Summer Of Love Part 3

When they reached the shelter of the bushes and willows behind the cemetery, the sun had set and a humid chill was creeping up from the loch.

"Don't look so nervous or she'll know that she's your first," remarked Francis condescendingly, and John added with a leering sn.i.g.g.e.r: "Oh, she might like to be his first, show him a few tricks."

"Why don't you two now disappear, so I can have a chat with her?" Andrew's anxiety began to get the better of him.

"We'll go when we see her coming."

They showed him a soft patch of gra.s.s, hidden between low bushes, "a good place for smooching" as Francis put it, adding that this was where he had his first woman.

Suddenly, Molly came around the bushes. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the McNabb brothers.

"Oh, you're here too," she exclaimed, visibly disconcerted.

Francis grinned and said: "Yes, my sweetie. We just wanted to say h.e.l.lo."

She hesitated for a few seconds and then quickly turned to leave, but her path was blocked by James.

"James Campbell, you said that Andrew Campbell wanted to talk to me alone. Why are you all here?" There was panic in her voice now.

"We just thought we might all have a bit of fun," John cheered, advancing and grinning broadly.

"James, let her go," Andrew shouted and shoved John away.

"Come on, Andrew, she's just pretending to be coy." John poked him quite hard. "They all do!"

"James, let her go," repeated Andrew.

Molly struggled to get past James. Andrew started toward her, but John stepped in front of him, grabbing his left arm, hissing: "Don't spoil everything now, you stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Francis rushed to his brother, shouting: "No, John, don't! He'll thrash you."

But the warning was too late already. Andrew's right hook slammed into John's jaw and the heavy lad went down without a sound. Coming from behind, Francis wrapped both arms around Andrew's chest and throat, while James rushed him from the front. Using Francis as his support, Andrew pulled up both knees and kicked his feet into James' stomach. The tall man rolled to the ground, coughing and sputtering, desperately trying to recover his breath. Andrew's kick made Francis lose his balance, and they both fell backward, Andrew on top of him.

Molly watched, her mouth wide open. She must never have seen any men, let alone one of the gentry, get into a fight over her. When Andrew jumped back to his feet she quickly fled.

Things between Andrew and the other three young men were never quite the same after that evening. More often than not, they excluded him from their drinking parties, and Andrew didn't really mind. Except for James, their conversations had become a repet.i.tive bore. They avoided the library whenever Andrew was reading there, and he stayed away when he heard their rowdy voices.

Two weeks later-the first snowfalls had already pulled a white blanket over the mountain tops-Andrew visited the MacGregors a second time, bringing two bottles of claret. Dougal MacGregor greeted him heartily. Mary seemed to be rather less pleased. There was no welcoming smile from her. But if she hadn't intended to have him for a meal, her husband thwarted her by inviting him. His heart was beating higher up in his chest when he saw Helen.

Dougal promptly opened a bottle and asked Andrew to join him at the table. Mary and Helen resumed mending children's clothing next to a small window, while grandmother MacGregor continued to nap in a rocking chair by the fire. The two MacGregor sons, Robin and Alasdair, just a year and two younger than Helen, crouched on the ground. Everybody seemed to listen attentively to the conversation between Dougal and Andrew. It quickly revolved around the hot topic on everybody's mind-the likelihood of another Jacobite rising.

Andrew had turned his chair so that he could observe Helen without being too obvious about it. She seemed to avoid his gaze.

"You believe that most of the clans will come out united this time," he expounded. "But what I hear at the castle paints a different picture. The Mackays and the Rosses are thought to be stout Whig supporters, same as the Campbells of Argyle and Breadalbane. Nor are the Grants and Munros likely to come out in support of the Stuarts, I was just told the other day."

Dougal raised his arm dismissively.

Andrew continued: "The Chisholms seem to be badly divided, and Chief Angus of the Mackintoshes is serving with the English. I can't see his clan coming out."

Andrew's tone of voice was maybe just a shade too ponderous. Although he didn't want to provoke Dougal, he was eager to make him think carefully about his own options. Dougan Graham had instructed him to stress that the Earl of Breadalbane expected all his tenants to support him, and it was obvious where his sympathies lay. Andrew doubted though that any such appeal would have much effect on the MacGregors. But he had another reason for trying to sway the man. He wanted to remain on good terms with him and his family. If Dougal joined up with the new pretender, they would be on opposite sides, regardless of whether he, Andrew, took any active part or not. The very fact of being a Campbell of Argyle would make it happen.

Dougal pursed his lips, shaking his head. "Except for the Campbells, these are all small clans. It won't make much difference, and when they see that the Stuarts are winning, as they surely must, everybody will join."

"That's just the point. Didn't many of the clans in 1715 wait to see which way the scales were tipping before committing their men?"

"This time will be different. Most have grievances against the English now. They'll welcome this opportunity to kick off the yoke of the Hanover kings. But tell me lad, which side will you be on? I would hate to see you across the battle field."

"I'll stay right here with Mr. Graham. What do I care if we are ruled by a Stuart or a Hanover king? It will make little difference for most people in the Highlands. They'll still be poor and see their own children starve when their crops fail or their herds get sick."

This statement, expressed with naive conviction, visibly startled Helen by its unexpected candor, particularly coming from a man of the gentry. She raised her head from her work. His eyes immediately locked on to hers and kept her in check, holding her like magnets.

"These are strong words, master Andrew, strong words for a man who lives in the comfort of the castle."

Andrew pushed out a deprecating laugh. "That comfort is rather scarce at Finlarig, Mr. MacGregor. That place feels more like a damp prison."

"But Lord Glenorchy will surely order you to join his ranks."

"I doubt that. I'm more useful to him here, with Mr. Graham in such bad health."

The older man frowned, nodding slowly several times. "Now that I look at it, I'd say you are right... Master Andrew, you're a very insightful lad, you are. But I must admit, you puzzle me. For a young man, you take a rather cautious stand. I would have expected you to take sides firmly, wanting to be part of the fight on one side or the other, partic.i.p.ate in the glory of battle. I know that all the young men here are eager. Even my two sons," he pointed at the two lads in front of them, "would join if I let them. Mind you, I'm not implying that you're a coward. You don't come across as one. But you must lean one way or the other. Tell me!"

"Many a wise man has been called a coward," Andrew retorted with a chuckle, "and I don't claim to be wise. But it's the truth. I'm not committed and I'm not willing to fight somebody else's dirty war. I don't feel any allegiance to the Hanover kings, nor do I trust the Stuarts. Didn't they readily abandon Scotland for the English crown at the first opportunity? They might just simply see this as a way to get it back. In my opinion, they're using Scottish patriotism for their own selfish designs... But look at it from a different angle, Mr. MacGregor. I'm, in fact, simply taking a leaf from your ill.u.s.trious ancestor, Rob Roy. Isn't it true that at that indecisive battle of Sherriffmuir he said, 'If they cannot do it without me, they cannot do it with me!' and wisely kept his men on the sideline. You may want to cogitate on this yourself." Although it didn't quite fit his own stance, he hoped that it would sway his host.

"Right you are, right you are," the latter laughed, slapping his bare thighs. His outburst startled the dozing grandmother MacGregor, and she looked confused at her son. "How is it that you know such intimate details about the history of the MacGregors? I thought you were a Campbell... Come, lad, you have hardly touched your cup. Drink some more of that excellent claret as long there is some left!" He refilled both cups and took a few sips. "You are quite a lad, I must say. Too bad you are a Campbell! I wouldn't mind having you for a son-in-law."

He winked at his daughter. Andrew and Helen both grew crimson. Their eyes met fleetingly, and he noticed his own discomfiture matched by hers.

Mary MacGregor now got up. "La.s.s, come with me. I need your help."

With obvious reluctance Helen folded up her mending. Andrew's gaze followed her until she disappeared through the door.

"I want you to cut more fir candles from the branches father fetched yesterday," ordered Mary MacGregor.

"You said I had to help you. That isn't helping you and doesn't have to be done right now... You just wanted me out of the cottage," Helen complained accusingly. "Why? It was interesting to hear what master Andrew had to say."

"That's just it. You were paying more attention to him than to your mending. Didn't I tell you not to encourage a man from the gentry? Now you even got your father view him as a potential son-in-law," her mother said sternly.

"I did nothing of the sort, nothing at all. You're unfair, and you know it. But even if I had, what would be so bad about marrying a nice man like master Andrew? You said yourself that a factor makes good money." As she said that the blurred figure of a woman disappearing behind the old Killin church where Andrew and his friends had gone rose fleetingly in her mind and she felt again a rush of shame and embarra.s.sment.

"So, he is a nice man now!" her mother scoffed. "You know d.a.m.n well why it wouldn't work. No MacGregor will ever be wed to a Campbell!"

Helen's contrary nature got the upper hand. "I see, blood runs thicker than water." She wanted to add 'as father says when he runs out of arguments', but she swallowed it.

"You watch your tongue, la.s.s. You aren't too old for a hiding."

"Mother, this is so silly. I've no intention of getting married, if I ever will. All I wanted is to hear their interesting talk... Please, mother, let me go back inside. I'll cut the fir candles later on."

"You cut them right now and stop sulking!"

Fighting her anger, Helen fetched the tool for cutting the fast burning wood splinters the Highlanders used as subst.i.tute for wax candles. They needed a large supply to last them through the long winter evenings.

She did not see Andrew again all winter. With the ground covered in snow and all provisions for the winter in storage, there was no need to go to Killin.

At first, her mind wandered from time to time back to their last two encounters. She saw his light green eyes that could exude such a compelling intensity. But as the winter deepened, these flashbacks happened less and less often and then stopped altogether. She hardly gave it a thought when, on her first visit to Killin in the spring of 1745, she caught a glimpse of him, sitting alone behind his little factor's booth, busily engaged in a transaction with a tacksman.

With all the talk of rebellion and the half dozen men of fighting age in their small group making ready to join as soon as word arrived from Glengyle, the seat of clan MacGregors, a cloud of uncertainty hung over the little glen on the slopes of Creag Gharbh. The move into the summer s.h.i.+elings was seriously disrupted.

In August when the call to arms finally came after Prince Charles left France and secretly landed at Borradale on the Western sh.o.r.es of the Highlands, Helen, her younger sister, Betty, and her two teenage brothers, Robin and Alasdair, together with other young people from the clachan, were still up in the s.h.i.+elings. They only learned about the departure of their father when Mary came up to tell them the following day. Robin and Alasdair made no bones about their disappointment for having been left behind. Only their mother's stern warning that their father had promised her solemnly to send them straight back, if they tried to follow, kept them from going after their clansmen.

There was no Crieff rover market, and besides no men to drive the cattle there. This meant no money to buy additional grains for winter and too many cattle for the limited winter feed. They would have to slaughter some of their animals.

The scant reports of the early success of Prince Charles' motley and ill-equipped army, sweeping rapidly down into the Lowlands and taking Edinburgh in a surprise move, reached their clachan by late September and gave rise to celebration and hopes of a quick ending and without much bloodshed. They expected their men to be home safely by Christmas. It was January before news of the reversal of Charles' fortunes finally came in. By then, heavy snow had cut them off almost completely from all contact with the world.

As more news trickled in about the continued withdrawal of Prince Charles' troops back into the Highlands, the women and old people began to worry about what the future had in store for them. Would their men return safe and whole? For the first time in almost a year, Helen was reminded of Andrew's plea to her father to carefully weigh his decision. But she couldn't conceive that her father would have stood aside and waited. It would have been completely contrary to his impulsive character and the MacGregor ethos.

3.

1745 was not a happy year for Andrew. Dougan Graham became bedridden at the onset of the winter in 1744. Suddenly the whole burden of factor fell on the young man's shoulders. Dougan's health improved a bit in late spring, but not enough to allow him to resume his duties. He supervised Andrew as best as he could from his bedside. The young man was constantly on the move, setting up his factor's stall all over the realm of Breadalbane. When his travels brought him back to the castle for Sunday, he was most often too tired even to read.

The younger members of the gentry could talk of nothing else but the impending rebellion, almost wis.h.i.+ng it to happen so that they could join in real battle on the side of the English. At first, Andrew took part, questioning the motives of both sides. But his was a lonely voice, at least in the mess hall. It only raised hostility and derision, particularly on the part of the McNabb brothers. So he kept quiet. In fact, as spring changed into summer, more often than not he ate dinner alone. Occasionally, he joined Dougan Graham for a meal.

As Andrew had predicted, when the Earl of Breadalbane sent out the first call in August for his va.s.sals to mobilize their men, he asked Andrew to remain in his position as the de facto factor.

"A rather unfortunate decision," sneered John. "You won't be able to prove that you're a real man."

Although Andrew kept looking out for Helen whenever he was in Killin, he never saw any of the MacGregors all that year. Their rent payments fell in arrears again. He wondered how she was, wondered whether by now she fancied a young man from the MacGregor clan. But most nights, before he fell asleep, he conjured up her picture. They hadn't faded or become blurred with the pa.s.sing of time and were still as vivid and clear as on the first night. Sometimes, her face appeared in his dreams in a veil of mist, and more than once he woke with a sense of disquiet.

And then came the news of Prince Charles' defeat at Derby, his rapid withdrawal North, and reports of widespread clansmen desertions from his camp, gleefully received at the castle. There were also rumors that in the Western Highlands and on the Island of Mull English troops and the Campbells of Argyle had begun plundering and burning the clachans left defenseless by the men who had joined the rebellion. After Prince Charles abandoned the futile siege of Stirling Castle in the face of the English army closing in on the Highlands, the Earl of Breadalbane sent his cavalry to join c.u.mberland, the McNabb brothers and James Campbell among them. Andrew felt a sense of relief to see them go. When the first white and pink crocuses raised their delicate blooms in the early spring of 1746, only a small number of soldiers were left for the defense of Finlarig Castle. It was now but a matter of days before the back of the rebellion would be brutally broken in the moors of Culloden.

A few days after that battle, the gates of the castle were firmly locked and the garrison of twelve men under the leaders.h.i.+p of the aging Lord Glenorchy took up battle stations, while the MacGregors marched by with their pipes playing, and the pine-sprig badge of Clan Gregor on their bonnets. The Earl did not even think of stopping them, glad that they seemed content to continue to their own glens. Little did they know that the royal troops and the forces from Argyle had already set the torch to many of their homes.

From a window high up in the tower Andrew watched them march by in good order. They were too far away to recognize individual faces. He wondered if Helen's father was among them.

In the middle of May, a platoon of English infantrymen took up quarters at the castle. They were part of a force sent in from the garrison at Perth to disarm and punish the MacGregors, MacLarens, and other clan branches in Perth and Breadalbane who had joined the rebellion. The larger portion pushed into Glengyle, Craigroyston, and the Braes of Balquhidder, frustrated by the MacGregors simply fading farther into the hills before them. They plundered and burned every house and cottage and drove off any four-legged animal they could lay hands on.

Lord Glenorchy ordered Andrew to submit within the day a list of all clachans between Kenmore and Crianlarich where any menfolk had joined up with Prince Charles. For some reason, Andrew put Dougal MacGregor's at the bottom of the list. The day after, he was seconded to Lieutenant Gordon, the officer in charge of the platoon -his a.s.signment to guide the troops in their punitive actions. Andrew had little notion of what that meant. He expected them to search for weapons and arrest the men who had served under Charles.

When he reported to Lieutenant Gordon, the latter was pouring over a map of the area, Andrew's list in his hand. He immediately asked him to mark all locations on the map and then questioned him about the size of each clachan, expounding his intention to secure the biggest ones first. The first expedition was to march off at five o'clock the following morning.

That evening, Andrew had an uneasy feeling in his guts. He didn't trust the man. His dislike was heightened when over dinner he had to listen to him bragging about his exploits in the campaign, and saw him pinch the bottoms of the servant women, groping under their skirts, and laughing loudly when they squirmed away from him.

The troops filed out of the castle yard on the double just as the eastern horizon began to light up at the edge of the clouds. Their first destination was a clachan of MacLarens some eight miles up Glen Lochay. Andrew was riding at the front of the column next to Lieutenant Gordon, his four dragoons behind them. To his surprise, the soldiers seemed to be eager and in good spirits, full of antic.i.p.ation, despite the grueling pace of the forced march under a darkening sky of gray clouds relentlessly rolling in from the Northwest, as if the sky wanted to hide what was coming. A bare two hours later the outlines of their target came into view about half a mile away. The troop now split into three groups. The plan was to swoop on the clachan in a pincer movement. Gordon invited Andrew to join him with the main section, taking the middle. Andrew agreed, curious to see a group of professional soldiers in action.

The barking of several dogs raised the alarm, and before the soldiers could reach the first houses, shouts and shrill cries of fear echoed through the cottages. Within seconds, men, children, and women carrying babies or toddlers ran from the houses, some only half-dressed, and made for the woods behind the clachan. Some of the stragglers were caught by the soldiers closing in from the side and any valuables they carried, including their plaids taken away. When the first people emerged, the dragoons, their swords drawn, immediately galloped ahead, aiming for the men. They brutally ran down two of them, both elderly. One tried to rise. With a blow of the sword, a dragoon struck him down again. The four riders abandoned their pursuit when the fugitives disappeared in the woods.

By then, the soldiers began storming into the cottages, driving out the few remaining people, mainly old men, who were cursing at the top of their lungs, old women, crying and lamenting, and two or three young mothers, fearfully clutching their babies to their bosoms. Other soldiers began carrying the people's belongings from the cottages-pots, dishes, clothing, bed covers, grains, furniture. Those coming in from the side began herding the cattle, ponies, and other livestock.

Suddenly, Andrew's curiosity turned into a sick apprehension. They weren't going to harm these people, he tried to rea.s.sure himself. What they were doing had nothing to do with securing the clachan. They were simply looting all their possessions! He wanted to protest and looked around to find Lieutenant Gordon. Then he saw him stuffing several pieces of silverware into his large coat pockets with a pleased grin.

Desperate, weak cries made him turn around. Shocked, he watched how a young soldier roughly tore a plaid away from an old, frail woman, and then tried to pry open her gnarled fingers to get the brooch she was clutching.

"Leave her alone," Andrew yelled outraged, "aren't you ashamed to steal from a woman old enough to be your grandmother?"

He nudged his horse toward the soldier. The latter, intimidated by the animal or by Andrew's air of authority, let go of the old woman. In her rush to get away, she stumbled and fell, the brooch dropping from her hand. Quickly, the soldier jumped to pick it up, slipped it into his pocket, grinning gleefully, and then ran to join his fellow soldiers, who were emptying out a cottage farther on. For an instant, Andrew was tempted to go after him, but then he thought better of it. He would come out as the loser.

A quarter hour later, Lieutenant Gordon rode up. "One of my men reported that you interfered when he executed his duty of confiscating enemy property. Is that the case, sir?" He placed a p.r.o.nounced emphasis on the 'sir'.

Andrew, still boiling in anger and disgust, let his dislike for Lieutenant Gordon come to the fore, and he countered sharply: "You call that confiscating enemy property? Stealing a plaid from an old woman? Yes, I told him to be ashamed."

The officer seemed to puff himself up an inch or two. "Sir, I must warn you. They are executing my orders, and I will tolerate no interference with the duties of my men."

"And your orders are to steal from old women, Lieutenant Gordon. Is that what lieutenants in the English army order their soldiers to do?" Andrew emphasized the man's rank.

Lieutenant Gordon went crimson and steered his horse closer. "Master Andrew, I warn you one last time. Do not interfere or I will order my men to arrest you. You were seconded to me as a guide. That's your only role. And now withdraw beyond the village and wait until I summon you again." He turned his horse abruptly and trotted back to his troops.

Andrew was left fuming, on the verge of going after him, ready to smash the grin off his face. But then he realized the futility of such an action. The dragoons would strike him down before he could land a second blow. Feeling utterly helpless, he swallowed his rage and rode to the edge of the settlement. The officer was correct. The earl's orders were to serve as guide.

For the next hour he had to witness the shameful plunder and wanton destruction perpetrated by the soldiers. No search party went after the men who had fled. They were only interested in the loot. Anything that could be removed was greedily taken. What could not be carried or loaded on carts, the rifle b.u.t.ts smashed to pieces or the bayonets ripped apart. And then they set the torch to the thatched roofs of the pitiful cottages, broke off the branches of fruit trees, and uprooted the crops. The English and their Highland allies had crushed the rebellion. Wasn't that enough? Was there a need to also rape the whole country? Andrew's rage turned into shame, growing heavier by the minute. Shame of being a Campbell, of belonging to the clan that were the staunchest allies of the English subjugators. He would go and report this outrage to Lord Glenorchy in person and tell him that he refused to be party to such action. If need be he would quit his employment.

Back at the castle and without waiting for any instructions from Lieutenant Gordon, Andrew immediately went to the factor's quarters. As usual, Dougan Graham was pleased to see him.

"Tell me, lad, how did that expedition go?" Then noticing Andrew's somber face, he asked: "Was there trouble?"

"More than that! I would not believe if somebody told me, had I not seen it with my own eyes," the young man exclaimed, the rage he had bottled up until now breaking to the surface. "They burned down the clachan. Stole anything they could. They even ripped the branches off the trees... The dragoons ran down people with their horses. I could do nothing to prevent it. Even old women ..." His vision blurred. He turned away ashamed, wiping the tears with the sleeve of his coat.

For a short while, Dougan looked pensive, then said: "Tell me, Andrew."

Haltingly and then with ever increasing vehemence, Andrew gave an account, ending in his altercation with Lieutenant Gordon.

"You better be careful, my lad. He could easily have you arrested for disobeying orders." He touched Andrew's arm. "You know, the reason he might not have done it is that he needs you right now. n.o.body around here knows this region and the lord's tenants better than you."

"But how could he? I'm not in the army. They can't court-martial me."

"Oh, yes, my lad. They can. The Earl seconded you, so you fall under martial orders, even if you have not been officially enlisted. So watch out what you do or say. Besides, Gordon could easily accuse you of being a Jacobite sympathizer. With all this hysteria, the suspicion alone could land you in jail, you know. And there would be little hope for justice now."