Bruar's Rest

someone was there made her sit bolt upright. How could there be anyone? The whole mountainous peak spread itself before her, a vision of panoramic vastness. She lay back down again and had the same uncanny feeling. There was someone there! Something touched her face. A gentle, invisible hand ran over her body. She closed her eyes, as a soft breeze whispered, ‘Don’t worry any more, my precious baby.’ He was there—her Bruar.
    ‘I love you, my bonny lassie,’ he called from within the warm wind.
    She drifted into a dream state in the warmth of the summer day. He kissed her, she kissed him back, they touched every inch of each other’s bodies, then, lost in a world of wonder and mystery, the young couple joined as if in dreams. In this world Death himself could not separate them.
    How long she lay there, there is no telling, but if it hadn’t been for the whirr, tabak-tabak-tabak sound of a mother grouse chasing away a buzzard, she may never have awakened.
    Whether or not Bruar had come from the grave to make love to her she did not know, but one thing she did know was that it was a long, long, time since she had felt so refreshed. From then on, when life was sore and heavy, she’d call to him and at least in dreams they’d be together. With this thought planted firmly in her mind she set off for home.
    Now and then a buzzard soared high in the sky, watching and waiting. A vile smell made her recoil in disgust, as she came upon the half-rotted carcass of a red deer, but it mattered not. ‘Ah well, she thought, ‘all must eat, I suppose.’ Further on she stopped to take another drink from a trickle of water spurting from the earth. ‘Scotland, you are a wonder,’ she said, wetting a cotton handkerchief and running it over her sweated face. ‘Where in the world has God painted such beauty? I think nowhere else, but where have I been, apart from here and Glen Coe? Maybe Rachel has the right idea, to go as far away as anyone willing to take you.’ She smiled, thinking what a long and perfect day this was. It certainly was a hot one, so feeling tired she stretched out behind a shady outcrop of rocks, sleeping once more. She knew arguments between Rory and O’Connor would be in full swing. The Irishman, lost without his drinking buddy, would not be pleased with his new abstinence. An hour or two more and she’d trek back.
    The hours fell away, and when at last she awakened a dusky night was drawing near.
    ‘Oh my goodness, this has been a long sleep! I’d best shift my feet, better I get back in case Rory has gone into town to have a goodbye drink; heaven knows where that might end.’
    The darkness of the sky joined the horizon of the heather moor. Her pace quickened; grotesque shapes appeared to hem in her path, rocks took on strange forms as the shadows grew longer and deeper. A tiny glimmer of the sun’s rays danced upon tree tops for one solitary moment, before being engulfed by the night. Dew had formed on the broom; a big moor spider hung from its web as if drinking the weighty dewdrops suspended from its temporary home. In time the ground flattened out, and she sighed with relief. A lone moorfowl was a welcome sight, rising in panic from a bed of reeds at the sound of her footsteps. The broom’s yellow blossom had curled into itself for the night, which had brought with it a chill wind. Her feet found familiar ground, and soon she reckoned another mile would see her home. Her phantom romancing with Bruar had given a strength she’d welcomed, for sure as night follows day she’d need to be strong to take to the long road with big Rory in tow. The flames from the campfire lit up the sky; her father-in-law was still there.
    With a full moon shining a clear bright path before her, the final half mile was easily visible. Suddenly voices could be heard further up the road, and she darted instinctively behind a twisted oak. Men came nearer; they were cursing and laughing at the same time. ‘Filthy bloody tinks, that’s the last time they bother us,’ one said. ‘Yes, too true, lad,’ answered another. ‘Did you get the Irishman, he’s a slippy bugger that one, did you slice him?’
    ‘If he’s not a goner then I’m not the best ploughman for miles. Oh aye, it went through him!’ Another voice barked, ‘See how the tents flamed, best fire I’ve seen in a long while. Aye, well rid I say. We’ll not see their kind round here again. Come on, let’s celebrate.’
    Megan slid to the