God's Highlander (32 page)

‘Donnie! Donnie … I
need
you. Hold on until I come to you, Donnie. Hold on….'

W
YATT ARRIVED IN Fort William to find the town in a state of turmoil. Armed militiamen guarded the roads, challenging everyone who approached. Beyond the guards, inside Fort William itself, Wyatt could see scarlet-uniformed militiamen milling about in apparent confusion.

When he identified himself and was given permission to pass, Wyatt enquired what was happening.

‘It's a rising of the Highlanders,' came the surprising reply. ‘There are great hordes of 'em up in the mountains preparing to come down upon us. They attacked the constables who were up there on their lawful business. I'd hurry on if I were you, Minister. If those Highlanders attack, there'll be some hard fighting, and I wouldn't like to be responsible for your safety.'

The militiaman broke off to challenge a horseman approaching Fort William, leaving Wyatt to make his way into town. Had he not known something of the background to the story being told, the preparations being made to repel an ‘imminent' attack might have alarmed him more.

Wyatt went straight to the tolbooth, the building that served both as gaol and administrative centre for Fort William. Here he found the sheriff-substitute busily organising militiamen, signing orders for the requisition of stores, and authorising the issue of arms and ammunition. In between he dictated letters to be sent to Edinburgh and Glasgow, acquainting the authorities there with the dangerous situation existing in the Highlands around Fort William.

Wyatt stood waiting patiently for ten minutes while orders were given or amended and people hurried in, or left in equal haste.

When the sheriff-substitute did acknowledge Wyatt's presence it was with a display of irritation.

‘What d'you want, Minister? Be brief, if you please. I'm a busy man.'

‘I've come from Eskaig. I'm the minister there. I would like to see Donnie Ross.'

A silence fell upon the room, and everyone looked in Wyatt's direction.

When the sheriff-substitute eventually replied, he said: ‘We'd
all
like to see Mr Ross, Minister. The last one to see him was Constable Donald. One of the Highland ruffians who rescued Ross struck the constable on the knee with a broadsword. The blow appears to have severed a tendon. He's crippled, Minister. A young man in the prime of his life and with a family to support.'

Wyatt murmured that he was sorry to hear the news of the constable's injury, but the sheriff-substitute interrupted him. ‘We're
all
sorry, but none of us is as sorry as those rogues are going to be when we catch up with them. It's a pity only one of the constables was armed. He's confident his musket-ball found its mark, but one gun wasn't enough to stand off a host of men intent upon criminal mischief. Have you any idea who they might be, Minister? It's said Ross has a great many brothers. It will likely be them, I'm thinking.'

Wyatt shook his head vigorously. ‘There are many Highlanders from beyond my parish who might have carried out such an attack. They probably didn't even know young Donnie. It was enough to fight any constables with the gall to come into the mountains.'

The sheriff-substitute never once took his eyes from Wyatt. ‘I wouldn't question what you're saying, Minister, but what makes you so certain it
wasn't
the Ross family who rescued the prisoner?'

‘I married Donnie Ross not four months ago. His family were uncompromisingly opposed to him marrying a Fraser. So much so they've disowned him. They lay the blame for his arrest fairly and squarely on his marriage. They wouldn't lift a finger to help him.'

The sheriff-substitute's gaze remained on Wyatt's face for a few minutes more, and then he nodded, apparently satisfied, and proffered his hand.

‘I'm obliged to you, Minister. You've saved us from a futile journey to the Ross home. I understand conditions are still far from ideal in the mountains. We'll wait for the Army to arrive and seek our men further north – though I doubt we'll have much success. I've sought men there before. The people are as wild as the mountains themselves.'

Wyatt left the tolbooth unrepentant at having lied to the sheriff-substitute. He had gained a reprieve for the Ross family. He looked towards the Highlands. Many of the ridges were shrouded in cloud. By the time anyone from Fort William marched up there the wind and snow would have obliterated all tracks that might lead the sheriff-substitute's men straight to the Ross croft.

He hoped none of the brothers had been badly wounded by the constable's musket-ball. He would take Mairi back to her home in the morning and tell Eneas Ross what was happening in Fort William. The sheriff-substitute seemed to have believed Wyatt, but it might be as well if the Ross brothers came down from the mountains to Eskaig while the Army was around. Donnie would certainly need to be hidden.

 

Eneas Ross and his sons came down from the mountains to Eskaig that same night. Mist and snow muffled the sound of their footsteps, and the darkness hid their sorrow, for with them they brought the bodies of Donnie Ross and his brother Malcolm.

It was the intention of Eneas Ross that only the menfolk of the family should be mourners at their burial. The weeping of women might be overheard – and it was imperative that no one else know what was happening in the Eskaig churchyard. If word ever reached the sheriff-substitute at Fort William, he would know immediately
how
the two Ross brothers had died. Wyatt would be arrested and the remainder of the Ross men hunted down and thrown into gaol.

Eneas Ross's plans had to be changed when Mairi opened the door of the manse in response to their knocking. When Wyatt had returned from his visit to Fort William it had been far too late for her to go home. She had remained at the manse while Wyatt spent the night with Alasdair Burns in the small house attached to the school.

Mairi shed her tears in the manse, while Eneas Ross explained to Wyatt what had happened. Meanwhile, the six remaining sons worked in relays to dig two graves in the hard Eskaig ground.

Donnie had been more severely hurt than Seonaid had realised when she carried the news of his arrest to the Ross home. In all probability his skull had been fractured by the baton of a Fort William constable. The constables were carrying Donnie between them when the brothers effected his rescue. He had regained consciousness only
briefly before dying inside the home where his father had sworn he would never set foot again.

Malcolm had been shot in a cowardly manner by one of the constables. The man had thrown down his gun in the snow when Eneas Ross and his sons fell upon the party from Fort William. As the brothers were carrying Donnie away he had snatched up the gun and fired a single shot after them, before turning tail and running.

The musket-ball had passed through the small of Malcolm's back and lodged somewhere inside him. At first it had seemed he was not too badly hurt, but it had been impossible to staunch the bleeding and halfway home he had collapsed.

Malcolm was conscious until the very end, and he died holding his mother's hand, only a few minutes before his unconscious brother breathed his last.

‘I would have buried the boys up on the mountain with no fuss, and no fear of anyone else ever knowing,' explained the grief-stricken father, broken-voiced, ‘but Magdalene said we could trust you and she insisted they be buried here, with you to pray over them.'

Eneas Ross was silent for a long time, and when he looked at Wyatt again he was close to tears. ‘I could understand Malcolm being killed. Of all my sons, he was the wildest. The most reckless. Of the others, Ian has a hot temper; so, too, have Dugald and Seoras. But Donnie had nothing but love and kindness for everyone.'

There was a long and uncomfortable silence, broken eventually by Wyatt. ‘What of Seonaid now?'

‘She's our Donnie's widow. Ian called on her to tell her of Donnie's death. He found the child had been born. Ian said there was no sense in the girl after he told her, but I'll send Magdalene and Tibbie to fetch her. We'll take care of her.'

‘And her father?' This was not the moment to push Eneas Ross, but the question had to be asked.

‘Hamish Fraser…?' It was as though the question came as a surprise. Suddenly Eneas Ross inclined his head. ‘He took Donnie in, and had his house burned because of it. Ay, Hamish, too, if he's mind to come.'

‘You're a good man, Eneas.' Wyatt grasped the other man by the shoulder. ‘Now let's go and commit Donnie and Malcolm to the Lord.'

In the churchyard, the scene illuminated only by two candle-lanterns, the Ross brothers were laid to rest in graves less than the usual depth. The necessity to make no noise had curtailed the efforts of the gravediggers, but it was agreed the graves were ‘a decent depth'.

Wrapped in plaids of the Ross tartan, brought from the Highland croft, the two young men were lowered into the ground. With a thick cold mist swirling about them, the small knot of mourners murmured a soft ‘Amen' to each of Wyatt's prayers. Then Eneas Ross himself took up a spade and hid his sons for ever from the eyes of the world.

Afterwards, declining an offer to rest awhile in the manse, the Ross men returned in the darkness to the high land that was their home, and Mairi went with them.

J
OHN GARRETT WAS feeling more kindly disposed towards his fellow-men than at any time since he had first come to the Highlands as Lord Kilmalie's factor. He had been that way since leaving Seonaid and the baby – his son – the day before.

In Fort William he had made all the necessary arrangements for the house that would be occupied by the family from the high-moor cot. He had arrived after all the excitement about the feared raid by Highlanders had died away and gone about his business quietly, speaking to no one in the town.

Garrett had toyed with the idea of making enquiries about the Ross boy, but dismissed the thought. The authorities would deal with him in their usual manner and he would not be a problem for many months to come. Until then it would not be wise to show an interest in the prisoner – and today there were more pleasant things to occupy his mind. Today he was removing his son from the wastes of the high mountains to a far more suitable home in Fort William.

Riding along and leading a second horse behind him, John Garrett allowed his thoughts to meander into realms of fanciful speculation.

Hamish Fraser had no place in his plans. The blind cottar would have to go – and soon. There must be someone prepared to look after him. If not, there was a poorhouse in Fort William.

John Garrett realised he could not keep Seonaid and the boy in Fort William for too long. Evangeline had told him during the course of a recent heated argument that his indiscretions were the subject of gossip. He did not want his son to grow up an object of scorn.
His son
! He needed a name. It would not be Scots. Albert, perhaps, after the man who had recently married Queen Victoria. Or William, the name of the late king. On the other hand, the boy could be named
John, after his father. Seonaid might have her own thoughts on a name, but she would have to accept his decision. John Garrett intended to raise his son in
his
way.

Perhaps Seonaid and the boy should go to Glasgow. It was far enough from Highland gossip. But then he would not be able to see them often enough, and Seonaid was an attractive girl in an earthy primitive way. There would be too many temptations for her in such a place. He had no intention of allowing Seonaid to corrupt
his
son's morals.

There was
another
way John Garrett might see more of both mother and son. Something he had contemplated when he was having his affair with Seonaid….

The Eskaig factor did some hard thinking as he rode into the mountains to collect his son and the woman who had given birth to him.

As he approached the crude makeshift shelter, John Garrett frowned. The only smoke visible was drifting up from the still-smouldering cot, and there was no movement he could immediately detect. Then he saw Hamish Fraser huddled beside the stream. He sat hunched on a rock, a still and dejected figure.

John Garrett reined in his horse and slid to the ground. The snow had melted on the well-trampled areas, and there was enough grass showing through here and there to keep the two horses occupied for a while.

After another glance at the still figure by the stream, the factor ducked beneath the low roof of the shelter and went inside.

Seonaid was lying on her side on the primitive bed, her face turned from him. The blanket was pulled up about her so that only the upper part of her head could be seen. He could not see the baby, but presumed it must be cradled to her beneath the blanket for warmth.

‘Seonaid? I thought you'd be up and ready to leave. I've got a fine house for you, in Fort William.' John Garrett looked about him. The few possessions Seonaid and her father had saved from the fire were strewn haphazardly about the crude shelter. No attempt had been made to gather them together.

There was a total lack of response from the girl, and John Garrett became alarmed. Crossing to the blanket-covered figure, he reached out an arm towards her.

‘Seonaid? Are you all right?'

‘Go away and leave me alone.' Seonaid's voice was hoarse and strained, as though she had been crying for a long time.

‘What is it? What's the matter with you?'

John Garrett's hand rested on her shoulder outside the blanket, but no sooner did he touch her than she came violently to life, throwing off his hand.

‘Get away from me!' Seonaid sat up and put her feet to the ground in a swift movement. A knife was stabbed in the ground close to the snowdrift wall of the shelter. Snatching it up, Seonaid held it threateningly towards the factor.

‘Get away … right away, or I swear I'll stick this right through you.'

The blade of the knife had been worn away by years of honing on the doorstep of the Fraser cot, but enough steel remained to enable Seonaid to carry out her threat.

As he backed away, John Garrett was looking not at the knife, but at the empty heather bed.

‘Where's the baby? What have you done with my son?'

‘Oh, so it's
your
son, is it? Not
our
son, but
yours
?' Seonaid was wild-eyed and unkempt. John Garrett backed away a little farther.

‘Where is he, Seonaid? I have a right to know….'

‘Rights? You talk of
rights
? What are they, Factor Garrett? What are these
rights
you're talking about? Would it be the right to bed any girl who comes to you begging you not to evict her blind father? The right to turn folk from the homes where they and their fathers and grandfathers were born? Is it the right to beat a young man to death because he objects to your men firing a cot with his wife still inside?'

As Seonaid spat the final question at John Garrett she looked every bit as mad as his own wife, and he took a couple of involuntary paces backwards, ducking outside the shelter.

‘What are you talking about? Young Ross has been taken to Fort William for resisting the sheriff's men. You told me so yourself.'

‘Yes, and they were still beating him worse than a tinker beats his dog as they dragged him away. His body was brought back from Fort William last night. You killed him. You killed him as surely as if it were by your own hand.'

The knife in Seonaid's hand waved wildly in front of his face, and Garrett added the length of another backward stride to the distance between them.

News of Donnie Ross's death had taken him by surprise, but he was not unduly distressed. There were far too many Rosses on Kilmalie land. They needed culling. Besides, it greatly simplified his relationship with Seonaid.

‘I'm sorry about your husband, Seonaid. It was none of my doing, but it gives me an added responsibility for you and the boy now. I
will
look after you. You'll like the house in Fort William. I'll settle you in and give you money to buy clothes for yourself and … and my son.'

John Garrett's pride was tempered by concern. He could not think where the child might be. Unless they had placed him in the warmer shelter of the burned-out cot.

‘Where is he, Seonaid? Where is the boy now?'

The point of the much-sharpened knife still pointed in John Garrett's direction, but the expression on Seonaid's face had changed. There was disbelief there – and something else as well. Something much uglier.

‘You
do
care! Having a son really
means
something to you. I believe that for the first time in your life you've found someone who means more to you than your own miserable self.'

‘Don't play foolish games with me, Seonaid. I've already said I'll take care of the boy. He'll never want for anything. He'll grow up to be a son I'll … we'll
both
be proud of. I'll look after you, too, and your father, until we can make other arrangements for him.'

Seonaid continued to stare at him with an expression he could not identify, and it alarmed him.

‘Damn you! What else do you want from me? Yes, yes, yes! I am proud to have a son. I've always wanted a son. There, now I've said it. Where is he?'

‘I'm
glad
. I'm glad you care.'

At last John Garrett thought he knew what her expression meant; and it put cold fear in his belly. There was triumph in Seonaid's voice. Fierce malignant triumph.

‘Now you might understand something of the pain that's in me. Pain at losing the only person in my life who's ever loved
me
. I've cursed you, John Garrett. I've cursed you for what you did to Donnie, and what you've made
me
do. Now I know I did the right thing and I'm
glad
.'

Seonaid's tortured expression belied the statement, but she repeated it over and over again.

‘I'm glad. So help me, I'm glad. I'm glad….'

‘What are you saying?
Where is the boy
?'

John Garrett took a pace towards Seonaid, but a sudden thrust of the knife caused him to draw back again hurriedly.

‘He's
dead
. He's dead, just like my Donnie.'

John Garrett stared at Seonaid in horrified disbelief, and when he spoke the words came out in a hoarse whisper. ‘I don't believe you. You're lying, knowing it'll hurt me.'

‘Oh, it's hurting you, John Garrett. I can see that all right. And now I'll hurt you some more. He was a fine healthy boy. He even looked like you, God help him. But I killed him. I killed your bastard son, just as you killed my Donnie. I put the blanket over his face and smothered him. I did it because of the Garrett blood he had in his veins, and the blood of Donnie that's on your hands.
I killed him, John Garrett
. Killed him and buried him up here in the mountains, without so much as a twig cross to mark his grave. You'll never find him. He's gone as though he's never breathed the air on this earth. Your son, John Garrett.
Your dear, bastard son
!'

The cry of anguish that escaped from John Garrett's throat sent a hungry eagle wheeling away in search of other hunting-grounds.

John Garrett rode away with the sound of Seonaid's laughter in his ears. Not until he had disappeared from view did she sink to her knees in the melting snow and the laughter change to bitter inconsolable weeping.