Chapter Ten
The frantic call sounded again. Helene edged closer to Lachlan. ‘What is that?’
‘’Tis a roe deer in distress.’
‘A deer? Then we must find it.’ Helene made to rush forward and search for the animal.
‘Wait!’ Lachlan held her back. ‘Where there is a deer, there could well be a buck. Stay close behind me.’
She did as he said, and together they followed the deer’s call. Helene swept her gaze from left to right, through the trees and at ground level, searching for the animal.
Lachlan stopped and pointed.
A set of antlers bobbed up and down in the underbrush, about one hundred paces from where they stood.
Helene’s gasp caused the buck to raise its head.
The mighty animal stepped forward into a small clearing and stared them down.
Two roe deer ventured forth behind him. They appeared edgy, each stamping its forefoot.
Helene looked on in awe. Lachlan had been right. The proud stag was indeed majestic, and the two does, by comparison, were striking and delicate.
A rustling noise came from beyond the underbrush, followed by the heightened urgency in the distress call. It further agitated the stag. It made an aggressive snort-wheeze and stomped a hoof. The does looked to be on the point of flight.
Lachlan slowly withdrew a pistol from the folds of his kilt.
‘What are you doing?’ whispered Helene in horror.
‘If I dinnae scare them off, the buck might attack and we’ll ne’er get close enough to the injured doe. Brace yersel’ for the noise of the pistol.’
Helene slapped her hands over her ears. The sudden movement was enough to frighten the animals and send them bounding away seconds before Lachlan pointed the firearm skyward and fired.
The shot echoed around the mountains and left a ringing in Helene’s ears. She opened her eyes to see the pistol’s smoke dissipate, while the pungent scent of gunpowder irritated the inside of her nose.
Lachlan returned the pistol to the makeshift pocket inside his kilt. ‘Perhaps ye’d best wait for me here, until I locate the deer.’
‘Certainly not!’
Helene lifted the hem of her skirts and quickly picked her way over the woodland floor. Lachlan’s curse came from behind before he reached her side. In moments they stood where the stag had emerged.
What Helene saw tore from her a cry as desperate as the wounded deer’s.
It looked to have misjudged a jump over several criss-crossed felled pines and had caught its back legs between broken intersecting branches.
Its body dangled over the fallen trunk of the tree with its head and forelegs resting on the ground.
Instinct kicked in, and Helene moved to free the weary animal.
‘Stay back!’ ordered Lachlan.
‘I will not!’ She had no luck in shrugging off his restraining hand.
‘We cannae save it.’
‘We need only lift its legs over the branches to set it free.’
‘Aye. That I will do, but its life cannae be saved.’
Helene’s gaze snapped from Lachlan to the doe. Its large dark eyes seemed to plead for help just as Prudence had begged Helene not to leave her at the asylum. Soul-crushing helplessness left her feeling wretched.
‘Then . . . we must do what we can to lessen its pain,’ she urged.
He let go of her arm. ‘Aye. Leave it to me.’
Lachlan administered gentle strength to disentangle the deer from its bonds and lay it on its side on the ground. The animal struggled in vain to stand and cried even more from each painful, pathetic attempt.
Seeing it disabled and defenceless was, for Helene, confronting and too close to home. She recognised panic in the doe’s wild-eyed stare and felt the pain of its erratic, jerky movements. She knew what must be done even before Lachlan voiced it.
‘Lass, both its forelegs are broken. It willnae survive in the wild, and predators will . . . Well, ’tis far kinder to put it out of its misery.’
Helene hugged her waist. ‘Yes, I know. Please, make it quick and as painless as possible.’
Lachlan crouched down behind the deer and gently stroked a hand along the fur on its neck. The doe let out an exhausted grunt and lay still, as if understanding this was its last day.
‘Dinnae watch, lass.’
Helene turned her back on the disturbing scene and steeled herself for what was to come. She shut her eyes and said a quick prayer for one of God’s most beautiful creatures, yet nothing prepared her for the loud snap of the deer’s neck being broken.
A premonition left Helene ice-cold. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. Prudence.
‘’Tis done,’ said Lachlan. ‘She’s in no more pain.’ Then, ‘Are ye all right?’
No. She wasn’t. Even if Helene had words to voice what she’d seen in her mind’s eye, she could tell no one. Least of all Lachlan MacLanoch.
A warm hand rested on her shoulder.
‘Ye’re as stiff as a board.’ Lachlan turned her to face him. ‘Christ! Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost!’
The idea of losing her sister sent Helene’s body into a quivering mess. Had Lachlan not drawn her to his chest and held her tight, she’d have collapsed to the leaf-littered ground.
‘’Twas the right thing to do,’ soothed Lachlan. ‘Ye needn’t be upset, lass. Its life will not be wasted.’
Lachlan spoke of the deer, of course, but its premature death mirrored Helene’s worst nightmare of losing Prudence to the convulsive condition of the falling sickness.
Every hour endured in that asylum, and without the proper care and attention she deserved, ate at Helene like a rat gnawing its way through her stomach.
She took the much-needed comfort he offered her and wrapped her arms around his broad back, her cheek pressed against his solid chest. ‘I’m sorry you had to be the one to end the deer’s life.’
‘Better me than to have left her here to die a slow death.’
Die a slow death. God forbid anything happen to Prudence before Helene returned to London with the means to bribe a warden and buy her sister’s freedom.
Lachlan drew back slightly, his hands still spanning her waist. Helene glanced up, and there, in his frown and in his gold-flecked eyes, she saw something akin to confusion.
His fingers slid slowly, if not reluctantly, from her person, and he separated himself from her by taking a backward step.
He took the bundle from his back containing their refreshments.
‘Would ye care for something to eat? A bannock or—’
‘No. Thank you. I’ve no appetite.’
Lachlan took a drink of wine and returned it to the bag. ‘This is yers to carry for the next mile or so.’
Helene took it without question and slipped the strap over her head. Lachlan leaned over the lifeless animal, lifted it by the hooves, and slung its carcass around his shoulders.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Ye’ll see soon enough. Come now. We must press on.’
They trekked through the woods until a small stone cottage came into view. The door had been left wide open, yet no one was in sight. On approach, Helene saw chickens roaming free, and two goats were tethered to a post within the perimeter of a low stone wall enclosure.
Lachlan called out in Gaelic. A faint reply led them around the back of the cottage, where a man and a woman worked, backs bent, tending a vegetable plot.
At the sight of Lachlan, the older couple dropped their tools and slowly straightened to eagerly greet their laird and landowner with a flurry of Gaelic, humble gestures, and elated smiles.
Lachlan reciprocated in kind and indicated the deer slung around his shoulders.
Helene assumed he explained to the cottars the circumstances leading up to the animal’s death.
It was only when the woman clapped her hands together and then flattened them over her belly that Helene understood what Lachlan had meant when he’d said the animal’s life would not go to waste.
It would provide many a nutritious meal for these folk who eked out a living from the land.
This gesture of thoughtful kindness further softened Helene’s heart towards a man whom she’d believed to be a notorious libertine.
‘Helene, this is Aila and Ross. They dinnae speak any English, but they wish ye to ken they’re honoured to meet ye.’
Ross, barefoot and clad in knee breeches and a mud-smudged linen shirt, removed his knitted bonnet to reveal a head of thinning silver hair.
He gave Helene a toothy grin, while Aila managed a stiff curtsy.
She wore a linen kertch around her head, and the apron protecting a brown serviceable woollen gown was smeared with the soil she tended.
She had the kindest blue eyes that shone bright with the wisdom of her years.
Helene smiled at the crofters. ‘Thank you. I too am pleased to make your acquaintance.’
Lachlan translated her reply. Ross replaced his bonnet and said something to Helene, gesturing towards the cottage. Helene looked to Lachlan to translate the Gaelic.
‘They’ve invited us to join them for a wee dram.’
‘Whisky?’ Helene hadn’t meant to sound so shocked.
‘Aye.’
‘Isn’t that reserved for men?’
Lachlan laughed. It was the kind of laugh to warm a person from the inside out. ‘Not in Scotland, and certainly not here in the Highlands. ’Tis a drink for one and all.’ His expression sobered. ‘Have a wee sip. Ye’ll offend them if ye say nae.’
‘Well’—she smiled in acceptance—‘I don’t want to do that.’ Nor displease you, for that matter.
If by drinking whisky it would impress Lachlan, then Helene would imbibe a dram or two; anything to get on his good side in the lead-up to coaxing from him a kiss.
As they rounded the sidewall of the cottage, Ross pointed to a wide, flat boulder with a dull crimson surface.
He said something to Lachlan, who laid the deer’s carcass upon the rock.
It was the crudest form of a chopping block Helene could ever have imagined, but it only served to strengthen her admiration for people like Aila and Ross who lived and worked within their means.