Carn Mo'r Read online

  A moment’s silence was broken by the screams of the wounded. The Mustang remained almost wholly intact and smoking. No one attempted to get out of the damaged cockpit.

  John’s attention was already elsewhere. He hesitated briefly by Black Tam, who was applying a tourniquet to his lower leg.

  ‘I’m fine John, go on.’

  Men lay writhing and screaming. Survivors began to treat them. John’s eyes swept the column. They saw the bloodied lump of meat but did not recognise it first time. Other units on the road rushed to help. Trucks pulled up and John’s eyes swept back.

  A clawed hand moved. He stood riveted as a bloodied face rose and looked to him. The hand reached out then the figure slumped.

  ‘No – oh God, no!’ Tears sprang to his eyes. His leaden legs somehow carried him over to the figure. Alasdair lay upon the foreign soil, his back laid open to the bone, more dead than alive.

  An American medic rushed up took a quick look and made to depart. John grasped him by his collar. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘It’s no good buddy, he’s finished.’

  John slipped his knife from its sheath. The medic gasped as it slipped between his legs.

  ‘This man is your top priority, your only priority until he dies.’

  ‘God man, look at him, what is he to you? He’s just an officer.’

  A tear cascaded freely down the brave man’s face as he replied, ‘my officer, my best friend.’ John’s voice shook as it rose, ‘the Laird of CarnMo’r and the Chieftain of the Highland Sinclair’s. He will live if you give him the chance. He has the strength and the courage to endure and you will give him that chance. Do you understand?’ John twisted the knife viciously to emphasize his point.

  ‘Ok, ok, I’m on it,’ the man squealed. As the medic began to attend to Alasdair he noticed something strange. He held a piece of rock up to John. ‘What the hell is this?’

  A stone, John understood, a single cannon shell had struck Alasdair’s pack and exploded against the bust. Inadvertently it had saved his life.

  *

  John placed the remains of the bust back on to its pedestal. ‘It’s a poignant reminder of that day. I wish I’d never gone back for it.’

  ‘He asked you to if I remember correctly.’

  John turned to the Doctor, ‘you’re right, he did.’

  ‘What happened to the pilot, did you ever find out?’

  John shook his head. ‘I don’t know, no one does. The aircraft was still there when I went back for the bust but surrounded by your military police. They weren’t letting anyone near or answering questions. They even tried to stop me getting its registration number.’

  ‘Really! You never told me that.’

  ‘What was the point? You already had your hands full with your own problems. For years now the Laird has pursued the matter to no avail.’

  ‘Why can’t he leave it be?’ asked Robyn.

  ‘You don’t understand, lass. Those men who died weren’t just soldiers. They were family, Clan, uncles, brothers, sons and cousins. It has left the whole Glen grieving. Until there’s an explanation or an apology the wound will remain open. Those men should never have died.’

  John sighed, suddenly realising how tense he was becoming. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. It’s not your problem. As a matter of fact your visit has raised the spirits of the Glen. They wish to honour your father and yourself. We’re going to have a Ceilidh here in the castle.’

  ‘Oh, is Alasdair arranging it?’ asked Robyn, chirping up a bit.

  ‘Ach no, the man knows nothing of it yet, but he will soon enough. I’ll have to go, I have work to do.’

  John left them alone. The Doctor began pacing. Robyn watched for a while. ‘What’s the matter?’

  He shrugged. ‘Cant you feel it Robyn?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes I can, but this is a wound you can’t heal father.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not, but I’d like to try. I still have contacts in the army and I’m owed many favours. I think John is right. An explanation or an apology is just the right kind of dressing these people need to start the healing process. I’ll talk to John later about it. I feel he will be easier to approach on the matter.

  Well I'm going back to the library; would you like to come along?’

  ‘No, I think I’ll continue the tour on my own.’

  Chapter 13

  Robyn walked the long corridors, half looking at the ornamentation but mostly lost in thought. Every now and then a picture or piece of art would command her full attention. Large portraits hung everywhere and one hall seemed to be dedicated to the family. On one side the men of the Clan, strong and fearsome every one, the resemblance to Alasdair uncanny, but in between almost every portrait was a similar one of a member of the Buchan family. She remembered Alasdair’s words, ‘there has always been a Sinclair and a Buchan.’ It made her wonder at the relationships forged here in this strange land.

  The opposite side of the hall was dedicated to the women of the Clan. Each had been painted at the height of their beauty, and she realised it must be another tradition, for there wasn’t a single picture of an old person in the whole hall.

  She made her way back down the stairs and into what were obviously the living rooms and gasped at their splendor. Every piece of furniture was antique and highly polished. Everything from paintings to tapestries hung on the walls and crystal chandeliers from the ceilings. Alasdair hadn’t been lying; there was no sign of weapons in any of these rooms, and the women who had decorated them had been allowed to indulge themselves. It brought a smile back to her face. She could sense the balance in the house.

  She later caught up with her father in the library, who moved around from shelf to shelf with a pair of white gloves on. She attempted to engage him in conversation, but his answers were single words or grunts and she realised she had lost him to the world of knowledge.

  With a sigh from her lips she made her way back to the great hall and ran straight into Connie. She was struggling with an empty pail, brooms, mops, cloths and an assortment of cleaning agents.

  Robyn rushed over. ‘Oh let me help.’

  ‘Och away lass, you’re a guest here.’

  Robyn looked her straight in the eye. ‘I have been wandering alone around this house for hours now without anyone to speak to, and I’m about to go insane.’

  Connie’s face fell. ‘I’m so sorry Robyn. I never realised, I thought you were with your father.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve lost him to the land of books.’

  Connie laughed. ‘It’s an affliction that seems to affect most of the men in this household. You can come and keep me company if you want.’

  ‘Great, where are we going?’ Robyn took the brush and mop off her.

  ‘To the main kitchen.’

  ‘The main kitchen?’

  ‘Yes, the one you’ve been in is mine. The main one is big enough to cook for the whole Glen.’

  Robyn wasn’t sure of what she meant, but followed her through a labyrinth of small corridors until they came to a solid looking door. Connie turned the big handle and pushed it open.

  Robyn stepped inside and stopped aghast at the sight. The kitchen was enormous. Pots and pans of all descriptions hung everywhere along with everything a person could ever dream of needing in a kitchen.

  ‘Oh my God Connie, is this for real?’

  ‘This is as real as it gets.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before. How many can this kitchen cater for?’

  Connie shrugged, ‘as many as it needs to, hundreds.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You have to remember this place is ancient, Robyn. It was built in a time when long sieges were commonplace. This kitchen was built to accommodate the whole Clan and unlike most castles of the time, this one has never been destroyed. This is the original kitchen from the original castle. My great, great, great, great, great-grandmother cooked in this very same kitchen in times of trouble.’

  Roby
n shook her head in wonder. ‘That is amazing and it’s really quite hard to comprehend too.’

  Connie smiled. ‘Maybe for an outsider but it’s always been a part of my life.’

  ‘Has your family always lived in the castle?’

  Connie laughed. ‘God no, but I first came here as a child. Any big occasions are always celebrated here. Just wait until the whole Glen arrives, then this place is almost too small for all the work that’s done.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘You'll see.’

  ‘Has your family always lived here?’

  ‘For centuries. We’re direct descendants from the ten.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what's “the ten”?’

  A veil seemed to come down over her eyes. ‘Oh nothing, it’s just an old saying.’

  Robyn knew when not to ask questions and realised instinctively Connie would say no more on the subject.

  ‘So what are you going to be doing now?’

  ‘I’m going to start cleaning.’

  Robyn was appalled. ‘On your own?’

  ‘Do you see anyone else here?’

  Robyn flushed. ‘Sorry, it was a stupid question.’

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks. All I have to do is dust it down, sweep the floors and set the fires ready to light.’

  ‘It’s still a lot of work for one person, Connie.’

  ‘I'm used to it, besides, it’s all I have to do. After a big celebration, all the women of the Glen turn up and scrub it from top to bottom. I don’t have to do a thing.’

  ‘You mean like a trade off? You maintain it and they clean it.’

  ‘Yes, that sort of thing and standing here yapping isn’t getting anything done.’

  ‘I’ll help.’

  Connie was shocked. ‘Oh I couldn’t let you do that, you’re a guest.’

  ‘And just how do you presume to stop me?’

  Connie realised by the look in Robyn’s eyes she wouldn’t be able to, but it still took them the rest of the day to get it all done.

  They only stopped long enough to feed themselves and Robyn’s father. There was no sign of Alasdair or John, but Connie told them they were doing something and wouldn’t be back until late.

  By the time they were finished Robyn was exhausted. All the travelling had finally caught up with her and by nine o’clock she was in bed fast asleep.

  Chapter 14

  The mist tried to take form around me but could not and retreated. I felt a sense of loss. What was it they so badly wanted to communicate to me? I thought I had lost our most ancient of gifts, but not completely it seemed.

  John and Black Tam appeared. I watched their slow approach. Both men carried three empty sherry casks on their backs in special carriers we had made for them. Tam unslung his load and placed it at my feet.

  ‘Thanks Tam, could you take this back for me?’ I handed him the shotgun.

  ‘No problem Sir, I’ll give it a wee oil as well.’

  ‘Thank you. What’s the matter John?’

  He was looking around searching for something. ‘Where did that strange mist go?’

  Black Tam removed his bonnet and scratched his balding pate. ‘What mist?’

  I pondered on his revelation for a moment. ‘You know what it’s like up here man, they come and go as fast.’

  He shrugged it off. ‘Are you coming? We’ve a lot to do.’

  I slung the pack onto my back. ‘Let’s go.’

  The Ladder hills have always been a place of great legends, mystery and mischief. Mischief was what we were about this day. For hundreds of years trails have been blazed across these hills in the illicit whisky trade. We followed one of these paths for a while before turning off on to one unknown but to the men of the Glen.

  No outsiders have ever been trusted with this knowledge - nor would there ever be. No animals were permitted on this track and it was invisible to the naked eye. But a few hundred meters on to it and you found carefully laid stone beneath the heather.

  It wound its way through a high morass and led us to a small crack in a cliff side. We disappeared inside. For about twenty meters in, daylight showed above, then the crack narrowed until it closed and it became a cave.

  John clicked on a torch and led the way in. A big oak door blocked our path. John smashed the knocker against its big butt plate. After a short delay big bolts inside were drawn back. The smell of malting barley hit us squarely in the face.

  There stood William Gordon with a smile across his broad face. ‘Good evening gentlemen, tiz a fine day for a wee dram I’m thinking.’

  Laughing, we passed through into CarnMo’r’s very own and biggest elicit whisky still.

  Willy gave us the grand tour as normal. He lost a hand at Dunkirk and now had a rather impressive hook as a substitute. Now he ran our very own whisky business. Well, “business” may be a strong word for it. Except for a few exceptional people most of the whisky stayed here.

  It had been a good year and his work was almost done. The old sherry casks we’d brought up would be filled up and set aside.

  Eventually we took a seat and Willy set a cask down on the table. No man left here without a dram as everything was manhandled, and every man received their first taste of CarnMo’r illicit brew at this table as I had. It was a tradition.

  Fire threaded my veins as the fine malt slid down my throat. ‘Oh that’s a nice dram Willy, what year?’

  ‘45 Sir, a good year for all things.’

  I nodded agreeing. ‘I have a special guest William. Do you have anything special for me?’

  ‘That would be the surgeon who saved your life, would it not?’

  ‘You’ve already heard then?’

  ‘I heard and thought you would be looking for something nice. He went to a small cupboard. I took the opportunity to look around his small living space, which was immaculate as always. John nodded thinking the same thing; I could see the approval in his eyes.

  Willy came back with what looked like an ancient cask. ‘Try this Sir.’

  ‘My God Willy, how old is this?’

  ‘I believe it is almost 100 years old Sir. Will I tap it now?’

  ‘No point dragging it all the way home if it’s sour.’

  Willy banged in the tap with a wooden mallet and placed it on a rack. Going to a cupboard he produced a fine crystal glass.

  ‘Make it three Willy, I’ll no sit here and drink this on my own.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  John was eyeing the cask as hungrily as I. There was no way I could deny him a dram, and not to include Willy to the treat would be an insult.

  ‘Will I do the honour, Sir?’

  ‘This is your house, Willy, and you’re the master of it.’

  Grinning broadly he poured the glasses.

  We sat in silence savouring the look of the amber liquid in our glasses, honouring it.

  Eventually I lifted the glass to my lips. The taste exploded in my mouth. My God, no sweeter whisky had I ever tasted! We three were left gasping for breath, then we started laughing.

  ‘That will do nicely, thank you, Willy. I also need a cask for the house; one of those ‘45’s will do nicely.’

  ‘You’ll need a damn site more than that, Alasdair.’

  My head came up sharply, ‘Oh? And why is that friend John?’

  ‘Because you’re having a Ceilidh this weekend.’

  ‘A Ceilidh!’ William repeated excitement in his voice.

  ‘Am I now … and why am I doing that?’

  ‘To honour the Doctor and his daughter,’ came the reply.

  ‘I see, and who decided all this?’

  ‘The people of the Glen.’

  ‘So I’m outvoted then?’

  ‘I would say so. Willy?’

  ‘Definitely!’

  ‘Looks like I’m out voted, then.’ They raised their glasses.

  The weight of the full casts bore us down but it wasn’t like we weren’t use to it.

  �
��I want everyone in full Highland dress for this, John, and every man on his best behaviour.’

  John raised an eyebrow in wonder but after a few glasses of CarnMo’r had been drunk, things could get out of hand quickly. Not in a bad way, although an occasional fight had been known to occur as men worked out a few problems. The tendency was for loud noise more than anything.

  ‘What about the men on watch?’

  ‘Ask for volunteers.’

  ‘You won’t get any.’

  I sighed, ‘I know, but count on those bloody poachers to come the night the whole Glen’s at a party.’

  ‘Aye, that would be typical. What about the young laddies? Those on duty we could put on rations in case of an emergency.’

  ‘I don’t know, John, these men are dangerous. One man’s already been killed this year over by the Queen’s Estate.’

  ‘I know, but they’re canny lads and realise the risks. They won’t try and stop them, especially if you tell them not to.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t like it. Speak to their fathers. At the end of the day, I’d rather risk every fish in the River than even one of their lives.

  I brooded on it for a few minutes. ‘Nah, forget it. We’ll just have to trust in God, John, and hope the bastards don’t hit us. They normally hit on a Sunday or a weekday anyway. I think they like to drink their profits at the weekend.’

  ‘You sure, Alasdair?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll have the whole Glen up at the Castle, bairns and all.’

  Chapter 15

  For the second time in two days Robyn’s blood seemed to sing in her veins, and all she had done was get up. Making her way down she wasn’t surprised to find her father already up and in the library.

  After saying good morning she made her way through to the kitchen. Connie was already up and had been hard at it, but now she was sitting quietly with a cup of tea and young John on her breast.

  Robyn went scarlet. ‘Oh I'm sorry Connie, I didn’t mean to intrude.’

  Connie smiled. ‘Don’t be silly Robyn, come in. There’s hot tea on the stove. If you want something to eat I’ll be finished feeding John shortly.’