Chapter 6
I open the kitchen door to find Alasdair sitting alone by the fireside.
My gaze sweeps around the room.
“Hey,” I say lightly, “where’s Tweedle-dee and Tweedledum?” but he doesn’t crack a smile, and so I hurry over to him.
“Alasdair, what’s wrong? Has something happened to one of the farm animals. Is that why neither Jamie or Callum are here?”
He shakes his head then turns to stare into the flames. He lets out a deep sigh and points to the chair opposite.
“Sit down, lass. I’ve somethin’ I need to tell ye.”
“Why? What is it? What’s happened?”
He lets out another long sigh, turns to me and pats my hand gently. I look down. His knuckles are gnarled with age and his weathered skin feels as tough as old shoe leather. I curl my fingers around the palm of his hand and hold his fingers tight.
“’Tis Callum,” he says. “He’s gone out…drinkin’.”
“Sorry, he’s what?”
He points a thumb towards the door. “Aye, him and Jamie have gone into town.”
“But I never heard them leave.” I pull my hand away and turn to stare at the door, as if by doing so he’ll walk through and prove the old man wrong. I wait, but when he doesn’t materialise, I realise that what Alasdair has said is true. My cheeks burn with humiliation. “You mean he just up and left without a word?”
Alasdair nods. “He said he needed a drink and not one he could find in the house. I dinnae know what came over him. One minute he was fine and the next…”
“He turned into Mr Hyde?”
Alasdair looks alarmed then nods. “Aye, that’s about it, lassie.”
I dig into my jeans pocket for my phone, dial Callum’s number and clutch the mobile to my ear. I wait urgently through four rings, but get his voicemail and hang up.
I want to scream out loud what an inconsiderate arsehole he is for abandoning me—like this, without a thought. I then try ringing Jamie, but when it connects, I hear a familiar ringtone sounding out in the room, from where his mobile sits on the windowsill.
Defeated, I shove my phone back into my pocket, hardly noticing Alasdair get up from his chair. Nor do I register the two pieces of Salmon he takes out of the oven.
“Maddie, are you all right, lass?”
I stand up and stare vacantly in his direction. He places the baking tray he’s holding down onto the side, making his way over to me and steers me over to the table.
“Come on, sit down,” he insists.
“Is dinner ready?” I say, absently.
A memory flashes through my mind: I’m nine years old again and in the foyer of one of the many foster homes I’d had to endure. The Smyth children were simply immature psychopath’s, the spotty teenager of whom, no older than fourteen, blocks my way. He prods a stubby finger into my chest. It hurts, but I don’t cry.
“Oh, look, it’s little orphan Annie,” he teases. “If it isn’t the miserable kid that nobody wants.”
He laughs, and his younger brother, standing next to him, pinches my arm. I yelp and he too laughs out loud. “You stink like dog poo,” he cries and holds his nose as he runs down the corridor to tell all his friends.
An involuntary shiver escapes me.
I push the terrible ordeal to the furthest corner of my mind. All I want is a man to love me. I want Callum to protect and respect the person I am. But I’m afraid of our future: the emptiness waiting for me is like a physical punch in the chest.
I sit, eating my meal as though I haven’t a care in the world, but the fish tastes bland and small pieces get stuck in the back of my throat. The wine is sour and tastes like vinegar in my mouth, yet I do my best to swallow it down.
“I think I’d best have an early night,” I say and press my fingers to my forehead.
“Do ye have a headache?” Alasdair asks.
I nod and stand up from the table. “Yes. I think it’s the start of a migraine. I’d best go and lie down.”
Alasdair shakes his head. “Aye, lass. Sounds like the right thing to do. Off ye go. I’ll clear up here.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“’Tis no trouble, and I’ll see ye in the mornin’.”
I give him a hug and he pecks me on the cheek before I pull away and make my way to the door.
“I’m sorry,” Alasdair says. “About Callum.”
I turn to face him. “It’s isn’t your fault. You’re not his keeper.”
Alasdair nods and pulls out his pipe from his cardigan pocket. He places the end in his mouth and sucks in fresh air. “That maybe so, but I want ye to know: I dinnae agree with his behaviour tonight.”
I force a smile. “Goodnight, Alasdair. I’ll see you in the morning.” I turn away and leave him standing by the fireside, then head for the seclusion of the Garden House.
As soon as I close the door behind me, I burst into tears. I feel such a fool. I can’t believe he went into town without saying a word. I try to figure out why he would do such a thing, feeling humiliated, abandoned, angry, and upset. And I’m also afraid. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be with me anymore, or even need me any longer. I cover my face with my hands, allowing hot tears to pour down my cheeks, the day he asked me to marry him springs into my mind. I can see him as clearly as if he were standing right in front of me.
We were out on a lake in a rowing boat. It was a hot summer’s day. The local park was filled with young lovers enjoying a lazy Sunday. The lake was surrounded by a multitude of weeping willows and a family of swans adorned the water. It was simply idyllic.
The day out was all Callum’s idea. He’d brought a small picnic and a fishing rod, which he insisted only he should carry. We bobbed about on the water for at least an hour, eating our sandwiches and enjoying the sun on our backs. He’d appeared a little fidgety that day, and out of the blue, he sat poker straight and proclaimed his fishing line had a bite. I hadn’t seen it tug, but Callum insisted he’d caught something big and started reeling in the line. I sniggered when he told me the fish was going to be huge, and I played along and laughed even louder when he faked losing his balance and almost fell into the water. He was having a whale of a time acting juvenile and I didn’t want to spoil his fun.
To my surprise, the line suddenly shot out of the water, and I’m sure my mouth gaped wide open when I realised it wasn’t a fish at the end of the line, not of any size, but a small black box hooked onto the float. Callum reeled it in and then sat down, the box in the palm of his hand.
I inched closer. “How did that get there?” I asked, somewhat puzzled. When he looked up at me, I swear his eyes glistened, then he took my hand in his own.
“I love you,” he whispered and opened the box. Inside, sat a sparkling solitaire diamond ring. I pressed my lips together. I hadn’t suspected a thing. Callum pulled the ring from the box and held it up towards me. “Make me the happiest man alive. Say you’ll be my wife.”
I now twist the two gold rings on my wedding finger, one of which has adorned it since that very day, but then I drop my hand and let out a sigh. Opening my eyes, I wipe away the last of my tears and head for the stairs and my bedroom.
I undress, then get into bed. I lie awake, waiting for Callum to come home, surprised sometime later when I hear a car door slam. I glance at the clock. It isn’t even midnight. I listen for the downstairs door to open, but hear male voices heading towards the farmhouse, instead. And so I lie in wait as another hour passes before Callum finally makes an appearance.
I turn to watch him enter the room.
“Where the hell have you been?” I ask.
Callum lets out a deep sigh and sits on the edge of the bed. He kicks off his shoes and throws them into the corner of the room. The first thing that strikes me is that Callum isn’t drunk; not what I expected at all. Although I can smell alcohol on his breath, he appears relatively sober.
“Callum, I think I deserve some kind of explanation at least.”
He gets up off the bed and takes off his shirt and trousers.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he says and heads towards the bathroom.
“Callum?”
I’m infuriated by the way he dismisses me so easily, but try to keep a lid on my frustration. I’m struggling, though. The shower comes on and a loud screech announces that the cubicle door has closed. I listen to every sound he makes until I hear him switch off the water, then he walks back into the bedroom, a bath towel wrapped around his waist.
“So, are you going to explain what happened tonight?” I ask.
“What can I say? I needed fresh air.”
“And you had to go all the way to Camburgh to find some.”
“I guess. It can get pretty stifling around here at times.”
“And you’re not going to at least apologise for your behaviour?”
“You think I should?”
“Are you serious?”
He shrugs. “So, I felt like a night out with my brother. Is that really such a big deal?”
“Actually, yes. It is. How could you do that to me? Just piss off out without a word?”
He peels back the covers, pulls off the towel and throws it on a nearby chair. He gets into bed and turns off the bedside light.
“Callum,” I fume, “at least have the decency to answer me.”
He throws himself over onto his side. “What, exactly, do you want me to say?”
I reach over and switch on the light. “How about saying you’re sorry for leaving me in the lurch. Or better still, explaining why you felt the need to go into town with Jamie.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” he grunts. “I’ve no excuse other than I wanted to share some quality time with my bro.”
“But all you had to do was say. I wouldn’t have stopped you.”
“Yeah, well, that thought never crossed my mind. I simply acted on impulse. I’m sorry, okay? And I promise it won’t happen again.” He punches his pillow and snuggles himself under the covers. “Am I forgiven? And if so, can we go to sleep now?” and he soon falls asleep.
I simply can’t speak, flabbergasted by his nonchalant attitude towards me. I lie there, in bed, wrapped in the luxury of the duvet, but feel no comfort from its warmth. The truth is chipping away at me, like a sculptor working tirelessly with his chisel. Bit by bit. Chip, chip, chip. And he’s revealed something I don’t wish to see, but I’m starting to face reality.
My husband is falling out of love with me.
My heart contracts as I stifle a cry. It’s as though my soul is twisted in barbed wire, caught and pierced until every last drop of blood flows out. Another soft whimper escapes and I stiffen, terrified he’ll awaken, but he turns in his sleep and mumbles something incoherent. Amongst it all, though, he says one word I do catch, a name, and my confusion deepens—“Ally.”
I catch my breath, unable to unhear what I just heard. Isn’t she the woman who visited the farm today? The vet? Callum has never mentioned that he knew her. I suffer a moment of uncertainty. She’s turning into an itch I can’t quite reach to scratch, and I picture her in my mind; long dark hair, luscious red lips, legs of a Goddess. There’s something about her that’s getting under my skin, and so I toss and turn all night, only falling asleep just as the farm’s cockerel proclaims the start of a brand-new day.
I rise early and leave Callum asleep. I get dressed and head over to the farmhouse, where I’m relieved to find there’s a warm welcome waiting for me.
Alasdair’s standing by the stove, cooking bacon and eggs.
“Mornin’, Maddie,” and he stops what he’s doing to come over and plant a kiss on my cheek. “Has yir headache gone?”
I nod and he hugs me before heading back to the cooker. I go over to the kitchen cupboard, pull out two mugs and make us both tea.
“How’s Callum?” he asks, his face sombre. “Suffering with a bad head, no doubt?”
I shrug. “More than likely.”
“Jamie’ll be back soon; do ye want some breakfast making, hen?” but I shake my head. It’s far too early for me. “No, I’m fine, thanks, granda. Have you eaten?”
Alasdair nods. “Aye, I’ve had a bowl of porridge. Fill’s ye up for the day, so it does. Anyway, I was wonderin’ what ye going to do with yourself today?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t the foggiest idea,” I admit. “Perhaps I’ll go for a walk, or hang around the stables.”
“Och, ye could maybe go down to the burn? It’s a wee bit bleak this time o’year, but there’s a wee stone erected by the locals to commemorate the Battle of Culloden, which ye might find interestin’.”
I place both cups onto the table before pouring the tea.
“The Battle of Culloden is pretty big in these parts, yeah?”
“Aye, of course, it’s big. ’Tis the place where the clans were almost wiped out by the English. Approximately seven hundred Jacobite warriors were killed within minutes of the battle commencin’.”
I pull a grimace. “That’s terrible. All those poor people, how they must have suffered.”
“Aye, that they did. And over twelve hundred clansmen either lost their lives or were wounded that fateful day. It were a terrible time for Scotland, and one that will ne’er be forgotten.”
The front door bangs, and seconds later, Jamie comes hurtling into the kitchen.
“Mornin’, granda,” he says, but he’s not so enthusiastic when he spots me sitting at the table. He nods, curtly, then looks away. He heads over to Alasdair. “I could eat a scabby horse, I’m so damn hungry,” and he grabs a buttered bap and takes a large bite.
“Ne’er mind ye stomach, lad; are the cattle fed and watered?”
Jamie nods, swallows, and then stuffs the last of the bread straight down his gullet. I can’t help but chuckle: he really has been around the animals for far too long.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“You; your silly antics remind me you’re just a big kid at heart.” He comes over and tousles my hair.
“Hey, keep your hands to yourself,” I cry. His fingers entwine with mine as I try to force his hands away, but he’s strong and I have to squirm to get out of the way.
“Who’s the kid now?” he laughs, letting go.
I smile. The truth is I’m not mad at Jamie for what happened last night. I understand he drove Callum to the bar, but it’s better he went with someone who’d watch over him than go into town alone. It frightens me when my husband drinks too much. He’s another person when he does. Callum admitted himself that after binge drinking he’s like a timebomb waiting to go off. I don’t wish to see that part of him, ever again. Having the Police bring him home once is once too many.
I sip my tea and watch Jamie out of the corner of my eye, when he comes and sits beside me. Granda places a greasy fry up in front of him and Jamie reaches for the salt and pepper. On his plate there’s eggs, bacon and traditional potato scones. There’s also three slabs of black pudding. They remind me of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but then I look away: they’re made with pig’s blood, which I find totally disgusting.
“What’s wrong, Sassenach, don’t ye want to eat something that’ll put hairs on yir chest?”
I turn back towards him and slap his shoulder, playfully with the back of my hand.
“No, thanks. You can keep that revolting stuff to yourself.” He sniggers, picks up a fork and starts eating his breakfast as though he hasn’t had a decent meal in days.
I pull my lips into a frown. The smell of fried food so early in the morning turns my stomach queasy.
“I think it’s best I get going before that grease clogs up your arteries and I have to administer CPR.” I grin to myself, convinced neither of these two have ever heard of high cholesterol or heart disease.
I go through the ritual of going over to the sink and washing up my cup, then push it back into line with all the others in the cupboard.
“Where ye off to?” Jamie asks, shovelling the black pudding down his throat.
“Oh, just down to the burn. I’d like to go and see the memorial stone granda was telling me about earlier.”
“Aye, it’s a sight to see, all right. Do ye want any company?”
I give him a broad smile. “Thanks for the offer, but no. I’d like to go there on my own if that’s okay?”
Jamie shakes his head. He doesn’t appear offended.
“Och, very well, but watch yir step on the brae.”
I cock my head to one side. “Sorry…the what?”
“The slope. It’s a wee bit slippery this time of year. Stay on the path if ye can.”
“Thanks for the sound advice,” and I leave him to finish what’s left of his breakfast and head off in the direction of the hallway. I can smell the beeswax of its oak panelling as soon as I enter. There’s several large coat hooks on the far wall behind the front door. They’re filled with a variety of outdoor gear. I delve between the layers of Barbour jackets to find a couple of waterproofs, trying each one in turn until I find one that fits. When I choose a matching scarf, I realise it probably belonged to Claire. For a second, I have the urge to retrace my steps and invite Jamie to come along, but I let the idea fall away as I get ready to experience my next adventure. I stuff my hat over my ears, zip up the jacket, push my feet into a pair of hiking boots—brought especially for the trip—and I’m ready to roll. When I open the front door, I’m embraced by a burst of fresh air.
As I leave the cottage behind me, I glance back, seeing nothing of Callum, so I head over to the lane that runs parallel with the farm. It’s certainly colder today than yesterday, but it’s one of those mornings that’s sure to blow those lingering cobwebs away.
Scurrying grey clouds scud across a wintry sun, then I catch sight of a single lapwing. Its little black and white body dives closer, heading for a low branch of an oak tree. My gaze follows its descent, mesmerising me, and I’m sure I glimpse an orange vent under its tail. It’s certainly beats the common sparrows I’m accustomed to at home. There’s a real sense of nature here, of beauty and seclusion. The lapwing flies away and I close my eyes and pretend I’m flying by its side. Oh, how I wish I could live here, surrounded by such serenity.
My mobile goes off in my pocket and I open my eyes, shoving my hand inside to retrieve it. It’s a new text message, and it’s from Keira: “How’s it going? Ring me when you can xxx”.
I stuff my phone back into my pocket and make my way onto the lane. I know Keira will be disappointed that this mini break hasn’t repaired any of the damage, as we’d both hoped it would, but then Rome wasn’t built in a day. An image of the famous colosseum crumbles behind my eyes. Callum is the one destroying us. Pain, raw and frightening, claws at my heart. But I’m not giving in so easily. I will never leave him. I love him. Why should I walk away when I’ve done nothing wrong? It isn’t my fault we can’t have children, yet I believe he somehow blames me. Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I force them away. Now isn’t the time to wallow in self-pity. There’ll be time enough later, if I find I cannot salvage what’s left of our marriage.
I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with fresh mountain air. You just can’t beat it, I tell myself. It’s like sweet nectar and I’m invigorated. I shove my hands inside my pockets and set off at a brisk pace.
“Hey, Maddie, hold yir horses,” and I turn around to see Jamie jogging towards me. I frown. Whatever’s the matter? But then I realise he’s carrying something in his hand.
“Here, lass; ye cannae go out in the wilds without taking provisions.”
I look down at a small black rucksack. “I don’t need that,” I protest, rolling my eyes. “I’m only going for a walk.”
“Aye, ye do,” Jamie insists. “There’s nae much inside, just a bottle of water, a first aid kit and a map of the area. Take the backpack, ye ken? Just in case ye get lost, or worse, injured. Ye cannae be too careful. Oh, and the Mountain Search and Rescues mobile number’s written inside the front flap.”
I let out an exaggerated groan. “I’m only going a few miles. It isn’t as though I’m off climbing Ben Nevis.”
“It doesnae matter,” Jamie says, his voice now firm. “Ye can ne’er tell when the weather will turn for the worse.”
With some reluctance, I accept the rucksack and push my arms through the nylon straps.
“Okay; if it’ll make you happy, I’ll take it,” I huff. “Anything to keep the peace.”
“Aye, I’d feel better,” Jamie nods, and I set out on my journey without a backward glance.
I head down a footpath and follow a sign to the stone. To the north, there’s gently rolling hills carved up by lazy stone walls. In the distant sky, far away, there’s a dark band of cloud rolling in from the sea. A chill in the air makes me shiver and the few leaves left on the surrounding trees flicker in the wind.
I veer onto a narrow bridle path and I strain my eyes across the glen, in the hope of seeing the odd stag or doe scrambling through the bracken. All I see is open farmland covered in a sea of yellow gorse. It’s in bloom and the profusion of pretty yellow flowers stand out like the dappled light of sunshine seen beneath a woodland’s high canopy.
In the distance, something else catches my eye. It’s flying straight towards me and I squint, unable to make it out at first. I’m not one-hundred-percent certain, but I’m convinced I’m staring at a golden eagle, its wings flapping effortlessly against the strength of the higher blowing wind. I stop dead in my tracks and curse myself for not bringing the binoculars. It’s ginormous wingspan dips and sweeps across the sky, and just for one second, I wish Jamie was here to share this breath-taking moment with me.
I rummage in my pocket, pull out my phone and quickly take a picture. He may not be here, but I’ll show him what he’s missed later. The phone flashes and the bird changes course and flies off towards the mountains. I’m about to put my phone away when I remember Kiera’s text message and decide to ring her.
“Maddie?” and her squeal is infectious. “I thought you’d never call.”
“Hey, how are you doing? I’ve no excuses,” I confess, “I’ve just been really busy.”
“So, you’re both having a great time. Right?”
I heave a heavy sigh.
“Maddie?”
I look across at the mountains, as though they’ll help me with my inner struggle. “Well, so far the trip hasn’t quite gone to plan.”
“What do you mean?”
I pause. “Things still aren’t right between us. Callum’s acting like a Jekyll and Hyde, and I don’t know what to do.”
“How? In what way?”
“Well, for instance: only last night he just took off. I came down to dinner to find he’d left for town. I tried to ring him, but he’d switched off his phone. I was left fuming all night. Then, when he came home, he was so flippant about it. It was as though he didn’t care that his actions had hurt me, as if I didn’t mean anything to him. I’m losing him Keira. I swear, I can feel it.”
“I’m sorry, hunny, but I don’t know what to say.”
“What is there to say? And then of course, there’s Jamie.”
“Jamie? What’s he got to do with anything?”
I look down at the ground, see a small stone and give it a kick.
“Maddie, spill. Right now, you hear?”
I heave another huge sigh. “I almost kissed him.”
“You did what?”
“I know. It just…happened.”
“How the hell could it ‘just happen’. And where was Callum while all this was going on?”
“It’s a long story, but to cut to the chase: he was at the farmer’s market with granda and Jamie took me to the loch in his place. We were just enjoying a picnic and messing around, and…and I lost control.”
“Did he try to kiss you back?”
“No. He acted the perfect gentlemen and I played the fool. I apologised, and he said to forget it. He said he wouldn’t tell.”
“And has he been true to his word?”
“One hundred percent.”
“And nothing’s happened since?”
“No, of course not. Like I said: he’s a real gent.”
“Do you want it to?” she asks, lowering her voice.
I press my lips together and shove my fingers through my hair.
“Maddie? Maddie, are you still there?”
“Hmm, yes, I’m here.”
“Look, I’ve got to be honest: I think you’re playing with fire.”
I hear the concern in her voice and try to reassure her. “It was just a silly mistake, and it was all over in a millisecond.”
“And you’ve learned your lesson? After all, you’ve a lot to lose.”
“Yes, and I do love Callum. I just need to get things back to how they were before we lost our way.”
Tears are now stinging the backs of my eyes. “Look, I have to go. I’ll call you later…tonight.”
“Okay, but promise me you’ll not be foolish again.”
“Oh…I think I’m losing the signal. I’ve got to go. Bye.”
As I wander over the grassland, I go over our brief conversation. Keira will understand my torment, and I do feel better for having told someone about Jamie. Now I’ve come clean, even if it’s just to myself, I can finally put the whole episode behind me.
I catch sight of a stream running past to one side, an old stone bridge up ahead. I leave the path and make my way over, soon spotting a strange-looking stone sticking out of the earth on the far side of the stream. I assume it’s the one Alasdair told me about earlier this morning.
As I cross over the bridge, I see the stone stands by the water’s edge, and Jamie was right: it is wet and muddy. But I’ll have to go down the bank if I want to read the inscription, which I can’t quite make out from where I’m standing.
I go to plant a firm foot on the damp grass, but no sooner does my boot come down than my foot slips and I practically do a somersault into the air. It happens too quickly to save myself, and my legs fly from beneath me, my arms flailing above my head. It’s over in seconds as I bang the back of my head and land on my backside, all at the same time. I’ve hit my coccyx and boy does it throb. The ground is littered with sharp stones and large tufts of grass, which feel like knives pressed into my back. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, angry and upset that I’ve managed to hurt myself. I wait until the pain subsides before I try to sit up. When I do, I rub the back of my head to discover a painful lump.
“Hey, are you all right?”
I let out a low groan, feeling mortified: someone just saw me make a complete spectacle of myself. I wish they’d disappear and leave me alone, but the stranger calls out to me again and then she rushes over. A young woman bobs down in front of me and wags a finger in my face.
“How many do you see?”
I shake my head. “Really, I’m okay. I’m not concussed. The only thing I’m suffering from is a dent in my dignity.”
She stares at me for a second longer, as though I’ve said something nuts, and then realisation must dawn on her, because she smiles. At thirtyish, she’s perhaps a year or two older than me, but I can’t quite tell because she’s wrapped up in layers of winter woollies from top to toe.
“What are you doing out here alone?” she asks as her brows knit together.
I glance around. There’s no one else here except the two of us.
“I could ask you the exact same thing,” I say, and she laughs.
“Yes, good point. Although I’m guessing you’re not from around these parts?”
“You mean the fact I’ve slipped down the bank? I simply wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“No, the fact you didn’t use the path that leads down to the water.”
I gaze to where she’s pointing and my cheeks burn once again.
“Oh, I guess you’re right. I didn’t notice that track before.”
The stranger shakes her head. “Never mind. Let’s get you up and make sure you’re okay.”
She looks as though she’s going to try and help me, so I rise to my feet unaided, to prove I’m quite capable and still in one piece.
“So, no bones broken, then?” she asks, and I’m touched by her concern.
“Honestly, I’m fine. I’m just a little shaken, that’s all.”
“Do you need a drink or anything?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I have water in my rucksack if I need it.”
Jamie pops into my head, his words of warning bouncing against my brain: Take the rucksack, ye ken? Just in case ye get lost, or worse, injured. I despise that he clearly has more sense than I do, not that I’m about to admit it.
The woman takes a step back and I try to brush the dirt from the back of my clothes.
“By the way, I’m Maddie,” I say, in way of an introduction.
“Hi, I’m Bridget.” She gives me a cute little wave. We both laugh and I don’t feel quite so uncomfortable in her presence anymore.
“Do you live locally?” I ask.
Bridget shakes her head. “No, I’m on holiday. I’m staying in a remote cottage a couple of miles from here.”
“What? Alone?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Yes. I try to visit here three or four times a year. I write, so it’s a perfect location.”
I nod. If I was a writer, this would be exactly where I’d want to be, too.
Bridget points to the stone. “Did you come here today to see the memorial?”
I nod again. “Yeah, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
She stands aside to let me pass. “Go ahead. It’s certainly worth the trek.”
I hesitate, fearful I might slip again, but Bridget powers full steam ahead and makes her way to the edge of the stream. I’m not so sure-footed and walk behind, treading with care in her footsteps.
The stone is little more than two metres high by a metre wide, but there’s something haunting about it. I brush my fingers against its solid rock. It’s ice cold to the touch and I’m quick to pull my hand away.
Bridget stands beside me and explains the history of the memorial.
“This rock is a symbolic reminder of the clansmen who died fighting in a most harrowing battle in April seventeen-forty-six. This monument was erected to face north, towards the battlefield of Culloden. Those who come here pay their respects to their ancestors whose souls will forever wander along the moor.”
My gaze sweeps across the chiselled words cut deep into the stone. They’re written in Gaelic, though, a dialect centuries old and one I cannot understand.
“I have no idea what the words mean?” I sigh, and turn to Bridget.
“It’s the same inscription that’s written on a wall at Culloden,” she explains. “Translated, it says: ‘Our blood is still our father…And ours the valour of the hearts…’.”
She speaks softly, her lips rounding as she says each word with careful precision. A cold breeze appears from nowhere, perhaps blowing in from off the distant sea. In my mind’s eye, I see those fateful clansmen fighting for their lives, for Scotland. A river of red lies before them, the ground soaked in their own blood. I shiver.
“Wow, I have to say: the way you conveyed those words just now sent a chill down my spine.”
Bridget shakes her head. “I just think, if you’re going to remember the dead, then you do it from the heart.”
I nod. “Yes, and you caught the mood perfectly.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you saying so.”
I glance at my watch. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I didn’t realise the time, and I’d better get back before my husband sends out a search party.”
She gives me a wide grin. “No problem. It’s been great meeting you.”
“Likewise, and at least my fall wasn’t counterproductive.”
“Oh, in what way?”
I grin. “I met you.”