The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) (13 page)

BOOK: The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)
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“You looked so peaceful there,” she said cheerfully. “I thought I’d let you sleep. Is this for sale, or are you storing it for winter?” She cast a glance at the pile of earthenware jars, freshly washed and ready to one side.

Peigi stared at Beth with amazement. She showed not the slightest sign of fatigue, in spite of the fact that butter-churning was an exhausting task for even the brawniest of the women, and she had the slenderest arms Peigi had ever seen. Yet the butter was perfect; she could see that.

“It’s to be stored,” she said. “We’ll have to leave it for a couple of hours, then roll it again. I’ll away off and put the bairns to bed, then come back and finish off. Thank you,” she added belatedly, stunned.

“It was nice to do a bit of hard work for a change,” said Beth. “I’m ready for my meal now. I just hope Alex managed to catch some trout, that’s all.”

She walked back to the house, smiling, while Peigi’s eyes followed her, watching for any sign of backache or soreness.

 

While Angus cooked the trout, Alex massaged Beth’s aching arms and shoulders, working his fingers deep into the muscles and gently teasing out the knots. Duncan sat watching, but made no comment as Beth alternately winced and sighed with pleasure as the overworked muscles relaxed.

“Do ye no’ think it was just a wee bit stupid, to churn all that butter yourself, without a rest?” Alex said after a few minutes. The smell of frying trout drifted from the kitchen, making Beth’s mouth water. She was starving.

“No, I don’t,” she replied. “Like I said to Peigi, I used to do it at home.”

“On your own?” Alex said.

“Well, no,” she admitted. “John used to help me. In fact, he used to do most of the churning. I don’t care, though. If it makes them stop treating me as if I was made of glass, it’ll be worth it.”

“Ye’ll be sorry in the morning,” he said, finishing his ministrations by planting a kiss on her shoulder. “Ye’ll no’ be able to move.”

“I haven’t got a lot to do,” she said. “Apart from fetching water without looking as though it hurts. Which I’ll do myself,” she added, as Angus walked in with a large plate on which were three expertly-cooked trout.

“I’ve nae intention to help ye,” he said, putting it on the table. “No’ after the thanks I got last time. I’ll be out in the fields with everyone else, anyway.”

“Why?” she asked, liberating a piece of fish from the plate and popping it into her mouth. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“The harvest,” said Alex. “The oats and barley are ready. Everyone helps. Except yourself. Ye’ll be in no fit state to.”

 

The three brothers, along with much of the rest of the clan, kept an intermittent eye on the young woman with the pale gold hair who was wielding her sickle with dexterity and no sign of discomfort. The women sang a song to help them keep the rhythm, and their voices were sweet and melodious on the warm late summer air.

“How the hell is she doing it?” said Duncan quietly to Alex, when there was no danger of them being overheard. “She must be in agony.”

“Or an awfu’ lot stronger than we thought,” remarked Angus, his voice laced with admiration. He
had
seen her drag trunks up and down stairs, and lug buckets of water upstairs. But not for twelve hours at a stretch, for two days. After churning butter for several hours the day before that.

“She’s in agony,” said Alex with certainty, although there was no sign of pain on his wife’s features as she laughed and joked with the other women. It was working, he had to give her that. The others had relaxed noticeably around her as they accepted there was more to her than met the eye. Only Alex knew that that ‘more’ was nothing to do with physical strength.

“She’s no’ strong, she’s bloody-minded,” he said now to his brothers. “But dinna tell anyone I tellt ye that. Least of all her.”

In the distance Beth paused for a minute, stretched her arms and rotated her shoulders a few times, then continued, quickly re-establishing the rhythm.

“She is that,” agreed Duncan with due reverence. “But even the most bloody-minded man canna continue when his strength gives out. Are ye no’ going tae stop her, afore she injures herself?”

“No’ today, no,” replied Alex. “It’s getting late, anyway, and she needs to prove herself. She’d never forgive me if I made her stop now in front of the whole clan, and she’d be right. But ye’re right, too. She canna continue like this for another day.”

“She doesna need to, as far as I’m concerned,” Angus said.

Judging by the general attitude, that was the view of the whole clan. Alex felt justified in what he was about to do.

 

“What do you mean, I’m not allowed out of the house?” Beth said, hands on hips, glaring at her brother-in-law. Exhausted, but in pain, she had found it difficult to get to sleep and had consequently woken late, by which time Angus and Alex had already risen silently, breakfasted and gone.

“They’ll be finished by noon, anyway,” Duncan reasoned. “There’s no’ much left to do.”

“Fine,” she said. “Then I’ll be out there doing not much with them till noon.” She made a move and Duncan set his back to the door. They eyed each other for a moment.

“He’s got no right to do this,” she said. “He can’t keep me here against my will.”

At this point Angus would no doubt have told her that Alex was her husband and could therefore do anything he wished to her, short of murder. Duncan did not, which was why he had been chosen for this unenviable task.

“Ye’ve proved yourself, lassie,” he said instead. “Ye dinna need to do more.”

“But all the other women are out there reaping, aren’t they?” she said.

He nodded.

“Then I need to be out there with them, Duncan, or all my work’ll be for nothing! Let me go, please,” she pleaded.

He did not move.

“You cannot keep me here against my will!” she cried, almost in tears. Her muscles were cramped and sore. It had taken her ten minutes to dress, but if she didn’t put in an appearance now everyone would know she wasn’t as strong as the others.

“Aye, I can,” he said logically. “But I dinna want to. Everyone kens ye churned butter all day, Peigi’s tellt them she fell asleep. There isna a woman out there who wouldna jump at the chance of a rest. Ye’ve done it. Did ye no’ ken that by the way they acted towards ye yestereve?”

She did, and had rejoiced. Even so…

“Has Alex told them that I’m too sore to work today?” she asked.

“No. Give him some credit. Ye’re needed here tae make the bannocks and get things ready for tonight. So am I. We always have a wee feast to celebrate getting in the harvest. It’s normal, Beth. If it wasna me and you, someone else’d have tae do it.”

It was clear he was not going to let her go, so she sat down. Even if she had full use of her arms, she couldn’t overpower him. As it was, she didn’t even know if she could manage to make the bread, she ached that much. Duncan moved away from the door and sat down opposite her.

“They’ve accepted ye, Beth. They think ye’re accustomed to such work. If ye go out there today and collapse, they’ll ken that ye’ve overreached yourself, and why ye’ve done it. They’ll still admire ye, mind, but that’s no’ what ye want, is it?”

“No,” she said. “I just want them to stop treating me differently, that’s all.”

“Well, then,” he said. “Stop now, while ye’re ahead. And ye dinna need to pretend to me that ye’re no’ hurting. I’ll no’ tell a soul, and neither will Alex or Angus.” He smiled winningly, and she gave in. He was right.

“I’m not sure I can even knead the bread dough,” she admitted in a small voice.

“Dinna fash yourself,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. “I’m an expert. Away off back to your bed for a couple of hours. It’ll be a long night, if things go as normal, and ye’ll want to be awake to see the fruits of your labours.”

* * *

Once the harvest was in it rained for a few days and then the sun came out again. Everyone made the most of it; it was September by now, and was probably the last time they’d see the sun, or the warm sun at any rate, for some months. The grain had been ground, peat for the fires dug, the cattle brought down from the hills, and the knowledge that their diet would be supplemented by the generous provisions Alex had brought from England rendered the MacGregors carefree and relaxed. Whatever problems the winter brought this year, starvation would not be one of them.

Today the clan was occupied in various leisure pursuits. Most of the children were swimming in the loch, their mothers watching and chatting, some of the men had gone hunting, and Alex, Duncan, Angus and Dougal, the lazy Robbie’s eldest brother, had gone off into the hills to practice fighting. Beth had asked if she could accompany them, as she had no children to watch, and had never seen Highland swordplay.

Permission having been granted, Duncan, Alex and Beth were sitting on a large flat sun-warmed rock, observing Angus and Dougal as they went through their paces.

“It seems awfully realistic,” Beth observed, as Angus ducked just in time to avoid being decapitated by Dougal’s broadsword. He drove his targe into the other man’s stomach, temporarily winding him, and then paused to allow Dougal to get his wind back.

“There isna any point in holding back,” Alex explained. “If ye canna hold your own against one man who’ll give ye the time to recover yourself, ye’ll no’ last five minutes on the battlefield. Ye’re slipping, man,” he said to Dougal, who had regained his feet. “In a real fight Angus would ha’ finished you off now.”

“He’s improved since I last fought him,” Dougal acknowledged.

The two men circled each other for a moment before closing in again, Dougal more wary now. They had stripped off their shirts and their muscles bulged and rippled as they thrust and counter-thrust at each other. Even Beth could see they were well-matched, in size and strength, at least. As far as technique went, she had no idea, but they both seemed pretty accomplished and ferocious to her.

“He’s put on bulk,” Alex said, eyeing his youngest brother’s muscularity with admiration.

“Aye, he’s a man now,” observed Duncan. “In the body, at least.”

Beth sat between her husband and brother-in-law, watching closely. She had expected some sort of fencing competition with rules, not the free-for-all battering and gouging contest she was now witnessing. She waited with trepidation for the blood to spurt, and wished she’d thought to bring some bandages with her.

“Do people often get injured in these play fights?” she asked.

“Oh aye,” Duncan said nonchalantly. “But it’s no’ normally that serious.”

Alex looked down at his hand.

“That’s how I got yon wee scar there, that gave my identity away to ye,” he said.

Beth looked at the ‘wee scar’, and wondered what a big one would look like.

“Who were you fighting?” she asked.

“Me,” replied Duncan. “We were eleven and thirteen, and thought we were men. So we borrowed da’s claymore, without telling him of course, and went away off tae play at soldiers. Keep your arm up, man, ye’re tiring!” he shouted suddenly to Angus, making Beth jump. Dougal’s sword smashed into the younger man’s targe with arm-numbing force, and Angus leapt nimbly backwards out of striking distance.

“Ye could hae taken him then, Angus, his right side was unprotected!” Alex said, shaking his head. Angus acknowledged the truth of this with a rueful smile, not taking his eyes off his opponent, and shook his head. Droplets of sweat flew in all directions.

“What happened?” Beth said after a minute.

“What? Oh, well, we took it in turns to use the claymore, swinging it about like mad things while the other one leapt away or used his dirk to parry. Christ, we were stupid, were we no’? It’s a miracle one of us wasna killed.” Duncan smiled at his brother, remembering.

“So you hit him with your father’s claymore?” Beth asked.

“No,” Alex cut in. “He did it wi’ his dirk. We’d both had them as presents a few weeks before, and we were awfu’ proud. We kept them razor-sharp. Well, a claymore’s a mighty heavy weapon, around fifteen pounds or so, but da used to wield it as though it was a feather. After a wee while of swinging it around and running at him, I got tired, so I planted the sword in the ground for a wee rest.”

“Just as I went for him wi’ my dirk. He couldna get his arm up in time, and I laid his hand open to the bone,” Duncan said. “I thought I’d cut it off at first, there was that much blood.”

“Aye, and while I was bleeding to death on the grass, all he could think of was that Da’d kill him when he found out what we’d been up to!” Alex laughed.

“I did tear up my best shirt to bind it up with!” Duncan protested. “Ma never forgave me for that. And I’ve still got the scars from the flogging I got, too.”

Alex looked at him sceptically.

“Scars of the mind,” Duncan said firmly.

“We both got those,” Alex said. “Da flogged Duncan that evening. I thought I’d get away wi’ it, being injured an’ all, but he just waited till my hand was healed before he beat me. That was worse. Not only did I get a beating, but I got to look forward to it for a week as well. And that wasna the end of it, either.”

Duncan creased his brow in puzzlement.

“I dinna remember anything else from it,” he said.

“Aye, well, ye werena there when the scar got me a broken nose, were ye?” Alex said, looking at Beth, who coloured violently.

“You asked for it,” she said. “You should have told me who you were before you married me.”

“I didna get the chance, wi’ Isabella and co fluttering around morning, noon and night. And anyway, I needed to have the legal power as your husband to lock ye away if ye’d taken exception to marrying a Jacobite traitor.”

“Would you really have done that?” she asked.

“I dinna ken. Aye, probably. For a while. Anyway, it’s irrelevant. You’re here, and you’re happy, are ye no’?”

“I suppose so,” she said, with intentional insincerity. She
was
happy. In fact she could not remember when she’d been happier. She thought she’d like nothing better than to live like this for the rest of her life, looking after Alex and his brothers, enjoying the affectionate bickering, sitting round the fire at night drinking whisky and telling stories, before returning to her own home to make love to her strong, gentle husband. Of course life was not always peaceful like this, she was continually being told. Hence the ‘playfighting’ between the two sweating protagonists in front of her, which now appeared to have turned into a wrestling contest, their weapons having been abandoned on the grass. Dougal had just managed to trap Angus’s arm over his shoulder, and was in a perfect position to break it, although he obviously had no intention of following through and doing so, to Beth’s relief.

BOOK: The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)
7.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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