Summer of Love Read online

  So he never met Helen again during that summer of 1744, although rarely a day passed where something did not remind him of her. He never asked himself whether he was in love, but when his mind joined up with her, he always felt content. He would have liked to share his interests in books and history with her. He yearned to catch a glimpse of her now and then, to refresh his memory, to add new images to the pictures he carried in his mind. But he was also aware that it was silly to think of Helen as more than just a girl he had seen on two occasions some months ago already. Not only was she a MacGregor and he a Campbell, she was also too young to be courted, and she had made it quite obvious that she disapproved of him. But he hoped that there were small doubts about that. Hadn’t she remained to watch him leave their clachan and only turned away when he had waved?

  Until the past spring, no woman or girl had ever kindled more than a short passing interest in him. This was not to say that he was immune to sexual urges. Having his own quarters just next to Francis McNabb didn’t help. More than once did the hushed voices, the unmistakable giggles and sounds of coupling reach him through the flimsy wall separating their rooms, and he got all aroused and ended up relieving his own needs. He was sorely tempted to poke a hole through the cloth wall to observe the goings-on.

  * * *

  One Friday evening in the middle of October, the four were drinking whiskey and smoking cigars in the library. They were already on their second bottle.

  "I wonder why Andrew never shows an interest in the maids," asked Francis, winking at John and James.

  "Maybe he fancies some girl he doesn’t want to tell us about?" mused James, a slight slur to his speech. "Come, Andrew, own up! Tell us who she is?"

  The question hit Andrew out of the blue. In fact, his mind had just drifted off to Helen, and he now looked embarrassed.

  Francis mocked in a singing voice: "I think we found him out, the sneaky fellow." He poked Andrew lightheartedly, but had already lost control over his movements, and the punch hurt. "Keeping her all to yourself, you cheat! Who is she?"

  "Nobody you know." There was little point denying the obvious.

  "So there’s no harm telling us. What’s her name?" insisted James.

  "I don’t know. I’ve never talked to her." As Andrew spoke, he realized that this was, in fact, true. For a moment he completely forgot about the others, until their loud laughter penetrated his thoughts.

  "How delightfully innocent!" mocked James. "Is she a local lass?"

  "I guess so. I only saw her once at the market in Killin," he lied.

  "And you’ve been dreaming about her ever since."

  The three exploded into laughter again. Andrew suddenly felt foolish and angry for letting himself get caught off guard. He made a half-hearted attempt to join in the laughter. Showing his discomfiture would only entice them more.

  "I bet she’ll be at the opening of the new Killin church tomorrow," exclaimed James.

  "Yes, if she’s a local lass, she won’t miss the dance. Then you can point her out to us." John grinned broadly.

  "And we’ll help you to get her away from the fair, so that you can ravish her." There was a gleeful, conspiratorial anticipation in Francis’ voice. The other two cheered loudly.

  Ravish Helen? The thought had never even entered his mind. How would that be? Through the slight fog in his head, he toyed with the idea. How does one ravish a girl? He dismissed the thought. He wouldn’t know how to go about it.

  "What d’you say? Wouldn’t that be fun?" Francis poked him again.

  "You could tell us all about it afterward," James added with a grin.

  "She might not want to leave the dance," answered Andrew. Would she even agree to come to a secret rendezvous?

  "Oh, just leave that to us. We’ll manage."

  "All girls want to snare one of us gentry; believe me, I speak from experience," laughed James.

  "Anyway, it wouldn’t be the first time we got a girl away from the fair, ha ha," sneered Francis.

  "Her folks might prevent her. We don’t want to cause trouble," Andrew countered lamely.

  "What’s the matter with you? Afraid, are you?" Francis gloated over him.

  "No, I’m not. Why should I?" His tongue felt heavy. Yes, you are, challenged his mind. No, I just don’t want to, replied his other self. But you’re curious; you’ve wanted to do it for a long time. This is your opportunity. Anyway, she’s only a MacGregor. The fellow in front of him suddenly became blurred. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. But the other three did not give him time.

  "So, it’s agreed then!" slurred Francis. "Fill our glasses, Andrew, and let’s drink to it."

  Something wasn’t right. Andrew tried to pour, spilling liquid on Francis’ hands. The latter, more seasoned to heavy drinking, snatched the bottle away, shouting: "Andrew, don’t waste that precious liquid!"

  * * *

  Early Saturday morning, after only a few hours’ rest, Andrew woke up with a throbbing head. He had no idea how he got to bed, but here he was, still in his clothes. He removed his coat and shirt and staggered down to the trough in the courtyard, hoping that a good wash in cold water would soothe his splitting headache. He needed a clear head today. Dougan Graham wanted to catch his tenants first thing they arrived in town to remind them of their obligations before they were tempted to spend their money at the fair. He wouldn’t be pleased at all if Andrew showed any signs of a hangover. And then he remembered Dougan’s advice: drink lots of water before going to bed if you had too much booze. It was too late for that, but it might be of relief even now.

  Back in his room while he got dressed, the events of last night suddenly hit him. How stupid had he been! Dougal MacGregor would cause a riot if they touched his daughter. Maybe the MacGregors mightn’t come to the fair. But ever since he had known about it, he had been looking forward to seeing Helen again, and now everything seemed to be marred. And then came the realization of what he had actually agreed to. Ravish Helen! He had debased himself. Disgust and shame tightened his throat, amplifying the pain in his head. He slumped heavily down on his bed. Maybe he should just stay away from the fair. Claim that Dougan Graham needed him… But I want to see Helen, cried his heart. In fact, he had hoped to dance with her. How could you let yourself be dragged into this, you idiot? He closed his eyes and her image rose in his mind as she stood outside her cottage and their eyes met for just a precious instant. So proud! All at once so much more desirable!

  * * *

  Shortly before nine o’clock, Andrew set up the factor’s booth at a highly conspicuous spot on the market square opposite the new church. The painful iron bands around his head had dulled, but the shame and anxiety was still eating into his self-esteem. He had to make certain his three drinking companions wouldn’t discover the object of his fancy.

  Dougan Graham joined him as the first tenants arrived in town. The young man’s attention was quickly absorbed by looking up the rents owed, recording the sums collected, and making out the necessary receipts. It pushed his concern about Helen into the background. Occasionally, small disputes arose, one or the other tenant contesting the amount owed, hoping to take advantage of Andrew’s inexperience. But he had a good mind for figures and knew the contents of the accounts book in detail. When the arguments got heated, some began to abuse him in Gaelic and were rather stunned when he swore back in kind in their own native tongue. Nobody got the better of him. It was also obvious that Dougan Graham fully trusted his charge to do the right thing, and restricted his own job to counting the coins and stashing them away in his burgeoning purse.

  As at other times, Andrew felt that it was a rather ironic twist of fate that his fluency in Gaelic, picked up from the servants that had mothered him and which his English tutor had tried so hard to beat out of him as a boy, now became a great asset in dealing with the earl’s tenants. Although the lowland-born Dougan Graham understood some Gaelic, he did not speak it in spite of more than twenty years in the service of the Earl
of Breadalbane.

  Around midday, Andrew saw Dougal MacGregor march into the square, accompanied by his wife, two youths that already had many of the broad, tall features of their father, Helen, and several other couples of his clan. Andrew’s heartbeat took a leap.

  Dougal came straight to the booth. "Aye, a good morning, Mr. Graham, I see you have young master Andrew with you. Good day, lad, how have you been all this summer?"

  Andrew hardly heard him. His attention was only for Helen. Over a single, cream petticoat she wore a short, collarless, russet jacket, its embroidery in front accentuating her shapely figure. Her full, copper-red curls fell profusely over a narrow embroidered band, tied around her head in a vain attempt to confine them. A scarlet plaid was loosely draped over her shoulders to shield her against the chill of the October air, its narrow blue stripes enhancing the color of her eyes. She wore new heelless boots. Suddenly, she raised her gaze, and their eyes locked on to each other for a moment before she lowered hers again.

  It was Dougan Graham who answered for Andrew: "Good to see you, Mr. Campbell. Andrew here has been very busy, getting to know all our tacksmen and tenants. Did he not come and visit you too? Early in the summer?"

  "Yes, he did. One of the best discussions I’ve had for a long time," replied Dougal, smiling benevolently at Andrew.

  "Yes, he is a fine, intelligent lad and takes much of the burden off my old shoulders."

  "Aye, you are still in your prime yourself, Mr. Graham. All you need is the right woman to make you dance again," said Dougal with a hearty laugh.

  "You have hit the nail on the head, Mr. Campbell, you sure have. There is still a bit of a lady’s man left in me." Dougan Graham patted his pot belly with a pleased chuckle, and then his face resumed an official mien. "You have come to transact some business, Mr. Campbell?"

  "Indeed, I have, indeed. I have come to settle my account and put things in order, as they should be."

  "Andrew, tell me the standing of Mr. Campbell’s account?"

  There was no need to ask. Andrew had the book already open on the MacGregor page and answered immediately: "Eight pounds nine shillings, sir."

  "I won’t dispute that." Dougal MacGregor began counting out the coins.

  Andrew made the entry in the book and wrote out a receipt. Dougal MacGregor studied it carefully. "Master Andrew, you write in a very fine hand, a very fine hand, indeed. You sure do. But now, I must not tarry any longer and keep my young people away from the fair, or I will never hear the end of it."

  He raised his hand to take leave and joined his group. As they walked away, he turned and shouted: "Master Andrew, I hope you will come and visit us again one of these days, and bring another of your excellent bottles of claret along. My own are not half as good. Hear me?"

  Andrew nodded and, noticing Dougan Graham’s astonished gaze, blushed.

  "So you brought him a bottle of claret… What a shrewd move, my lad, very shrewd, I must say. It pays to be on good terms with those Campbells."

  Andrew smiled, a bit embarrassed, and then his eyes were irresistibly drawn back to Helen. His pulse quickened when he saw her look back briefly before the crowds milling around the stalls of the fair swallowed her up.

  "Here comes your company, lad."

  Dougan Graham nudged him. Andrew turned, not at all eager to see his drinking companions ride into the square already.

  "Good day, Mr. Graham," James called out, "we’ve come to take Andrew away from you so that he can show us the lass he has fancied secretly all last summer. Say, Andrew, have you spotted her already from this unique vantage point?"

  "Good day to you too, master James," chuckled Dougan, "you seem to be in a jolly mood. Go, take him away. I’ll manage alone. I think you may be in luck, the lass—"

  Andrew went hot and cold and interrupted him, almost shouting: "You fellows just go ahead. I’ll join you after helping Mr. Graham to close up."

  The latter seemed startled by Andrew’s rude interruption, so atypical of his usually polite manners. Then he seemed to notice the young man’s pleading gaze and the quick, almost imperceptible shaking of his head, and he finished his sentence with: "—must surely be at the fair by now."

  "You know who it is, Mr. Graham," questioned Francis eagerly.

  "No, I don’t, but I seem to remember that master Andrew mentioned a lass a few months ago."

  "Just go. I’ll join you shortly," urged Andrew again, suppressing a sigh of relief.

  "Don’t let us wait too long … Good day, Mr. Graham," exclaimed James, and the other two nodded as they turned their horses toward the inn.

  When they were out of hearing, Andrew murmured: "Thank you, Mr. Graham, for not giving me away. They’re just intent on mischief, and we don’t want any trouble with the Campbells. Please, forgive me for interrupting you so rudely."

  Dougan Graham looked at him for a while, pensive, before saying: "You really fancy that lass, don’t you? … But I am glad you stopped me in time, lad."

  Andrew blushed. He did not answer, breathing deeply to still his pounding heart.

  * * *

  As Helen walked away from the factor’s booth, she felt the young man’s eyes burning on her back. She couldn’t help but quickly turn and take another look. Yes, his gaze hadn’t moved from her.

  If she had given him any thought last summer, it was mainly out of curiosity of having seen the illegitimate son of a duke that her own mother had known and possibly fancied as a lass her own age. His warm smile though had stayed with her. But he was a Campbell of Argyle and a bastard to boot, to be despised or at least dismissed. So, meeting the searching intensity in his eyes felt almost like an assault. It still sat in her stomach. They had held each other’s gaze for just a short moment, but it seemed like an eternity. She had wanted to look away, but couldn’t. It was as if he were willing her to lock eyes with him, and she felt powerless to resist. What did he want of her? A bastard—how did he even dare to look her in the eye? And why did she care? She was confused, a state of mind she wasn’t used to, a state of mind she didn’t like. Her mother’s questioning look told her that it showed. She made an effort to admire the silver brooches displayed at the nearest stall.

  Some time later, sitting at the edge of the green and watching various clans display their dancing skills, she caught herself several times searching the crowd for his face. Each time, she chided herself for it. She finally spotted him walking along the green in the company of three young men, all in gentlemen’s clothing. He too seemed to scan the people searchingly. The four young men stuck around a while, only a few feet from her table. He continued searching the crowd with an almost exaggerated eagerness, but never looked directly at her. Then she heard him say in English: "I can’t see her. She isn’t here… Let’s go to the Bear."

  "Yes, I need a brandy too. My throat is parched dry," replied one of them, and they ambled over to the inn.

  He was looking for another girl. She became aware of a vague feeling of disappointment which quickly turned into annoyance. Why should she care? She willed her attention to a group of McNabbs performing a Highland fling. But in the back of her mind, that vague feeling of disappointment lingered. Only when the crowd cheered as the pipers and fiddlers got ready for the dance, and her limbs began to twitch imperceptibly in anticipation, was it ousted from her mind.

  When the call came, Helen was the first to enter the green with a cousin. She expected him to be her initial partner for the Highland reel, and then stood suddenly face to face with Andrew. For a short moment she was disconcerted. He bowed to her and smiled, and before she knew it, she smiled back. The musicians struck up the tune. Nimbly they stepped around each other in figure eights and then moved on to their next partners. Somehow, he managed to get back to her repeatedly out of turn. Each time he briefly locked eyes with her, and she didn’t resist him. No word passed between them. When she returned to her table, her eyes were sparkling.

  "Was that the factor’s apprentice who partnered you se
veral times out of turn?" her mother whispered.

  "Yes. I don’t know how he did it. It was fun."

  "He shouldn’t do that. It upsets the others."

  Helen shrugged. What could she do about it? If other men got annoyed, they’d tell him.

  They met again over the next few dances. She found herself looking forward to being his partner. He danced well. His movements were light and flowing, perfectly timed and in harmony with hers. She didn’t have to make an effort to remain in step with him. They just were. The touch of his hand felt soft and smooth. Whenever they came face to face, he greeted her with a contagious smile, and she responded. At one point he sang her name, and she laughed.

  All of a sudden, his smile fled. Following his gaze, she saw the three young men from the castle approach the green, and when she turned back to him, he had switched to another partner. Why? she wondered. Did the others find his lass? No, she would be dancing here. Helen could not imagine any girl willingly stay away from the dance. And then things suddenly fell into place. He didn’t want his friends to know about her.

  For a moment, she was left in limbo until another young man partnered her again. Annoyed at feeling disappointed, she tried in vain to plunge fully back into the dancing, but the playful spirit of before had abandoned her.

  Back at the MacGregor table, she resumed her ruminations. But why didn’t he want them to know? Was he ashamed? The very thought bristled her pride as a MacGregor, but she dismissed it as quickly as it arose. He wouldn’t have danced with her for such a long time. Other people had also noticed his clever switching of partners to get back to her and some had even cooperated smilingly. It must be something else, something to do with his friends… Maybe he was afraid they might play a trick on him … or on her. That thought had a sobering effect. She had heard stories of young lairds spiriting a girl away from a dance or even her father’s house and then getting her into trouble.