Carn Mo'r Read online

  ‘Don’t you dare! I’m quite capable of feeding myself.’

  She took a cup of tea and sat down opposite. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘I think your father’s in the library, and the men are up on the hills.’

  Robyn frowned. ‘What kind of work do they do up there?’

  ‘Hunting.’

  Robyn smiled. ‘Is that real work, or just fun?’

  ‘It’s a way of life,’ Connie smiled back. ‘We need meat for the Ceilidh and I’ve sent those two out to get it.’

  Robyn giggled then apologised, ‘I’m sorry Connie I just find it funny you ordering those two hulking brutes about.’

  Connie laughed too and took John off her breast. He had fallen asleep again. Connie changed him them took him through to his cot.

  When she returned she found Robyn making herself some scrambled eggs.

  ‘Oh they smell nice Robyn.’

  ‘Would you like some? I can still make for two?’

  ‘You know I think I will. I can make the toast to go with it.’

  So they sat down to breakfast together and talked as young women do. Connie was interested in all the latest fashions and styles and Robyn related the story of her travels and all the things she had seen en-route. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, but Robyn had a burning question on her mind and soon felt at ease enough to ask. ‘Connie, all around the house there’s things with the Sinclair and the Buchan names on them, and I’ve also heard the term “there’s always been a Buchan and a Sinclair” a few times now.’ She shrugged, ‘what do they mean?’

  Connie thought for a few moments about how best to answer. ‘It’s just that there has always been a Sinclair and a Buchan.’

  ‘Yes but have the Buchan’s always stayed here with the Laird?’

  ‘Yes of course,’ Connie sighed, ‘it may seem a little strange to an outsider, but the Buchan’s and Sinclair’s have always been together and lived together.’

  ‘In this house?’

  ‘Well, yes. You could say they are one family really. The Buchan’s have always had their own apartments within the castle. The Buchan’s are the first family of the Clan after the Sinclair’s. If anything happens to the Laird the Buchan takes over the Clan until the eldest Sinclair’s son is ready to.’

  It was unfathomable to Robyn, and she fought to understand this strange new way of life. ‘Hasn’t that caused conflict within the two families?’

  Connie shook her head. ‘No, why should it?’

  ‘Well … hasn't the Buchan family ever tried to take over the Clan for themselves?’

  The look of shock on Connie's face caused a flush of embarrassment across Robyn's. She hastily apologised, ‘I'm sorry Connie, I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  Connie's smile was forgiving. ‘That’s ok Robyn; I know things and people are different elsewhere, but this is CarnMo’r and things are different here. Truth, trust and honour are a way of life.’

  ‘So no dreadful plots or murderous siblings?’

  Connie laughed. ‘I'm sorry, no, nothing like that. There is normally only one son born to each family. Siblings are rare, daughters almost unknown, especially on the Sinclair side.’

  Robyn was astounded. ‘Truthfully?’

  Connie’s face took on a more serious look, ‘truthfully, as a matter of fact it’s very rare for the Buchan sons to be older than the Sinclair’s, unless it’s by a few days or weeks. Baby John’s arrival in the Glen before Alasdair is even married has caused quite a bit of consternation. The people just don’t know what to think.’

  Robyn shook her head. ‘That is very hard to believe Connie, it just isn’t natural.’

  Connie placed a hand over Robyn's and her eyes took on a strange look. Robyn felt a strange chill pass through her. ‘This is CarnMo’r, not America; things will be as they have always been for thousands of years. There are things here that are far too strange for an outsider like you to comprehend, Robyn. Any woman who marries a Sinclair or a Buchan knows she will most likely only bear one child and a son at that. Any other child born to that woman is greeted with great suspicion and is most likely to die at birth or before it reaches adulthood. Only the firstborn Sinclair survives to become Clan Chieftain and Laird, and only the firstborn Buchan to stand at his side.’

  Connie removed her hand and Robyn tried to swallow the strange taste in her mouth. ‘Are any other families in the Glen afflicted the same way?’

  Connie shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘But with all the wars the families have fought over the centuries, haven’t they been frightened to go to war?’

  Connie half smiled. ‘Only if they are already married and have a son to carry on the family name. There has been a war of some sort in almost every generation, and although some have fallen in battle, no unmarried Sinclair or Buchan has ever died. As a matter of fact most of the married men make it back alive too, but if you ask any man of the Glen who he would rather fight with, each and every one will chose the unmarried sons, for they have always proved luckier than their Sires.’

  ‘Yet in the last war Alasdair was almost killed.’

  Connie nodded. ‘He isn’t the first unwed son to return home wounded but he was by far the worst.’

  ‘It’s all so strange.’

  ‘Aye, that it is, but this isn’t getting any work done.’

  ‘Can I give you a hand?’

  ‘Can you cook?’

  Robyn just smiled.

  Chapter 16

  Morning dew glistened like jewel drops on the heather as John and I set off the following morning. Connie had issued orders. If there was going to be a Ceilidh, she wanted meat to feed our guests. A good hind was what she wanted. I had a tendency to only shoot the eldest or the lame. It made for tougher eating but preserved the breeding stock.

  Black Tam was also going to slaughter a 6-month-old calf. In the afternoon, if our hunt was successful, we would go after game birds. There was no end to the number of mouths to feed in the Glen and they did like their meat.

  We got our hind and just made it back for dinner. The smell of freshly baked bread from the kitchen met us. Saliva burst in my mouth.

  ‘Does that no smell good, Alasdair?’ It was apparent John was drooling as well.

  ‘It does that John. I’m sure you married that woman because she was the best cook in the Glen.’

  He grinned wickedly. ‘Cooking’s not the only thing she’s good at.’

  ‘Pray do tell all.’

  ‘Not a chance,’ came his answer.

  I stepped into the study for a moment. The Doctor was there, wearing a pair of white gloves.

  ‘Alasdair! Hello! You weren’t joking about this book collection. Some of them must be priceless.’

  ‘They are. Enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Yes, I am thank you.’

  He was wearing the gloves to protect the delicate bindings. We left him to it and went to the gunroom. There we cleaned our trusty 303 Lee-Enfield’s, then prepared the shotguns for the afternoon shoot.

  ‘Enough!’ John declared, ‘the smells from that kitchen are driving me mad.’

  ‘Aye, me too, let’s go eat.’

  The giggling of women’s voices reached our ears. My heart leapt as I could already discern her voice.

  They looked up as we marched in. My heart thundered in my chest at the sight that befell me. Dressed in an apron with that long dark hair tied up and out of the way, both women were covered in flour from the baking. John and I burst out laughing at the sight, turning Robyn’s ears a pretty shade of pink.

  John swept Connie off her feet. ‘What have you been up to, my lovely?’ He kissed her.

  ‘Get off me, you bear,’ she squealed. I thought I saw for a moment a hint of longing in Robyn’s eyes.

  ‘Your men are home from the hills, woman, and famished. What’s for eating?’

  ‘You’ll wait, John Buchan, until we’re ready!’

  ‘Will we now?’ John grabbed a warm loaf and tossed it
over to me. I quickly sliced off two large chunks with my hunting knife while John held on to an indignant Connie.

  ‘You are as bad as John, Alasdair Sinclair!’ She accused.

  ‘That I am!’ I admitted with a chuckle, tossing a slice over to John. I layered butter thickly on mine. It melted in my mouth.

  ‘Connie you have outdone yourself, this is beautiful!’

  ‘Hmmm…hmmm…’ John agreed.

  Connie beamed. ‘I didn’t make it, Robyn did.’

  I eyed her approvingly and she flushed. ‘My compliments.’

  ‘Mine, too,’ John mumbled, his mouth full and reaching for the bread. There was a sharp smack and he howled with pain.

  ‘That’s enough of that or you won’t eat your dinner,’ Connie admonished us, waving a wooden spoon under John’s nose.

  John backed off hastily, ‘ok, ok.’

  In all, it was hilarious. Robyn went to fetch her father and Connie sat us at the table. Again I found myself keeping my own company.

  ‘Have you been baking, dear?’ the Doctor asked.

  ‘Only a little.’ He’d only take a mouthful and knew instinctively it was hers. I was impressed. ‘She’s a gifted cook,’ he told me.

  ‘Father, please,’ she protested, blushing with pleasure.

  ‘I’ve noticed.’

  ‘Wait until you taste her cakes. They’re so light they almost float.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Really?’ Connie asked and their heads got together again.

  ‘Would you like to try your hand at shooting this afternoon?’ I asked the Doctor.

  ‘I’ve never been very comfortable with guns, but I used to fish as a boy. Wouldn’t mind casting a rod again.’

  ‘John and I are going fishing tomorrow. You can tag along if you’d like?’

  The Doctor’s face brightened, ‘I’d love to!’

  ‘May I come shooting?’ Robyn asked.

  I raised an eyebrow at John. He shrugged. ‘How’s your ankle? We move at a good clip and will be covering a fair bit of ground.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  I didn’t like it, but Connie had a suggestion. ‘Why don’t I come too? I can leave young John with my mother. She’ll be here within the half hour. If Robyn gets tired, I can guide her back.’

  ‘We could do the north beat,’ prompted John.

  I realised what he was saying. There was an old croft up there we’d converted into a rescue shelter. We could leave the women there. It was about time the provisions left there were checked anyway.

  ‘Aye, we’ll do that then.’

  We took our time. Robyn had began to limp a little which concerned me. ‘How’s your ankle shaping up?’

  She looked up at me and smiled bravely, ‘It’s ok.’

  ‘We’re almost there,’ I pointed ahead, ‘just over this small rise.’

  As we rounded the hill she gasped. I had to admit it was a beautiful scene. Tucked into the hillside beside a small Lochan and built from surrounding stone stood the small croft, now the rescue hut, it fitted in well.

  Not ten feet from the door sat a small pool; water trickled down from it, over the rocks and into the Lochan below. The pool itself was fed from a natural spring. The water was the most beautiful tasting in the world.

  John and I made a beeline for it. He disappeared into the hut and reappeared with two old jam jars. We washed them out in the pool and held them under the trickle to fill.

  I raised mine to the sunlight. It was crystal clear. ‘To the Real Water of Life, John.’ We clinked glasses and downed them in one long pull. I’d almost forgotten how good it tasted.

  Robyn walked up laughing, ‘what are you two doing?’

  ‘You have to taste this Robyn.’ I recharged the glass and handed it to her. John handed his to Connie.

  Robyn seemed unsure, ‘it’s just water.’

  ‘Is it? We’ll see,’ I knew she’d soon change her tune.

  Connie jiggled her elbow, ‘go on, taste it, down it all in one.’ Connie tipped the glass to her lips and drank deeply.

  Robyn followed suit and managed to drink it all. Her eyes sparked with delight. ‘Is this really water?’ She laughed.

  ‘It is.’ I took back the glass. ‘You can travel the world over, and never taste anything like it.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘We call it the Real Water of Life.’

  Connie snickered; I ignored her and returned the glasses to the hut. The women had another name for it: the Water of Love. Any woman who accepted a glass from a man’s hand was, as legend had it, destined to marry him.

  I heard Robyn squeal as this information was relayed to her. I ignored it. After all, it was only a legend. I also ignored John’s grin. I knew for a fact he’d brought Connie up here and then proposed to her.

  The old croft had collapsed while we’d been away to war. Upon returning, we’d rebuilt it into this rescue hut. One room with a Rayburn stove for cooking and heat and a double bed with a horsehair mattress and a pile of old army blankets.

  Shelves offered cooking and eating utensils, plus enough tinned goods for about five days. There were also tins of tea, sugar and dried milk. A door at the back gave way to an outhouse and a lean-to, filled with peats and enough hay for an animal.

  John and I started to check the state of the tins. The girls burst in. Connie’s eyes landed on the bed and she flushed. I suddenly realised why and tried to hide a smile. There was no doubt in my mind our Connie lost her virginity on that bed. Come to think of it, half the women in the Glen probably had.

  It was little wonder most of these tins were more than a few weeks or months old, and it was always kept spotless. Until now it was something I’d given little thought to.

  ‘This place is so quaint,’ Robyn smiled, ‘but what’s it for?’ John and Connie had gone a finer shade of red.

  ‘The winters here can be fierce. There are three of these huts dotted around the glens of the estate. They’re for anyone who finds themselves trapped far from home. They’re here to provide food, shelter and warmth in an emergency. The idea is, if you get stuck and use any of the provisions you eventually replace them.’

  ‘That’s a really good idea.’

  ‘We think so. Actually none of this stuff’s out of date.’ I turned over the last tin scratching my head. ‘Some of it only looks to be about a fortnight old.’

  ‘Did you have any bad storms then?’

  ‘No.’

  John coughed. ‘Maybe it was the first chance someone got to replace something they used. We’d better get going.’

  ‘Aye your right,’ I agreed.

  We covered the ground quickly. Both of us had three gun bags apiece and quickly filled the first. There was a lot of game on CarnMo’r. We didn’t hold big shoots like most of the other estates, neither did we have paying guests as was beginning to become common practice elsewhere.

  We flushed a blue hare and John snapped off a shot. It tumbled into the heather. I had been looking for an opportunity to broach a subject all day. In the end John got sick of waiting.

  ‘Ok! What is it Alasdair?’

  ‘What’s what?’

  ‘Whatever it is you’ve been chafing at the bit about all day and haven’t had the balls to ask yet.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘You mean Robyn?’

  ‘Damn it man,’ my temper flaring at being so transparent, but quickly dissipated.

  John sat himself down on a big tussock of heather. ‘I’m not moving until you start speaking.’

  I knew he knew, and I knew he meant what he said, ‘Och it’s stupid.’

  ‘Not to you, you’re attracted to her aren’t you?’

  ‘It would be hard for a man not to be.’

  He nodded. ‘She’s certainly a beauty. I think she’s also taken quite a fancy to you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘I thought so, but I just wasn’t su
re.’

  ‘Then what’s your problem man? Go after her.’

  I felt the panic stir deep inside. ‘But how? How do you go about seducing a woman like that? I have no experience with … …’

  ‘Decent women,’ he supplied.

  ‘You could put it like that. I mean she’s not going to jump into bed with me for a tin of coffee or a bag of sugar, is she?’

  He grinned, ‘I don’t suppose she will, no.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So how do you go about seducing her?’

  ‘Aye.’

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Maybe she isn’t the seducing type, have you thought of that?’

  A wave of panic struck me. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maybe she’s the marrying type.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid man; the Glen would be in an uproar if I married an American. Besides, American women are pretty loose aren’t they? According to their own troops they were, anyway.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take soldiers talk as gospel if I were you, Alasdair. As for the Glen they would just have to get used to it. Besides, there’s more than one man here that owes his life to her father. That’s got to count for something.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe, so how do I proceed?’

  He fiddled with a couple of cartridges while thinking it over. ‘Try and stay as close to her as possible. Pay her a lot of attention, compliment her.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Clothes, hair, woman stuff.’

  ‘Aye right ok, but what would be the right time to try and kiss her?’

  ‘Now there’s a thing, what you need is a plan of attack.’

  ‘Really!’ I was impressed. ‘That works with women?’

  ‘Och aye Alasdair it’s imperative with women. There is no enemy more unpredictable or cunning. They will out flank you at every turn.’

  ‘Aye now that’s a thing I’ve noticed before.’

  He was grinning now, enjoying my discomfort, no doubt. ‘If you stay close to her the rest of the week that will give you a good jumping off point for the kiss.’

  ‘Aye …’

  ‘Then on Saturday you go on the offensive.’

  ‘The Ceilidh!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Aye, be seen with her. Take her up to dance… … a lot.’