“Are ye ready yet?” Jamie calls from the front door of the Garden House.
“Yes, just coming,” I shout back, and slip the cloak Jamie gave me over my dress—Claire’s cloak. It’s purple on the outside and black on the inside, and has a hood, the whole garment made from crushed velvet. It’s beautiful and I’m honoured Jamie’s willing to allow me to wear it.
I move over to the mirror, dab my cheekbones with a light rose-coloured blush and then check my hair. I push a stray curl into place and press down my braids, then go over to a vase filled with fresh flowers and pluck several heads of white baby’s breath from the various stems. It’s a variety called Million Stars, my fingers quick to interweave the tiny clusters into my hair. I add a few colourful beads and finish off with a string of pale blue feathers, admiring my handiwork before closing the bedroom door and rushing downstairs.
Jamie’s standing in the doorway, waiting for me. I brush past, and as I do so, catch his stare.
“Wow, look at ye,” he says. “Ye remind me of a true pagan princess.”
I laugh and give him a twirl. “That’s the general idea. Plus, Claire’s cloak is perfect.”
His eyes appear warm and soft. “Ye look grand in it. The colour really suits ye.”
“Thanks,” I grin. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”
He’s wearing black jeans and a thick jersey hoodie. It’s green, the colour of moss, and there’s a picture in the centre of his chest: a stag, around whose head are numerous Celtic symbols, which, I believe, depict woodland and the earth. A small branch covered with green leaves sits above the animal’s antlers, and below its neck hangs a pentangle.
I point to the design. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. And it’s way too cool for you.”
Jamie smirks and his fingers trace the outline of the colourful image. “’Twas a gift from Claire,” he says. “I dinnae believe in all the mumbo-jumbo stuff. I just enjoyed being with my wife and associating with those who appreciate the more natural things in life.”
I link my arm with his.
“And who can blame you? It’s good to see you’ve dressed for the occasion. After all, it’s all part of the fun. Come on, let’s go and show Claire that you still know how to enjoy yourself.”
Jamie pats my hand. “Aye, Claire knew how to have a guid time, all right.”
“And you should, too. Let today be all about being truly alive. We should appreciate this wonderful world we live in and give thanks for all it has to offer. Just for once, why not let your hair down, eh?”
Jamie pushes his fingers through his curly locks. “Aye, I suppose I’d better do as ye ask while I still have some left.”
I laugh loudly as I open the gate. I hear an engine roar into life, and there’s granda, sitting on a tractor in the yard.
“Have a guid time, young ‘uns,” he shouts over the din. I wave at him and he waves back.
“We promise to do our best,” I shout, and Jamie closes the gate behind us.
We set off down a muddy track and I take a deep breath to find the air sweet and refreshing. Even though it’s still winter the countryside is ablaze with colour. Dark green leaves from the evergreens are mixed together with luscious reds, yellowish-ambers and the deepest of bronzes. There’s a ghostly mist hanging over the mountains and a flock of wild geese fly towards the horizon.
We head through a colourful patchwork of fields and down winding lanes, over fallen logs and around bare, thorny wild rose bushes.
It isn’t the least bit cold today. Granda reckoned it’s warm because snow is on its way. I have no idea if it’s true or not, but just in case it does turn cold later, underneath my dress, I’m wearing thermals, and on my feet, fur lined boots. I’ve also brought along a small hessian bag, tucked beneath the cloak. There isn’t much inside, just my mobile, purse and lip gloss. I’ve brought a bottle of water, too. Just in case.
We’re making our way down a hill when we pass a sign that points the way to the memorial stone, and not long after, we enter a small area of woodland. Soft green moss lies like a rich velvet carpet along the ground, dissolving the dead branches and rotting foliage that have long since fallen, all becoming lost forever beneath its dense soft mass.
I stop and listen, hearing the most magnificent bird songs.
“What are they?” I ask Jamie. “I’ve truly never heard anything quite so beautiful.”
“Ye can hear a mixture of blue, grey and coal tits,” he explains. “They all stay together throughout the winter months. It’s safer that way.”
“They sound so sweet, cheerful even.”
“Aye, that’ll be because they’ve plenty to eat for now.”
I stare up at the sky through the thin canopy, hoping to catch a glimpse of the birds, but I’m blinded by the dappled light, by the shafts of winter sun that slant down into the exposed gaps between the trunks of the trees. I’m half-expecting a grey wolf to emerge out of the shadows.
“Nae time to dawdle or we’ll ne’er get there,” Jamie says and sets off at a quick pace, surefooted as ever. I hurry after him. We’ve decided to walk down to the brae so we can both enjoy a wee dram or two. We’ve also agreed to meet Rhona and Gordon there. Before long, we climb over a small wooden stile and out into open fields, my excitement rising a notch when I hear loud music and the boom of drums. I start to dance around Jamie in a circle, much to his amusement.
He smiles then laughs. “Och, look at ye; I’ve ne’er seen ye act daft before.”
I let out a peel of laughter, hitch up the hem of my skirt, and twirl around him like an overgrown ballerina. His smile broadens, and he grabs my hand so I can do a complete pirouette.
“I’m letting my inner child out,” I say and jump in a puddle to prove it. Mud splashes across the front of my dress, and for a second, I’m fearful it’s landed on Claire’s cloak.
“Oh, Jamie, I’m so sorry—” but he waves a dismissive hand.
“Och, don’t mather. ’Tis only dirt, lass. It’ll disappear soon enough when it’s dry.”
I lift my skirt a little higher to check the mud hasn’t splashed across my legs.
“Wow, steady on. I have to say: ye really know how to drive a man insane with desire,” Jamie chuckles, pointing to my thermal leggings.
I laugh loudly and quickly lower my skirt.
We keep to the edge of the field and follow a drystone wall. I spot other people in the distance, ambling in the same direction, surprised by the number of tents that have sprung up overnight. There’s hundreds dotted across the horizon, stretching as far as the eye can see. There’s an array of young people and children milling around them, and I can hear distant laughter.
When we finally enter the festival, it’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon and the festivities are in full swing.
“Fancy a beer?” Jamie asks, and I nod. We head inside a small tent that’s heaving with revellers, and I stand and wait as Jamie goes off to the bar. The atmosphere is warm and friendly, he soon comes back with two plastic glasses.
“Where do ye wannae go first?” he asks.
I shrug. “I have no idea. Shall we walk around? See what’s on offer?”
“Sounds guid to me,” Jamie says, and we head out of the tent and into the heart of the festival. There are people everywhere. Some are dressed in outfits that must have cost a small fortune, dripping in sequins and heavy with countless folds of material, whilst other, more vivacious women, wear flowery skirts, tie-dye blouses, and bright coloured scarves around their necks. What I also notice are the Disney fans, those dressed in bright yellow ballgowns and who look to have stepped off the set of Beauty and the Beast.
A man walks by wearing a horned mask with a sharp pointed beak. He reminds me of a cockerel. Plumes of red and black feathers sprout from his head and I sense a dark side to his presence. I look down at my own clothes, at an outfit that could be classed as medieval, as I’ve certainly gone more for the Maid Marion style. I consider the beauty of paganism is to dress simply as oneself, to show who one truly is.
The festival is chilled and oozes with tranquillity. There’s a small band of people sitting in a circle with a guitar, singing joyful pagan songs. I don’t know the words, but I stop to listen and clap along with the beat, trying not to spill my beer.
Jamie taps me on the shoulder and then points into the crowd. It takes me a second or two to make out the figures heading towards us. I soon realise it’s Gordon and Rhona. She spots me and waves, I laugh out loud. She’s dressed like a fairy, has lavender and heather in her hair and is adorned with a set of pink nylon wings. The flowers look pretty, and as she comes closer, I smell fresh Rosemary. I grin when I see what Gordon’s wearing. He’s dressed in a long brown robe, which isn’t the least bit flattering. It fits like a sack, as though he’s just cut out the arm holes and pushed his head through a gap in the seam. As he, too, draws nearer, I notice he has a henna tattoo of a pentangle on his left cheek. He reminds me more of a clansman, what with his rugged good looks and thick ginger beard, one better suited to a battlefield re-enactment against the English than trying to look the part of a pagan.
“Ye look amazing,” Rhona cries as she gives me a hug, and Jamie shakes Gordon’s hand.
“I adore the wings,” I say. “What a fabulous idea.”
She links her arm in mine as we wander towards a stand selling homemade leather belts. There’s every colour imaginable, even multicoloured, like a rainbow. Jamie and Gordon trail behind as we browse each table in turn. There’s woven coloured bags and tee shirts, wooden coasters and pieces of bespoke jewellery.
“How much for the silver thistle brooch?” Rhona asks a vendor with the longest dreadlocks I’ve ever seen.
He lifts his thumb and forefinger to his chin and gives it a light tap as he appraises her.
“For you, sweet lady, fifty pounds.”
“I’ll give ye forty and not a penny more,” Rhona tells him, but then a young bohemian-looking girl, large yellow beads strapped across her forehead, steps out from behind the makeshift counter.
“You have a deal,” she says. “Forty’s fine,” and Rhona lets out a shriek of pure delight.
“I have the cash right here,” she says, pulling a wad of money from out of her bra. I try not to gasp and quickly close my mouth. Rhona tips me a wink. “I saw them last year but dinnae have enough money on me at the time.”
A man dressed like a druid comes up to me, a drinking horn in his hand.
“Here, have a drink,” he says. I shake my head and take a step back, but Jamie shoves money into his hand and takes the horn. He lifts it to his lips and throws back his head, takes a large swig and then offers it to me.
“It’s sweet wine. Try it; it’s guid,” he says, and hesitantly, I take the horn which is still brimming with a pale golden liquid. I sip it, to find it’s tasty, but it goes straight to my head. I giggle and pass it to Rhona. The druid then wipes my wrist with a fluorescent pen.
“It means ye can drink from any watering horn,” Jamie explains, reading my confused expression.
“Is that safe?” I ask with a frown. “I mean, you’ve heard of people spiking drinks.”
“They won’t, not if they want to enjoy midsummer here,” and Jamie gives me a knowing smile.
“Oh, yes. I hadn’t thought of that.”
I can hear more drumming, and the noise of the wind in the trees is now pumping through my bloodstream, along with the wine. Older children shriek as they jump between the tents and tables, playing hide and seek. Younger children sit at camping tables, learning how to make wands, or cute animal ornaments out of salt dough.
A delicious aroma sweeps along on the air and my stomach rumbles.
“I’m starved. Shall we go grab something to eat?”
“I thought you’d ne’er ask,” says Gordon, and he points to where a thin-faced man wearing thick black eyeliner is busy cooking curried lamb. As we approach, the meat sizzles loudly inside a ginormous frying pan. The aromatic smell of caramelised onions mixed with curry paste tantalises my taste buds. My mouth waters as the man offers me a plate of marinated lamb. Hungry, I devour the delicious curry within a matter of minutes, and as I’m wiping my mouth with a cheap serviette, I hear the tinkle of a bell.
“It’s time to go and listen to the shaman,” I say, excitedly.
“Not for us,” Rhona replies, throwing her empty paper plate into the nearest bin. “We’re off to join the Magik workshop. It’s all about the power of the mind.”
“Enjoy,” I say, “and we’ll catch up with you both later.”
“In ‘We’, does that mean I have to go, too,” Jamie groans.
“Yes, if you don’t mind,” I say. “It’s fascinating how someone has access to, and influence in, the world of good and evil spirits.”
I link his arm with mine and drag him to where a woman is shaking a pair of maracas and chanting. She sits, crossed-legged, on the ground, an older lady dressed in a black robe in attendance, who, as we approach, beckons us to join her. She greets us by offering us a small brown carrier bag, but I can’t help but stare at her: she has a distinct resemblance to Professor McGonagall from Harry Potter.
“Inside the bag, you’ll find essential items needed for casting a circle,” she explains. “There’s no charge, but a donation to the local donkey sanctuary would be much appreciated.” I nod as she ushers us forward. I take a peek inside the bag to find there’s a carton of salt, four tealights, a stick of incense, and a small bottle of water. There’s also a clear, see-through bag filled with dirt and a piece of card on which is printed a ritual.
I point to a vacant spot close to the shaman and we both go and sit beside her.
“Good afternoon and welcome,” she says to those gathered around her, placing the musical instruments down by her feet. “I’m pleased to see you all here today, and I thought I would start the workshop by teaching you how to cast a circle. Now, before we begin, may I say that you don’t have to be in a group to create a circle, and in the future, you may wish to do this on your own.”
Tiny pinpricks of excitement stab the back of my neck and I’m pleased there’s only eight of us in the entire group. The shaman gestures for us to rise.
“The purpose of casting a circle is to create a barrier between you and the rest of the world. Inside the circle, you can raise your energies and protect yourself from negativity or any harmful entities.
“Now I’m going to show everyone how to cast their own circle. You can do it in pairs if you wish, and I will attend each circle in turn and help you with your ritual.”
“Shall we do our circle together?” I ask Jamie.
“Aye, why not? That way anyone watching will think you’re the crazy person.”
“What? You really think people don’t know you’re loony?”
“Nah, they’ll just think I’m yir support worker.”
I let out a chuckle. “But you are my support worker…of sorts.”
“Then I guess you’d better get on with it before someone feels sorry for me and lets me escape.”
I narrow my eyes. “It’s a good job I’m not a witch or I’d put an evil spell on you right now.”
“Who say’s ye havenae done so already,” Jamie mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
I give him a sharp dig in the ribs.
“Is everyone ready with their salt?” calls out the shaman, and I grab the carton from out of the carrier bag.
“Excellent. Now draw a circle along the ground and make sure it’s big enough for you to be able to walk around without bumping into the other people in the group.”
I let the salt spill onto the earth.
The shaman watches me and nods. “That’s it, and once complete, I’d like you to place the tealights onto the circle, creating compass points of north, south, east, and west.”
I pass the paper bag to Jamie and allow him to do the honours.
The healer claps her hands. “That’s wonderful. I’ll come to each one of you in turn with a lighted candle, so we can light the incense. Once it’s lit, please push it firmly into the ground.”
We follow the shaman’s instructions until we’re all ready for the actual casting of the circle.
“Let’s all read the words off the card,” says our host.
“May the guardians of this element guide and guard me as I welcome and honour their presence and power,” we all say together.
, offering me the bottle of water. I open it and then walk around the circle, flicking droplets into the air. I then tear open the plastic bag and sprinkle the dirt along the ground.
“That’s it,” says the shaman. “Now, face one another and close your eyes. Use this moment to heal yourself with the river of forgiveness. Let go of any negativity and heartbreak which may cause you harm.”
I take several deep breaths as I close my eyes and prepare to relax my mind, then I feel Jamie’s fingers brush against mine. I reach out to hold his hand, and when our fingers entwine, I feel a connection between us as the wind blows softly against my skin. I open my eyes and lift my chin to stare directly into his eyes, at which his mouth twitches and his grip tightens. A shiver creeps down my spine.
“You’re shaking, Sassenach,” he whispers, and I nod, unable to let him go.
“And now we must close the circle,” says the healer. I turn towards her, a little confused. It’s as though, for just a second, Jamie and I were the only two people on the entire planet, but we break away from one another and go on to complete the ritual.
In the background, the musicians play on, their music wild and eerie, and before long, we say goodbye to the shaman and thank her for sharing her experiences with us.
As dusk falls, a bonfire is lit the darkening sky becomes ablaze with orange and gold flames. Close by, the memorial stone shines like a glowing beacon as the light from those same flames flicker along its surface.
Jamie murmurs in my ear, “Let’s make our way down to the water. It’s almost time for the new moon ritual to begin.”
Another druid walks by with a watering horn and I hold up my hand and give him a wave, and he comes and sits beside me. I take a long drink of sweet wine. It slides, smooth like honey, down my throat. When I take another, in seconds I feel lightheaded and giddy again.
I hear music, panpipes, and they’re accompanied by a single drum, a Bodhran. It’s a haunting melody which catches my attention. I close my eyes and lose myself in its rhythm, until the music stops abruptly, and I snap my eyes open.
The priestess appears from behind the stone, a thrum of excitement rippling through the crowd as she moves towards a makeshift altar. She’s wearing a light orange robe, a loose-fitting hood hiding her face, and in her hands she carries a silver bowl and a lighted candle, both of which she places onto the altar, side by side. Alongside her are five beautiful handmaidens, all in floating dresses and with flowers in their hair, each holding a flickering flame in one hand and something small, concealed, in the other. The beat of the drum begins again, and when it stops, the handmaidens blow out their flames and drop to the ground.
Although the priestess takes off her hood, I can only see the back of her head, but it all looks rather theatrical, her hair as black as night and coiled, like silken thread, on top of her head. Somehow, though, I sense she must be beautiful.
Jamie nudges me and I turn to look at him. He presses something that feels brittle into the palm of my hand, and when I unfurl my fingers, there’s a bay leaf resting there. I smile; I really thought Rhona might have been kidding me.
“Make yir wish,” Jamie whispers, and I glance over at Rhona who offers me a pen. I write my deepest desire in tiny letters on the surface of the leaf and close my hand, so no one else can catch sight of what I’ve written. There’s an odd sensation in the pit of my stomach, like a hundred butterflies flapping their wings, at which I let out a breath and clutch the bay leaf closer to my chest.
The priestess’s voice cuts through the hanging silence, and I look up to see her face the crowd, her tone now as smooth as silk, the flickering light of the bonfire dancing shadows across her face, lending her an air of mystery. Yet somehow, her voice seems oddly familiar.
“May my guides, angels, higher self, and good spirits assist me in this ritual,” she declares, before addressing each handmaiden in turn, standing before her in a line. The first bows and puts something into the priestess’s hand, at which the priestess turns back towards the altar.
“May these coffee grounds ensure all minds are clear and receptive.”
She turns back towards the second handmaiden and again, accepts a small offering.
“What is she doing, exactly?” I whisper at Jamie.
“She’s taking a specific herb or ingredient needed for the ritual from each one.”
I watch closely as the priestess sprinkles each offering over the altar’s candleflame, and as she speaks, I absorb her every word.
“Oregano: may you always find joy and energy in your life. Cloves: may wealth come easily to you. Fennel: may you allow healing and find strength. Poppy seeds: may you always be aware of that which is around you.” She grinds the last of the ingredients between her fingers and over the flame before turning back towards the crowd and raising her arms.
“Please, everyone, come forward with your wishes.”
Jamie pulls me to my feet. “Best get in line, lass, with the other hopefuls,” he says as his eyes dance with amusement.
“You’re not taking this seriously,” I say.
Jamie shakes his head. “Nah, I’m just waitin’ for my cake and ale.” He laughs and I feel a stab a disappointment. I don’t know why, but I want him to take this part of the ceremony to heart. I want his wish to come true as much as I do my own.
Rhona grabs me. “Hurry up,” she says, “you don’t want to be at the back of the queue,” and she dashes over the grass, dragging me along with her. We’re laughing now, and I feel Jamie’s hand in the small of my back. I like it there; it makes me feel safe.
A drum strikes out, quickly settling to its mesmeric beat. A piper joins in and yet another tune fills the air, and soon the awaiting crowd are singing the Skye Boat Song. I watch in awe as some of the young women dance in small groups. Their arms twist gracefully towards the heavens, their toes pointing towards the earth. They link arms then twirl around, their clothes floating like chiffon. I’m fascinated by the fluidity of their movements and find I can’t tear my eyes away.
Rhona lets go of my hand and then I see her, standing in front of the priestess, to whom she lifts the bay leaf, and which the woman then takes and burns over the flame. She bows to Rhona and says: “With harm to none, may these wishes come to those who write them. To the power of three so may it be.”
Rhona thanks the priestess, then walks away to where Gordon waits for her under a nearby tree.
It’s my turn. I step forward and offer up my leaf, now staring into two beautiful dark eyes, ones that take me aback. I’d recognise those hazel eyes anywhere.
“Bridget?”
She smiles. “Hello, Maddie. What a wonderful surprise. I do hope you’ve recovered from your fall?”
I’m stunned at seeing her again. “Oh, yes; totally, thanks,” I mumble.
“Are you okay, only I can tell by your expression I’m not who you expected.”
“Uh-huh, you got that right. I’d never have guessed in a thousand years you were a priestess.”
Bridget laughs lightly. “Well, I don’t wear a sign around my neck if that’s what you mean?”
I laugh back. “No, of course not, only I thought you were just a passing tourist.”
“I am.”
“Not quite.”
“Perhaps not. However, let’s get together before I leave.”
I nod. “I’d like that.”
“Great; it’s settled. Meet me by the stone in roughly an hour’s time, and we’ll swap phone numbers.”
“Great, it’s a date,” but then an irritated cough comes from someone standing in line behind me, and Bridget focuses her attention back onto my hand. “Do you have your wish for me?”
Now that I realise Bridget is the priestess, I’m not keen for her to see my wish. I waiver, but she gently cups my hand in her own and my fingers automatically open. She lifts the bay leaf from my palm and reads the inscription. When she looks up, her eyes bore into mine for a moment before she gives me a knowing smile, the leaf soon burnt over the flame. It ignites in a second and Bridget drops it into the silver bowl, repeating the enchantment as she this time holds onto my hands. “Is this your husband?” she asks, and before I can reply, she reaches past me and plucks the bay leaf from Jamie’s fingers.
“Hey, ye cannae do that,” says Jamie, but it’s too late, Bridget’s already read what was written there. She stares at him for the longest time.
“Ah, so you’re not her husband,” she says thoughtfully, and turns and sets fire to the leaf. She stares at him then bows her head. “You have my blessing and the Gods will favour you,” she says. She bows once again, at which Jamie grabs my hand and pulls me away.
“What on Earth’s the matter?” I ask, seeing how his brows are knitted together and his lips are puckered.
“How do ye know that woman?” he says.
“That’s Bridget: the lady who came to my rescue the day I slipped, here, on the brae.”
“Ye ne’er actually told me ye needed rescuing.”
“No, I didn’t. She was just there at the time. She said she was a writer.”
“Aye, she writes books on paganism.”
“Well, that explains a lot. But what’s wrong; you seem rather disgruntled?”
“Aye, I am. She read my wish in front of ye. She shouldnae of done that.”
“Don’t be silly. I don’t know what it said. And besides, you told me you didn’t take this kind of thing seriously.”
Jamie shrugs. “Ne’er mind. ’Tis done now,” but just then, Rhona hurries over.
“Come on, ye two, the next ritual is about to start,” she enthuses.
“Oh, wait; I need to pee,” I say. “I’ll just nip to the loo and then I’ll catch you up.”
Rhona nods and heads off in the opposite direction, but Jamie hesitates.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “You go ahead and I’ll meet you there.”
“Ye sure?” he asks.
“Yes, positive.”
We part company and I hurry past a huddle of makeshift tents, behind which stands a row of Portaloos. I make a dash for one, but as I pass one of the tents, a hand shoots out and grabs my arm, jolting my head back as I’m stopped dead in my tracks. I yank my arm free, pulling my assailant out of the shadows, then catch my breath.
“What the—”
“Fancy finding you here.”
“What do you want, Ally?”
“Interesting question, and one I’m pleased you’ve asked.”
I find I’m losing my patience. “Quit playing games. If you’ve something on your mind, best spit it out.”
“My, you are a spirited one. I can see why Callum fell for you. You’re quite fiery.”
“No. I just don’t have time to waste whilst you do your best to intimidate me. If you have something to say, then get on with it.”
Ally heaves a sigh. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” I snort. “But if it’s Callum you’re after, I’ll not give him up without a fight.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“Good, then why are you here?”
“Because it’s time he came back to where he belongs, to where we both belong.”
“He’s not yours to have. Not now, not ever.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. He’s always been mine. It was simply circumstances that tore us apart.”
“So, now you’re going to try and win him back, even though we’re married?”
“I don’t need to try. Once he learns about your affair with Jamie, he’ll come running back to me with open arms. Besides, I hear getting a divorce is easy these days.”
“What a ludicrous thing to say. You must be grasping at straws if you think he’d ever believe I’m having an affair with his brother.”
“I’ve seen the way you two are around each other. And I saw you earlier, casting a circle and staring into each other’s eyes like a couple of lovebirds. No, when Callum returns, he’s going to learn the truth about you two.”
“That’s it; I’ve heard enough,” I hiss. “You can lie, but it won’t get you anywhere. Callum’s over you. In fact, he’s never mentioned you once in all the years we’ve been together—that’s how important you are to him.”
She flinches and takes a step back. “Sticks and stone,” she says, but then there’s a rustle behind me and someone grabs my shoulder. I let out a scream.
“Maddie, are ye all right, lass?” and I turn and stare into the face of Jamie.
“What are you doing creeping up on people,” I cry out, relieved to see it isn’t one of what I imagined as Ally’s henchmen.
“Sorry, it’s just ye were taking ages, so I came to see what was holdin’ ye up.”
I turn to point in Ally’s direction, but she’s gone.
“Ally was standing right there,” I tell him. “She told me she’s going to get Callum back.”
“Och, that’ll ne’er happen,” Jamie insists. “He made his choice when he left, all those years ago.”
“Clearly, she doesn’t seem to think so herself.”
“That’s because she’s found out he’s visiting and because she still holds a torch for him.”
“She also said something else.”
“Oh, yeah; like what?”
“That she’s going to tell Callum we’re having an affair.”
He takes a sharp intake of breath. “She actually said that?”
I nod and Jamie pushes me to arm’s length, and I stare deep into his eyes.
“Her accusations are unfounded and he’ll ne’er take her seriously. And, more importantly, he loves ye, not Ally.”
“Then what am I going to do?”
“You’re not to let that woman’s poison affect ye, that’s what you’ll do.”
I feel my eyes prick with tears. “I can’t believe she told me to my face that’s she’s going to take him from me.”
Jamie puts his arm around me and guides me away from the tents.
“She can try, but Callum would die for ye, so dinnae think for one moment he would ever leave ye. Now, forget her and let’s go and eat cake and enjoy the rest of the evening.”
I pull away from him. “No. I can’t.”
Jamie shrugs. “Why ever not? Ye said ye loved cake.”
“Yes, I do, but I still need to pee.”
Jamie shakes his head. “Aye, all right. I’ll stand guard outside the door in case Ally decides to show her face again.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the offer.”
We retrace our steps and hurry over to the Portaloos, where I rush inside a vacant one, but the moment the door closes, I’m scrabbling inside my bag for my mobile. I need to speak to Callum, to tell him what’s happened. I push a few items aside and find my phone at the bottom of my bag, swipe the screen and then press his number. When I hear his voice, I breathe a sigh of relief, but then realise I’ve reached his answer phone.
“Hi, this is Callum McKinley. Please leave your message after the beep.” I hesitate, then force my voice to sound light and airy.
“Hi, it’s me. Nothing’s wrong; I’m just checking in,” and I end the call with a sigh, not wishing to upset him or cause him alarm. But I need to talk to him and put my mind at ease. I tell myself he’s sure to ring me back as soon as he gets my message, but then again, the signal’s pretty lousy up here. Resignedly, I shove my phone back inside my bag, use the toilet then wash my hands. When I open the door, Jamie’s waiting for me.
“Are ye okay?” he asks as I approach, and I read concern in his eyes.
I nod and push the corners of my mouth into a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t know how to handle Ally,” I confess. “I’ve never been in this kind of situation before.”
He offers me his hand and I take it, his calloused fingers grasping mine.
“I’ve told ye already: you’ve nothing to worry about. She’s just making waves, and what she doesnae realise is that she’ll be the one to drown by them.”
I squeeze his fingers, grateful for his reassurance, but there’s something else, too. It’s as though a veil has been lifted from my eyes. I no longer see him as Callum’s identical twin. Instead, there are certain traits and qualities held within him that I now recognise are so unlike Callum. There’s no trace of arrogance or superiority. In front of me stands a man who’s kind and gentle. He pulls me close and holds my gaze, his eyes soft and sincere.
There’s a cry and then a shout, and Jamie lets go, swinging around to a drunk who’s just spilt ale all down his arm and the side of his jeans. “Can ye not see where you’re going?” Jamie curses under his breath.
“Be cool, man,” says a guy who’s the spitting image of Bob Marley, and at whom Jamie only glares. The Rastafarian staggers to a halt, his arms swaying like suckered tentacles, and I swear he’s about to fall over. I take a step forward, my hand outstretched to steady him when he swiftly turns tail and hurries away into the darkness.
“Complete imbecile,” Jamie mutters, shaking off the last droplets of beer from his clothes.
“Oh, don’t be too hard on him,” I say with a smirk. “After all, it was an accident.”
Jamie shakes his head, but his anger has already melted away. “Come on, then; I think it’s time we went and found the others,” and he grabs my hand and pulls me into the crowd of revellers and leads me back to the safe bosom of my new friends.
The atmosphere is heavy with winter cloud, but this doesn’t dampen my spirits. We join in with a small band of gypsies who are enjoying a good old sing-song. The music is soulful and I clap my hands to the beat. I spot Rhona and Gordon dancing together. They make a fine couple, and Rhona seems quite merry. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s giggling. Gordon’s happy to hold her steady, to have his arms wrapped around her waist.
“’Tis a guid job Malcolm’s staying the night to look after Findlay,” Jamie shouts over the din. I laugh, because he’s right. No doubt, by tomorrow morning, they’ll both suffer from stinking hangovers.
“On that note, do you fancy a special brewed ale?” I say.
Jamie chuckles. “I’ve ne’er been one to turn down a free drink.”
“Then stay put and I’ll be right back.”
I head over to a stall selling wine and beer. There’s plenty on offer, a table littered with an assortment of ales, most of which I’ve never heard of. I ponder over the different varieties and buy two bottles of Old Speckled Hen. On the way back, a woman, waving her hands, catches my eye. I realise it’s Bridget and she’s pointing to the memorial stone. I nod and lift the bottles of ale and point them in Jamie’s general direction. Bridget holds up five fingers. I nod again and she gives me a thumbs up, at which I hurry over to where Jamie’s watching a young girl dance to a fiddle, offering him the ale.
“Slàinte mhath,” he says as he makes a toast.
“Good health to you, too,” I say, “only I’ve just seen Bridget and I’m going to meet her down by the stone.”
Jamie halts, the beer to his lips. “What? You’re going now?”
I nod. “Yes. I said I’d be there in five.”
“Do ye want me to come with ye, in case ye bump into Ally again?”
“No, I’ll be fine, thanks. Besides, I won’t be long.”
I make my way down to the water’s edge. There’s barely a sliver of moonlight but I can hear the water gurgling downstream. It tinkles along over and between the stones, the sound giving me a moment of pure serenity. A biting wind is heading down from the mountains and I pull my cloak a little closer, taking a swig of beer as I stare out into the darkness, my imagination sweeping me away. I’m now waiting for a huge barrage of men to break through a veil of creeping mist, seeing the clansman, their faces covered in mud and deadly weapons in their hands.
A firework whizzes through the air, drawing my gaze. It explodes with a whistle and a bang, then silver stars and a colourful rainbow fall from the heavens, a trail of grey smoke lingering in the air. When my gaze lowers, I notice the crowds are starting to disperse. A lot of the children have gone to their beds, and there, sitting on the ground, a few die-hards cover themselves with tartan blankets and waterproofs to help keep the cold at bay. Many others have moved closer to the bonfire, still burning, still crackling and popping with life. I sense no one really wants to go home. There’s a real sense of belonging here.
I search out Bridget and spot her, sitting on a camping chair, a glass of something resembling red wine in her hand. I stand still and rest my gaze upon her. There’s something rather charismatic about her. She’s all the things I’d like to be: confident and self-assured, the kind of person people are drawn to like a magnet. She’s alluring and poised, and tonight, sitting there by the fire, her silhouette has a golden aura to it. She reminds me of a beautiful but as yet to be discovered orchid, her form oozing a unique mixture of delicacy, sensuality and intoxicating beauty. I’m in awe of her, and as though she senses me watching, she turns around and waves. I’m soon beside her, and she points to a blanket upon the ground, where I sit, cross-legged, by her feet.
When she points to a drink under her chair, I shake my head and lift my bottle of beer.
“I’m good,” I say, and we both turn and stare towards the stone.
“I think it’s simple but effective,” Bridget says. “And it always amazes me how the stone brings all walks of life together.”
I nod and take a sip of my drink. “I find it a little eerie,” I confess. “You know, how the stone draws everyone to it. And this place, the people, it’s as though I’ve known every person here forever.”
“That’ll be the beer talking,” Bridget chuckles into her glass.
I smile. “Perhaps. But I certainly feel like we’ve met before.”
“Maybe we have; in another life.”
“Do you believe in such things?”
“Oh, yes, and in so much more.” She places the glass down by her feet and lets out a deep sigh. “Can I ask you something?”
I sense a shift in the conversation and turn to face her. “Sure; what is it?”
Her eyes pierce through mine and her mouth gains a seriousness. “The man you’re with; do you love him?”
She’s caught me off guard and I let out a cough and a splutter.
“Are you, all right?” she asks and pats me firmly on the back. I regain my composure and wipe the tears from my eyes, but I also avert my gaze.
“Erm…maybe I’d better not drink any more of this stuff,” and I pour the rest of my beer over the ground.
Bridget slides to the edge of her seat. “Maddie, look at me.”
I feel myself stiffen.
“I sense you do; love him, I mean.” I stare up at her, the light from the flames flickering across her face, and I see a seriousness about her.
I shake my head vigorously. “No. You’re mistaken. I’m married to Jamie’s brother, Callum. They’re identical twins. Perhaps you got them mixed up?”
Bridget sits back in her chair. “But he loves you.”
“Who, Jamie?” She nods and I burst out laughing. “Seriously, I understand how you dabble in love rituals and stuff, but you’re way off the mark this time.”
She taps the side of her nose. “I think you’re wrong, because I know something you don’t.”
“Oh, yeah, like what? After all, he’s my husband’s double, so there’s bound to be some chemistry between us.”
“No. That’s not it.”
“It isn’t? So, tell me.”
Bridget leans closer, her face just inches from mine. “Because of what Jamie wr—”
“Och, there ye are. I’ve been looking for ye everywhere.”
I’m startled by the intrusion and look up to see Jamie standing there.
“Oh, hi. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for ye. Rhona and Gordon are ready to go home.”
I jump to my feet. “Oh, right,” and I stare apologetically at Bridget. “Sorry, I’d best go.”
Bridget nods and slides her fingers inside an invisible pocket. I turn to leave but she calls “Wait” and jumps to her feet, takes a step towards me and presses a small piece of paper into the palm of my hand. “It’s my number; ring me. I’m here until the end of next month.”
I pull a frown. “I’ll be leaving in a few days.”
She smiles. “Best be quick, then.”
“Okay, I will.”
Bridget walks toward one of the makeshift tents. “I’ll be waiting,” she calls out without a backward glance.
I push the piece of paper inside my bag and then we head towards the music. Jamie leads the way.
“Ye seem to be getting rather pally with Bridget,” he says.
“Yes, she’s nice. I like her.”
“’Tis guid to see ye making friends.”
“Yes, I’m even surprising myself this time.”
“What do ye mean?”
“Well, I don’t make friends easily. I never have.”
Jamie turns to me as a bright fragment of moonlight shines across the side of his face. His brows furrow.
“Och, why is that, then?”
I shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m a bit of a loner. I tend not to let people in.”
Jamie lets out a grunt. “Oh, I would ne’er have guessed.”
I tug at his hand and he stops dead in his tracks. “Before you say anything, I simply can’t help it,” I tell him. “You learn to protect yourself from the outside world when you’re raised in foster care. People often pretend to be your friend when they’re only out to hurt you.”
“What happened to you?”
I feel my muscles tense. “You don’t really want to know.”
He presses his hand against my arm. “Maddie, that’s where you’re wrong. I do.”
I take a deep breath. “When I was in care, particularly foster homes, the families treated me like I was something disgusting they found off the streets. They would invite me into their homes, but many did it just for the money. The men were usually the worst culprits. They would segregate me from their children and their wives. Leave me home alone whilst they went on day trips to the zoo or on family picnics. From an early age, I suffered seclusion and a life without love. I was never kissed goodnight or hugged, and if I ever fell and grazed my knee, they would ask my permission to touch me.”
“But surely that’s nae all foster families?”
“Perhaps not, but I was never lucky enough to meet the others. Instead, I grew up believing I was a freak. I made my way through society unloved and unwanted, building a wall so I could protect myself.”
“But not everyone’s yir enemy.”
“I know, Jamie, but I’ve been burned too many times to dare to reach out and touch the flame.”
“Is that how ye see me?”
My jaw drops. “No, of course not.”
“Then why won’t ye let me in?”
“Jamie, it’s nothing personal. After what I’ve been through, especially with men, I…I just can’t.”
There’s a peel of laughter and I swing around. Through the last of the stragglers I see Rhona and Gordon heading our way.
I breathe a sigh of relief and dash towards them.
“Och, we’re ready for our beds. Are ye ready too?” Rhona asks, pulling me into a drunken embrace.
“Actually, yes, I am,” I say as she hugs me to her bosom.
“What about Jamie?”
He nods. “Aye, we all may as well call it a night.”
Rhona links her arm inside mine. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’ll take us at least another hour to walk home.” She pulls me close and whispers in my ear: “I hope ye wish comes true.”
“How do you know what I wished for?” I ask.
She shakes her head and lets out a sigh. “Ye dinnae need the brains of an archbishop to work that one out,” she says, and I laugh because it’s true.
Rhona and I wander along the track, laughing and dancing and hugging one another, as though we were born sisters. The men are close behind, but we’re surrounded by darkness. The only light illuminating our way is the new moon’s bright silvery crescent. We’re halfway through singing The Bonnie Banks o’ Loch Lomond when Rhona stops and says: “This is where we have to bid ye a fond farewell.” She hugs me tight. “It’s been a memorable day and one I’ll cherish,” she slurs. Gordon comes over and hugs me too and then slaps Jamie on the back. We both wave goodbye as Gordon throws his arm around his wife. They stagger, somewhat drunkenly, onto a track that will lead them to a spot where they’ll be picked up by a close family member.
Jamie and I carry on the last leg of our journey. He walks beside me and I laugh as he keeps bumping into me.
“You’re drunk,” I say.
“Aye, and so are ye,” and he gives me a sharp nudge in the ribs with his elbow. I giggle and grab his arm, allowing my fingers to slide towards his hand, which he locks in his own. He pulls me close and we walk together in silence, contented in one another’s company. I stare ahead to see the dark silhouettes of the approaching barn and outbuildings. The wind rustles through the trees and a security light flashes on as we approach the farm gate. Jamie lifts the latch and we push our way through, then head down the path to the Garden House.
Like teenagers we stand outside the cottage, facing one another. The last of the dark cloud has lifted enough to allow the moonlight to shine down onto Jamie’s face once again.
“I’ve had the most amazing day,” I say.
Jamie shrugs. “It was a pleasure. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
I nod. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Aye, so would I.”
I can’t help but look up into his eyes. They’re soft and meaningful yet hypnotising, all at the same time.
“Would you like to come in for coffee?”
“Maddie, I dinnae think that would be a guid idea.”
“Why ever not?”
He heaves a sigh. “I think ye ken why.”
I drop my gaze, and even in the darkness, I feel my cheeks burn. I try to make light of his rejection, laughing lightly, but it sounds false, even to me.
I turn away from him. “Goodnight, Jamie. Sleep tight,” but I don’t wait for his reply. Instead, I hurry inside the cottage and shut the door behind me, where I chide myself over and over. After all, I’ve just set myself up for a fall.
I drag my tired feet, one by one, up the wooden stairs. Once I reach my bedroom, I take off my boots and drop, exhausted, onto the bed. I close my eyes, and behind their lids, an array of dancers move along the ground in bare feet. A wind blows through their hair, their heads covered in a halo of wild roses, cyclamen and pretty snowdrops.
Letting out a sigh, I open my eyes. My head is still buzzing and I need to unwind. I get up and place Claire’s cloak on a hook behind the bedroom door, along with the hessian bag, then take out my mobile phone and place it on the bedside table. At the dressing table, I take the feathers and beads out of my hair, unzip my dress and allow it to fall to the floor. Once I’ve stripped off my thermals, I stand there, in front of the mirror, in just my underwear. I stare at my reflection. Although I’m tired, I can see there’s a healthy glow to my skin and the fresh air has done wonders for my complexion. I un-braid my hair and force my fingers through the tight waves. It falls softly down my back and I stroke a stray curl away from my face.
I slide my hand down to my stomach and wonder what it must be like to conceive a baby naturally, then I feel for the thumping heartbeat, the ten tiny fingers and the ten tiny toes. I close my eyes and pretend I know. The bond, though, between mother and baby does not swell. There is no umbilical cord, just an empty womb which will never hold love. A lone tear spills down my cheek and once again I stare at my own reflection. The face that stares back is lonely and sad.
In the bathroom, I switch on the shower and wait until white steam covers the glass before I climb inside the cubicle. Hot water splashes against my skin and the sensation sends shivers down my spine. As I wash away the grime and dirt of the day, Ally pushes her way into my thoughts. Flashbacks of what she said to me at the festival leave me cold: “It’s time he came back to where he belongs, to where we both belong”. Head down, I press my hands against the shower wall. I can still hear Ally scream “He’s always been mine”, and I let out a choking sob, afraid I’m about to lose my husband. “It was simple circumstances that tore us apart,” she now yells inside my head.
I switch off the shower and snatch a towel from the rail. As I rub myself dry, Ally’s sneering face is all the while in the forefront of my mind. When I finish, I throw the towel onto the floor and put on a set of warm pyjamas, then get into bed and switch off the light. I snuggle down and close my eyes. It’s like the night sky but without the stars. I refuse, though, to let Ally stay inside my head, but just as I’m dozing off, I hear a faint buzz and reach for my phone. One eye open, I press the button which lights up the screen. It’s a text message from Callum: “I tried to ring you, but it went straight to voicemail. I’ll try again in the morning”.
I place the phone back onto the bedside table. It’s too late to call him back now. I pull the covers over my head and turn over, my hand gliding across the spot where Callum should be.