‘Men are nothing more than boys with beards and so I shall always say!’ It was Mrs MacLeod. Looking about, Lydia saw that a number of the castle staff had come out to watch the sporting. ‘We shall get no work done now for the next hour or more!’ Despite her words, she sat herself down beside Lydia and Mairead as if she had every intention of staying.
‘I had no idea there was such a thing as shinty! Indeed, I have never seen anything like it!’
Mrs MacLeod narrowed her eyes. ‘Aye, well. It used to be part of warrior training, for it builds muscle and skill, and the ability to work together.’ She nodded towards the field, where Alasdair’s side had just succeeded again in putting the ball between the jackets. ‘And a good leader. The ability to give orders under pressure and to listen to comrades who may see something you cannot...all of these things are much more than the camanachd itself.’
‘So do they play all year round? How come I have not seen this before?’
‘Most of the camanachd games happen in winter and spring, for there is too much work to be done at this time of year for everyone to be distracted so. But we do have one summer game and so the boys feel the need to prepare. In a couple of weeks on July seventeenth, we shall celebrate the Feast of Saint Alexis the Beggar, and we are to play against Angus and his house. They will come to us this year, for we take it in turn. Every tinker and travelling merchant will come, too. It is not just the game, you see. Our folk will spend the best part of a day clearing the space and raising tents, and afterwards there is always a bit of a gathering outside in the field.’ She frowned. ‘We need it this year, Lord knows. Aye, and we shall miss Wee Dòmhnall all the more, for his size and strength was very handy for the shinty.’
‘I can imagine!’ Indeed, Lydia could easily picture Dòmhnall amid the melee and Eilidh sitting watching, along with the rest. ‘How is Eilidh now?’
The housekeeper shrugged. ‘Much the same. Are you still intending to sit with her at four?’
‘Of course! I just hope I may be of some help to her.’
Sitting with Eilidh proved to be challenging in unexpected ways. Not because the girl was demanding. Rather because she was clearly very ill. During Lydia’s hour with her, Eilidh slept fitfully, but did not seem to be resting. Instead she tossed and turned feverishly and refused all of the drinks Lydia tried to tempt her with. Lydia was relieved when Eilidh’s mother arrived to take over, but was determined to continue to play her part.
Over the next few days Eilidh remained dangerously ill. A week after she had collapsed, they all feared the worst and the priest was brought in to anoint her. But some time during that long night Eilidh’s fever broke, and by morning word spread through the castle that she was sleeping in a natural way. By four o’clock when Lydia arrived, Eilidh was sitting up, eating soup, and smiling weakly at Maggie’s efforts to cheer her. Lydia had to pause in the doorway and lean against the frame, so great was her relief. Her tone, however, was light as she continued to Eilidh’s bedside, saying, ‘Well, I am glad you have decided to get better! Mrs MacLeod was very cross with me when you would not drink her tisanes!’
Eilidh made a face. ‘They tasted horrible! This soup is better, but I have had enough now. Oh, Lydia, I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to be sitting up and able to speak and think!’
‘I can only imagine!’ Lydia hugged her gently, feeling how thin she had become. Still, the light in her eyes was very much the old Eilidh.
‘Eilidh, you have hardly eaten anything,’ Maggie protested. ‘Please, try a little more.’
Eilidh refused and Maggie set the bowl down, sighing. ‘You will need to eat to get your strength back, my girl. Why, your dresses will all be too loose on you! You would not wish that, would you?’
Eilidh shrugged, then sent a sly glance Lydia’s way. ‘That would make them just like yours, Lydia!’
‘Ouch!’ Lydia glanced down. ‘I suppose it is a fair comment, though.’ She grinned at Eilidh. ‘You have never liked my too-big dresses.’
‘I shall make a bargain with you,’ the girl offered, her eyes bright with glee. ‘If I promise to eat well, will you allow me to take in all your dresses when I am recovered?’
Lydia did not hesitate. Delighted at Eilidh’s transformation from lingering at death’s door to seemingly regaining some of her former vivacity, she agreed, only afterwards worrying a little about the unwanted attentions that fashionable dresses might lead to. And what of wanted attentions? She could not forget that, on the one occasion when she had worn a dress tailored to her form, Alasdair had danced with her. And no one had bothered her. The place had held plenty of men, young and old, yet no one had importuned her. Perhaps, then, it would not be unreasonable to have dresses that fitted correctly?
Eilidh’s progress after that was not always straightforward and there were days when she was cross, or weak, but little by little, she began to regain her strength. She and Lydia enjoyed their hour together every afternoon and had even begun trying a little French again. Eilidh sometimes got out of bed, but would tire quickly and sleep for a long time after any physical exertion. Then one day, just a few days before the camanachd game and the gathering afterwards, Maggie approached Lydia to ask if she could stay with Eilidh for the full afternoon, as she and the other women of her family were called to her niece, who was giving birth. Lydia assured her she would gladly cover, and took Mairead with her.
Eilidh was delighted to see the child, who hugged her tightly. They chatted together for a little while, Mairead perched on the side of Eilidh’s bed, then the child turned to Lydia, her expression solemn.
‘Lydia, you know our secret for Papaidh?’ Lydia, startled, could only nod. ‘Well, I should like to tell Eilidh.’
‘If you are certain?’
Mairead nodded and turned back to Eilidh, who was looking from one to the other, mystified.
‘Eilidh,’ Mairead said, all determined practicality, ‘when I was four I was very sick and I was in bed for a long time, just like you.’
Eilidh swallowed, then nodded. ‘Yes, you were. We are both lucky to have another chance at life, I think.’
Mairead was only half listening, seemingly entirely focused on what she had planned to say. ‘When I was sick in bed I forgot how to use my legs and they changed from girl legs into baby legs.’ The child was entirely focused on Eilidh and it warmed Lydia’s heart to see how earnestly Mairead was telling her tale.
She has thought much about this.
Eilidh laughed lightly. ‘Well, I understand that now, for each time I try to walk I am weak as a cat afterwards!’
‘You must try though, Eilidh, because if you practise hard your legs will get strong again. Lydia will help you, because Lydia knows everything.’
‘I would not say I know everything, Mairead!’
‘Well, it is true you do not know how to tell a bull from a cow, which is unfortunate, and you did not know any of our words at first, but you are learning very fast. You are very clever,’ she added, in much the same tone that Lydia often used with her. ‘Now, can you put me on the floor here?’
‘You mistook a bull for a cow?’ Eilidh’s eyes were dancing. ‘That must have led to an interesting encounter. I do hope you were not trying to milk the bull at the time!’
‘Oh, hush now!’ Lydia picked Mairead up and deposited her gently on the carpet at the side of Eilidh’s bed. ‘Just watch.’
Eilidh did and her hand flew to her mouth as Mairead manoeuvred herself into the right position, then raised herself on to her knees, all the while gripping the side of Eilidh’s bed. ‘Oh, my Lord! Mairead!’
The child ignored her, focusing all her efforts on raising herself on to first one foot, then the other. Rising, she stood tall and proud at the side of Eilidh’s bed, gripping the counterpane, and finally allowed a broad smile to spread across her face. ‘Look, Eilidh, I am standing like a proper girl!’
‘You are! Oh, Mairead, you—you angel!’ She hugged the child tightly and Lydia was unsurprised to see that tears were flowing down Eilidh’s cheeks. ‘I saw that you were eating more,’ Eilidh declared, ‘and that you have a healthy colour in your cheeks, but I never anticipated this!’
‘So you see, Eilidh, you must eat your dinners, go outside and practise—’ Mairead’s little face was filled with earnest sincerity ‘—and then you will be well again.’
After making use of her own handkerchief, Lydia swallowed, hoping that her voice would not waver. ‘Now, Mairead, can you show Eilidh how you can walk sideways?’
Mairead did so, carefully side-stepping all the way to the bottom of the bed and back, while using the bed for balance. ‘Wonderful!’ Lydia and Eilidh both clapped in delight, and Lydia picked Mairead up and hugged her. ‘Now, Mairead, shall we show Eilidh the last thing—the thing we have been working on at the sandbanks?’
Mairead nodded and Lydia knelt to the floor, holding both the child’s hands. First she let go of one, then the other. Mairead stood firm, without even needing to hold her hands out as she had when they had first attempted this. She had been working hard on her balance and was now able to stand well for quite an extended time. When she tried to take a step though, she often panicked, or lost her balance just at the thought of it.
‘Would you like to try a step?’ Lydia asked gently.
With a brief glance in Eilidh’s direction, Mairead nodded firmly.
Lydia shuffled backwards until she was just out of reach, then held out her arms. ‘Come on then.’
Mairead’s arms flew out wide as she lifted her right foot, placing it a few inches in front of the other. She almost managed to steady herself, before losing balance and sinking down to the carpet with a firm bump. ‘Ow!’ she exclaimed. ‘Your floor is much harder than the sand, Eilidh!’
Lydia hardly heard her. ‘You nearly walked, Mairead! By yourself! You nearly took a step!’’
‘I know!’ Mairead shrugged. ‘I knew I could. I think I shall be walking very soon.’
‘In that case,’ Lydia said gently, ‘I think it is time to show your papaidh. He will not wish to miss your first steps.’
‘Do you think so?’
Lydia nodded. ‘I have heard a very wise saying since I came to the Islands: “It is no secret when three know it.” I think we must be fair to your papaidh and tell him very soon.’
‘Today?’
Lydia considered this. ‘Perhaps we should invite him to accompany us to the sandbanks tomorrow? You can practise more easily there.’
It was all agreed, and Lydia waited until the next morning before seeking out the Laird to invite him. She found him in his parlour with Iain, engaged in reviewing accounts. ‘Oh! I do not mean to intrude...’
‘Something ails Mairead?’ He was frowning, so she made haste to reassure him.
‘Not at all! But...’ she took a breath ‘...we—that is to say, Mairead has asked if you could accompany us to the sandbanks today?’
He grinned. ‘Mairead, eh? She is demanding, my daughter.’
‘Only occasionally. I still prefer to describe her as strong-willed. She knows her own mind.’
‘If she is so strong-willed at six, I dread to think what she may be like at sixteen!’ He glanced out of the window. ‘This fair weather will likely end later. The castle weather-watchers tell me there will be rain tonight.’ He glanced at Iain. ‘What say you? Perhaps another hour of this now, then we can continue tomorrow?’
‘Of course! Away and enjoy yersels!’
The Laird turned back to Lydia, and she felt the usual thrill when he looked at her. ‘I shall accompany you both, but not to the sandbanks. With no spring tide today they will not be exposed.’
‘Dash it all!’ Lydia could not help the expletive. ‘Apologies for my colourful language. I had thought I was getting better at learning the tides.’
He grinned. ‘Never worry. I have a better notion.’
‘Oh, but—’
‘Ask Mrs MacLeod to pack a picnic for us.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Perhaps this is exactly what I need today—a break from my responsibilities before the gathering.’
A little over an hour later they left Ardmore, Alasdair promising to Mrs MacLeod that they would be back by nightfall. Nightfall! That was hours and hours away. Lydia’s heart sang at the knowledge that she would spend the rest of the day in the company of the two people who were dearest to her in all the world. Alasdair was carrying Mairead and commenting lightly on how sturdy she was getting. Lydia hid a smile.
You will discover later just how sturdy!
Mrs MacLeod had tied the picnic food up in a tartan blanket for, she had declared, Lydia would doubtless soon tire of an awkward basket. She had showed Lydia how to tie the bundle to her, in the way of the islanders, and Lydia was quite enjoying the sensation of being like them, even for a day.
Perhaps, she mused, I might imagine that this bundle I am carrying is my baby, mine and Alasdair’s, and we are out for a family excursion.
The notion sent her heart soaring and she had to have a stern word with herself for being so fanciful—particularly since Alasdair had not shown any sign of wishing to repeat that thunderous kiss. Still, being in his company already meant that today was special.
He led them across the moors eastwards and north and they all chatted idly and easily as they traversed the countryside. The summer greening was now complete and the brown landscapes were now interspersed with swathes of grassy hills hiding birds and small animals, some of whom objected strongly to the passage of the Laird, his daughter and her governess.
As a governess, nothing like this had ever happened to Lydia before. Indeed, the very notion of striding out with her charge and a man into a wilderness such as this was simply preposterous. There were simply no London parallels that Lydia could even imagine. She attempted to picture Alasdair or Angus or indeed any of the men in Lady Barnstable’s drawing room and failed entirely.
‘You are smiling about something.’ The Laird was eyeing her closely. ‘Can you share your secret?’
‘I was just thinking how unlike London this all is.’ She gestured vaguely.
He frowned. ‘I have been to Glasgow and to Edinburgh, but never as far as London. Angus and I may need to go there, if our attempts to purchase the land through letters and agents come to naught.’ He glanced at her. ‘I cannot conceive of a city so large.’
‘It is large indeed and swallows up new villages each few years.’
‘You must miss it.’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all.’
He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Not even the ices at—Gunter’s, I believe?’
She laughed. ‘Not even that. I believe myself to be adaptable, as a governess must, but this place is invading my soul.’ She considered her own words, which revealed a truth she had not herself before considered. ‘The people are wonderful and the wildness of the landscape enthralling.’
And you. You are enthralling.
‘Then you do not intend to leave any time soon?’ His tone was mild, but she knew she must be careful in her answer.
‘I am truly content here at present and I have no plans to leave.’ Unspoken but ever-present within her was the knowledge that he might marry again and she did not think her heart could survive seeing him with a wife. Yet neither could she imagine wrenching herself away from him, from Mairead, from the island community, from the place. She swallowed. ‘I hope that you are content with my work and do not plan to dismiss me?’
Asking the question was almost a habit, as she no longer harboured any serious concerns that he was unhappy with her teaching. Yet she had been dismissed so many times before, and so arbitrarily, that she could never feel fully at ease. He was different to her other employers. She knew it. Knew he was of the islanders, who valued loyalty and honour, and who did not behave irrationally with regard to such matters.
They value women here—and not as possessions or ornaments.
Yet she could also not forget that she was the outsider, the Sassenach.
‘You are a gifted teacher, Lydia. Is she not, mo nighean?’
‘She is the bestest!’ the child confirmed as her father switched her to the other hip. Lydia winked at her and Mairead giggled with glee.
‘What is this?’ He looked from one to the other, mystified.
‘You will have to wait and see, Papaidh. When we get to the sand you will find out.’
‘Very well.’ He clearly had no idea what was in store. Lydia hugged the knowledge to herself. While she had a slight concern that he might be angry with her for working on Mairead’s walking without informing him, she hoped that his pride in his daughter would be stronger.
They were continuing eastwards and at a certain point he paused, pointing. ‘Rossinish,’ he declared, before leading them forward. ‘Here the Prince landed in a storm after Culloden and from here he departed for Skye, some months later.’ As they walked, he told the story for Mairead, who had clearly heard it before. Nevertheless, the child asked excited questions and seemed genuinely interested. Lydia, too, learned more details of the Bonnie Prince’s sojourn in Benbecula, how Clanranald had helped and concealed him, and how Flora MacDonald and Neil MacEachan from South Uist had helped him escape, in a daring plan devised by Captain Crawford. Like Lydia, Mairead found it astonishing that the Prince had dressed as a woman in order to evade the English soldiers.
They paused for their picnic on the moors of Rossinish and it seemed to Lydia that they were the only people in the entire world. In every direction, there was no sign of human presence—no roads, no buildings, no tilled fields. This was nature, entirely untamed. The green and brown landscape melded into blue and white sky on every side, while the heavens above were the highest and largest Lydia had ever seen.
We are so small and unimportant. And yet...
She glanced at Mairead who was munching contentedly, a rosy colour in her cheeks and her legs stretched out immobile before her.
What we do with our lives has profound meaning.
By mid-afternoon they reached their destination—a beautiful beach, in the very bay where Bonnie Prince Charlie had left for Skye. The sand was so white it was blindingly beautiful and the sea was a deep, clear blue, with a turquoise hue near the shore. It was perfect.
Alasdair was trying to tell Mairead a little more of the tale of the Bonnie Prince, but the child had lost all interest, merely urging her papaidh to ‘put me down’.
He did so and Lydia crouched down beside Mairead to remove her slippers and stockings. ‘All is well,’ she murmured, and Mairead nodded tightly. Lydia could sense her anxiety, but knew not how to alleviate it. Kneeling with Mairead, she simply waited.
‘Papaidh.’
‘Yes, my love?’ Despite the enormity of the moment, and knowing what Mairead was about to do, Lydia still felt a surge of emotion at his words. He had spoken to his daughter, of course, but oh! How might it be to be loved by such a man?
‘I—’ Unusually, Mairead was lost for words, it seemed. ‘I shall just show you.’