Summer of Love Read online

  "That will have to wait till September or October. I told you I will join up with our cousins of Balquhidder. That’s usually the time when they do their cattle lifting, when the beasts are healthy and fat. We’ll have to go into the lowlands, or at least as far South as the Forth. It would cause too much of a stink if we lifted it in Breadalbane."

  "Wouldn’t it be better to drive the cattle south and sell it to the English and then buy some here? It would raise less suspicion."

  "Woman, don’t meddle in things you don’t understand. I know what’s best! Haven’t I always looked well after you?"

  Mary shrugged her shoulders and got goats’ milk for her youngest.

  * * *

  Andrew wanted to return to the lochan the next day already. It was only the fear of rejection that held him back. But he was there two days later. When he saw her leaning against the wall where the path reached their secret meeting place, a bashful smile on her face, her arms crossed protectively under her bosom, he knew immediately that she had found the answer. She walked slowly up to him until their faces almost touched, her eyes cast down. Timidly, he placed his hands on her upper arms. He experienced an awkward self-consciousness. She raised her head and their eyes met, uncertainly at first, slowly filling with trusting wonder. He folded his arms around her. Their lips touched shyly, and then she buried her head under his chin.

  "I love you," he whispered. He would have wanted to shout it to the world, to hear the mountains shout it back. Unbearable waves of happiness coursed through him.

  "I love you too," she answered almost inaudibly. He felt the warm softness of her body against his, complete peace inside, the awkwardness of a few seconds earlier gone.

  She lifted her head and their lips touched again.

  "Helen, I’ve never kissed a woman. I don’t know how …"

  "Andrew, I never kissed a man. We’ll have to learn together."

  They chuckled, not embarrassed at all, their foreheads touching, lost in each other’s eyes. After a while, they broke apart with a soft laugh, holding hands.

  "I brought smoked salmon and a bit of salted roe… You like it?"

  "I don’t know, but I’ll try anything today," she smiled.

  He emptied his pouch, broke off bread and heaped salted roe on it with his knife. He offered her a bite, and then ate the remainder himself.

  "Mm. This is delicious. I want some more. I’ll never eat anything else but this in my whole life."

  "Then I better get back to work to earn enough money to pay for it."

  Somehow, this pun brought them both back to earth.

  "Is it very expensive?"

  "Yes, but let’s enjoy it now. I love it when you let me spoil you."

  "I love to be spoiled by you."

  They relished the rest of the roe.

  "Father said that they almost caught you two days ago." Her voice was a mixture of alarm and reproach.

  "Yes, they did. But it’s difficult to catch somebody on a horse when you’re on foot," he tried to downplay the incident.

  "Were you not scared?"

  "Yes, for a second I was, but then I just acted by instinct."

  "Andrew, you should have returned to Killin by another way." She blushed, averting her gaze.

  "Yes, Helen, you’re right. I should have, and from now on I’ll be more careful. I hid the horse in the bushes at the head of the glen."

  He reached out and raised her face, their eyes meeting uncertainly.

  "Andrew, is there any hope for us?"

  "You mean you being a MacGregor and I a Campbell?"

  She nodded anxiously.

  "This is our parents’ quarrel. It never was mine. It doesn’t solve anything, it’s stupid. Anyway, I don’t feel I owe any allegiance to the Campbells—or does it change anything for you, Helen?" he asked worried.

  She looked down on her hands and murmured: "It might have, before I knew you." Then she raised her face and met his gaze: "But not anymore now."

  The furrows on his forehead disappeared and his smile returned. For a while they ate in silence, their eyes locked onto each other. After the meal, she sat next to him. He put his arms around her shoulders, drawing her closer. She nestled to his side. He hardly dared to move, keenly aware of every inch where they touched. He would have wanted to take her into his arms, to kiss her, hold her close, never let go, but he felt shy, afraid that she might think him forward. He inhaled the tart smell of lavender in her hair; he wanted to sink his hand into it, feel its soft springy texture.

  "I love your hair," he murmured.

  She raised her face. Her eyes sparkled, and he saw himself reflected in hers. Timidly, he stroked the lock that had escaped her tresses. Embolden by her smile, he let his index slowly slide down her forehead and over her nose. "I love your face."

  His finger passed over her lips. She took a mock bite and stretched her chin, as the index slowly traveled around it and down into the hollow of her throat.

  "I love the softness of your skin."

  She smiled again, her eyes half-closed, tilting her chin up languorously. He kissed her soft lips, lingering. She closed her eyes. He kissed them. "But most of all, I love your eyes. They are so blue. I could look into them for hours."

  She opened them and their foreheads touched, their pupils just inches apart, timid love meeting timid love.

  "How long have you loved me, Andrew?"

  "I don’t know, but you’ve been on my mind ever since I saw you the first time when you and your mother went to the market in Killin, two years ago already. Every night since then before I go to sleep, I bring up your face in my mind."

  Her gaze turned inside. "I didn’t like the way you looked at me then."

  "I know, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t take my eyes off you."

  "Why did you suddenly leave the dance?"

  "Because I didn’t want the McNabb brothers and James Campbell to know that I fancied you. They wanted to carry you off, so that I could ravish you."

  "I guessed that." She nestled back into his embrace, the palm of her hand on his chest, sensing his heart beat.

  "Andrew, I’m afraid."

  "Why?"

  "Because my father swore that he’ll kill you. You didn’t believe me."

  Andrew did not answer, but his heart beat more strongly. He continued stroking her hair gently. She searched his eyes. "Did you?"

  "No, I didn’t. But I do now. Does your mother know that you see me?"

  "I never told her, but she must guess. Where else could I’ve gotten the sack of oats with a pouch of salt?"

  "What did you tell her?"

  "That I found it under planks in the goat hut."

  He chuckled. "And she believed you?"

  "She never questioned me. But at that time it didn’t really matter where the food came from." Then she told him what she did with the barley. He kissed her, smiling happily.

  "I like your mother. I think she’s a remarkable woman, and wish I had a mother like her.

  "She doesn’t want me to get involved with you. She told me so after the dance."

  "I can understand that. I’m a Campbell, and you’re a beautiful MacGregor."

  Helen raised her head again. He kissed her and whispered: "I want to kiss you all the time… I’m so happy."

  He held her head in his soft palms and stroked her lips with his. Then he pressed his tightly on hers. Her lips parted. He opened his too, and their tongues met briefly. They broke apart, chuckling and blushing. With a twinkle in her eyes, she said: "I liked that." And her lips sought his again.

  * * *

  That evening, she walked home like on a cloud, humming happily. She almost forgot to milk the goats. She hardly touched her food, still satisfied from the salted roe and salmon. When people spoke to her, she often did not hear them. Her mother looked at her thoughtfully. "Is anything the matter with you, lass? You behave strangely."

  Helen smiled and answered: "No, mother, everything is fine. I’m just happy.
It was such a beautiful day up at the lochan with little white clouds traveling by in the dark blue sky."

  "It’s good to see you content in these difficult times." Then she shook her head a bit. "But I thought that you had outgrown your mood swings by now, lass."

  Helen blushed deeply. Suddenly, she was very self-conscious under her mother’s scrutiny. She went outside and, seeing Betty sitting on the crest behind the hut, she joined her. Betty was reading a book. Helen recognized it as one of her mother’s, the English translation of a French novel.

  "Where did you get that book from?" she questioned, an edge of hurt surprise in her voice.

  "Mother brought it up from the clachan when she went down to check if the barley was sprouting. The men found most of mother’s books in a bag under the broken planks of the bedroom cupboard… Isn’t it great? They said the soldiers must have forgotten to take them along."

  Helen started saying "That’s not true. It was Andrew who put them there," but quickly changed it to: "That’s lucky for us. I missed reading."

  She felt hurt that he hadn’t said anything to her. I’ll have to speak to him about this. There should be no secrets between us anymore, she told herself silently. Don’t be silly. He just wanted it to be a surprise for you… I love him so. I want to tell the world.

  She wondered whether she could tell Betty. They had become much closer, sharing their thoughts and feelings, although neither had ever been able to talk about that horrible day. It’s better if she doesn’t know. She might give me away inadvertently. Nobody must find out yet.

  "Yes, I’m glad too that we’ve our books again," answered Betty. "I love reading. It’s like living in a different world when I do."

  Helen smiled and squeezed her sister’s arm. "Did mother bring any other books up?"

  "Yes, she brought three. One for herself, one for you, and one for me."

  Betty’s face took on her inquisitive expression, and she chuckled. "I don’t believe that the soldiers forgot the books. They would have burned… Don’t you think master Andrew secretly brought them back?"

  Helen had the urge to avert her eyes, afraid to give herself away.

  "Why do you think this?"

  "Because I know that it was him who brought the plaids and brooches… And he gave you the oats and left the barley at our clachan, didn’t he, Helen?"

  She couldn’t help blushing. She felt that Betty was testing her. How did she guess? Who else knew about it?

  "Don’t deny it, Helen! It couldn’t have been anybody else."

  "Yes, he brought the grains. Who knows?"

  "I think mother must have guessed too, although she never said anything. None of the others seem to have questioned your story." She laughed softly. "How did you think of it?"

  "It was the first thing that came to my mind—Betty, don’t tell anybody that I told you, please. Father is already suspicious as it is."

  "I won’t. This is our secret." Her eyes became unfocused, a knowing smile playing around her mouth. After a few seconds she mused, almost in a whisper: "I like him… He must fancy you much that he does all these things for you."

  Helen did not answer. Should she tell her? She wanted so much to confide in somebody she could trust, talk about her discovered love. But it would be unfair to make Betty her accomplice.

  The girl searched for face expectantly. When Helen was not responding, she asked: "Does he come to the lochan, Helen?"

  Helen nodded. How did she know they met at the lochan?

  "Often?"

  "Yes."

  "Does he know that father threatened to kill him?"

  "Yes, I told him."

  "And he still comes?"

  Helen couldn’t suppress a smile. She put an arm around Betty and hugged her. The girl searched her eyes as if trying to pry open a secret. "I won’t tell, Helen."

  "I know, Betty."

  * * *

  Mary’s gaze followed her daughter outside. She couldn’t deny any longer what she had observed these last few weeks. Gone was Helen’s gaunt look. She had filled in, not only in her face, but also her body. It couldn’t be the result of their still barely adequate diet. In fact, many an evening she hardly touched her dinner, giving her portion to her brothers. So, she must get good, nourishing food regularly from somewhere.

  But it was more that just her appearance. She gave the impression of being content, happy, and more recently almost euphoric, like right now when she brought the milk from the lochan. More than once Mary had observed her humming placidly, something she had done as a small child, but not since she became a young woman, when her mood swings had often made her highly irritable and sometimes outright unpleasant.

  Now that the immediate threat of starvation was over, thanks to Helen’s ‘find’ and the prospect of soon having cattle, the question of where the grains came from—a question she had deliberately pushed aside—reasserted itself and began to worry her. She had never believed Helen’s claim about the oats, nor that the soldiers had left the barley behind—the jute bag used wasn’t hers—but it hadn’t mattered then. All that counted then was that they had sustaining food, particularly for the children. It didn’t take much guessing to know who had given it to her daughter.

  Her husband’s failure to trace the mysterious rider to the lochan and Helen’s denial of seeing anybody there had lulled her into a comfortable complacency. Any meetings between her daughter and master Andrew must have been fortuitous, at least on Helen’s part, so she hoped. She couldn’t believe that the girl would go against her clan’s honor and associate with a Campbell of Argyle. But then the books turned up, and now she wasn’t so sure anymore.

  She knew that she should feel grateful to him, if simply for killing the officer. But she could no longer ignore the nagging worry that had begun to stir. Her daughter must not get involved with that Campbell — nor any Campbell of Argyle or Breadalbane, for that matter, not after what had happened. Her husband had sworn that he would kill him. Hadn’t he barely failed the other day? She needed to talk sense into her daughter before any blood was spilled. That much at least, she owed the young man.

  She resolved to find out what there was to be found out.

  Next morning, after Helen went off to the lochan, she called Betty.

  "Lass, I want you to go to the lochan and keep an eye on Helen until noon. But make sure she doesn’t see you. I don’t want her to know."

  "Why, mother? Why do you want me to spy on Helen?"

  Mary hesitated for a few seconds. "Because she may be meeting somebody there." She did not notice Betty’s knowing look and continued: "You heard what father said about almost catching master Andrew… I want to know if she meets him. But don’t you tell anybody."

  "I could spy on her from the ridge. One can see the whole glen from there."

  "Yes, you do that and be back by noon."

  She sent the girl up to the ridge on the following days too.

  7

  When Helen and Andrew met again on the rock three days later, both had flutters of shyness. They kissed timidly and then sat down side-by-side to their little banquet.

  "That was rather sneaky of you to hide the books in the clachan, Andrew, without telling me."

  He smiled happily. "I wanted to surprise you. Who found them?"

  "Father found them, and mother brought several up to the shielings yesterday. When did you put them there?"

  "About ten days ago. I was beginning to wonder if they would ever be found."

  "But how did you do it? The men started repairing the cottages before then."

  "I got there at dawn, before anybody was around."

  "Betty was thrilled. She guessed immediately that they hadn’t been forgotten by the soldiers, but that you put them there."

  "Do your father and mother know also?" he asked alarmed.

  "No, I don’t think so. Betty promised not to tell."

  Andrew gave a sigh of relief and then mused: "She’s a sweet girl. She always makes such an inquis
itive face… I’ve often wished I had a sister. But then I didn’t have a brother either, nor a mother or a father." A frown darkened his face for a moment.

  Helen reached out to touch his arm. Their eyes met.

  "You’re all I have, Helen," he murmured, and then suddenly grabbed her. "I want to hold you forever."

  She melted into his tight embrace, their lips warm on each other. Their foreheads touching, they held each other’s eyes for a long time. She didn’t want him to let go. "I love you too, Andrew," she whispered.

  After trading peckish kisses, he exclaimed: "Look, there’s still all that food left that I brought for you."

  "Yes, you seem to want to fatten me up. There’s enough for three here."

  "Yes, you’re still skinny. I can feel your bones." His hands traveled and down her back, exploring her spine.

  "I’m not skinny."

  "No, you’re not. You’re beautiful."

  She raised her face to him and her eyes sparkled.

  After they had finished the last honey biscuit, Helen said: "I need to check on my goats."

  "I’ll come with you."

  "I’ll race you down," she laughed and dashed off, Andrew close behind. At the bottom of the path he caught up with her, trying to kiss her. Giggling, she wiggled out of his grasp and ran off again, only to let herself be caught, responding eagerly to his kisses.

  Suddenly, she pointed to the sky, exclaiming: "Look!" and when Andrew looked, she darted off again, laughing loudly, dodging him, until out-of-breath they both slumped onto a patch of soft grass.

  "I got you now," he murmured, lying partially on top of her.

  "You’ve got me forever, Andrew," she replied and put her arms around his neck, pulling him down. They rubbed noses and then their lips met, gentle pressure, opening slightly, exploring, their tongues touching timidly, and then ever more passionately.

  * * *

  Betty could hardly contain her excitement when she saw Andrew and Helen kiss. It was like in the book mother had brought up to the shielings, except this was for real. Helen must be so happy. She wished her sister would talk to her about it. And then she remembered again why she had been sent to the ridge. If she told, mother wouldn’t let Helen go back to the lochan. Maybe she shouldn’t tell her that they kissed, just that they met. She was in turmoil—the obedient daughter in her needing to tell the truth, the sister wanting to protect Helen. For a long time her feelings were seesawing back and forth. She didn’t know what to do.