Chapter Twenty-Four
The mountain rose dark and massive in the gray morning air, its snowy shoulders soaring above long slopes, crags and crevices, knobby points, pinnacles, and ridges.
Frosted white and sparkling with quartz, Ben Shee’s summit was part of a line of mountain peaks, majestic grace above, daunting and massive below.
Long ago, some ancient quake had cracked open the conical summit, resulting in a deep, narrow crevice of twin cliffs facing each other, both steep rocky inclines layered with rocks, scree, and patches of turf, plants, and tenacious roots.
Slowing halfway up, Catriona gazed up at the gigantic cleft that dominated the mountainside from this angle. Her companions paused, some exclaiming at the view, others catching their breath.
Erik had died up there, she thought, and Evan had fallen just below where they all stood now. And today she would climb that wicked black sheer in search of a crystal that could only be found on the fairy mountain.
She felt like a girl in a fairytale, on a quest for a magical talisman, traveling with her beloved prince.
But her prince was not happy with her; if he was unhappy enough, he might not even stay for a happy ending.
She should have told him that she was helping Finlay.
Now he felt betrayed, and he had deserved her trust all along. She sighed.
Her quest for the fairy crystal had seemed so important—yet she knew now that loving and trusting her prince, her earl, had far more value. Without that magic in her life, the gift of the fairies and even the songs had lost some of their luster.
He had come up these slopes with her, helping her where she needed it. Yet he was somber and cool, his hands brief on her when he assisted her over rough terrain. She did not need the help. She just needed him near, needed to know all was well.
Last night, he had not come to her room, and although she finally went to his door to knock and open it, he was gone. She had hoped for a chance to explain why she and Finlay brought evicted tenants back to the glen without the earl’s knowledge. Apparently, the earl was not ready to listen.
Yet he had saved Finlay from disgrace, and she was grateful. Instinct told her to let him be for a bit, though her heart felt desperate to resolve things.
Now, Finlay stepped up on a rock to face the group—Wilkies and Wetherstones, Murray sisters, Fitzgibbon, Grant, and Evan gathered around.
Catriona avoided Grant’s cool gaze upon her.
She had nothing to say to him now that Evan, all unawares, had rendered useless the sword Grant held over her head by exonerating Finlay.
Most of the climbers seemed oblivious to the tensions that tugged like ropes between Evan, Catriona, and Grant in particular.
“We’ll take this route toward the upper slopes of Ben Shee,” Finlay explained, pointing upward. “The lower hills, stretching that way, lead downward to a drover’s track that cuts over to the main ridge over the glen, if anyone wants to end their climb now.”
No one spoke. Reverend Wilkie took a small notebook from his coat pocket and made a sketch. “Can we follow the glen ridge to the upper section?”
“We could,” Finlay said. “But with this party, it’s best to go toward the center. When we descend we’ll come back toward the ridge.”
“Finlay’s suggestion is sound,” Evan said. “The descent ends in the ruined bridge, but the temporary repairs will hold it. We’ve arranged for pony carts to be waiting there to take us back to the castle.”
“I was hoping for some true mountaineering today,” Jemima Murray said.
“We can go toward the peak,” Finlay said, “but we have to go to one side or the other to get closer. It is dangerous to scramble inside the cleft called Eag Dubh, the Black Notch.”
“Ben Shee cannot be climbed safely to the top, Miss Murray,” Grant said “Though foolhardy folk have tried and failed.”
Catriona glanced at Finlay quickly. He frowned at Grant’s callous dismissal of their brother’s death up there.
“Our route is challenging enough,” Finlay said. “This is no hillwalk, with a picnic on a plateau and home again by teatime. And the weather up here is often unpredictable.” He looked up. “It is overcast. If it rains, we’ll head down, no matter where we are at that point.”
They went upward again, some with walking sticks, some making their way up by grasping rock wedges and tough heather roots.
Where a stream churned white and rapid over rocks, Finlay secured a thick rope on one side, and Evan crossed over first to loop the other end firmly.
Then he helped each one cross over, leaping from stone to stone using the guide rope.
Then Lady Wetherstone stepped down, then stopped like a horse refusing a fence.
Her husband coaxed her, but she complained that her boots and the hem of her woolen gown were wet, and she then insisted on turning back.
Wetherstone agreed to take her down to the glen, though he was clearly disappointed.
“What a savage place!” the lady said. “No proper bridges or good paths. And we have to walk all the way up to climb this mountain!” She huffed her disapproval.
“In the Alps, we climbed mountains twice as high as these Scotch hills, but they put us on donkeys led by little children, and we rode nearly to the top. And never a stream without a pretty bridge!”
Catching Evan’s scowl, Catriona knew he shared her opinion that it was best that the Wetherstones not purchase any of the glen.
They continued on to where tall green pines soared from slants of turf and rock, and water poured downhill in rivulets and burns.
The slopes became fields of sharply angled stone where moss, grasses, and plants clung to the mountainside.
Occasionally a wild goat was spotted clinging somehow to impossible inclines, skittering away as the humans came near.
Overhead, eagles skimmed past, and after a while, Catriona could look down on their shining wings outspread, feathers like fingers as they sailed around the mountain’s curves.
She walked behind Evan and Finlay, while the Murray sisters and the Wilkies followed. Arthur and Grant came last, moving more leisurely as Arthur stopped to examine rocks, gathering specimens and jotting taking notes in a pocket journal.
More than once she saw Grant’s cool appraising glance on her.
So far, she had managed to avoid him, and no one knew of his sly threats to her.
Those had ended with Evan’s actions yesterday, and she felt a sense of relief, hoping to never again deal with the resentful, vindictive Mr. Grant, who seemed to be the antithesis of a worthy physician.
Still, she felt his presence behind her like a cold dark shadow.
That awareness urged her to walk closer to Evan.
When her arm bumped his, he took her elbow in silence.
Despite the rift between them, she felt comforted and safe.
She gave him a faint smile. He twitched his mouth in response, and she sensed the wall beginning to dissolve.
They climbed slowly and steadily, pausing now and then to admire the magnificent mountainous views to the east, a long blue loch to the west, and a glimpse through far-off fog to the blue-green Hebridean sea. Mist drifted by and the rain held off as they moved on.
Reaching the knobby ridge that resembled the curved spine of some great mythic beast, with hillsides falling away to where eagles and scraps of low clouds sailed, they stopped again.
At nearly three thousand feet up, a climb of under four hours, the height was dizzying, and the world below softened, lovely in the fog beneath their feet.
Arthur picked up a few stones and skipped them downward, watching them bounce and careen down. Laughing, Jemima and Catriona did the same.
“Try not to look down, Lady Kildonan,” Grant cautioned. “It could give you vertigo. Pity if a bonny lass should follow those stones.”
Her heart slammed. For a terrifying moment, she wondered if he was capable of pushing her. Try as she might, she could not forget his threats or the awful incident where he had nearly tipped her off the broken bridge.
“Come with me,” Evan said, suddenly there, his hand steady on her back. They resumed their walk in a single file now.
Finlay fixed an iron claw to the end of the rope and tossed it ahead, where it caught and held.
Then he slung it behind him, fixing it again, so that it could serve as a sort of railing, steadying them as they progressed along an upward curve in the shelf-like path.
The sisters, often exuberant, grew quiet and serious with the more demanding effort and the increased risk.
Reverend and Anna Wilkie followed the rope guide too.
Evan assisted Catriona, but all she truly needed was Evan’s strong, familiar grip on her hand or arm.
A lifetime in the high hills had given her excellent balance and little fear of heights and inclines.
All the same, the winds up here were strong and cold, and she slowed now and then, grateful for the rope and for his hand as well.
When Finlay urged them to rest on a level spot, they shared lemonade in flasks and a simple meal of cheese and oatcakes brought out of knapsacks.
Anna Wilkie and the Murray sisters sketched on pages they tucked in deep skirt pockets, while Wilkie made notes in his little book.
Kenneth Grant and Arthur Fitzgibbon spoke with Evan, then wandered along the ridge to look at the view.
The air felt clear, cold, and a bit thin.
Catching her breath, Catriona sat on a wedge of rock, booted feet tucked under her skirts, looking up as Evan dropped down beside her.
He crossed his arms on upraised knees and sat in companionable silence.
She smiled a little, hoping that hours of helping hands and the bond of the climb helped heal the rift.
Then she began to speak just as he did, each tripping awkwardly over the other’s words. “Evan, I—”
“Catriona, let me—”