Bruar's Rest

she saw her sister-in-law’s body covered by the sheet. ‘Oh, God help us, she’s not—I, brother, had no idea she was in labour—why did you not send for help? The bairn is...?’
    ‘Aye, bless her, she did it without help, brought that wee one into the world.’ He pointed at the infant lying behind Bruar. ‘But tell me, sister, who could I have sent for help? Little Bruar here? My lassie thought we’d manage, and I promise you we were fine until her back arched and the fear took hold. She asked for you! I only wanted Balnakiel to sit with her and the wee lad. I begged on my knees, pleaded with him in that stinking, slime-walled cave. He just stared with those bead eyes, head rolled on narrow shoulders, prophesying. The last thing I needed was that mad swaying and muttering, on and on about death coming for my lassie. God help me, sister, it was all that I could do not to hurl the beast head-first into the sea. He kept repeating those sick words: ‘she would die and meet a cold dawn’. I had to shut him up. Curse that pig who’s in league with the Devil, for she is stone dead! It wasn’t drink that made me hit—what would anyone do? I meant to shut his mouth; and if the chance comes again, I will, I’ll swing for him! He should be glad I didn’t kill him. Look at my lassie, an hour ago she was as healthy as any woman having a baby, still fresh, a mere girl. And what does this wee man know of death? How can I tell him that his mother is not coming back to cuddle and kiss him anymore?’
    Helen put an arm around his shoulder and whispered in his ear, ‘It wasn’t the drink, you were sober; people will understand it was the grief that made you hit the Seer, and not the fuel of alcohol. Stop fretting about this little chap, sure infants heal fast.’ She was trying hard to help her brother, but the sound of angry voices grew nearer.
    Several crofters had found the Seer limping and bleeding heavily from a gash on his head. Now they were seeking vengeance, heading toward the tent. She ran to meet them, shaking her head and warning them not to approach Rory in his present state. One old woman shouted that her brother should take what was coming to him for injuring their Voice of Prophecy.
    Helen stopped them, pointing to the tent. ‘You could not make his pain any the worse. See.’ She opened the tent door for all eyes to see what lay inside. ‘My brother’s wife has died in childbirth. See if you don’t believe me.’ She gently lifted the cover, exposing the pathetic scene. ‘Now, surely, you can show a bit compassion for this young family.’
    Two or three people stooped inside, and then quickly drew back with hands covering mouths. Yet even though the sight of death was shocking, some hard-hearted souls still found words of condemnation. ‘Rory Stewart, bury your woman and take yourself away from these parts, and heaven help you if we ever see you again.’
    The fisherfolk and peat-cutters whom he had been part of before marrying the travelling lassie took leave and were soon gone, quickly distancing themselves from the visitation of death.
    Over the sand dunes of Durness point where he had promised to build a picturesque croft, a grey cloud spread to meet a cold sea breeze. All Rory’s hopes of future and family lay on the bracken under that soiled sheet. His oath never to touch alcohol now meant as little to him as the vapour from the lid of a whiskey vat—the ‘angel’s share’.
    ‘Margaret Mackay has just this past hour delivered a blue bairn,’ Helen said. ‘Poor wee mite, her man is burying it as we speak. She has fullness of breast milk. Now come, brother, gather what you can, I’ll manage both bairns. There’s no time to spare, the fisherfolk might change their minds and come searching for your blood. Hitting the Seer was a terrible thing, no matter what the reasons. And if this infant’s not fed soon, he’ll be joining his mother.’
    Taking a firm hold of her slim shoulders, he rested his sad eyes on the children and pleaded, ‘Look after them for me. I’ll stay with their mother for a while, make my peace. I’m in no fit state to father a rat, never mind these two. I’ll come for them when I’m able to be a provider.’
    She wanted to tell him the cottage could still be built, to be a home where he could rear his sons, but she’d enough knowledge of her brother to know her words would fall on deaf ears, his pain-etched face said it all
    It was the little ones who