Summer of Love (16 page)

    
"I love your hair," he murmured.

    
She raised her face. Her eyes sparkled, and he saw himself reflected in
hers. Timidly, he stroked the lock that had escaped her tresses. Embolden by
her smile, he let his index slowly slide down her forehead and over her nose.
"I love your face."

    
His finger passed over her lips. She took a mock bite and stretched her
chin, as the index slowly traveled around it and down into the hollow of her
throat.

    
"I love the softness of your skin."

    
She smiled again, her eyes half-closed, tilting her chin up languorously.
He kissed her soft lips, lingering. She closed her eyes. He kissed them. "But
most of all, I love your eyes. They are so blue. I could look into them for
hours."

    
She opened them and their foreheads touched, their pupils just inches
apart, timid love meeting timid love.

    
"How long have you loved me, Andrew?"

    
"I don’t know, but you’ve been on my mind ever since I saw you the first
time when you and your mother went to the market in Killin, two years ago
already. Every night since then before I go to sleep, I bring up your face in
my mind."

    
Her gaze turned inside. "I didn’t like the way you looked at me then."

    
"I know, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t take my eyes off you."

    
"Why did you suddenly leave the dance?"

    
"Because I didn’t want the McNabb brothers and James Campbell to
know that I fancied you. They wanted to carry you off, so that I could ravish
you."

    
"I guessed that." She nestled back into his embrace, the palm of her hand
on his chest, sensing his heart beat.

    
"Andrew, I’m afraid."

    
"Why?"

    
"Because my father swore that he’ll kill you. You didn’t believe me."

    
Andrew did not answer, but his heart beat more strongly. He continued
stroking her hair gently. She searched his eyes. "Did you?"

    
"No, I didn’t. But I do now. Does your mother know that you see me?"

    
"I never told her, but she must guess. Where else could I’ve gotten the
sack of oats with a pouch of salt?"

    
"What did you tell her?"

    
"That I found it under planks in the goat hut."

    
He chuckled. "And she believed you?"

    
"She never questioned me. But at that time it didn’t really matter where
the food came from." Then she told him what she did with the barley. He
kissed her, smiling happily.

    
"I like your mother. I think she’s a remarkable woman, and wish I had a
mother like her.

    
"She doesn’t want me to get involved with you. She told me so after the
dance."

    
"I can understand that. I’m a Campbell, and you’re a beautiful MacGregor."

    
Helen raised her head again. He kissed her and whispered: "I want to kiss
you all the time… I’m so happy."

    
He held her head in his soft palms and stroked her lips with his. Then he
pressed his tightly on hers. Her lips parted. He opened his too, and their
tongues met briefly. They broke apart, chuckling and blushing. With a
twinkle in her eyes, she said: "I liked that." And her lips sought his again.

 * * *

That evening, she walked home like on a cloud, humming happily. She
almost forgot to milk the goats. She hardly touched her food, still satisfied
from the salted roe and salmon. When people spoke to her, she often did not
hear them. Her mother looked at her thoughtfully. "Is anything the matter
with you, lass? You behave strangely."

    
Helen smiled and answered: "No, mother, everything is fine. I’m just
happy. It was such a beautiful day up at the lochan with little white clouds
traveling by in the dark blue sky."

    
"It’s good to see you content in these difficult times." Then she shook her
head a bit. "But I thought that you had outgrown your mood swings by now,
lass."

    
Helen blushed deeply. Suddenly, she was very self-conscious under her
mother’s scrutiny. She went outside and, seeing Betty sitting on the crest
behind the hut, she joined her. Betty was reading a book. Helen recognized
it as one of her mother’s, the English translation of a French novel.

    
"Where did you get that book from?" she questioned, an edge of hurt
surprise in her voice.

    
"Mother brought it up from the clachan when she went down to check if
the barley was sprouting. The men found most of mother’s books in a bag
under the broken planks of the bedroom cupboard… Isn’t it great? They said
the soldiers must have forgotten to take them along."

    
Helen started saying "That’s not true. It was Andrew who put them there,"
but quickly changed it to: "That’s lucky for us. I missed reading."

    
She felt hurt that he hadn’t said anything to her.
I’ll have to speak to him
about this. There should be no secrets between us anymore,
she told herself
silently
. Don’t be silly. He just wanted it to be a surprise for you… I love him
so. I want to tell the world.

    
She wondered whether she could tell Betty. They had become much
closer, sharing their thoughts and feelings, although neither had ever been
able to talk about that horrible day.
It’s better if she doesn’t know. She might
give me away inadvertently. Nobody must find out yet.

    
"Yes, I’m glad too that we’ve our books again," answered Betty. "I love
reading. It’s like living in a different world when I do."

    
Helen smiled and squeezed her sister’s arm. "Did mother bring any other
books up?"

    
"Yes, she brought three. One for herself, one for you, and one for me."

    
Betty’s face took on her inquisitive expression, and she chuckled. "I don’t
believe that the soldiers forgot the books. They would have burned… Don’t
you think master Andrew secretly brought them back?"

    
Helen had the urge to avert her eyes, afraid to give herself away.

    
"Why do you think this?"

    
"Because I know that it was him who brought the plaids and brooches…
And he gave you the oats and left the barley at our clachan, didn’t he,
Helen?"

    
She couldn’t help blushing. She felt that Betty was testing her. How did
she guess? Who else knew about it?

    
"Don’t deny it, Helen! It couldn’t have been anybody else."

    
"Yes, he brought the grains. Who knows?"

    
"I think mother must have guessed too, although she never said anything.
None of the others seem to have questioned your story." She laughed softly.
"How did you think of it?"

    
"It was the first thing that came to my mind—Betty, don’t tell anybody
that I told you, please. Father is already suspicious as it is."

    
"I won’t. This is our secret." Her eyes became unfocused, a knowing
smile playing around her mouth. After a few seconds she mused, almost in
a whisper: "I like him… He must fancy you much that he does all these
things for you."

    
Helen did not answer. Should she tell her? She wanted so much to confide
in somebody she could trust, talk about her discovered love. But it would be
unfair to make Betty her accomplice.

    
The girl searched for face expectantly. When Helen was not responding,
she asked: "Does he come to the lochan, Helen?"

    
Helen nodded. How did she know they met at the lochan?

    
"Often?"

    
"Yes."

    
"Does he know that father threatened to kill him?"

    
"Yes, I told him."

    
"And he still comes?"

    
Helen couldn’t suppress a smile. She put an arm around Betty and hugged
her. The girl searched her eyes as if trying to pry open a secret. "I won’t tell,
Helen."

    
"I know, Betty."

 * * *

Mary’s gaze followed her daughter outside. She couldn’t deny any longer
what she had observed these last few weeks. Gone was Helen’s gaunt look.
She had filled in, not only in her face, but also her body. It couldn’t be the
result of their still barely adequate diet. In fact, many an evening she hardly
touched her dinner, giving her portion to her brothers. So, she must get good,
nourishing food regularly from somewhere.

    
But it was more that just her appearance. She gave the impression of being
content, happy, and more recently almost euphoric, like right now when she
brought the milk from the lochan. More than once Mary had observed her
humming placidly, something she had done as a small child, but not since
she became a young woman, when her mood swings had often made her
highly irritable and sometimes outright unpleasant.

    
Now that the immediate threat of starvation was over, thanks to Helen’s
‘find’ and the prospect of soon having cattle, the question of where the grains
came from—a question she had deliberately pushed aside—reasserted itself
and began to worry her. She had never believed Helen’s claim about the oats,
nor that the soldiers had left the barley behind—the jute bag used wasn’t
hers—but it hadn’t mattered then. All that counted then was that they had
sustaining food, particularly for the children. It didn’t take much guessing to
know who had given it to her daughter.

    
Her husband’s failure to trace the mysterious rider to the lochan and
Helen’s denial of seeing anybody there had lulled her into a comfortable
complacency. Any meetings between her daughter and master Andrew must
have been fortuitous, at least on Helen’s part, so she hoped. She couldn’t
believe that the girl would go against her clan’s honor and associate with a
Campbell of Argyle. But then the books turned up, and now she wasn’t so
sure anymore.

    
She knew that she should feel grateful to him, if simply for killing the
officer. But she could no longer ignore the nagging worry that had begun to
stir. Her daughter must not get involved with that Campbell — nor any
Campbell of Argyle or Breadalbane, for that matter, not after what had
happened. Her husband had sworn that he would kill him. Hadn’t he barely
failed the other day? She needed to talk sense into her daughter before any
blood was spilled. That much at least, she owed the young man.

    
She resolved to find out what there was to be found out.

    
Next morning, after Helen went off to the lochan, she called Betty.

    
"Lass, I want you to go to the lochan and keep an eye on Helen until noon.
But make sure she doesn’t see you. I don’t want her to know."

    
"Why, mother? Why do you want me to spy on Helen?"

    
Mary hesitated for a few seconds. "Because she may be meeting
somebody there." She did not notice Betty’s knowing look and continued:
"You heard what father said about almost catching master Andrew… I want
to know if she meets him. But don’t you tell anybody."

    
"I could spy on her from the ridge. One can see the whole glen from
there."

    
"Yes, you do that and be back by noon."

    
She sent the girl up to the ridge on the following days too.

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