The Blood And The Barley by Angela MacRae Shanks

Author:Angela MacRae Shanks [Shanks, Angela MacRae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Braeatha Books
Published: 2018-03-03T06:00:00+00:00

***

Morven fled the hut only to crash headlong into the factor just steps from its door. McGillivray had been muttering with Alexander Grant of Achnareave, she realised with some irritation, passing judgment nae doubt.

‘Ye see!’ grunted McGillivray. He snatched his feathered bonnet from the muddied grass at his feet and replaced it slightly askew on his head. ‘As uncouth as they are ungodly!’

She pushed past him.

‘Aye,’ muttered Achnareave. ‘Nae good will come o' this tampering wi' the natural order o' things…’

She stumbled away, the sound of her thudding heart drowning out their words. Why had Jamie come back? Did he think himself safe now? With Rowena neither arrested nor accused did he think he could worm his way back in again as if nothing had happened? She blundered across the grounds of the Gathering, oblivious to what went on around her, almost struck by the clach neart, stone of strength, as it thudded into the ground beside her, deaf to the curse hurled after her. Squeezing through a knot of rowdy drinkers, she choked as she entered their cloud of tobacco smoke. It still hurt. The pain of his betrayal was still as raw, as deep. Her hands were cold and trembling, and she pressed them to her cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from her flushed face. Everyone must surely see it, must know of her humiliation.

The small hillock where her mother still sat with Rory and Donald reared up in front of her; she shied away. They would see her distress, ask questions she’d no wish to answer. She whirled around. The river, then. She could maybe quell the agitation in her heart at the riverside.

The caber-tossing area was in front of her now. She watched the next contestant make his run, shorn tree-trunk balanced within cupped hands. There was her father, staggering slightly but stripped to the waist and dusting his hands with dry earth. She gave him a wide berth.

She could hear the Avon, feel it almost before she saw it. A breeze oft-times arose from the river, from the turbulence of the currents, the air disturbed by the seething of the water. It drew her to it, a match to her own turmoil. She sat on a boulder at the river's edge and breathed-in deeply, feeling the delicate mist from its passage cool her face. What was wrong with her? She stared into the swirling pool at her feet. She'd forgotten about his eyes, deep and serious they were, thoughtful. They made ye think ye could trust him. She cursed softly.

Yet Rowena wasna angry with him, it struck her now. Even in that brief glimpse, she’d recognised her friend’s joy at seeing her kinsman again. Rowena was far too generous-natured to bear him any ill-will. Was she the only one cursed with a temper, then? A gift from her da – the hot MacRae blood. And Rowena had given Jamie one of her two ponies; the grey mare. The willing wee garron that carried her from Balintoul on the day of Isobel's death.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.