he married Mùirne, what would become of his dreams and plans of a life of high adventure? Of heroic exploits? A small furrow traced itself onto his brow between his eyes, but his rising passion smoothed it away and smothered his hesitancy. Ailean pulled Mùirne tighter against his body, and his kisses became more ardent and insistent.

  Mùirne clung to him, returned his kisses. He caressed her shoulders as he kissed her, and she allowed his hands to travel down her back, along the curves of her body. Intense desire engulfed him. He felt as if he were on the edge of a precipice, about to plunge over, about to do something irrevocable, and he pulled himself back, drew away from her embrace.

  He took a ragged breath. “I have to go. If I don’t go now, I might do something…something we’ll regret.”

  SIX

  Ailean ran most of the way home through the chilly November evening. He arrived after sunset, as the family sat down to supper. He hung his bonnet and sword on their pegs and took his place by the fire.

  “And who is this stranger coming to sit at my hearth?” his father said. “Have I seen you before, young man? Don’t you live somewhere over by the MacPhàrlains?”

  They all laughed as Ailean ducked his head, smiling and blushing. His mother filled a bowl from the iron pot that hung over the fire, suspended on a chain fro
m the rafters above. She held it out to him. When he reached for it, he raised his head and she saw the bruises and dried blood on his face.

  “What’s this?” Brìghde asked. “What has happened to you, son?”

  His father and his younger brother, Niall, saw his injured face but said nothing, waiting for him to explain.

  “Latharn Cambeul.”

  “What happened?” Aodh asked, his voice quiet but intense.

  “I was visiting someone. He didn’t like it, so he hit me. I tried to hit him back, but—”

  “Looks like he hit you more than once,” said Niall.

  “Yes, well, if we’d fought with swords instead of fists, it would be Latharn who’d be answering questions about the marks on his face instead of me,” Ailean said, and they all laughed, relieving the tension that had begun to build when they saw his battered face.

  They continued eating, and the laughter and teasing resumed, all of them enjoying the warmth and love that radiated from one to the other around the fire.

  After they ate, Ailean said, “Da, can I talk to you? Can we go outside?”

  “No,” Brìghde said. “First let me see to those wounds.”

  “Later, please, Ma,” Ailean pleaded. “I have to talk to Da first. Outside.”

  “Outside? What do you have to say that can’t be said here by the fire where it’s warm?” Aodh asked.

  “I want to ask you something.”

  “Ask.”

  Ailean glanced at Ma and Niall. “Not here.” He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with the folds of his clothing and rubbing a foot back and forth on the dirt floor.

  Aodh looked at him for a moment. “All right, son, let’s go.”

  When they walked outside, it took Ailean a few moments to decide what to say. As he ran home, he’d gone over in his mind what he would say to his father, but now he didn’t know how it would sound.

  He cleared his throat. “Da, I’ve found a girl I want to marry.”

  Aodh remained silent, waited for him to continue.

  “I need to know…I’m wondering…” He hesitated for a moment, and the words all came out in a rush. “When Coinneach got married, he built the cottage for Una here beside yours. What about me? Can I build a cottage here, too? Can I stay here and help and have a share in things, like Coinneach does?”