Summer of Love (29 page)

    
"Yes, Helen… You’re not annoyed with me?"

    
"No, you silly man, I’m not."

    
He took her right hand and held on to it for a few second, searching her
eyes. Then he kissed her palm, and she withdrew her hand, giggling.

    
"This tickles… Shouldn’t we be off?"

    
They took to the road to Callander again, riding at a brisk pace, side-by-side. Whenever it went downhill, they cantered. Although Helen had never
ridden a full-size horse—her only experience had been riding bareback on
the smaller Highland ponies—she quickly got the hang of it. Initially, they
just looked at each other from time to time, exchanging smiles, Andrew’s
full of happiness, Helen’s often revealing a troubled sadness. The finality of
her decision of following Andrew and never seeing her family again weighed
heavily. Her biggest regret was that she hadn’t said goodbye to Betty, of
never seeing her best friend again. She already missed her.

    
After a while, Andrew seemed to become aware of it. He reached out to
touch her hand. He told her what he knew about America. This took her
mind temporarily off her trouble, and she wanted to hear about the Indians,
about the kind of boat they would sail on, how long it would take them to
traverse the Atlantic, whether Andrew intended to buy land there which she
had heard was so cheap.

    
Shortly after midday, they passed through Callander and late afternoon
Andrew pointed out a hill rising in the distance.

    
"Look, we can already see Stirling Castle. We’ll soon be at the Golden
Chalice. I’ve stayed there before. It’s a cosy place. You’ll like it, I’m sure."

    
"I need it. I can feel every muscle. I don’t know if I can still walk."

    
"I’ll carry you."

    
"No, you won’t. We’ll have to behave and make a good impression."

    
"Then let’s pretend we’re married, Helen."

    
She felt pushed into a corner again. "But we are not."

    
"If we claim to be brother and sister and anybody suspects us to be lovers,
we’re in serious trouble. If we claim to be married, it’s difficult to challenge
us. And there are always people who see it as their duty to safeguard the
mores of society and who may denounce us the moment they suspect
anything, and that could delay us badly."

    
"All right," Helen said, pursing her lips. "You win… Men always need to
win."

    
"You’re not fair, Helen," he murmured.

    
They rode silently side by side. Helen stared straight ahead. She could
sense Andrew glancing at her from time to time. After a while, he said:
"Helen, if you want us to be brother and sister, we’ll do that."

    
She looked at him for several seconds. His pleading eyes made her feel
bad. "No, Andrew. We do as you said… I accused you unfairly. I’m sorry.
I think I just reacted that way because I felt you were again pushing me into
marrying you right away … in a round-about way."

    
"I want to marry you, but I’m willing to wait for you to make the
decision."

    
"Even if it takes a lifetime?"

    
"Even then, but I don’t think it will take a lifetime, my love," he replied,
looking at her smiling. She did not respond to his smile and he turned
serious. "Helen, there is something you are not telling me. I can feel it."

    
Should I tell? Could I? Do I really know my own mind?
Conflicting
feelings were tearing her in different directions.
Would he even understand?

    
"Why don’t you want to tell me? … Please, Helen, I need to know. Nay,
I deserve to know."

    
"Don’t you know what happened to my cousins from Glengyle, that same
summer of 1746?"

    
He looked at her blandly. "No."

    
"Argyle cavalry brutally killed my uncle, his wife, my cousin Mary and
many more—women and children. Your people did that. How can I even
think of marrying a Campbell after that?" As she said that, her voice became
more and more strident.

    
His face became somber. "I am sorry, Helen. I did not know. But why do
you say ‘my people did that’?"

    
"—You are Lord Archibald’s blood."

    
"That’s true and I wish it were not so. But they are not my people. The
Campbells of Argyle would rather not know me. They don’t consider me one
of theirs, nor do I see myself as one of them… Please, let this not come
between us." When she did not respond, he added: "Helen, look at me."

    
"It is there, Andrew. I can’t help it. I feel disloyal to my clan."

    
"Time will heal those wounds, as it heals everything."

    
"It has not and its almost four year now."

    
"Helen, it will and I refuse to let the quarrels of the clans come between
us, but I will not press you. I’ll give you all the time you need."

    
She could feel his love reaching out to her and felt suddenly small, petty,
adding to her confusion.

    
A flicker of a smile crossed his face. "For what it’s worth, I am also half
MacDonald."

    
She felt relieved to be offered an escape and eagerly asked: "You found
out who your mother is? Did you meet her?"

    
"No, she died young. She was a MacDonald, Elizabeth was her name. She
married a year after I was born and died in childbirth."

    
"How sad!"

    
"Yes, I would have liked to meet her, to know my MacDonald side."

* * *

Helen was awed by the size of the castle dominating the little town on the
flank of its hill. But even that little town was larger than any settlement she
had ever seen. It was the first real town she visited in her life, with its narrow
streets, even narrower alleys of two- and a few three-storey buildings tightly
clustered together, with many shops open every weekday.

    
The Golden Chalice was a small, cosy inn at the lowest part of the town.
When Helen attempted to get off the horse, she was too sore to lift her leg
over the saddle. She begged Andrew for help, and he slid her out of the
saddle. She sensed his desire to embrace her right there and looked at him
sternly.

    
 The innkeeper, a man in his early forties, eyed them rather curiously.
There was something odd about them—Helen still wearing Andrew’s riding
coat, Andrew’s saddle bags their only luggage. He showed them to a small
room on the first floor. Once alone, Andrew took Helen into his arms. She
simply melted into his embrace, both mentally and physically exhausted.

12

"Would you like to rest a bit?"

    
Her head under his chin, she just nodded. He lifted her up and laid her on
the bed, kissing her forehead. After removing her boots he sat next to her and
held her left hand, stroking it. She smiled, her eyes closed. Within a few
minutes, her regular breathing told him that she was asleep. He watched her,
his heart overflowing with love, with a wish to protect her, to make her
happy.

    
His thoughts began to drift. He made a mental list of things that they
needed to do. Uppermost in his mind was his desire to marry Helen, to bind
her to him forever. But the two arguments they had earlier that day showed
that she wasn’t ready for such a final step yet and that pushing her would
simply get her defenses up. He would just have to be patient. In the meantime, they had to avoid drawing the attention of any prying, self-appointed
guardians of morality on them. That made it all the essential that she got
suitable clothing. Her single petticoat with the same little russet jacket that
he had given back to her four years ago, showing off her shapely figure to
full advantage, was too immodest for city people. She needed town dresses.
A full-length woman’s riding coat to cover herself on the horse would also
help avoid any accusations of immodesty. Once in the Lowlands, it might
raise eyebrows if she wore his. Wearing wedding bands would bear up their
claim of being a married couple, although not all Highlanders wore them.
Would she agree to that? It would be a first step to get her accustomed to the
idea of marriage, Andrew mused wistfully.

    
With Helen soundly asleep, he decided to find out about clothing. This
was by far the most urgent. He covered her lovingly with a blanket. She
turned to her side, mumbling something unintelligible, and he rested a hand
on her shoulder for a short while. Then he collected his dirty clothing and
tiptoed out of the room in search of the innkeeper’s wife. She had viewed
them kindly when they arrived, he remembered, and might have advice. He
found her in the laundry. Face to face, he all at once felt awkward and
embarrassed about asking and didn’t quite know how to begin. For a
moment, he stood in the door frame, undecided.

    
She was a pretty woman in her mid-twenties. Her swelling waistline
hinted that she was pregnant. Noticing his hesitation, she asked: "Have you
some clothing to be washed, sir?"

    
"Yes, that would be kind of you. I dirtied them quite badly in a fall."

    
"No trouble, sir. They’ll be as new by the morrow."

    
She took the clothing. When Andrew continued lingering around, she
asked: "Is there anything else we can help you with, sir?"

    
"Maybe," he replied eagerly, relieved that she was making it easy for him.
"My wife and I are in a bit of a predicament. We lost her portmanteau and
this leaves her with only the clothing she’s wearing. Would you know of a
way for her to get an additional dress, and maybe a riding jacket, and even
a long riding coat? We would be willing to pay well."

    
She looked at him questioningly for a few seconds. Andrew couldn’t
prevent blushing. Suddenly what he just said sounded a bit threadbare.
Finally, she answered: "I’m afraid, I can’t advise you there. Maybe in a
bigger town you might be able to buy ready-made dresses and coats, but not
in a small place like Stirling, unless somebody is willing to sell you theirs."
Then she smiled at him. "But maybe I can help your wife. I have a few
gowns that won’t fit me any longer. Your wife is about my size. Maybe some
might suit her." She chuckled when she saw Andrew’s visible relief.

    
She paused for a moment and then added in a soft voice: "You are
running away with her, aren’t you?" Her smile showed that she didn’t judge
them.

    
Andrew went crimson, but also had the sense of a burden falling off his
shoulders. "Yes, we love each other very much, and her parents refused to let
her marry me because I’m a Campbell."

    
"You’re gentry, aren’t you?"

    
"Yes, but I’ve no parents." It was no lie, even if it might be misinterpreted.

    
"Is your lass with child?"

    
"No."

    
The young woman scrutinized him for a moment, as if deciding whether
or not to believe him. Finally, she smiled again and said: "Tell your lass to
come and see me."

    
"She’s asleep right now. We rode rather far. I’ll tell her as soon as she
wakes." He half turned away and then added: "Thank you, madam."

    
She looked at him kindly. "You seem a nice young man."

    
Andrew blushed again, not knowing how to respond, except to murmur:
"I love her very much."

    
He returned to their room and sat on a chair next to the bed, watching
Helen. He hadn’t asked the woman to keep their secret. But there seemed
little need for it. She wouldn’t tell anybody, of that he was sure, at least not
as long as they were at the inn.