Summer of Love (4 page)

    
"Aye, sir."

    
With a smile, Andrew tossed the bridle to the twelve-year-old ruddy lad
and entered the castle through the servants’ entrance. He was not keen to
meet up with Francis again right away. It would be early enough over dinner.

    
When Andrew entered the mess later that evening, boisterous laughter
greeted him from the far end of the long table, where Francis and several
young men were already heavily into the ale.

    
"Hey, Andrew. Join us!" shouted Francis and then, turning toward the
kitchen, he called out: "Hurry Annie, bring a jug for master Andrew!"

    
No way to avoid him here, Andrew resigned himself and slid onto the
bench next to the two officers of the castle guard, opposite Francis. They
returned his nod politely.

    
Francis introduced him to John, his older brother, and James Campbell,
Lord Glenorchy’s nephew. "Andrew and I were together at the university. He
was one of those who lived in the library, and not because of the librarian’s
daughters," he said with a goat-like snigger. Turning back to Andrew he
added: "We’ve all come back to this forsaken place only today."

    
"Oh, I heard you’re working with the factor," said James, shaking
Andrew’s hand.

    
John simply nodded in greeting and turned back to talk to one of the
officers.

    
"You should be able to find a way to cook the books," James continued
with a sly grin, "or doesn’t Graham trust you with the cash yet? Ha ha."

    
"No, he guards his money carefully."

    
"Oh, it isn’t his. It’s my uncle’s. But then I wouldn’t mind putting my
hands on a small share of it myself."

    
"That would be pretty difficult. It’s all meticulously written down and
accounted for."

    
"I see, you know already how the ledger is kept."

    
"I’m learning."

    
"Hey Andrew," interrupted Francis, leaning over the table, "any luck with
the maids?" Straightening up again, he grinned knowingly to John and
James: "I guess he’s the wrong fellow to ask."

    
John joined in the banter: "Why? Is he a monk?"

    
"You could say that," Francis answered with a laugh. "I doubt he ever had
a woman in Edinburgh—at least not while I was there," and turning to
Andrew, "am I right, Andrew?"

    
Here he goes. It didn’t take long.
Hiding his annoyance, Andrew grinned:
"None of your business. Not everybody needs to brag about all his so-called
conquests."

    
"So-called? You know they were true. I must have half a dozen off-springs already."

    
Yes, half a dozen miserable lives, despised, and picked upon,
went
through Andrew’s mind. He knew first-hand. How often had he been
reminded of being a bastard? How often had he cried into the darkness of the
night when he was a small boy? Wishing for his own mother and for a real
father, rather than being brought up by three or four servant women,
admittedly kindly inclined toward him, and then saddled with the stern tutor,
hired by Lady Campbell, his father’s mother, because she felt it was the
family’s duty to provide him with a proper education in spite of his birth. But
then it had allowed him to attend university.

    
It needed little for Andrew’s thoughts to drift back to his university years.
He had been truly happy there. It had been a time of exploring the world,
even if only second-hand through books. A time to discover his fascination
with history, his love for literature, devouring not only the classical English
poets and playwrights, like Shakespeare, but also the ancient Greek and
Roman philosophers. And there had been lots of fun with his young
mathematics teacher, a scholar from Oxford, from whom he had picked up
a perfect upper-class English accent that would fool anybody into mistaking
him for the son of an English lord. Somehow, he had become a different
person there, learning to trust himself, shedding his sense of inferiority. How
he wished to be still there! A smile fleetingly crossed his face.

    
"Now, look at him. He’s again in the clouds. He doesn’t even hear us…
Come, Andrew. You’re in bloody Finlarig Castle, not the university library."

    
Francis’ sneering laugh shook him from his daydream. He grinned
somewhat sheepishly. The arrival of the food saved him from having to give
an answer.

* * *

In spite of himself, Andrew fell in with the McNabb brothers and James
Campbell. Francis did not easily take ‘no’ for an answer, and Andrew ran out
of excuses. Besides, after a day’s work, he quite often did not feel like
reading, and there was not much else to do. It started out when the three
invaded his sanctuary in the library, where they found him engrossed in a
book under the ample light of the twelve-candle chandelier. They quickly
judged that in this cosy parlor, with its comfortable soft chairs, away from
the traffic of the castle, they could have their drinking and smoking bouts
perfectly undisturbed. Andrew discovered that James was actually an
interesting fellow, a cut above the other two, well versed in logic and clever
debate from his university days in Glasgow, and so he was willing to suffer
the McNabb brothers.

    
Fortunately, the factor’s business took him away for two or three days
most weeks. To Kenmore, Lochearnhead and Balquhidder, the refuge of Rob
Roy’s sons, and occasionally even up Glen Dochart to Crianlarich. Most
Sundays after church, he roamed on the slopes of Beinn Leabhain and Creag
Gharbh in the hope of a chance encounter with Helen, but something kept
him from riding directly into the MacGregor shielings. Once he thought he
spotted her with her younger sister from the ridge above Lochan nan Geadas.
But by the time he was down at the water, they were gone.

    
So he never met Helen again during that summer of 1744, although rarely
a day passed where something did not remind him of her. He never asked
himself whether he was in love, but when his mind joined up with her, he
always felt content. He would have liked to share his interests in books and
history with her. He yearned to catch a glimpse of her now and then, to
refresh his memory, to add new images to the pictures he carried in his mind.
But he was also aware that it was silly to think of Helen as more than just a
girl he had seen on two occasions some months ago already. Not only was
she a MacGregor and he a Campbell, she was also too young to be courted,
and she had made it quite obvious that she disapproved of him. But he hoped
that there were small doubts about that. Hadn’t she remained to watch him
leave their clachan and only turned away when he had waved?

    
Until the past spring, no woman or girl had ever kindled more than a short
passing interest in him. This was not to say that he was immune to sexual
urges. Having his own quarters just next to Francis McNabb didn’t help.
More than once did the hushed voices, the unmistakable giggles and sounds
of coupling reach him through the flimsy wall separating their rooms, and he
got all aroused and ended up relieving his own needs. He was sorely tempted
to poke a hole through the cloth wall to observe the goings-on.

 * * *

One Friday evening in the middle of October, the four were drinking
whiskey and smoking cigars in the library. They were already on their second
bottle.

    
"I wonder why Andrew never shows an interest in the maids," asked
Francis, winking at John and James.

    
"Maybe he fancies some girl he doesn’t want to tell us about?" mused
James, a slight slur to his speech. "Come, Andrew, own up! Tell us who she
is?"

    
The question hit Andrew out of the blue. In fact, his mind had just drifted
off to Helen, and he now looked embarrassed.

    
Francis mocked in a singing voice: "I think we found him out, the sneaky
fellow." He poked Andrew lightheartedly, but had already lost control over
his movements, and the punch hurt. "Keeping her all to yourself, you cheat!
Who is she?"

    
"Nobody you know." There was little point denying the obvious.

    
"So there’s no harm telling us. What’s her name?" insisted James.

    
"I don’t know. I’ve never talked to her." As Andrew spoke, he realized
that this was, in fact, true. For a moment he completely forgot about the
others, until their loud laughter penetrated his thoughts.

    
"How delightfully innocent!" mocked James. "Is she a local lass?"

    
"I guess so. I only saw her once at the market in Killin," he lied.

    
"And you’ve been dreaming about her ever since."

    
The three exploded into laughter again. Andrew suddenly felt foolish and
angry for letting himself get caught off guard. He made a half-hearted
attempt to join in the laughter. Showing his discomfiture would only entice
them more.

    
"I bet she’ll be at the opening of the new Killin church tomorrow,"
exclaimed James.

    
"Yes, if she’s a local lass, she won’t miss the dance. Then you can point
her out to us." John grinned broadly.

    
"And we’ll help you to get her away from the fair, so that you can ravish
her." There was a gleeful, conspiratorial anticipation in Francis’ voice. The
other two cheered loudly.

    
Ravish Helen? The thought had never even entered his mind. How would
that be? Through the slight fog in his head, he toyed with the idea. How does
one ravish a girl? He dismissed the thought. He wouldn’t know how to go
about it.

    
"What d’you say? Wouldn’t that be fun?" Francis poked him again.

    
"You could tell us all about it afterward," James added with a grin.

    
"She might not want to leave the dance," answered Andrew. Would she
even agree to come to a secret rendezvous?

    
"Oh, just leave that to us. We’ll manage."

    
"All girls want to snare one of us gentry; believe me, I speak from
experience," laughed James.

    
"Anyway, it wouldn’t be the first time we got a girl away from the fair, ha
ha," sneered Francis.

    
"Her folks might prevent her. We don’t want to cause trouble," Andrew
countered lamely.

    
"What’s the matter with you? Afraid, are you?" Francis gloated over him.

    
"No, I’m not. Why should I?" His tongue felt heavy.
Yes, you are,
challenged his mind.
No, I just don’t want to,
replied his other self.
But
you’re curious; you’ve wanted to do it for a long time. This is your opportunity. Anyway, she’s only a MacGregor.
The fellow in front of him suddenly
became blurred. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. But the other
three did not give him time.

 
    
"So, it’s agreed then!" slurred Francis. "Fill our glasses, Andrew, and let’s
drink to it."

    
Something wasn’t right. Andrew tried to pour, spilling liquid on Francis’
hands. The latter, more seasoned to heavy drinking, snatched the bottle away,
shouting: "Andrew, don’t waste that precious liquid!"

 * * *

Early Saturday morning, after only a few hours’ rest, Andrew woke up with
a throbbing head. He had no idea how he got to bed, but here he was, still in
his clothes. He removed his coat and shirt and staggered down to the trough
in the courtyard, hoping that a good wash in cold water would soothe his
splitting headache. He needed a clear head today. Dougan Graham wanted
to catch his tenants first thing they arrived in town to remind them of their
obligations before they were tempted to spend their money at the fair. He
wouldn’t be pleased at all if Andrew showed any signs of a hangover. And
then he remembered Dougan’s advice: drink lots of water before going to
bed if you had too much booze. It was too late for that, but it might be of
relief even now.