Bruar's Rest

sympathy. He simply declared that without a strong male to help with the work on the estate, they had to leave the Glen Coe campsite.
    Megan, trustful of the one who’d saved her life, snuggled close to Bruar. Through the night his body had given her warmth, and that comfort helped her. She’d curled her arms tightly around his neck, refusing to part from him, until the moment when she heard her mother’s shaky voice telling the reason why they had left a good wintering camp site. She rose from her warm bed, still angered by the memory of their previous landlord. Trembling on wobbly knees, and with hands curled into fists, she hissed, ‘We’d already a strong tent erected to face a long winter in, but he insisted, that stout-bellied pork pig of a laird. He said that without Daddy we were just useless women, and to make sure we went, he put fire to our tent!’ Her green eyes stared in anger as she went on, ‘That bastard will be dead now, because I piled the curses on him! He never even left us to mourn our loss!’
    Annie, small and frail, hushed her daughter and leaned over to touch Rory’s big hands as they were folded across his chest. ‘We owe you and your boys here a debt of gratitude. All I had, apart from what we buried back at the dyke side, were just little family trinkets, and I left these in Glen Coe. But I’ll pay you back—I’ll work for you, do a bit of cooking or whatever.’
    ‘No need, woman, we’d have done the same for any poor soul trapped in a snow storm.’
    His coldness saw her draw away her hands. Embarrassed, she turned to Rachel. ‘Will you go back and fetch our bits and pieces, my lassie.’ She spoke also to Megan about gathering sticks for a fire, but could see that her eyes were fixed on Bruar’s face and she hadn’t heard a word. Before she had time to repeat her request, a gasp came from young Jimmy. ‘Father, we clean forgot the Irishman—do you think he’s alive?’
    ‘Lord, so we did! Hell, boy, I don’t know.’ They threw open O’Connor’s tent doors, which flapped wetly at each side of the tent as they dived inside. ‘What a smell in here! I feel it’s a cold dawn for him, father,’ said Jimmy, covering his mouth and nose with both hands.
    A filthy mound of grey blankets parted to show the red, bleary-eyed face of O’Connor. ‘That, my dear young fella, is no the smell o’ rotting flesh, it’s the aroma o’ me socks—I burnt the buggers on me stove. I was about to join youse last night an thought I’d heat me tootsies first, but wit me feet cosy I fell into a deep sleep. I woke two minutes ago from a lovely dream where I was rescuing damsels in distress from a high tower, and God, did I not nearly burn me tent down—the bloody tings were smouldering and it’s a blessing they didn’t fire the place.’
    Jimmy lifted his eyebrows as he turned his head away from the foul-smelling place and said, ‘Your dream had a hint of truth to it, because see what we have in our tent.’
    O’Connor crawled inside, and what a shock he got seeing the three females huddled together like little rabbits. ‘Well now, wid ye look at this? If I’d been awake, all you women could have shared me bed.’
    ‘With that stink not one would have survived—they’d be gassed!’ For that remark, Bruar got a slap across the head with a wet bonnet.
    Throughout the day, everybody was busy trekking the path back and forth and building a proper tent for Annie and her daughters. By the day’s end they’d a fine abode erected close by, yet not too near; Annie insisted that a little distance would allow privacy.
    For whatever reasons, Rory had little time for the newcomers to the campsite and kept to himself. He was unlike his eldest son, who could not keep away from them, and had already bonded with fifteen-year-old Megan. He loved the way she said things, her way with words; silly turns of phrases that made him smile. For the first time in his life he had found a friend, one with sea-green eyes that flashed amber when caught by the winter sun, a girl with a slender frame yet already blossoming into womanhood.
    Rachel, her older sibling, cleaved to Annie, and although grateful to her rescuers, offered little in way of conversation. Yet it could be noticed she did soften in Jimmy’s company.
    The winter continued; Annie, not a well woman, spent most of her time inside her tent or huddled close by her fire. Rachel was not as vibrant as her younger sister, who told tales of