Summer of Love Page 9

  Unbeknown to him, leaving so quickly was a stroke of good luck. Shortly after he departed, Dougal MacGregor arrived at the lochan. He wanted to check out the reports by his two sons of a lone horseman who regularly rode into the hills two or three times a week. When Robin had reported another sighting that morning of the grey mare, he decided to scout. He vaguely remembered that master Andrew had been riding a grey mare. He wondered whether that scoundrel had given Helen the oats. Although nobody else seemed to have doubted her story, he had questioned it right away.

  As he climbed higher, he found horse tracks, but they seemed to turn around short of the lochan. He observed Helen alone near the shore. Her wet hair told him that she had gone for a swim.

  When Helen saw him walk along the shore, panic gripped her for a few seconds. She immediately knew why he was here. Steeling herself against giving their secret away, she answered her father question with a disinterested "No, I haven’t seen anybody… Don’t we keep the goats here because the lochan is so well hidden?"

  Dougal, being of a suspicious nature, checked the glen behind the lochan for any horse tracks. He found none. The rain the day before had removed any traces.

  After he left, Helen tried to calm her nerves. What would her father have done if Andrew had been here? She didn’t want to think of it. Suddenly, she was glad that Andrew hadn’t come and gave silent thanks. I’ve to warn him, she reminded herself. Why didn’t I do it before? But she knew why. She found it difficult to talk about that horrible day.

  * * *

  That night Andrew woke up to a wet dream, seeing Helen standing in the sun, her hands raised to arrange her hair, lifting her proud breasts.

  Already on the next day he rode back to the lochan. He didn’t understand why he dawdled around, delaying his departure. When he reached the crest, he scanned the area. Am I hoping to see her nude again? he asked himself, feeling ashamed, but unable to help it. Then he saw her, standing half submerged in the water, rubbing soapwort into her hair to form a lather. He dismounted and sneaked to the lake. Hidden behind bushes, he quickly undressed and swam toward her. She was still standing at the edge, rinsing her hair. When he got closer, he floated silently. She turned around, saw him, and submerged over her head into the water for a short moment.

  "Why are you here when I’m bathing?" she chided him, after surfacing again. "Did you think I didn’t see you coming?"

  "But if you saw me coming, why didn’t you get out?"

  "Because I didn’t think that you would come all the way to me." But the smile on her face belied her reproach.

  They circled for a while with laughing eyes, splashing water at each other.

  "Do you swim often," asked Andrew.

  "No, just to wash myself. But now we have no soap left… The water only gets warm enough for swimming about this time of year."

  "It’s still horribly cold. How can you stand it?"

  "Not for very long, that’s why I want to get out now. Turn around and don’t look."

  "But I want to see you. You’re beautiful." He swam closer to her. "I’ll help you get out. It’s slippery here."

  He got out of the water and stood on a boulder, holding out a hand. She reached for it, and said: "Look away now, I’m coming out."

  "Why? You’re looking at me too. Why shouldn’t I look at you?"

  And she was looking, seemingly intrigued by his slim, but athletic body. It lacked the broad shoulders of the MacGregor men. His chest was almost hairless. Her gaze was caught by his manhood, shriveled up from the cold water of the lochan, innocent like a boy’s. The tight curls of his black pubic hair formed a narrow point reaching toward his navel.

  With his help, she pulled herself out of the water, and immediately ran away to her clothing, pulling her petticoat over her wet body, her back to him.

  He jogged back to this clothes, got dressed, and fetched his horse. When he came over the crest, he could not find her. The goats were still loose, but there was no sign of Helen. He knew that she could not have left for the shielings. She would not have reached the ridge yet. He called out softly. No response. He pleaded with her that he would never again intrude on her when she was bathing. After a quarter of an hour, he placed the pouch with the food he had brought on a rock near the path and left, discouraged, afraid that he had spoiled their friendship, that she might never again want to see him. At the crest he cast another searching glance over the lochan. There was still no sign of her.

  * * *

  It was several days before Helen found Andrew’s horse grazing near the lochan again. She had expected him back a day or two earlier. But now she suddenly hesitated going up to the rock to meet him. She felt still embarrassed about having remained in the water when she saw him come over the crest. After releasing the goats, she sat near the shelter for almost an hour, battling with conflicting emotions, wanting to be with him, ashamed to face him, ripping out grasses, tearing them up, nervously pulling the petals from daisies one by one, and getting more and more angry with herself. Finally, her desire to be with Andrew won and she slowly walked up the path. When she came to the rock, she saw him repack his pouch. She leaned against the wall, watching him, her arms tightly crossed under her bosom. Suddenly he became aware of her, looked up, and after a short hesitation came over to her. She lowered her eyes.

  "You’re cross with me, Helen, aren’t you?" he asked, his voice expressing his regret.

  She met his gaze and answered: "No."

  "Then why didn’t you come to meet me sooner?"

  "I was embarrassed about the other day."

  "I’m sorry, Helen. It won’t happen again, I promise."

  He took her hand. She did not withdraw it. "Come, I brought delicious food for our banquet."

  Smiling bashfully, she followed him, her hand still in his. He set out the food and offered her liver pâté in a crust of flaky pastry. She tasted it and nodded approvingly. Both were uncharacteristically quiet while they ate, stealing glances at each other. When their eyes met, they blushed embarrassed.

  "Helen," Andrew began, searching her eyes and then looking away almost bashfully.

  "Yes, Andrew?"

  "Helen, … I … I love you," he said softly.

  "I know, Andrew."

  "You know?"

  "Yes, why else would you be so kind to me?"

  He blushed deeply. They remained silent for a while, Andrew visibly working up the courage for the next question. Helen knew what he was going to ask, but she didn’t know her own answer.

  "Helen, do you love me too?" It was out. His eyes were pleading.

  "I don’t know, Andrew," she murmured.

  He averted his gaze again, fighting his disappointment, trying to smile bravely. She reached out and touched his hand. "Andrew? … I honestly don’t know. I’m confused. I’ve never loved a man before. I don’t know what it feels… Please, believe me! Let’s be friends."

  Their eyes met. She could almost feel the desperate love pouring out of his. The urge to run and flee again rose in her, but she knew that she couldn’t do this, that this would hurt him even more.

  "Is this the reason why you didn’t rape me, but helped me escape?" She had wanted to ask that question for a long time, but never dared.

  "I don’t think so. I find it abominable if a man forces a woman against her wish."

  Again, she touched his hand briefly. "I’m glad it was more."

  Emboldened by his open and willing answer, she asked: "Have you ever been with a woman?" The glimpse of a women slip behind the church where Andrew had gone earlier rose in her mind, and she blushed at her own question.

  He looked at her for a while and then replied: "No."

  His answer surprised her. She had heard all these stories of the young gents in the castle, all of them out to seduce the gullible maids and servants with promises, and then dropping them when they were with child.

  He seemed to sense her surprise and added, his voice but a low murmur: "Maybe it’s my own background
that has held me back. You must surely know that I’m an illegitimate son."

  Helen nodded, blushing again.

  "Is that the reason why you …?" His voice trailed into nothing.

  "No, Andrew. I honestly don’t know," she murmured.

  After a while he continued, not looking at her: "I know what it means growing up without a mother or father. I had no mother. And my father didn’t care for me. I don’t wish this on any child." The tone of voice got ever more bitter as he spoke.

  "You don’t know who your mother is?"

  "No."

  She looked down at her hands, moved by his openness. She hadn’t expected it. Neither spoke for a long time, Helen confused, but strangely content and happy, Andrew visibly downcast.

  "Andrew?"

  He looked at her.

  "Andrew, after that day … father swore that he would kill every one of the men who attacked us. He said he would kill you too, although I told him that you had helped Betty and me to get away. He said you were one of them, that you were as guilty as they."

  Andrew looked down at his hands.

  "Four days ago he suddenly came to the lochan. He asked if I had seen somebody. That a man had been seen riding into the mountains. I’m afraid, he suspects something… Maybe you shouldn’t come up here anymore." The last few words were barely a whisper.

  He looked up quickly. His hands tightened into hard fists, the white of the knuckles showing. "Is that what you want?" There was deep resignation in his voice. Their eyes met again. "I want to see you again, Helen. I need to," he murmured.

  "I would like to see you again too, but I’m afraid, father might harm you."

  "I’ll be more careful. Take a different way to get here. Please, Helen!"

  His eyes held hers. Try as she did, she couldn’t avert her gaze.

  "I’ll leave the horse hidden somewhere else."

  She nodded and managed to break eye contact. He too went back to study his hands, casting a furtive glance at her, the pressure of words unspoken building up slowly between them. Her urge to flee became overpowering. She rose and said: "Andrew, I need to go back to check on the goats."

  He got up too. As she began to walk away, he called out: "Helen, wait, I almost forgot. I brought something for you."

  He rummaged through his bag and offered her a small round object, wrapped in cloth. She opened it, and a smile lit up her face, shattering the tension of awkwardness. "Oh, you brought me soap! How did you know?"

  "You said you had none when we swam," he murmured, blushing, visibly pleased by her reaction.

  "Thank you, Andrew." She smelled it. "It even smells of lavender."

  She started to leave again.

  "I’ll come down with you. I must go back to work too."

  * * *

  Ruminating with a heavy heart on Helen’s response to his admission of love, Andrew took the usual path down the Achmore Burn along to Loch Tay on his ride home. Helen’s warning had slipped his mind, nor had he taken the threat that seriously. He wasn’t sure whether Helen had just used this to persuade him not to come and see her again. So he was taken by complete surprise when he found himself surrounded by Dougal MacGregor and two tall lads as he came out of the bushes and trees hugging the bottom of the mountain slope. Rushing forward with his sword drawn, Dougal shouted: "Ha, we caught you, you traitor!" while the two lads howled eagerly.

  It took but an instant for Andrew to realize that Dougal meant business. He forced his mare to rear, keeping Dougal off-balance for a second, and then turned abruptly, putting the horse into a gallop, aiming directly for the two lads. Caught off-guard by Andrew’s swift ploy, both dove to the side just as the horse jumped high past them. In vain, Dougal threw his sword. It missed by a several feet. Within a few seconds, Andrew was out of reach, racing away at full gallop, Dougal’s angry expletives following him.

  Only when he reached Achmore, did he slow the mare. His heart belatedly began to pound as the shock of the sudden attack fully sank in. Would Dougal really have killed him he wondered? The expression on his face seemed to leave little doubt about his intent. Strangely, he felt no animosity toward the man. He had liked him from their first meeting, and too many horrible things had happened. He understood that in Dougal’s eyes one was either with him or against him. There was no in between, and Dougal saw him as having sided with the English, and therefore he became the enemy.

  Suddenly he realized that Helen had really been concerned about him. Her warning hadn’t been an excuse to keep him away. A warm feeling crept into his heart, calming its pounding to a flutter. Maybe it was true that she didn’t know her own feelings yet. A glimmer of hope returned. I’ll go back to see her again as soon as I can, he promised himself.

  6

  Helen spent the afternoon near the lochan searching her heart, trying to sort out her own feelings. She knew she felt completely safe with him. He had never put the slightest demand on her. She sensed she could trust him more than anybody. It just felt right with him. There never seemed to be any hidden undercurrents. There was no need to look for overt meanings. He was naively honest and open, at least toward her.

  She also knew that she looked forward to meeting him. Sure, there was always the delicious food, but it was more than that. She felt attracted to him. She enjoyed his company. He was more serious than anybody she had ever met. But it wasn’t a morose seriousness. They often joked and laughed. It was more a depth of character. He never made light of anything she said, often picking up her thoughts, arguments, and ideas, and developing them further. She felt affirmed by him and respected. But it always came back to the same dilemma. He was a Campbell. Even if she loved him, was there any hope for them? Her mother had voiced her opposition to any men from the gentry quite openly, and her father had promised to strangle him with his own hands. A sick feeling crept into her guts. Maybe she should stop seeing him right away. It would hurt him for a while. But better a short, sharp hurt than a long, drawn-out agony. Yes, that’s the only right thing to do, she convinced herself.

  And with that, a sense of emptiness, of regret and heartache took hold. She saw his green eyes locking onto hers, felt losing herself in their depth, not wanting to ever let go again. No, no, no! You cannot do that, cried every cell in her, why don’t you admit that you love him too? … Do I? … Or is it just a conceit of being loved by a gentleman from the castle? She searched her heart. His background, if anything at all, would work against him. No, it wasn’t vanity. She loved him in spite of it. She loved him in spite of his clan, in spite of his birth. She lay back in the grass, watching the gray cover of clouds relentlessly march by. Its billowing texture mirrored her own inner turmoil. She whispered to herself: "I do love him." Yes, you do! Yes, you do! she heard the echoes from her heart.

  Having acknowledged and accepted her love for Andrew, she felt suddenly light, elated, happy. She would have liked to run to him and tell him. When will he be back? she asked herself anxiously… He might never come back. She had told him she didn’t know if she loved him. Calling up his face in her mind, she sensed that what he had heard was that she didn’t love him. What had she done? A tightness gripped her. He must come back. He must. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to go to him.

  * * *

  That evening the MacGregor men returned to the shielings later than usual. Dougal’s face left little doubt that he was in a bad mood. It soon became apparent why.

  At dinner, he began questioning Helen: "Did anybody come to the Lochan today?"

  Caught off-guard, she asked: "Why?" hoping that he would not notice her cheeks getting red.

  "Never mind! Did you see anybody?"

  "No."

  "You better tell me the truth, lass. If I find out that you lied, you will regret it sorely."

  "I didn’t see anybody, but then I was at the back of the glen most of the time."

  "What happened?" asked Mary.

  "We trapped that Campbell son-of-a-bitch near Loch Tay. But the bastard got away."
>
  Mary gave Helen a penetrating glance. With a great effort, she hid the sudden rush of fear and feigned to be busy trying to remove rye grass spikes from her petticoat, convinced that her ears were bright crimson. Why didn’t he take another way down to the valley? He must not have believed her warning. He thought she was just making it up so he wouldn’t come anymore. Please, Lord, make him come again! For a few seconds, she did not listen to what her father said and just heard his last few words.

  "… frightened the hell out of him. He won’t be back that quickly."

  "The bastard aimed his horse straight for us," said Robin, "If we hadn’t jumped aside, he would have knocked us down."

  "There were two of you. You could have at least tried to grab the leads of his horse," complained Dougal.

  "I would like to see you stand still when a horse comes running at you!" retorted Robin and Alasdair added: "When his horse reared, you jumped back too. That gave him the opening to get away!"

  In an all too obvious ploy to avert a fight, her mother asked: "When do you think that we’ll be able to return to our clachan?"

  Dougal looked angrily at his two sons, muttered something unintelligible, and then answered: "I guess by the end of August. We should be finished by then, at least enough to move back in. Cutting these roof beams is hard work. But before we return, we’ll have to check out if the English soldiers have left. I don’t want to get caught a second time."

  In her mind, Helen already formed the words to volunteer what Andrew had told her, but stopped herself in time.

  "And when will you get us some cattle?" continued Mary.