Rhanna at War Read online

  ‘You silly bugger!’ she had scolded Tam McKinnon. ‘Did you really think I was not knowing it was my Jack’s still you were after? Clean out my byre indeed! You that canny even keep your own grass cut! It’s the sheeps that do it for you!’ Here she and Kate had exchanged hostile glances. ‘No, it’s not daft I am, Tam McKinnon,’ she had continued with asperity. ‘My Jack was brewing the malt while you were still cutting milk teeths!’ A dreamy look had come into her short-sighted eyes. ‘My, the times we had in the blackhoosie . . . up there in the wee secret room . . . ay, they knew how to build hoosies in those days. My grandfather was the one to start the still and the secret of it was passed down to my Jack . . . ay, and much as I’ve missed him it’s a wee taste o’ his whisky I’m missing too. Yours will never match his but since you’re a beginner to the art I will give you fair judgement.’

  ‘But how did you know it was tonight, Annack?’ Tam asked humbly.

  ‘Hmph! Anybody with half a nostril could tell, so don’t think I’m the only one to be knowing. Every time I am passing your house my nose is telling me the malt gets riper. I have been keeping a sharp guard on Tammy here . . . all that snooping about at all hours. I knew there was something brewing all this time so I threatened Tammy with the Customs mannie and he couldn’t get me along here fast enough.’

  But Tammy and his ready treachery had been soon forgotten in the spree that followed. The whisky, its attraction doubly enhanced by its rich amber colouring, had soon transported everyone into an idyllic world where no enmity existed.

  And so it was when Angus came into this gathering and the door of ‘the Headquarters’ was securely bolted. The uninhibited sounds of hilarity in the wash-hoosie very effectively shut away the sounds of the outside world and no one heard the drone of an aircraft circling low over the island.

  Shona had gone up to bed early and lay looking at the moonbeams spread over the floor of her room. It was a habit of hers to keep the curtains open so that she could lie and look at the night sky before falling asleep, and also to see what sort of day it was as soon as she wakened. Even if it was a grey, wind-tossed day the bright yellow cloth always gave the room a sunshiny feel. She always insisted on yellow curtains because somehow they were a part of her childhood and gave her an odd feeling of security, something that didn’t change when everything else did.

  Just before New Year, Kirsteen had wanted to put new curtains into her room but she had refused the suggestion vehemently enough for Kirsteen to look hurt and slightly bewildered. Shona was sorry she occasionally showed her temper to Kirsteen, but it was something she couldn’t help, that and the feeling of being on the defensive at a lot of the little changes that Kirsteen naturally enough wanted to make to Laigmhor. But the last two days had been wonderfully happy for her. It was so good to be back on Rhanna. Her separation from it had made her appreciate it all the more. Her outlook on life had broadened a good deal in the last few months, and coming home had let her see just how lucky she was to have Kirsteen and her father to come home to, and though she had been away from them she was somehow now closer to them than ever. Her father was so different from the proud, aloof creature who had mourned in his heart for many years, first for her mother, then for Kirsteen during their long period of separation. Finally, his deep, dark eyes had lost their look of sadness and now glowed with the joy of living. Then there was Grant Fergus, a manly, dimpled little boy with the looks of a cherub and the gruff façade of a child with a heart so soft he had to try hard to hide it all the time. He tried with Shona but never quite succeeded, and into her own heart crept a real tenderness for the small stranger who was her half-brother.

  But if only Niall was home and they could get together again, be the way they were before the war, young and carefree with no heavy burdens of the heart to weigh it down and make it ache all the time. Shona felt about under her pillow and her fingers curled round the locket Niall had given her as an engagement present before he had gone away to France. His picture was in it, beside hers, and the only time she took it off was when she went to bed. She trembled suddenly and put up a slender finger to trace the outline of the little damp patch above her bed which was shaped like the head of Jesus. ‘Oh my dear sweet Jesus,’ she whispered, ‘you are the only one who can help me now for I feel I can’t help myself any more. You know what I did with Niall was wrong but somehow I know you’ve forgiven me for that. But it’s myself that can’t forgive myself, if that doesn’t sound too daft, so please help me, dearest Lord, to overcome myself. Let Niall know in his heart that I love him more than anyone else in the world. He’s so nice and dear and it worries me sometimes that someone else just might come along and take the feet from under him and I couldn’t bear that. If Mirabelle is there beside you at this very moment let her know that I love her and still miss her so. I can still see her nice rosy face and her white hair shining out from under her mutch cap. Good night for now, Lord.’

  Her prayers to God were always very simple, childlike affairs but were so satisfying for her that they never failed to bring her a certain measure of comfort. She stared through the window up into the velvet blue-black night where millions of stars glittered brightly. It was so beautiful she pulled herself up in bed to get a better view of the night world. The moon was peeping sullenly from behind a big silver-lined cloud, its pale halo making the heavens vast and coldly infinite. The ragged peaks of Sgurr nan Ruadh reared up to embrace the great emptiness of space with intimate approval, shutting out the tiny speck of Man from the secrets shared by the heavens and the highest places of Earth.

  A light tap came on the door and Babbie whispered, ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Yes, I’m not asleep.’

  The door opened and Babbie flitted over to sit on the bed. ‘Of course you’re not asleep, you daft thing. If you had been you wouldn’t have answered me, would you?’

  ‘I might, I sometimes talk in my sleep,’ Shona giggled. ‘Will I light the lamp?’

  ‘No, the moonlight’s lovely. Just let me snuggle my feet under a bit of your blanket. Then we can have a cosy talk before bed.’

  ‘Have you just come up?’

  ‘Yes, I was helping Kirsteen fill the zinc tub. She’s having a bath in front of the fire.’

  ‘But, wasn’t Father there to do that? He usually makes it his business to do such things for Kirsteen, for myself too for that matter.’

  ‘He went up to bed early-ish so I stayed behind to have a chat with Kirsteen. She’s a dear. Interesting and a lot of fun. She has a great sense of humour. Funny little things pop out when you least expect them. I knew you wouldn’t be asleep, that’s why I looked in. You were thinking of Niall, weren’t you?’

  ‘Ay, as a matter of fact I was.’ Shona’s tone was wary. ‘Isn’t it natural to think of someone you love? Bed I always find is the best place for such thoughts because during the day everyone about you prattles on about nothing that matters and you can’t get a thought in edgeways. Don’t you ever think about your most secret things when you’re in bed?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Babbie laughed lightly. ‘That’s why I always try to go to bed as late as possible so that I don’t have the strength left to think.’

  Shona put out her hand and clasped Babbie’s firmly. ‘You daft thing,’ she said affectionately. ‘Would you like me to get up and make you a nice big mug of hot cocoa? I know we’ve already had some but a second cup won’t do any harm . . .’ She smothered a laugh. ‘Just as long as you know where to find your chanty in the middle of the night.’

  ‘How could I miss it?’ choked Babbie. ‘These country chamber pots are so enormous you could have a bath in them! I think we’ll forget the cocoa though . . . After all, Kirsteen is having her bath in the kitchen.’

  ‘She won’t mind. I often wash her back for her.’

  ‘Maybe you’d best leave that to your father this time.’

  ‘But he’s in bed and likely asleep by now!’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure.’

&nbs
p; Babbie sounded so mysterious that Shona burst out, ‘Ach, you talk in riddles, Babbie Cameron!’

  ‘And you’re so naïve at times I feel like giving you a good spanking. You’re often too old for your years but sometimes you’re like a little girl who can’t see what’s under her nose. Your father and Kirsteen haven’t been speaking to each other since we came.’

  ‘But . . . they’ve been talking their heads off! You’re a witch right enough, Babbie.’

  ‘Oh, they’ve talked all right, but only for our benefit. When she isn’t looking he’s making sheep’s eyes at her and when he isn’t looking she looks as if she might eat him at any moment. What better way to make up than over a bath tub?’

  ‘Oh.’ Shona wasn’t too sure she liked the idea of that and easily betrayed her thoughts by her tone of voice.

  ‘Listen,’ Babbie laughed, ‘if you were Kirsteen and Niall was your father wouldn’t you take advantage of a midnight bath in the kitchen?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Shona said doubtfully.

  ‘Ach, of course you would! Me too for that matter. We’re all human, Shona McKenzie, and like it or no, your father and Kirsteen are so much in love at the moment they’re like a couple of bairns playing at houses. You and me are going to have a nice long talk even if it’s only a lot of rubbish. Stop grabbing at the blankets and give me a nice big bit to wrap round my legs. Hand me one of those rag dolls of yours to cuddle then we can both be comfy. Fancy, rag dolls at your age! You’re worse than me with my teddy bears!’

  Babbie was right about Fergus and Kirsteen. For two days Kirsteen had been cool with him because of a tiff over a matter so trivial that both knew they were being foolish but neither would give in. Earlier that evening she had kept her fair head averted all through supper. He had watched the fine beauty of her slender body and had wanted to crush her to him because she was even more desirable when she was aloof. Covertly she had observed his strong rugged features with his stubborn set of chin and, as always, the sight of him, his sweet nearness, had turned her heart to jelly. Looking at the little white hairs in his raven sideburns always brought a strange choking feeling to her throat, and just to see the muscular hardness of his body thrilled her with its maleness, yet she had eluded his burning black eyes. It was childish of her, she knew, but somehow the little times of disagreement between them made the making-up doubly exciting. He had gone to bed early but she hadn’t followed and he had tossed and turned, unable to sleep without her at his side. Now it was late, but he finally got up and went quietly down to the warm kitchen. She had just stepped out of the zinc tub and her glistening body was tawny in the glow of the firelight, her crisp hair a deep golden halo of ruffled wet curls. For a moment neither of them spoke then she said coolly, ‘It seems I am afforded no privacy of my own, no matter how late the hour.’

  He felt the laughter rising in his throat. ‘My darling!’ His lilting voice was deep with joy. ‘Am I to spend the rest of my life finding you in dark corners wearing nothing but your birthday suit?’ He was thinking of their first meeting in the fragrant woods above Loch Tenee when he had come upon her drying herself after a swim. It had been the start of a long and turbulent affair that had finally culminated in a promise of marriage. But that had been before he had lost his arm in the accident, before she had sailed away. Now she was his wife of nearly six months and he felt that all the years of unhappiness were just a bad dream. Everything in his life was now doubly precious, and Fergus strode tall and proud, paying no heed to the gossip that had begun in the first weeks of Kirsteen’s return.

  ‘His lordship will no longer be standing on his pedestal,’ Behag Beag had sniffed to her cronies. ‘First his brother Alick gets a girl in trouble and has to be sent away in disgrace. After that we are seeing the terrible shame of his daughter with child and the little hussy holding up that McKenzie head of hers like she was royalty. As if that wasn’t bad enough our ex-schoolmistress comes back to Rhanna complete with McKenzie’s son born out of wedlock. ’Tis a bad name they will be giving this good place and I hope the Lord will forgive them indeed.’

  At that point Erchy the Post had sent everyone scuttling about their business by opening the door and saying in a loud voice, ‘And it is yourself, Mr McKenzie! Just in time for a nice cosy gossip!’

  But now, with the worst of the talk behind them, Kirsteen and Fergus lived a relaxed and happy life. Occasionally there was a clash of personalities because the dominant Fergus liked to get his own way. But Kirsteen had acquired a strong willpower of her own during her years of independence and he was quickly learning that his moody tempers held no threat for her. Also, there was the problem of getting to know the little stranger who was his son. On the whole Grant Fergus was a good-natured child, but he was possessed of a temperament that could change like quicksilver from one mood to another. Fergus didn’t want to introduce the heavy hand too soon but he was a disciplinarian and unable to repress the urge to control the boy. This had brought a spell of resentment, but it was short-lived because the little boy’s irrepressible sense of fun wouldn’t allow him to stay sullen for long. His respect for Fergus was growing stronger with each passing day, as did his sturdy admiration for the big man who had so recently materialized into the father for whom he had always longed.

  Overriding all was the warm, wonderful sense of Laigmhor, once more a family home. For too many years it had been a place with an atmosphere of waiting for an infusion of the life that Fergus’s first wife, Helen, seemed to have taken with her on the night she had died giving birth to Shona. But all that was over now. Fergus was fulfilled and happy. The days were busy with the work of the farm, the evenings filled with the warmth of family togetherness. And the nights belonged to two people making up for their years apart.

  At Fergus’s reference to their first meeting at Loch Tenee Kirsteen’s lips curved and she peeped at him from lowered lashes. Despite the power of his body he looked like a small boy eager to make up for being bad. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the tears of her love for him pricking her eyelids. She was unable to retain her dignity any longer and a soft chuckle escaped her.

  ‘Fergus.’ She whispered his name enticingly and in moments he was crushing her against him, fierce in his passion, his lips hard on hers.

  His heart was beating rapidly. The smell of her was like the sweet, fresh air on the top of a summer mountain; natural, unmasked by perfumes and cosmetics. She was that kind of woman: clean as a mountain bum and uncluttered by feminine trappings yet so utterly desirable in her own right that his senses reeled with her nearness. For a moment he remembered the first night of their marriage with the bed cool and remote-looking, spread with sheets of pure white linen. Unaccountably he had felt awkward and shy, like a young boy entering an unknown phase in his life. She had entered the room looking like a mythical goddess dressed in a white silken nightdress, her hair shining like the pale gold of a summer cornfield. They had been like young lovers, awkward and unsure, lost for words in those first breathless moments. The new white sheets had rustled in the quiet room, adding to their embarrassment; then their feet had touched an assortment of brushes and other bristly accoutrements, placed there by Shona in a moment of mischief. The incident had broken the ice and they had shrieked with stifled merriment, finally falling into each other’s arms in a passion of untamed desire. The memory made him catch his breath with tenderness even while his mouth crushed her lips and his tongue played with hers. Her skin was like silk, parts of it still damp from the bath, the intimate parts that made him forget all else but his need for her.

  Suddenly she pushed him away, her eyes going to the windows, which, though heavily curtained, were a distraction to her senses. ‘Not here, Fergus,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s go up to bed.’

  ‘No, here, Kirsteen . . . by the fire . . . like the night at the schoolhouse.’

  ‘But – we were alone then, my darling. Shona and Babbie are upstairs, they could come down . . . Grant might come into the bedroom look
ing for me – you know he does that sometimes and . . .’

  ‘No, I’m not having that!’ he laughed. ‘All those excuses. The house is asleep . . . and I can’t wait . . .’ He kissed her again and her resolution left her, it always did when he was beside her, doing things to her body that made her forget all else. The hard strength of him excited her; the heat from the fire seemed to burn right into her, till every life force within cried out for release.

  Anton Büttger had noticed little white dots of habitation below and he wanted to get the crippled plane away from them. The only uninhabited area appeared to be the dark stretch of land where the others had jumped. He was over it now and would have to try and come back. He looked at the starboard wing. The fire had fizzled out. It meant the fuel was almost gone. A series of shuddering spurts of speed brought him round the western curve of the island once more. At a dangerously low altitude he flew past humping black mountains and his heart pumped into his throat. He had to get the plane higher in order to jump safely. Relentless slopes rushed to meet him, and even while his pulses raced he thought, ‘There are no houses on top of a mountain. It might be better if she crashed now . . .’

  He tugged at the controls but there was no response. His face was awash with sweat. This was it! Miraculously the Heinkel then responded to his wild handling and lumbered upwards into the sky . . . high enough for him to make the jump. He wondered if he ought to try to climb out of the sliding hatch above the pilot’s seat . . . No, there wasn’t enough time to manipulate himself through the small opening. He ran aft and jumped out of the rear-gunner’s door. The freezing night air whipped him cruelly, and the jagged edges of a massive peak reared up to greet the frail speck of life. Frantically he guided his chute away only to see the cold face of a tiny basin of water sparkling in the moonlight.