Jane.’
Megan forgot the petty argument with her sister; she was more worried that their mother was in pain. She lied that there wasn’t a single pheasant egg to be seen, saying ‘The bloody birds are becoming more cunning, it’s harder to seek out their nests,’ then went on to blame hedgehogs.
‘Gosh, mammy, are those bones of yours tightening again? I’ll do the chores today if you want another hour or two in bed. Doctor Mackenzie will come if I fetch him,’ she said, putting an arm around her mother. More quietly, she whispered, ‘Mother of mine, Bruar is far too much the gent to take my maidenhead, even though I would offer it on a plate, so don’t fret yourself on that. I’ll keep it a while yet.’
Annie loved both her daughters, but without a father, controlling them was no easy task, especially Megan. She patted her wayward daughter gently on the hand and said, ‘That’s not necessary, pet, I’ll be fine after a cup of hot sweet tea.’ She stroked her face and added, ‘I know you, lassie, and there’s a rising in that woman-to-be body, yet with the Stewart I feel you will be sensible. And Rachel, well, she was only looking out for her wee sister.’
Bruar walked over and dropped the large bundle of firewood at their camp, putting light to their fire before going over to his own camp and doing the same.
Annie thanked him. ‘You are a good boy, and I hope I can trust my lassie in your hands.’ He lifted a hand in reassurance that Megan would be safe, before going into his own camp to waken his father and brother.
Rory, the worse for supping forbidden liquid the night before, half-opened his eyes at the opening of his tent door as the sun’s rays entered and brought life to a million particles of dust. He called to Bruar, ‘have you any tea laddie?’ Then added that he’d heard that Macdonald lassie hooting on him, further remarking that she’d a flame in her belly wanting on a man. ‘You’d do well to keep a grip on yourself, or that wee fire demon will have you roped and branded.’ Bruar hushed him. ‘She is the one I have chosen, and nothing you say to bring her down will change things.’
His father grunted as he pushed his arms into a damp jacket. Then, muttering to himself in a low gruff voice he wandered off to the forest. He’d wash in the burn, and probably find a secluded spot to do what he’d been doing a lot of lately—bringing up the green contents of his gut.
Within an hour all the camp dwellers were up and about their business. Bruar, Rory and Jimmy (who, incidentally, had more than a fancy for Rachel if she but knew it) took a day working on vermin control on the scattered farms round about. As there was never a lack of rabbits, moles and rats, they were regarded favourably by the local farmers, and with plenty of rabbits to eat, their bellies were filled. Megan and Rachel hawked round the tiny villages nestling in and near the Angus glens, selling their pot scourers and brooms. A cool gloaming brought the foot-weary workers home.
After supper, both boys shared Annie and her daughters’ fire. Bruar wondered where the Irishman was, and called over to Rory lying resting in his tent. There’d been no sign of him for several days.
Jimmy hoped he’d slung his hook, but just as he scraped a final drop of gravy from his supper plate, a course, rough voice could be heard coming round the bend in the lane, singing out ‘Danny Boy.’
‘Lord, why does the earth bring that useless bastard in among us?’ said Bruar. ‘Could he not start walking away and forget his way home?’ Jimmy scolded Bruar for his sharp tongue, and asked the bearded ruffian where he’d been.
He’d been drinking with a few rough Irishers living up at the farm in a shed. ‘They were going back to the old country,’ he said, ‘and we was supping a goodbye drink. Where’s the wrong in that?’
Nobody answered; they hoped he would collapse into his tent, but instead he rammed a hand into his
Megan forgot the petty argument with her sister; she was more worried that their mother was in pain. She lied that there wasn’t a single pheasant egg to be seen, saying ‘The bloody birds are becoming more cunning, it’s harder to seek out their nests,’ then went on to blame hedgehogs.
‘Gosh, mammy, are those bones of yours tightening again? I’ll do the chores today if you want another hour or two in bed. Doctor Mackenzie will come if I fetch him,’ she said, putting an arm around her mother. More quietly, she whispered, ‘Mother of mine, Bruar is far too much the gent to take my maidenhead, even though I would offer it on a plate, so don’t fret yourself on that. I’ll keep it a while yet.’
Annie loved both her daughters, but without a father, controlling them was no easy task, especially Megan. She patted her wayward daughter gently on the hand and said, ‘That’s not necessary, pet, I’ll be fine after a cup of hot sweet tea.’ She stroked her face and added, ‘I know you, lassie, and there’s a rising in that woman-to-be body, yet with the Stewart I feel you will be sensible. And Rachel, well, she was only looking out for her wee sister.’
Bruar walked over and dropped the large bundle of firewood at their camp, putting light to their fire before going over to his own camp and doing the same.
Annie thanked him. ‘You are a good boy, and I hope I can trust my lassie in your hands.’ He lifted a hand in reassurance that Megan would be safe, before going into his own camp to waken his father and brother.
Rory, the worse for supping forbidden liquid the night before, half-opened his eyes at the opening of his tent door as the sun’s rays entered and brought life to a million particles of dust. He called to Bruar, ‘have you any tea laddie?’ Then added that he’d heard that Macdonald lassie hooting on him, further remarking that she’d a flame in her belly wanting on a man. ‘You’d do well to keep a grip on yourself, or that wee fire demon will have you roped and branded.’ Bruar hushed him. ‘She is the one I have chosen, and nothing you say to bring her down will change things.’
His father grunted as he pushed his arms into a damp jacket. Then, muttering to himself in a low gruff voice he wandered off to the forest. He’d wash in the burn, and probably find a secluded spot to do what he’d been doing a lot of lately—bringing up the green contents of his gut.
Within an hour all the camp dwellers were up and about their business. Bruar, Rory and Jimmy (who, incidentally, had more than a fancy for Rachel if she but knew it) took a day working on vermin control on the scattered farms round about. As there was never a lack of rabbits, moles and rats, they were regarded favourably by the local farmers, and with plenty of rabbits to eat, their bellies were filled. Megan and Rachel hawked round the tiny villages nestling in and near the Angus glens, selling their pot scourers and brooms. A cool gloaming brought the foot-weary workers home.
After supper, both boys shared Annie and her daughters’ fire. Bruar wondered where the Irishman was, and called over to Rory lying resting in his tent. There’d been no sign of him for several days.
Jimmy hoped he’d slung his hook, but just as he scraped a final drop of gravy from his supper plate, a course, rough voice could be heard coming round the bend in the lane, singing out ‘Danny Boy.’
‘Lord, why does the earth bring that useless bastard in among us?’ said Bruar. ‘Could he not start walking away and forget his way home?’ Jimmy scolded Bruar for his sharp tongue, and asked the bearded ruffian where he’d been.
He’d been drinking with a few rough Irishers living up at the farm in a shed. ‘They were going back to the old country,’ he said, ‘and we was supping a goodbye drink. Where’s the wrong in that?’
Nobody answered; they hoped he would collapse into his tent, but instead he rammed a hand into his
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