Shared by the Highlanders (15 page)

Breakfast is taken in the great hall at Glen Blair, and consists of oat cakes, porridge, and a thin vegetable broth with lumps of bread in it. It’s really rather tasty. The whole family is present, and as well as her boisterous sons, several of Elspeth’s servants are sharing the meal too. There seems to be little distinction of age or rank here, just a gaggle of hungry folk eager to eat and get on with their day.

“May we go down to the loch this morning, mama? We made a raft, we could fish for supper?” Duncan wheedles his request around a mouthful of oatcakes and butter.

“You may, but Iain is not to go on the water. He’s too little.”

“I am not. I’m big, look!” The smallest boy stands on the bench and stretches his hands up in the air.

Elspeth laughs. “Indeed you are, my lad, and getting bigger every day. But you can’t yet swim.”

“Duncan can teach me.” Undaunted, Iain continues to press his case.

“All in good time. But not today. You are to remain on the jetty. You can fish from there.” She turns to Mr. Drummond who has just joined us at the table. “Would you supervise the fishing expedition this morning, please?”

“Aye, my lady. We could combine it with a lesson in natural history.”

“Excellent.” That matter settled, Elspeth turns her attention to her guests. “And will you be remaining with us a while longer, Robbie MacBride?”

“Nay, we must be away by midday I fear. Mary is expecting a reply from the English queen and her majesty is not known for her patience.”

“Then make sure you return to Glen Blair before too long. And bring Charlie with you.” I note she makes no mention of welcoming Will back into her home any time soon.

“We will, and we’re right glad of your hospitality. And your generosity. I wonder Elspeth, could we prevail on you further for the loan of a horse? A quiet mount preferably as Charlie is an inexperienced rider.”

For inexperienced, read total novice, I think, but I hold my tongue. I will have to practice some new skills if I’m to survive here.

“Of course. I’ll have Archie find you a suitable animal. And now if you’ll excuse me I need to see to some linens and supervise the planning of meals for the rest of the day.” She gets to her feet, as do both Will and Robbie. They bow and each drops a light kiss on the backs of her fingers before she sweeps from the hall, graceful despite her swollen belly.

“So, how should we spend our morning?” Will relaxes opposite me, his mug of ale to hand. I have one too, but I’m finding the potent brew hard to stomach as a breakfast drink.

“I wondered about a spot of hunting. We could replenish Elspeth’s larders a little, by way of thanks for her help. If we are able to bring her a couple of fine stags she might even soften in her attitude toward you.”

Will chuckles to himself. “Aye, she was always fond of her food was Elspeth. It’s worth a try. Right then, outside in the courtyard in half an hour?”

Robbie nods, the matter settled.

“What should I do? I doubt I could bring down a stag.”

Will laughs out loud. “No, but you could help Elspeth with her linens. Better yet, the beleaguered Mr. Drummond could probably use some assistance with those ruffians he has to instil some learning into. Do you know anything about fishing for trout?”

I shake my head, grinning. “You know I don’t. I could perhaps teach little Iain to swim though.”

“For which Elspeth would bless you, I don’t doubt.” Will finishes his ale and leaves, Robbie hot on his heels. I linger a few minutes more over my soup and bread, then venture out of doors to seek out the anglers down at the loch.

* * *

Iain is a fearless little lad, splashing about in the shallows at the edge of the loch with not the slightest regard for the dangers posed by unseen currents, aquatic livestock, or the very real prospect of sinking beneath the surface never to be seen again. In deference to the standards of modesty that prevail in this era, I settle for removing my shoes and stockings and hitching my skirt up around my knees to deliver his first lesson, and I hope to get the heavy wool reasonably dry later. I have a chance; it’s a warm day, though the balmy spring temperature has yet to make any discernible impact on the cool water.

Iain and I spend a cheerful hour or so practising the rudiments of swimming, and by the time we’re done he can manage a few splashy strokes and keep his head above water. A good start, I feel.

Mr. Drummond meanwhile is supervising the fishing trip from the relative safety of the rough wooden jetty, from which floats a rather precarious-looking raft attached by a length of rope. Both older boys are perched on the small craft, which looks to be constructed from about eight lengths of tree trunk lashed together with leather straps and more rope. It’s buoyant enough, but unsteady. They both take frequent tumbles into the loch, which seems to be part of the fun if not the main purpose of the expedition. I see no sign of any fish emerging and I fear supper will consist of the usual fare.

His lesson concluded, Iain is restless at having to remain with me on the shore. Mr. Drummond suggests a trip to investigate the progress of a litter of kittens in the stables, if I would be so kind as to remain with the older boys. I’m happy to do so, and the duo troop off.

I’m lost in my own thoughts, occasionally called upon to act as judge in the rowdy game as Duncan and Richard compete to see who can produce the biggest splash. Honours are broadly even when they at last drag themselves back to the jetty by the rope and tie the small craft up. Both are soaked so I suggest they accompany me inside to find dry clothing and perhaps some more of that delicious soup. We head back up the hillside to walk the half mile or so to the manor house.

Elspeth is at the table in the great hall, several piles of pungent herbs spread before her. She greets her soggy sons and packs them off upstairs with a maid in search of dry clothing, then invites me to take a seat at her side.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“My medicine chest requires replenishment, as do our kitchens. Here we have lemon balm, which is helpful in the treatment of melancholy, horehound to soothe coughs, and marjoram for stomach ailments. They require drying, labelling, and storing for when required. And here, I have basil and borage for our kitchens, a little mint, some rosemary and lavender. Those piles over there are sage and thyme. I grow them in a small garden, so we can have fresh supplies.”

“I see.” I’m fascinated, my medical training kicking in as I try to recall the chemical properties of the various plants. I doubt the efficacy of horehound, but the culinary value of these plants is considerable and will certainly enhance Glen Blair menus. We chat amiably about the various uses of the herbs, and I’m sorely tempted to share some medicinal wisdom from the next millennium. Best not, probably.

We both look up as Mr. Drummond enters in search of sustenance.

“There is broth in the kitchens, I believe. Where is Iain?”

“With his brothers.”

“Oh, I didn’t see him come in.” Elspeth looks to me for confirmation. I shrug and shake my head.

“No, the lad is down at the loch. He went back there in search of them when we left the stables.

“But Duncan and Richard are here. They came back with Charlie perhaps a half hour ago. Is Iain at the loch alone?” She stands, and makes for the door. I rush in pursuit, as does Mr. Drummond.

“I had no idea. I thought they were all still down there. I had lessons to prepare…” The tutor is stammering his excuses. Neither Elspeth nor I demand to know why he didn’t make sure the lad was safe before going off about his own business. That will come later.

“How long is it since you saw him?” Elspeth is breaking into a trot, hampered by her pregnancy and her voluminous skirts.

“Twenty minutes perhaps, no more.”

“Oh, God, oh, no…” Elspeth lets out an agonised wail and tries to run.

I pick up my still soggy skirt and sprint across the courtyard and down the hillside toward the loch, leaving both Elspeth and the elderly tutor behind. My heart is in my mouth as the loch comes into view and I spot the tiny raft bobbing on the light waves, several yards from the jetty. I can see no sign of Iain.

I charge down the slope, managing not to slip on the grass. Throughout my headlong rush I am staring out across the water for some sight of the small boy. As I grow closer I see him, a small shape beside the raft. The reddish blond curls identify him, clinging to one of the tree trunks. How long has he been there, in the cold water? Too long. Surely, too long…

A shriek from Elspeth tells me her eyes are sharper than mine were; she sees her youngest child from the top of the hill and knows the imminent danger he is in. Her grief spurs me on and I reach the jetty just as Iain relinquishes his fragile grip on the planking. Before my eyes he slips under the surface, to a keening wail from behind me.

I turn, see Elspeth hurtling down the slope, Mr. Drummond several yards behind her. Behind them, on horseback at the top of the slope, I spot the two silhouettes of Will and Robbie returning from their hunt. They spur their horses into a gallop, alerted by the commotion, but they are still too far away to be of any immediate help.

There’s only me.

I don’t hesitate. There isn’t time. I pull the tunic over my head and kick off my leather shoes. The skirt follows, and in just my shift I take a step back and survey the empty surface of the loch. He’s beneath the raft. He has to be. That’s my only clue.

I have no idea of the depth of the water here, but a decent racing dive should do it. I take a short run then hurl myself horizontally from the end of the jetty, barely breaking the surface before I break into a fast front crawl. Countless hours spent training for the county swimming club back in my school days come to my aid now and I reach the raft in moments. I cling to it, trying to peer down into the depths below. I can see nothing.

Screams from the jetty herald the arrival of Elspeth. Will and Robbie are a few hundred yards away, their horses’ hooves thundering across the meadow. Other figures are appearing over the hill, the servants no doubt rushing to find out what all the screaming is about.

But if this little boy is to be saved, it’s up to me.

I take a short breath, then breathe out slow, emptying my lungs. Then I draw in a large breath of fresh air, filling my lungs to the maximum with oxygen before executing a surface dive directly below the raft. I swim straight down, swivelling my head to look in every direction. Visibility is poor, no more than three or four feet. My ears are bursting by the time I reach the bottom. I estimate the depth here to be maybe fifteen feet, and I’m relieved to feel no strong current that would drag a small body away. Even so, I can detect no sign of Iain. I turn and swim for the surface.

Back in the strong daylight I hear Elspeth’s desperate screams, and catch a glimpse of Will and Robbie dismounting from their still cantering mounts. Help is at hand, but not here yet. I gulp in another deep lungful of air and dive again. This time I angle my descent a little, widening my search.

Nothing, just the murky, swirling water and the air bubbles from my own scanty clothing. I turn for the surface again, but then I catch it. A flash of pale orange, a flurry of air bubbles. I turn, peer in the direction of my sighting, inching forward.

Yes! There, Iain’s red curls catching the remaining light, and the bubbles as his lungs empty. My own lungs at bursting point, I know this is my one chance. I reach for him, grab something, the nearest part. His hand, flailing above him. I grip it hard and kick off the bottom, shooting upward.

I break the surface as Will leaps into the water from the jetty. He reaches me in seconds and helps me to haul the limp little body onto the raft. Robbie is on the jetty, tugging us in by the rope.

I scramble onto the raft too and check for a pulse. I find none. Neither is there any sign of breathing.

“Is he alive?” Will is pushing the raft and swimming for the jetty, lending his aid to Robbie’s efforts.

“I’m not sure. He soon enough won’t be though if we don’t get his heart started again, and fast.”

I’m on autopilot now, all paramedic but unfortunately with none of the paraphernalia I’m accustomed to packing. It’s just me, and my skills at basic first aid. Happily those are not inconsiderable, and I kneel beside the still form to start CPR.

A few short, sharp breaths and I’m relieved to see the tiny chest lift. At least the air I’m blowing in is reaching his lungs. I start chest compressions, interspersing the mouth to mouth, watching for any sign of life. We reach the jetty and Will, now in just waist-high water, lifts Iain onto the planking. Elspeth kneels beside her son, shaking the small, inert form and screaming his name. I scramble ashore too and shoulder my way past everyone to resume my work.

“You did well getting him out, lass, but it’s too late. He’s gone.”

I glance up at Robbie. “Not yet. We can’t give up yet.”

“He’s not breathing. There’s no pulse.”

“I’m breathing for him. I’m pumping his heart. We might get him back.”

“Save him. Please, please save my baby.” Elspeth is weeping, her face in her hands. Despite my preoccupation with Iain’s plight I’m still astonished to see her turn to Will and collapse against him as he enfolds her in his arms.

I return my focus to the toddler, filling his tiny lungs with precious oxygen, and applying the compressions to the narrow chest. No one attempts to stop me, though I detect the air of hopelessness surrounding the group of us clustered on the jetty.

At first I think I may have imagined the slight fluttering under my fingers, but a second later Iain coughs. His body convulses, he’s choking. I push him over onto his side, and a stream of mucky loch water pours from his mouth. He’s gasping for air now as his lungs take over their own function again, his hands clawing at the boards beneath him. I check the pulse in his neck; it’s thready but definitely there.

“Can you hear me, Iain?” I lean over, peering into his scrunched-up features.

The little face crumples and the boy starts to cry. Now this
is
a good sign. One of the first things I learnt as a paramedic attending emergency scenes is that crying children are rarely at death’s door. I sit back, regarding my patient with critical, professional eye. His face is losing its pallor, returning to his usual ruddy skin tone. He opens his eyes, the bellows of fear and shock increasing in volume. Elspeth wriggles from Will’s embrace and reaches for her son, clutching the child to her chest.