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A young woman with a long black plait approached Siobhan.
“Ms Kensington-Wallace, I have your rooms ready when you are.”
Siobhan placed her empty bowl on the table beside her. The young woman was friendly enough, if not a little fierce looking. She wore soft leather trousers, and a finely woven wool shirt. She had a long knife hanging from the belt around her waist, a tactical knife army personnel would use; a quiver of arrows hung beside it. A bow was over her shoulder. Tattoos of a Celtic design, if Siobhan wasn’t mistaken, covered her arm.
“You and Major McLellan will be staying in Rory’s accommodation tonight. Please follow me.” The young woman pivoted and strode toward the door.
Siobhan picked up her duffle bag and followed.
“Umm...Antony. This young lady is taking me to our rooms,” Siobhan said as she passed Antony.
“I’ll follow later.” Antony barely glanced up from the map he studied with the older man named George. He was the same military type as Antony. At least they had found something, or should she say, someone, in common. Their reception hadn’t been as friendly as she’d hoped but going in with a tank wouldn’t cause their hosts to receive them with open arms!
Siobhan walked behind the young woman who had a straight back and tanned, muscled arms. She must spend a lot of time outdoors. She seemed to be close to the young man, Mr Campbell, whose name was Rory. The same name as the man her father made her promise to remember. This Rory could be related to him—a son or grandson.
The corridor from the hall led to a house, which had three bedrooms to the right as Siobhan entered, and a bathroom followed by a kitchen on the left. The walls were dirty, the couch in the living room had permanent dents where people had sat and was devoid of scatter cushions. A pile of old books sat beside the arm of the couch and others were strewn on the coffee table and the floor in front of it. The whole place required a fresh coat of paint and perhaps a new floor covering. Siobhan sensed it hadn’t had a woman’s touch for many years. Freshly washed dishes drained in the sink.
“May I have a shower before I retire?”
“Aye. I can’t see why not.” The woman pointed to the first bedroom. “You can have that one, Ms Kensington-Wallace.”
“Oh, please call me Siobhan.” She placed her duffle bag on the bed next to the towels.
“I’m Kendra. I’m a member of Rory’s crew and I’ll be coming with you tomorrow. Goodnight.” Her plait swung out behind her as she turned and walked through the door.
“Goodnight,” Siobhan said to the closing door.
Siobhan turned and shrugged as she got her things out of her duffle bag and headed for the bathroom where there was a shower cubicle with loose tiles and missing grout. What a day it had been. More like it, and worse, were on their way. Siobhan required a shower to start fresh and clean before their journey north on horses and camping. The water was warm and soothing as it ran down her back. Siobhan glanced down at herself as she washed, satisfied that years of going to the Bunker’s gymnasium had paid off. She didn’t appear a weakling when compared to the Militia woman, Kendra, who had shown her to her room.
Siobhan tingled with excitement, and there was a chill in her spine at the same time. They would be outside in the mountains. She grinned while washing her hair. Sunshine, blue water, green hills. Wait. Maybe not sunshine. The sun didn’t always shine in Scotland. Most of her trips up top were not sunny walks around the small compound surrounded by high concrete walls. She’d have to stop herself from making things seem better than they actually were.
She was on a mission to make safe an unstable nuke, of all things. If it was the real problem. Mr Campbell, Rory, believed the fisherman. It’s all they had to go on. Siobhan had prepared for anything and detonators with timers were amongst the things she’d brought.
What every girl should pack, huh?
Siobhan dried herself and then rummaged in her toilet bag.
Perfume? Why not?
She gave herself a scoosh of scent. She’d be camping for the next who-knows-how-long? There would be no chance to wash. She’d have to cover up her unwashed-body smell with something. She wondered briefly if the women in the Community had perfume. Kendra certainly didn’t wear any.
Siobhan put on her pyjamas and dressing gown and walked to the bedroom as the front door opened and banged closed. She placed her toiletries on her bed and waited to hear who it was. There was a sniff and then a deep voice groaned.
“Och, no.”
“Um, hello is that you, Mr Campbell?” She pulled her silk dressing gown around her and tied it tight, then stepped out of the bedroom alerting her host to her presence and intending to tell him Antony was on his way.
Rory Campbell stood outside the bathroom door leaning against the wall with his head resting on his arm. He’d removed his armour-plated vest and now his tight T-shirt moulded around the very firm musculature of his torso. Tattoos of a similar design to Kendra’s covered the exposed section of his right arm. Tight jeans surrounded muscled thighs. A large knife and a handgun in a holster hung from his belt. He turned; his eyes were wide and his pale face surrounded by curls of russet-ginger hair, and a few day’s growth stubbled his chin. He took his arm away from the wall and stood taller, his chest rose and fell as he blinked a few times.
“Ms Kensington-Wallace.”
“Please, call me Siobhan. Um, Antony will be here soon. Thank you for a nice place to sleep tonight. I guess we won’t have a bed for the next few days.”
Why did she feel so uncomfortable? The man didn’t stop staring at her. He’d regained his composure and didn’t look so pale anymore, but his gaze was becoming disconcerting.
Siobhan cast her eyes around the room to be anywhere but under his stare.
“Is this your mother?” She picked up the only photograph in the room. It was in a tarnished silver frame and covered in dust.
“Aye.” His voice was hoarse. He coughed to clear it.
“She’s beautiful. Do you have any photos of your father?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve heard you are the spitting image of him.”
He didn’t reply.
He had a lot to say at the meeting. Why was this man suddenly mute?
“Was his name Rory, also?”
“No. He was Scott Campbell.” He stood straighter; his voice now clearer.
“Oh. Did he ever go to Oxford? Before the Stock Market Crash?”
“Not as far as I ken. He’d only ever been in the Highlands.” Mr Campbell blinked a few times.
“What was your grandfather’s name?”
A knock at the door finally took his gaze off her. Mr Campbell opened the door and Antony stood in the doorway.
“Oh, I’ve found the right place,” Antony said gruffly and brushed past Mr Campbell, who barely moved out of his way.
Mr Campbell’s lips became a thin line and his eyes narrowed.
So, he either didn’t trust Antony, or he didn’t like him. Siobhan would need to find out. They had to get along for this to work.
“I’ll be wishing you both goodnight. We leave at dawn, and at this time of year, that’s four am. Be ready.” Mr Campbell went into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.
Antony stared at the closed door. “Something’s bothering the boy,” he whispered, then glanced around the room. An expression of disgust crossed his face as he noted its simple furnishings, posters from calendars stuck to the walls and bland floor coverings.
“Goodnight, Antony. Early morning apparently.” Siobhan shut the door behind her. She wasn’t in the mood for his belittling everything about the place.
***
GRUFF MALE VOICES ON the other side of the door awakened Siobhan. Mr Campbell was not to be seen as she left her bedroom. Antony was sitting on the old couch.
“The boy says he’ll be waiting for us in that excuse for a hall and they’ll serve some sort of breakfast there as well.”
“Antony, do be a bit more charitable.” Siobhan grabbed her toiletries and headed for the bathroom.
“He thinks he’s king around here.”
“Well, maybe he is.” Siobhan shut the door behind her. After she finished in the bathroom, she walked back to her room and shoved her toiletries into her duffle bag and then headed out the door.
“He strikes me as a ‘My way or the highway’ kind of guy.” Antony followed her.
Siobhan didn’t answer but rolled her eyes.
“George, now he’s a great guy, well he says Rory is his father-all-over.” Antony commented behind her.
They entered the hall where three of the Community’s women served a breakfast of porridge and scrambled eggs. The aroma of freshly baked bread greeted her nostrils and her stomach grumbled.
Mr Campbell was in deep discussion with another man who looked identical to him. Twins? Mr Campbell tied back his long hair, but his brother wore his cropped short. Both were armed, Mr Campbell had a rifle slung over his shoulder and his twin had a holstered handgun strapped to each thigh. This man held a pregnant woman to his side. Mr Campbell broke off conversation and walked outside as his twin embraced the woman.
“So, we have pared down to essentials, Ms Kensington-Wallace.” Sanjay held a black computer bag in each hand. “We have allowed for no power source. I’ve packed two fully charged spare batteries.” He grinned, always wanting to please her. She was close to Sanjay and his brother Sundeep. It sounded odd when Sanjay called her Ms Kensington-Wallace, but they were on official duty now and they would adhere to formalities.
“Very well.” She flicked her attention back to her task of preparing to leave. “You and Sundeep have everything I specified?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Antony approached her. “We’re taking only two armed men! They have the boy—Rory and his crew.” He stopped his line of attack on glancing at her expression. “Let’s get this equipment on the horses. This will be fun. I used to ride as a child. You ever ride, Siobhan?”
“No.” Oh, she hadn’t considered that. Horses need to be ridden.
Siobhan followed Antony outside to where they loaded horses with gear. Silver-coloured nuclear protective-gear and respirators hung in bags from the harnesses of the two pack mules. Detonators and timers, and the other small items of equipment required, were on the mules along with the camping gear, although they’d pared it down. Tents, sleeping bags and food. No camp stretchers? Wow, they would rough it.
The horses saddled for riding waited beside the building. There was one for her. A younger lad, with a look of Campbell about him, held the reins of horses and smiled as they approached.
“We’ve chosen our most placid animals. We thought you may not be familiar with horse riding.” The young man’s friendly smile continued. He looked similar to the one who hovered around the computers, but this one was sturdier. Another set of twins?
“Mount up.” The deep voice behind her was Rory Campbell’s. Siobhan turned. He was sitting on a tall dark horse, a stallion, which nickered and pranced briefly before he pulled its reins and spoke softly to it. The language wasn’t English.
“Can I help you, Ms Kensington-Wallace?” the young man holding the reins asked.
“Oh, please. My name’s Siobhan. What’s yours?”
“I’m Brendan, Siobhan. Hold the pommel with your left hand and put your left foot in my hands.” Brendan knitted his fingers together and held them at knee height. When she had put her foot in, he hoisted her up until she could swing her right leg over the animal and sit. “Now put your feet in the stirrups and hold the reins.”
Siobhan did so and grimaced, her palms moist and slippery around the leather reins.
“You know the basics, aye? Kick to go. Pull on the reins to stop. Tug left or right whichever way you want to go. Got it?”
“Umm, yes.” She gripped the reins tight and pulled back. The horse let out a breathy nicker and stepped to the side. The ground was further down than she expected. Her legs trembled against the side of the horse. “You’re coming, aren’t you? You’ll keep me right?”
“Och, no. Rory will nae let me.” Brendan’s gaze dropped to his feet.
Antony, Sanjay and Sundeep had mounted and looked more comfortable than she felt.
“Come on now, Siobhan, don’t let the side down.” Antony sent a warning glance her way.
The group filed out. The Chinese man led the way and the Community’s contingent split in two. Some in front and some behind the Government group. The Government Communications Officer, Geoff, who was of medium height and rather plain, but knew his job, was managing the horse well too.
Why was she finding it so difficult?
They followed the gravel road, which made its way between the two hills behind the Community’s compound. Siobhan’s only view was the small section of it between her horse’s ears. It nickered and its ears flicked back often, as if it was trying to hear her behind it. She was a little way behind Sundeep, so she kicked, and the horse trotted. It took all her balance to stay in the saddle. She pulled the reins, and it stopped dead. So, she kicked it again, much softer this time, and it walked. Sanjay turned and smiled encouragingly at her. Antony kept his eyes forward.
Thanks for the support, guys.
“You need to let the horse know you are the boss.” The deep voice of Rory Campbell came beside her. “Hold the reins a little shorter. That’s it. And give her a wee gentle kick now and then to let her know you haven’t forgotten her, and that she can’t do whatever she wants. Like eat any blade of grass that looks nice.”
“Thank you, Mr Campbell.”
“Rory.”
“Rory. So, this is a mare then?”
“Aye. One of our most placid animals.”
Was he quietly amused or genuinely helpful?
Now slightly more confident with the guidance she’d received, she relaxed a little into the saddle. Siobhan glanced sideways at him. Rory rode a horse as if his mother had given birth to him while riding one herself. He looked like he was part of his big black animal, like a centaur. Maybe that’s how the myth arose.
Rory looked around constantly.
Siobhan had been so intent on riding and not falling off, she hadn’t yet looked at the surroundings. To their right was an enormous mountain covered in green grass with grey rocks protruding from it here and there. No heather on this one. She’d expected purple heather, but it may not have flowered yet. She followed Rory’s gaze to the top. It was quite a way up and she was glad they wouldn’t be walking it. It appeared they were to travel along its base.
“That’s Bhienn Fionn, a Munro, isn’t it? Glad we are not climbing it.” She tried to make conversation.
“Aye.” Rory gave a distracted answer as he turned his horse and trotted back to his crew, who rode behind them.
Siobhan glanced over her shoulder. Rory conversed with his twin. The older man, George, had stayed back at the compound, in case there were any unwanted arrivals. Like the rag-tag group they had outrun on their way. George oversaw the Militia, but Rory was their leader. His crew, as he called them, always deferred to him and obeyed every command he uttered. And they appeared to be genuinely fond of him. Admire him even.
Kendra was there too. She was often by Rory’s side. Siobhan recalled that on the previous evening, Rory had been in close conversation with her. She had whispered something in his ear, and he had looked uncomfortable, even blushed. They could be together as he was a very attractive man. It was surprising no young woman had kissed him goodbye, like the woman who had kissed his twin brother.
Passing the base of the mountains, they were now in an open area where the wind howled across a green glen which opened out into an undulating area of grass and low growing heather. An elongated loch ran beneath the opposite mountain and an old road, now in chunks and more than half washed away, drove down the middle of the valley they headed through. A pebbled covered burn snaked beside it weaving its trail of grey through the whole valley.
Siobhan had forgotten the Highland wind. Loose strands of her hair blew into her eyes, brushing her face like an unseen hand. It whispered to her of the Highlands and she floated for a while; perhaps it wished her well or warned her.
Her horse had strayed away from the others, further into the grassy flat and near a clump of brown bracken fern and heather not in flower. A sudden fluttering of wings to her left accompanied a medium-sized brown bird which flew away from her direction and another followed quickly. They emitted a rapid clicking sound as they flew low over the ground. The horse reared, and Siobhan landed heavily as the mare galloped off.
“Umph.” Siobhan lay dazed for only a moment and sat up to see Callum, Rory’s twin, riding fast to catch the horse. The sound of hooves came behind her and footsteps landed near her. She turned. Rory stood over her, an amused expression on his face.
“You okay?” His mouth curled at one side.
“I’m fine.”
Rory held out his hand, and when she took it, he pulled her to a standing position. He was a tall man, and her eyes viewed his shirt at the level of two open top buttons where russet chest hair peeped out.
“Thank you.” She swallowed.
His brother returned with her horse.
“Callum has brought your horse back for you and you ken what you have to do now?”
“What?” Siobhan shook her head slightly as she spoke.
“Get back on.” He raised his eyebrows.
Get back on.
Was he daring her? Of course, she’d get back on.
She took the reins from Callum’s hands and positioned herself for a knee up, as Brendan had called it. Rory grabbed her knee and, with little warning, she was right at the height to throw her other leg over and sit in the saddle. The mare pranced, but soon settled.
“You okay, aye?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Rory remounted and walked his horse back to the group which had paused for her. Siobhan turned her horse and followed; her face warmed as everyone looked at her. Once she was back in line, they continued their journey.
“You ken that was a wee grouse and his mate you disturbed there?” Rory remained walking his horse beside her. “It’s best you dinnae leave the trail, aye?” His Scottish burr sounded thicker.
“It wasn’t my intention. It’s just...so lovely out here.” She let the awe stay in her tone.
Rory smiled. “That it is.” He kicked his horse forward to the front group and spoke with the Chinese man, Xian, for a while.
Siobhan recalled the equestrian events from the old films of the Olympic Games, which had been part of history classes at school in the Government Bunker. Comparing Rory to those riders, he sat a horse well. For that matter, every rider from the Community did.
Up top, it was the age of the horse once more. And she didn’t know how to ride. Just her luck. And it wasn’t coming naturally, as it seemed to for the men in her group.
Then her horse began to gallop of its own accord. Siobhan held on with her legs, but it was no use. She shook as she desperately tried to cling to the saddle, her hands losing their grip with the jolting motion of the horse. Ahead was a section of the narrow burn.
Was the horse going to jump it?
She wouldn’t stay around to find out. Siobhan lifted her legs out of the stirrups and brought her right leg over, letting herself fall into soft heather. The horse galloped on.
She hadn’t landed so hard this time and stood up quickly. Xian rode past at a gallop and Rory’s horse snorted as he pulled it to a halt in front of her.
“What are you doing to that animal, woman?” His tone was a mixture of reproach and disbelief.
“Nothing! She just took off! Really!”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m as bewildered as you are.” Siobhan put her hands on her hips.
Rory remained on his horse and shook his head silently. His brother, Callum, pulled his horse up beside him and spoke to him in a fluid, breathy language. Siobhan could only guess it was the Gaelic. They’d had lessons in the Gaelic in the Bunker in her early years, as the survival of the Gaelic tongue was a priority for some, but she soon found her forte in the sciences and devoted her energy in those fields. But she recognised little of what Rory and Callum spoke.
Rory nodded. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “I have a solution,” he said in English as he jumped off his horse. He walked his tall, black horse closer and held out his hand to her.
“What?” Siobhan stood straighter, her shoulders tensing.
“I’ll give you a knee up.” Rory’s hand held steady.
“I’m not riding your horse!”
“That’s correct.” He flicked his fingers, indicating he still wanted her hand.
She put her hand in his and he held it to his horse’s neck. Rory’s hand was warm on top of hers and the soft shiny coat on the horse’s neck rubbed soothingly against her fingers. The horse nickered, and the sound vibrated under her hand.
“Let him see you.” Rory nudged her closer to the horse’s head. The black animal turned and eyed her. Then Rory put his hands together for a knee up.
Siobhan grabbed the pommel of the saddle; it was at a greater height than the one on the mare. Rory boosted her up, and she sat astride the saddle then put her feet in the stirrups.
“You can take your feet out of those.”
She took them out and frowned. Leather creaked as he placed his foot in the stirrup and his hand grabbed the pommel in front of her. A further creak indicated the tension on the saddle as Rory lifted himself behind her. His firm legs were the full length behind hers and his solid body warm against her back.
“Now, nae more falling off. You’ll be holding us up too much if you continue on that horse. Sit quietly now. I’m driving.” His spoke into her ear from behind and his left hand holding the reins brushed against her thigh as it rested on his.
Siobhan’s heart stuttered. She wasn’t sure if it was from the horse riding or from the nearness of the young man behind her—the young man who smelled of horse and heather. It had been a while since she had been so close to a man.
Keep it professional, Siobhan. Besides, he’s Community.
They continued on and now not having to concern herself with riding, her own horse now tied to one of the pack mules, Siobhan surveyed their surroundings. The burn began to meander its way through the glen in which they travelled. Brown brackish water flowed rapidly over grey stones, its murmur constantly beside them. The wind blew its way across their grassy path and sent the fragrance of the Highlands into her face—pine, faint heather, freshness, and far-off rain.
The sun warmed her cheek and the motion of the horse’s gait caused her to bump gently into the man behind her. His body was firm and fit. He had a vitality she had never seen in the men with whom she’d grown up. Glancing at the calloused hand holding the reins she saw strength, matching his character gradually revealing itself.
“I meant what I said about your mother. She was a stunningly beautiful woman.”
“Aye, that she was. And clever, and a great leader, more importantly.”
“So, your father...”
“Aye?” There was an edge to his voice.
“His name was Scott?”
“Aye.”
“May I ask what happened to him?”
Rory’s torso tensed against her back. After a moment his chest rose behind her, staccato, as he took in a halting breath.
“My father, Scott Campbell, died.” His voice was husky and held a deep sadness.
“Oh, how thoughtless of me. I’m sorry. You miss him.”
The soft clop of the black horse’s hooves on the grass-covered moor was the only reply. His hand fiddled with the reins.
“And your grandfather’s name was...?” Behind her, his breath dragged through his nostrils. Was this an out-of-bounds subject? Or had she been too insensitive in her efforts to find the man her father told to remember? Her own now deceased father.
“Ma faither’s faither was Robert Campbell. Why?” The edge continued.
“Oh, only wondering,” she lied.
Siobhan, just tell him!
“When I was a girl—”
“Och! Would you look at that.” Rory’s arm came beside her as he pointed to the edge of the far forest.
A small group of deer came out from a clump of tall green pine that skirted the widening glen. They grazed as they made their way to where the meandering burn became a delta of sorts, flowing its way into a loch far ahead of them. A large stag emerged from the forest behind the herd of does. Muscles rippled under his russet coat; his many pointed antlers stood tall on a proud head. He sniffed the air and turned in their direction.
“He’s caught our scent.” Rory’s voice was in her ear; his warm breath brushed the hair on her neck. Shivers began a decent down her spine.
Stop it Siobhan, the lad’s young enough to be your son.
The party of travellers didn’t halt in their stride, confident the stag would turn the other way. The male deer tilted his antlers over his back as he raised his head and let out a loud, long bark-like cry which echoed across the moor as his harem scattered in front of him. He honked once more, and they returned to the forest. He nudged the slower does in the rear with his sharp antlers.
“Oh, the bully. That looked like it hurt!” Siobhan commented when the last doe flinched after a nudge from the stag.
Rory chuckled behind her. “He has tae keep his women in line.”
Siobhan could not stop herself from turning her head with raised eyebrows at his comment. His stubbled chin, glowing a soft ginger in the late morning sun, was at her eye level, and a dimpled cheek below blue smiling eyes came into view.
“That’s a very male chauvinistic comment, Mr Campbell.”
“Possibly, but he’s protecting them from us. He kens we like tae eat them.” He raised one eyebrow.
Wow, this man was handsome. His auburn-haired masculinity reminded her of the stag. He was untamed, a man-of-nature, and part of this country as much as the creature. She spun back to face the front again, suppressing any further thoughts she might have regarding him.
She had a job to do. She had to concentrate. How on earth could she contemplate a liaison with a man from a Community?
But he was so much like the man her father had made her promise to remember. And she had remembered him. The kind, handsome Scotsman who had played dolls with her. As a teenager she had dreamed of him. Him being the man she would one day marry. Silly teenage girl stuff. Her father had never told her why she had to remember him.
In her young girl fantasies, the heroic figure featured, like the knights in shining armour she’d read of, but now it was so embarrassing. Siobhan’s face heat at her thoughts. She’d had love. Well, a relationship with Antony, if that was love. He’d used her for position and if she was honest, she’d used him for companionship and sex. The male population in the Bunker was a limited pool. She scratched the back of her neck and shuffled in her place in front of Rory.
“You uncomfortable, Ms Kensington-Wallace?”
“No, I’m fine,” she answered. “Why do you ride a stallion? I thought they were vicious. And please call me Siobhan.”
She had to change her mental subject.
“He’s a stud in our breeding program. Horses are important, aye? But when he’s not performing that particular duty, he’s mine. He needs to stay fit to service the mares, like.” Humour tinged his voice.
So much for changing the subject.
