Summer Of Love Part 4

These words had a sobering effect on Andrew. In a subdued voice he said: "So I couldn't refuse to be a guide. I was thinking of doing just that."

"No, lad, that would be foolish. He would have you jailed right away. You better put this out of your mind... I know, this is hard on you. But there is little anybody can do. It seems that Lord c.u.mberland has set his mind to breaking any rebellious spirit in Scotland once and for all. I have heard that all men who fought with Prince Charles will be court-marshaled and that they and all known sympathizers will forfeit their property to the Crown. A commission is going to be set up in charge of selling their lands."

"They would confiscate even their clothes? An old woman's plaid?"

"If the officers condone it, the soldiers will take anything they can and even worse."

"But couldn't Lord Glenorchy put a stop to it. The houses and trees don't belong to the tenants. They belong to him. And with all their cattle gone, they won't be able to pay rents, ... and many won't make it through the winter either. The soldiers destroyed all their new crops. How will they feed their children? Somebody should tell the Earl, tell him that his houses are being torched." Andrew's voice took on a more and more urgent tone.

"I guess he knows. He has seen it before. They did much of that after the 1715 rebellion... Come, lad, sit with me and have a gla.s.s of claret. You cannot do anything. I know this is hard on an upright fellow like you. But this is war. You just have to accept it... Maybe I will mention it to the Earl. He may be able to curb the worst excesses."

"Please do, Mr. Graham."

Andrew's disgust was fueled further when he saw that most of the items plundered were sold at a fraction of their real value to the speculators who had followed the troops like vultures.

Over the next three weeks, Andrew had to watch that spectacle of callous plunder and destruction time and again, except that now most clachans were empty but for the very old and infirm, all other inhabitants and much of their belongings safely hidden in the forests or the s.h.i.+elings. But even the very old were not spared the indignities of being robbed of clothing, leaving them barely decent. Andrew hated himself for what he was doing. Most nights, he had trouble sleeping and when he finally did sink into an exhausted sleep, violent dreams often woke him abruptly. He felt ashamed to be seen riding next to Lieutenant Gordon and always stayed well back from the settlements. Every time he swore that this was his last, that he would leave the following day. Simply flee. But a vague feeling that he had to watch over something kept him back.

Initially, he had been able to spare Dougal MacGregor's little clachan, claiming it was too small to even bother about it. Early June, running out of other targets, Lieutenant Gordon overruled him. Andrew thought of ways to warn the MacGregors, but there wasn't enough time left for an opportunity to sneak away. Since that first outing, he felt constantly watched and treated with suspicion by the officer, the dragoons, and the sergeants. Even some of the soldiers made no bones about despising him. If they had not observed him practice his dexterity with throwing a knife and seen his deadly aim, they probably would have beaten him up already.

The night before the raid, he did not sleep a wink. He prayed that Dougal MacGregor was astute enough to set a sentinel who would raise the alarm in time for a quick flight into the hills. Time and again, he imagined himself at the head of the column and suddenly being face to face with Dougal, Mary, and Helen. The very thought set his heart pounding. Having to face Helen would be the worst. He wouldn't be able to meet her eyes. He would want to die then and there. He racked his brain for a last-minute way to warn them, but nothing came to mind that wouldn't give him away. Shortly after midnight, he actually got dressed only to sink back into bed when he realized that he wouldn't get his horse past the guards at the stables.

So, early next morning Andrew found himself riding beside the hated lieutenant. Before they entered the copse of oak hiding the glen, the officer gave instructions for the plan of attack. Rather than staying in the background, trying to shut out the scenes of wanton mayhem, Andrew stayed with the troop.

His stomach tightened into a knot when he spotted the cattle and ponies still grazing in the fields. But something felt strange. No dogs announced their arrival, nor were there any people around. Had they managed to get away? Why was smoke rising from Dougal MacGregor's cottage? He couldn't stand the uncertainty any longer. He needed to know and raced toward the cottage, immediately flanked by the four dragoons who must have thought he was executing the officer's orders. Jumping off the horse on the run, he rushed inside. Chairs were overturned, the cupboards wide open, most personal belongings gone, other things strewn on the clay floor-the telltale signs of a hurried departure. He could breathe again.

At his feet lay Helen's little russet jacket. He picked it up, feeling its soft texture. Thank G.o.d, she got away in time. He put it carefully on a chair. On the spur of the moment he picked it up again and stuffed inside his coat. Suddenly, he heard a wheezing rasp from behind the part.i.tion. He froze for a moment and then went carefully around it. Facing him was Mary MacGregor, standing protectively in front of the bed. On it lay grandmother MacGregor, breathing with great difficulty, both hands pressed to her chest. She looked like a corpse.

A rueful cry escaped him: "Holy mother, why didn't you leave?"

Mary did not answer, just looked at him reproachfully. He wanted to sink into the ground. The noise of soldiers barging into the cottage shook him out of his anguished paralysis. He rushed outside. He needed to ask the officer to spare the cottage.

"Lieutenant Gordon, there's a seriously ill woman in that cottage. She might die if she's forced out." He didn't really know whether this was true, but he would have said anything to protect her.

If he had expected any mercy or compa.s.sion from the lieutenant, he was seriously mistaken. "It will hardly matter if the old b.i.t.c.h kicks the bucket now or later," the officer sneered, deliberately turned away from Andrew, and shouted: "Sergeant Miller, take a detachment and secure the cattle!"

"Aye, sir!"

By then, a soldier was pus.h.i.+ng Mary from the cottage. She struggled to get back in. He threw her roughly to the ground. Two others dragged out the old woman by her feet and dumped her on the hard ground, making rude comments about her exposed thighs, grey, blotched skin hanging loosely from thin bones. Mary got up and ran to her mother-in-law, covering her up and cradling her head in her lap.

"Lieutenant Gordon, I'll report this to Lord Glenorchy," Andrew shouted enraged.

"Shut up and get back to your station or I'll have you in chains!"

Ignoring him, Andrew went over to Mary. The old woman looked lifeless. "Can I bring her water, Mrs. MacGregor," he murmured in Gaelic.

"She's dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I tried to prevent it," he stuttered.

"Go! You are no better than them." She did not even look up, but continued stroking the hair of the old woman.

She could hardly have said anything more devastating. He just wanted to run, run and never stop. This was the end. He had lost all rights to even think of Helen. His head lowered, he led his horse to the edge of the wood. Staring blankly into the trees, his mind repeated her words over and over.

By midmorning, a group of soldiers drove the cattle from the glen. The goats were missing. So they got them away in time, mused Andrew bitterly. Maybe they hid them already earlier. Shortly afterward, the rest of the troop marched out with their loot, leaving a miserable burnt-out clachan behind. Before entering the trees, Andrew turned around. Mary had not moved. She was still cradling the old woman on her lap.

4.

Middle of June, rumors abounded that Donald MacLaren, who had held a captain's commission with the Appin Stewarts and had fought at Culloden, had been sighted in the area, together with a small group of his followers. Andrew was again summoned to serve as guide to Lieutenant Gordon, heading his infantrymen in a thorough search of Glen Ogle, the pa.s.s between Glen Dochart and Lochearnhead. They reached that town without finding any signs of the fugitives. While the soldiers returned to Killin along the road, Lieutenant Gordon ordered Andrew to guide him and his group of four dragoons over the crest of the mountain range. "They might as well check out the tops for any traces of MacLaren," he argued.

Andrew didn't like the idea. If they strayed too much to the east, it would lead them right into the s.h.i.+elings of the MacGregors, where he expected them to hide. Not only was this fraught with danger-Dougal and his group still had their arms-but Andrew was loath to meet up with them. He was sure Lieutenant Gordon would want to arrest the men, and he didn't dare to think what that brute might do to the women and children. So, he selected a path that deliberately stayed along to top of the steep ridge above Glen Ogle. But when the small schist outcrop that marks the flat top of Beinn Leabhain came into view, the lieutenant steered them to the right over the gently undulating high plateau to the upper glen of the Achmore Burn, which opened up the view to the distant light blue waters of Loch Tay. Andrew realized that this would bring them closer to the MacGregor s.h.i.+elings. Barely over the saddle into the glen they surprised a group of women digging roots near the creak about a half a mile further down. The women spotted them too. After a moment's hesitation, they dropped whatever they were doing, raised their skirts and started running toward the ridge several hundred feet to the east. Gordon and his dragoons immediately gave chase and had the group surrounded before they managed to reach the ridge that dropped down to the forested ravine below. Andrew followed more slowly. As he got closer, he recognized Mary MacGregor, Helen, her younger sister Betty, and two other women in their early thirties, one with a young boy of six or seven. Betty was crying hysterically. The women were breathing hard and eyeing the dragoons apprehensively.

His heart pounding high in his throat, Andrew held back. He couldn't tell if they had recognized him. He was in turmoil. Part of him simply wanted to gallop away so that he wouldn't have to face Helen. Part wanted to charge Lieutenant Gordon and kill him. But he also knew that this would be foolish. They were five well-trained soldiers. It would be suicide and wouldn't help the women.

Lieutenant Gordon seemed to have guessed who they were. "So, you're the MacGregors from Loch Tay who got away the other day before we arrived. Aren't you the one with the old hag?" he addressed Mary directly. "And where are your men?"

Mary's expression did not hide her contempt for the Englishman, nor did she deign him with an answer.

"Woman, I'm talking to you. Where are your men?" shouted Gordon, anger reddening his face for being ignored so contemptuously in front of his men.

She responded with a sneer: "I don't know. But even if I did, I would hardly tell you!"

"We can easily make you talk, woman. Don't expect me to show you mercy again as I did the other day."

"It doesn't take much courage to attack defenseless women and children, but then we wouldn't really expect more from the English," came her derisive answer.

Fuming, Gordon dismounted and approached her threateningly. She stayed proudly put, her eyes fierce. He grabbed her plaid and ripped it off. The brooch holding it in place tore the front of her petticoat, revealing her bosom. He laughed and reached for a breast. She spat in his face.

"I'll teach you, you b.i.t.c.h," he shouted, landing a punch under her rib cage. Winded, she pressed her fists into her stomach, fighting her urge to buckle forward. He started tearing her petticoat. For a moment she was stunned and then fought back. But he was a big, strong man and threw her easily to the ground. She got up, naked, facing him defiantly. He threw her down again. She tried to stumble back on her feet. Grabbing her with his left arm around the waist from behind, he forced her to her knees. He twisted her right arm up her back, pus.h.i.+ng her upper body forward. She stifled a scream of pain, biting her lips. He went down on his knees and opened his breeches. With a rough push he entered her from behind. She gasped and closed her eyes.

This was the signal for the four dragoons to fall on the other women and girls. The two women started to run away again. They were hunted down by two pursuers. A third went after Helen. She dodged him several times.

It all escalated so fast that Andrew's first reaction was paralysis. No, this can't be happening! He needed to retch. Then he saw the fourth dragoon jumps off his horse near Betty. She had not moved, like frozen to the ground, still whining hysterically, a hand over her mouth, watching in terror the lieutenant rape her mother.

This shook Andrew into action. He shouted: "Leave her alone, she's but a child," adding in Gaelic: "Run, Betty, run!"

The dragoon hesitated for a second. But that seemed enough for the girl's survival instinct to take over. She ran to the ridge and the safety of the trees in the ravine, the little boy at her tails. The dragoon grinned, and went to help a comrade subdue one of other two women who was fighting him off wildly.

For a short moment, Andrew gave in to his own urge to run, to gallop away from this ugly scene. His spurs already pressed into the horse's side, when he saw dragoon Kelly, a hideous, big man in his forties, rough up Helen, who pummeled him with little effect. He just laughed, finding it funny. Her plaid lay already on the ground and her petticoat had a big tear in front. Andrew turned his mare and rushed to them. Jumping off the horse on the run, he made a flying tackle on the dragoon. Kelly had seen him coming and easily parried the a.s.sault with his shoulder. Then he stepped back, feigning surprise. Holding the struggling Helen at arms length, he exclaimed: "Aye, aye, master Andrew, you may ravish her first. I'll hold her down for you."

When Helen saw Andrew, she suddenly stopped struggling, big, frightened eyes on him. And then came his realization that he couldn't save her by fighting Kelly. Even his fighting skills were no match for the big man, who could easily knock him out with one or two well-aimed punches, and Helen would remain at his mercy. On the spur of the moment, he changed tactics. Agree with his suggestion and get Helen away from him, cried his mind.

"I can handle her. I don't need your help," he said, hardly recognizing his croaking voice.

With Helen struggling no longer, Kelly let go, l.u.s.tily eyeing Helen's b.r.e.a.s.t.s showing through her torn petticoat. "So get on with it, lad. I'll take her after you," he urged.

Andrew pulled Helen a few steps behind low shrubs and then pushed her to the ground. Kelly laughed again and exclaimed: "Bashful, master Andrew, are you?"

Andrew opened the front of his trews and lay on her. Helen's frightened eyes met his, mirroring his own terror. He, covering her bosom with the torn petticoat, and after pulling her skirt up a bit. "Help me, Helen! Pretend! ... For G.o.d's sake, scream," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, as began to pump on top of her the way he had seen one of the dragoons do earlier. Suddenly, a piercing scream tore through the heath.

"When I get off, run to the ravine. Don't look back. Just run!" There was a heart-rending urgency in his voice. He didn't know whether she understood. He rolled to the side and hissed between his teeth: "Now!"

She jumped up and, fast as a deer, darted toward across the slope to the ridge, holding her petticoat above her knees. Kelly yelled for Andrew to hold her and, swearing wildly, took up the chase. Just as he was about to run past Andrew, the latter stumbled into his path. Both rolled heavily to the ground. By the time Kelly scrambled back on his feet, Helen was too close to the ravine for him to catch her. Once in the bushes and low trees hiding the ravine, she quickly looked back, and then she was gone. Andrew watched, lightheaded, the sick feeling of shame and delayed fright deep in his guts.

"You clumsy fellow! You did this on purpose!" railed Kelly. He looked as if he was going to jump Andrew.

"I'm sorry. I was clumsy!" exclaimed Andrew, retreating a few steps away from Kelly. But his hand was on the hilt of his dagger, ready to throw it. The latter seemed to sense his intention. He knew that he would not manage to knock down Andrew or discharge his pistol before the blade would pierce his throat. Disgustedly, he spat on the ground and complained aggrieved: "Look, now I missed out because of you!"

Andrew turned his head just a bit. The three women were also running to the ravine. Before they disappeared in the bushes, Mary turned, and holding her torn petticoat to her bosom, she raised her fist and shouted defiantly: "You'll pay for this! Your days are numbered!"

The dragoons taunted her, and Gordon yelled back: "You want some more?"

His echo returned mockingly. The soldiers laughed again and then collected the four plaids and the brooches, the women had left behind when they fled. Three of them were silver with the MacGregor code of arms engraved. More loot to sell and supplement their meager pay, were Andrew's bitter thoughts. Suddenly, an all-consuming hatred was burning inside him.

Catching her breath, Helen scrambled down to the ravine. Her first thought was to look for Betty. She found her cowering behind a large boulder. The girl was s.h.i.+vering and sobbing silently. Helen took her in her arms, stroking her back.

"It's all right, little Betty. Nothing happened to you." She kissed her hair.

Betty looked up, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks. "Did ... did the men ... ?" She could not bring herself to utter the ugly word.

"No, ... they didn't."

"But I saw master Andrew holding you."

"He helped me get away, like he helped you."

Up to that moment this fact hadn't really sunk in. Just getting away had been her only aim. Why had he done it? Betty buried her head again on her bosom.

Shortly afterward, she heard her mother curse the soldiers and then the three women came down into the ravine, the two younger ones badly shaken, one with a gla.s.sy look, the other crying, while Mary's face was somber, like set in stone. She was still naked.

"Come to the creek, la.s.s," she ordered Helen with a grim voice and headed for a pool. There, she crouched down and washed her crotch, letting the icy liquid enter her. Without being told, the other two women did the same.

"What are you waiting for, la.s.s? Come, wash yourself. It may prevent you from getting with child."

"I wasn't raped."

"I saw the factor's apprentice push you down."

"He didn't rape me."

"Child, don't lie to me. I heard you scream."

"I screamed because he begged me."

"I don't believe you. Why do you want to protect that lad?"

Helen lifted her petticoat, exposing her crotch, and said, almost shouting: "Here, look! There's no blood. You want to check me?"

"Why did he then-?"

Helen interrupted her: "Because he wanted to help me, the same as he helped Betty get away. He-"

"Don't defend him. He may have spared you. But it was he who brought the soldiers to our clachan and watched them burn it. He brought them up here. He's as guilty as they are."

Helen did not answer. It was all true. Maybe he had little choice about that. She didn't want to defend him. She was too stunned and confused herself.

After the three women had washed themselves, they tried fixing their torn petticoats as best as they could to cover themselves. Mary wrapped Betty's plaid around her, since the top of her petticoat was in shreds. Then, she climbed cautiously back to the ridge and checked if the dragoons had left. The last of them, trailed by Andrew, was just disappearing in the scattered trees farther down the glen. She waited for a while to make sure that they were not returning, and then called the others to come up too.

They had come here to dig roots for a meal. In the rush to escape, they had left their tools and the roots already dug behind. They still needed to finish their job if they wanted any food on the table that night. Although deeply distressed and frightened, n.o.body needed any encouragement, except Betty who still was in a state of shock, periodically shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. Helen remained close, holding her and offering words of solace. The girl's slight body suddenly seemed so fragile. Taking care of her sister's anguish relieved her own mind from the hideous pictures that relentlessly a.s.sailed her-her mother's brutal rape, the loathsome face of the dragoon who caught her, Andrew's frightened eyes.

Under the cover of the fading light, the MacGregor men came out of their daytime hiding places in the ravines or the moors near the mountain tops and returned to their families.

"Is dinner ready?" Dougal called out as he entered his hut, the largest of three. "We are hungry!"

"We're all hungry," muttered Mary, her back turned to him, as she stoked the fire under the big soup kettle.

"There is no game left, just a few crows. Not worth wasting our bullets on them... What's for dinner?"

Mary did not respond.

"Maybe I should lift a sheep or two from the McNabbs up Ardeonaig's way. Trouble is their guards carry guns, as if they expected trouble. And if they suspect us they will call the soldiers in."

He looked at her expectantly. She still busied herself with the fire.

"Woman, why don't you talk to me?"

She rose, facing him, and he saw the roughly st.i.tched rips of her petticoat. "What happened to you? Was there a fight?"

"We were roughed up by English dragoons. They tore away our plaids."

"Did they come into our s.h.i.+elings?"

"No, it was over by the Achmore burn."

"What were you doing over there? Didn't I tell you not to leave our s.h.i.+elings?"

"And where do you think our food comes from? There are no oats left, and you men haven't brought us anything yet."