High on a Mountain (14 page)

Ailean sought to calm her anxiety. He put his
arm around her shoulders and steered her inside. He closed the
door, took her in his arms and held her.

“It will be all right,” he murmured as he
kissed her forehead.

“Something’s wrong. You know that as well as
I do. So don’t say it will be all right.”

Ailean sighed and released her. “Don’t worry
so much. We don’t even know why the chief sent for us. Maybe he
wants to…to announce a wedding or something.”

But he knew better. He knew the fiery cross
was only used to summon clansmen as warriors, and he was eager to
prepare himself and be on his way.

He took his targe from its peg, unstrapped
his sword and dirk and sat for a moment on his chair by the fire to
examine his weapons. Mùirne pulled her chair close and sat on the
edge of it, leaning toward him.

“What if it’s something bad? What if
something should happen to you? What if you get hurt? What if…” She
didn’t finish her thought. Tears filled her eyes and she began to
tremble.

“I’ll be all right, I told you. Don’t worry
about me. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

____________

But Mùirne knew something
could
happen
to him. She knew all she could count on were these precious moments
in his presence. She knew from her own experience the future could
hold happiness or it could hold heartache and bereavement. No one
could say for certain what lay ahead.

He stood and set his weapons on his chair. He
took her hand in his, pulled her to her feet and embraced her. She
put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. But
she didn’t stop trembling. After a few moments, Ailean relinquished
his hold, drew away and looked into her eyes.

“I’ll be all right, don’t worry about me. I
want to make sure you and Coinneach-òg stay safe, too,” he said.
“Maybe you should go and stay with Ma while I’m gone.”

Mùirne closed her eyes, trying to keep tears
from flowing. She nodded. “You take care of yourself, and I’ll take
care of us here at home. You’ll be home again soon, won’t you?”

“I don’t know what to say, my love. I hope
I’ll be back home right away, I hope this isn’t anything
serious.”

Mùirne wanted to hold him, wanted to keep him
from going, but she knew there was no way she could do that. The
chief’s word was law.

“I’ll be all right,” he repeated. He touched
his lips to her forehead. “I have to get ready now.”

“You’ll need something to eat, won’t you?”
Mùirne said, wiping away the tears from her cheeks.

“Yes, I will.”

“I’ll get you something. And food for you to
take with you.”

“Thank you, my love,” he said.

Mùirne busied herself making a packet of
food, thankful for something to do, something to occupy her
thoughts, something to help her stop trembling.

Ailean took off his work tunic and put on his
good one. He laid his belt on the bed and spread his
féileadh-mòr
over it. He folded the fabric into pleats, lay
down on it and wrapped the ends across his body.

He fastened his belt to hold it in place and
stood. He drew the excess fabric above the belt over his left
shoulder and pinned it to his tunic with his brooch. He folded his
work tunic put it into a pouch formed by the upper folds of the
féileadh-mòr
.

“I haven’t cooked supper yet, so this is all
I have.” Mùirne handed him a bowl. “Sit and eat.”

Ailean remained standing and ate with such
haste he hardly tasted the bonny clabber, one of his favorite
foods. He set the bowl on chair and strapped on his sword, dirk and
sporan. He got his bonnet from its peg by the door and settled it
on the right side of his head at its accustomed angle.

“Where is Coinneach-òg?” Ailean asked when he
had finished dressing. “I’d like to say goodbye to him.”

“He went to the woods with the other children
to gather bark. I’ll go get him,” she said and started out the
door.

“No, don’t bother. I don’t have time to wait.
I have to go.”

She turned back to Ailean. “Before you go,
there’s something I have to tell you. I wanted to wait until I was
sure, butI want you to know now. If anything should happen, I
wouldn’t want you—” she began, and caught herself before she could
say
I wouldn’t want you never to have known
.

If there was to be a raid or a skirmish with
another clan, Mùirne knew her beloved husband could be injured or
killed.

“Well, I want you to know,” she finished.

His face took on a questioning expression.
But his look of puzzlement gradually changed to one of
understanding and a half-smile brightened his face. “Do you mean…”
his voice trailed off, and he fell silent, waiting for an
answer.

Mùirne broke the silence. “I think there will
be another little one. I’m almost certain of it. If I’m right, it
will be born in April or May.”

He laughed softly as he took her in his arms.
“Another child! Just what we’ve been hoping and praying for.” He
held her close and murmured, “An answer to our prayers.”

She wanted to stay enfolded in his embrace,
wanted to cling to him, wanted to keep him from leaving her side.
But she knew it wasn’t possible. After too brief a time, he pulled
away.

____________

Ailean kissed her forehead as conflicting
thoughts and emotions surged and ebbed through his mind and body.
He wanted to soothe away Mùirne’s fears, wanted to stay at her side
and make her happy. But each time he speculated about what the
chief’s summons might mean, excitement tautened his muscles and
made his breaths shallow and rapid.

After all the years of training to be a
warrior, he might have the opportunity to test his mettle, to prove
to himself and others he could meet the challenge. He could show
himself to be brave and strong, could show he had the ability to
make an honorable fight. He wanted, more than anything else at this
moment, to prove that he could live up to the heritage bequeathed
to him by his forebears.

“Good-bye, my love.” He stepped through the
doorway before she could say anything more.

A few paces from the door, he stopped by the
small rowan trees he and Mùirne had planted on either side of the
path. Ailean closed his eyes and said a silent prayer before he
broke off a twig and pinned it to his bonnet. As well as being a
protection against evil spirits, the rowan tree was Clan
MacLachlainn’s plant badge, and members of the clan wore sprigs of
it or of periwinkle, their other plant badge, pinned to their
bonnets.

Ailean took a deep breath, bounced slightly
on the balls of his feet, finding it hard to restrain his
enthusiasm. He was prepared for the adventure ahead and wanted to
run all the way to Castle Lachlainn.

SEVENTEEN

A deepening gloom crept from the shadows and
spread over the glen. Only a glowing sliver of sun showed from
behind the mountains on the opposite shore of Loch Fyne by the time
the men started for the castle. They jogged along silently in the
dusk, trying to get as far along the path as possible while it was
still fairly easy to see.

After the sun set, darkness slowed their
progress for a short time until the moon rose over the eastern
ridges. They could barely see as they made their way in single-file
along the narrow path. Each of them walked quietly, staying alert
and watching for possible ambush.

A faint glow showed intermittently through
the branches of the trees ahead. The light grew stronger as they
neared the castle, and when they arrived, they saw its source:
flaming torches positioned around the gate. The torches served as a
beacon and made it easier for them to see their way.

Clansmen who’d already arrived had gathered
in groups. Ailean guessed there must be at least a hundred men
milling about, talking.

Ruairidh greeted the new arrivals. “Pick a
place and lie down, try to get some sleep. You’ll need to be rested
for tomorrow.”

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” Aodh
asked.

“You’ll see. The chief will explain then,”
was the only reply Ruairidh made. He turned to greet another group
of clansmen.

“Why can’t he tell us now?” muttered
Coinneach.

“Hold your tongue,” admonished Aodh. “I don’t
like this uncertainty any better than you do, but keep your
displeasure to yourself. You don’t want it known that you grumbled
against the chief.”

After they spoke with some of their kinsmen
and enjoyed a short visit with them, Aodh led the way to a spot
away from the others, away from the murmuring and gossip. He and
his sons settled on the ground to get what rest they could, wrapped
in their
féileadh-mòr
against the chill of the autumn
night.

Ailean had a hard time falling asleep. The
reason the men had been summoned remained unknown, and he chafed
against the uncertainty. He had expected that he’d be involved in
some great feat when he arrived at the castle, and the forced
inactivity made him fidgety, unable to rest.

The image of Mùirne’s worried face kept
coming to mind, and each time he thought of her, he remembered her
tentative good news. He longed to share it with others, but he
remained silent. He was afraid speaking of it this early might
bring some misfortune and prevent the happy birth of a second
child.

He rolled from one side to the other and
finally drifted off. It seemed as if he had just fallen asleep when
he was awakened by Aodh in the gray light before dawn. The men all
around were stirring and rising as the chief’s servants moved among
them, urging them to be up and ready to move.

Ailean dressed, strapped on his weapons and
put on his bonnet. He allowed himself the luxury of eating a small
piece of bread from the packet of food Mùirne had wrapped in a
piece of linen cloth and tucked into his
sporan
. It took the
edge off his early morning hunger, but it did nothing to diminish
the apprehension which fluttered in his stomach.

The clansmen gathered around the castle gate
to await their chief’s appearance. A clatter of hooves on the stone
paving of the castle courtyard alerted them to the chief’s arrival,
and they parted, forming a passageway through the crowd.

Three horses trotted from the castle gate,
one of which was ridden by the chief, Lachlainn MacLachlainn. The
clansmen hurried after him, anxious to hear the reason for the
chief’s summons.

The chief stopped his horse, turned it to
face the men and waited until they were all within earshot. He held
up his hand until everyone fell silent. His gaze swept over the
crowd.

“Men of Clan MacLachlainn,” he began,
“Prionnsa Teàrlach Stiùbhart has arrived in Scotland to reclaim his
father’s rightful throne!”

He paused while a ripple of comments passed
through group.

“I met with him, and I pledged that Clan
MacLachlainn will help him defeat the
Sasunnach
and the
German king. Let that German go back where he came from and let a
Scot sit on the throne once again!” The chief signaled his piper to
play, and after the first shrill notes wailed into the morning air,
the clansmen began to cheer.

Ailean didn’t understand what the chief’s
words meant, but he was caught up in the emotional outburst. He
joined in the outcry, raised his fist and shouted the clan motto,
“Faithful and strong! Faithful and strong!” He glimpsed the piper,
the clan standard fluttering from the pipes over his shoulder, and
a billowing of pride in his clan filled Ailean’s chest.

He glanced around and saw that Da, Coinneach
and Niall were shouting and waving their arms, too. The chief’s
words and skirling notes of the pipes stirred emotions in him he’d
never felt before, emotions that made him eager to draw his sword
and do battle for his chief.

When the song ended, the chief again raised
his hand for silence as the last notes echoed into the
distance.

“We will leave now to join Prionnsa
Teàrlach’s army at Edinburgh. We will fight the
Sasunnach
and show them what kind of warriors they face when they go into
battle against Clan MacLachlainn!”

Accompanied by two mounted attendants,
Lachlainn MacLachlainn turned his horse toward the Cambeul lands
they would have to cross on their way to Edinburgh. He set off at a
trot. The men of the clan ran along on foot behind him, following
their chief to make war on the
Sasunnach
on behalf of their
own Scottish prince, Teàrlach Stiùbhart.

____________

Ailean and the other men of the croft, like
most Highland men, had been trained for battle since they were big
enough to hold a broadsword. Each winter, during times there were
fewer chores, the boys practiced handling their swords and received
instruction on technique from the older men.

Not only did Aodh train his sons to be brave
and adept warriors, he taught them to be men of character, by
example as well as by instruction. When they were boys, gathered
around the fire on winter evenings, as well as at the
ceilidh
, he told and retold the history and the heroic sagas
of their clan. He instilled in them a sense of pride and a
determination to do the right thing, to be men of honor.

He instructed them to always be loyal, brave
and kind-hearted, and he taught them to despise cowardice and
meanness. Aodh passed the code of honor he had received from his
father and his grandfather on to his sons, and it was as deeply
ingrained in them as it was in himself.

Although they were trained to be warriors,
Aodh’s sons had never been involved in battle, not even in the
occasional minor disputes the MacLachlainns had with other clans.
But Aodh had fought in battle while he was still in his teens. He
had a long scar that reached from his knee to his ankle on his left
leg from a wound he received at Sheriffmuir during the Jacobite
rising of 1715.