Chapter Eleven
Joyous shouts greeted Lachlan, with Helene by his side, when they entered the shielings.
Their unexpected arrival drew a crowd, causing an excitable commotion among the women and young girls.
Herd boys ran from all directions, bursting with boisterous chatter at the sight of their laird and his accompanying stranger.
Lachlan spoke Gaelic for the benefit of the elderly women who did not understand English and introduced to one and all his Sassenach guest. Discussion sparked amongst the crowd, and they stared, somewhat bewildered, at Helene as if she were some far-off exotic curiosity.
Lachlan noted her look of apprehension and the way she inched closer to his side. He winked to lessen her fear. ‘Ye’ve nae need to worry, lass. These are friendly folk, and they’ve already heard of ye.’
‘How?’ The confusion on her face gave way to understanding. ‘You don’t mean—?’
‘Aye. Seems yer legendary heroics in my great hall live larger than my victories as a fearsome Highland laird.’
Helene laughed at the feigned affront to his dignity.
Lachlan caught his breath. The sweetness of that laughter enchanted him, and not only himself, so it seemed. Highlanders were naturally wary of the English, and so Lachlan took heart in seeing these hardy people take to Helene.
The clan’s acceptance of her pleased him in a way he hadn’t expected. It was the type of hoped-for acceptance any man might wish for from family and friends when settling on a lifelong mate.
It was yet another realisation to leave him uncommonly rattled, and one he dismissed by concentrating on faces he recognised and enquiring about their families.
After ten minutes or so, Lachlan brought the chatter to a close, mindful of clan folk having to perform certain chores before dusk settled upon the glen.
As the people dispersed, Lachlan arranged for Helene to sleep in the largest of the stone-made huts. Its occupants, Greer, a matronly woman of middle years, and her cheerful daughter, Mairi, who was of the same age as Helene, insisted Helene have the cottage to herself.
‘I won’t hear of it,’ said Helene. ‘I’m grateful for the accommodation and would be honoured to be a guest in your home.’
The Highland women looked to their laird for his approval. When Lachlan shrugged and smiled, Greer and Mairi took Helene under their wing to acquaint her with their modest lodgings.
It was inconceivable that a woman of Helene’s gentle breeding and background would consider visiting, much less living in conditions she’d surely deem to be unclean and primitive. It would be the roughest sleeping conditions she’d have experienced in her life, an encounter to test her true mettle.
He predicted that, come morning, she’d insist they return at once to the comforts and cleanliness of Drumocher. If she chose to stay, then Helene was either an extraordinary lass or she had a well-guarded reason for being here.
Lachlan used his free time to wander about and assess life at the shielings.
It gave him the opportunity to talk to the women who’d been coming here year after year.
He listened with genuine concern for the lives and the welfare of his tenants and subtenants who cared for his herds as payment for rent and other dues.
Summer grazing was essential to their survival and in seeing the beef cattle grow fat on nature’s bountiful lush grass. Come late autumn, each animal would fetch a good price at the October tryst held in Crieff.
Down by the river, he chatted to a few boys who pointed to the fringes of the dairy herd where a calf, born to one of the cows earlier in the day, suckled its mother’s milk.
Lachlan praised their efforts in caring for the herd and then moved on to talk with the milkmaids, the cheesemakers, and the cooks.
Light was fading by the time he returned to the upland area where women prepared the evening meal. He found Mairi bent over a peat cooking fire and asked as to the whereabouts of Helene.
‘She went to the river to freshen up, but she should be well on her way back by now.’
Lachlan swept his gaze down along the winding banks of the river and spied her near a copse of trees at the water’s edge.
At that moment, a warning shout went up from the glen. He caught sight of a fox making a brazen attempt to attack the newly born calf. A quick-thinking lad with an accurate aim hit the fox in the head with a rock.
The fox, momentarily dazed, got up and ran away, but the commotion was enough to spook the herd and send them charging along the river’s edge towards Helene as she knelt in their path.
Horrified, Lachlan shouted to alert Helene and ran headlong down the slope towards her, sickening dread spurring him on.
‘Helene!’
He yelled her name again. Pointless. She was out of earshot. His lungs burned from exertion, heartbeat thrashing in his ears, torn between yelling at her to wade into the fast-flowing river, or run as fast as she could uphill and away from the oncoming stampede.
‘Helene!’ He ran harder, gaining ground and closing the distance between them.
She looked over her shoulder, sighted him, and stood, waving and walking a few steps away from the water’s edge. She smiled that smile he’d come to know and appreciate. A smile that had awakened something dead inside him.
‘Run, Helene! Run!’
Frantic, Lachlan pointed to the cattle charging at her. If she were to run now, she’d still have a chance to cross their path unscathed. If not . . .
The muscles in his legs burned white-hot. ‘Stampede!’ he yelled, pointing to her left.
Whether she heard him first or the hundreds of hooves sounding like a rumbling storm, she snapped her head towards the oncoming threat.
Lachlan was close, but he’d not get close enough in time to save Helene. It was a physical impossibility. He knew it now. The herd would reach her before him. Breath bottled up in his lungs with the crippling feeling of being powerless to protect her.
*
Helene stood paralysed with fear and stared death in the face.
If death was one to mock, then it did so now, presenting her with two choices. Die drowning, because she couldn’t swim, or be trampled into the ground beneath the weight of rampaging bovines.
She hadn’t time for anything but two regrets: leaving this world having failed on her promise to keep Prudence safe, and having agreed to deceive the MacLanoch laird, whom she now believed to be a good man. The kind of man she could—
‘Helene!’
Her name, yelled with a sense of desperation and hopelessness, had her turn to see Lachlan sprinting towards her, one hand outstretched, face contorted with a mixture of terror and grief. Did he truly care for her?
Helene pretended he did and closed her eyes to pounding hooves.
The moment of impact hurled her into the cold, fast-flowing river. Under the water she went, dragged down by the heavy weight of her sodden woollen skirt. Over and over, she tumbled in an undercurrent as forceful as the rushing water.
Something wrapped around her face, blocking all vision and escalating the threat of suffocation.
Survival instinct had her swiftly push over her head what must be the plaid from her shoulders.
In so doing, it ripped the pins from her hair, sending the dark tresses swirling about her face like long tentacles.
Arms flailed and legs kicked in a desperate bid to save herself from drowning. The current carried her along, tipping her over and granting her a gasp of air before sucking her back under.
Something latched on to her wrist and gave her a vigorous tug. She breached the surface and gasped a lungful of air. Before being sucked back under, she glimpsed her lifeline.
Donnie!
The image of him, panic-stricken, strengthened Helene’s will to live. Her fingers locked around his arm lest he let go of her. She kicked for all she was worth and used her free hand to propel her way to the surface.
Air! Blessed air. She took in a lungful and opened her eyes to see Donnie’s frantic face. In a cruel twist of fate, the sucking undertow pulled him down. Helene gripped his slender arm tighter, determined not to let go.
He surfaced, gulping life into his lungs.
Suddenly, Helene slammed into a large rock jutting out in the middle of the stream.
Weak, her movements feeble, she wedged the boy between the rock and her battered body, safeguarding him from the current’s pummelling force.
Pressed against the rock, he started retching water.
‘Spit it out, Donnie,’ said Helene in between her own bouts of coughing up water. ‘All of it.’
He tried to speak.
‘Save your breath. Can you climb on top of the rock?’ He did so and lay down to rest. ‘Help will come soon,’ she assured him.
The continuous rush of water threatened her grip on the rock and pounded her back, spraying fan-like up and around her body. Water rained down on her, hampering her view of anything beyond the rock itself. She could only pray Lachlan would soon find them.
The lad began to shiver. ‘Are you holding up, Donnie?’
‘Aye, m’lady.’
‘What were you doing in the river?’
‘I’d been hunting rabbits downstream and saw the herd stampeding towards ye. I was close enough to run and shove ye in the water.’
Helene suffered chills colder than the water. ‘That was you?’
‘Aye.’
She lashed out in anger at his foolish actions. ‘You could have been killed!’
‘Aye! And ye too!’
The shocking truth of it unnerved Helene. ‘You risked your life to save mine, and for that I thank you.’
‘Are we square now?’
Helene glanced up to see his proud grin. She smiled at him. ‘Yes, we are.’ She paused to catch her breath. ‘I’m going to call out for your laird.’
‘Me too.’
‘No. Conserve your energy.’
Helene shouted Lachlan’s name. Nothing.
Minutes passed. Fatigue set in. Failing strength caused her grip to loosen on the rock, and the cold water at her back sapped her of breath. If the current swept her away, then at least Donnie would remain safe until Lachlan found him.