Read Online The Last Sunset by Bob Atkinson - Free Book Online Page B

little cluster was a man of about
sixty. He was small, stocky, with long silver hair and flowing beard. He was
dressed in the ancient Highland garb of tartan plaid, or phillamhor ; the
brightly checked patterns pleated above the knee to form a kilt, with the
remainder of the material brought over his left shoulder and fastened at the
breast.
    The others were all women; the oldest in her
mid-forties. Macmillan guessed the two younger women were aged about twenty and
twelve respectively. All were dressed in shawls weaved in individual tartans,
which hung attractively over dark, calf-length dresses. True to his profession,
the corporal’s eyes lingered over the shapely form of the older girl.
    By now Rae and Ferguson had also made their way
through the opening. Rae introduced himself, a smile of bright interest on his
face.
    “Hello there, darling, how’s it goin’?”
    The girl took one look at the latest intruders
and shrank back into the shadows.
    “What are they, Corp? Tinkers or what?” asked
Ferguson.
    “Of course they’re not bloody tinkers!”
Macsorley hissed.
    “What the hell is going on here?” Macmillan
breathed.
    “Are they… you know… are they, like, real? Ah
mean, they’re no’ like that other lot we saw?”
    “They look real enough.”
    “What was it you said tae them Mac?” Macmillan
asked.
    “Ah got learnt a fair bit of the old Gaelic when
Ah was a kid. Ah told them no’ tae be scared. That you were only shouting like
that because you were more afraid than they were.”
    “Ye said what?” Macmillan could see the girls
looking fearfully in his direction, and decided not to pursue the issue.
    “Don’t they speak English, then?”
    “Doesnae look like it.”
    “Can you translate for us?” Rae asked.
    “Ah can try. Ah only remember bits and pieces,
but.”
    “Good. Ask the doll if she’s doing anything the
night,” said Rae with a suggestive leer.
    “Right, give it a break!” barked Macmillan.
“Mac. Get them tae talk if you can. Try tae find out who they are. See if you
can… if you can…” He shook his head. “Just get them tae talk, okay?”
    Macmillan and the others stood in redundant
silence then, as the ancient tongue of Glen Laragain found its voice once more.
Macsorley spoke softly to the little group, occasionally stopping to correct
himself, as half-forgotten words and phrases came back to mind. At first his
audience stared dumbly back at him, but eventually the soldier began to draw
some response. Occasionally one or other of the women would offer a reply, but
mostly the dialogue centred on the old Highlander.
    At last Macsorley turned to his comrades, a
stunned look on his face.
    “What did they say, Mac?”
    “You’re not gonnae like this, Corp.”
    “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
    Macsorley used his beret to wipe the sweat from
his face. He took some time to compose himself, as if he was having difficulty
translating his message into English.
    “This place is an tigh dubh ,” he began,
“a black house.”
    “Ye mean like a croft-house?”
    Macsorley shook his head. “This house would be
part of a township; like a farming community. Each family would’ve kept a cow,
for milk and butter and that. During the winter, or when it was sick, it
would’ve been housed in the tigh dubh .”
    “What about that lot?” The corporal indicated
the inhabitants, who’d begun to recover some dignity now that the danger seemed
to have passed.
    “The bodach ; the old guy; his name is Domnhuill
Beag Camshron ; Donald Cameron tae you and me. That’s his wife; Mhairi ,
and his daughters Ishbel and Shona . He says he also has two boys,
but he wanted to emphasise they’re no’ away with the army. They’re away hunting
venison.”
    “The army?”
    Macsorley looked apprehensively at his N.C.O.
“Prince Charlie’s Jacobite army.”
    There was a long, horrified silence, which was
eventually broken by Rae’s studied response: “What a loada rubbish! Bonnie
Prince