The Skylark's Secret(10)
‘I’ve no idea,’ Flora replied. ‘Maybe they’re just passing through on their way to somewhere else.’ But Bridie’s words still rang in her ears. Could they be scouting for places to harbour ships? Was this something more permanent? Only time – and perhaps Mrs Carmichael – would tell.
Flora and Mairi sat by the range, chatting companionably as their knitting needles flew. The balls of grey wool that had been handed out at the meeting of the Rural two days before were rapidly being transformed into scarves, made to Mrs Carmichael’s exact specifications.
‘This grey is a bit drab,’ sighed Flora, setting her knitting aside to put the kettle on.
‘I know,’ agreed Mairi. ‘But I suppose it’s regulation issue.’
‘Ach, surely a little bit of colour can’t hurt. Look, I have this remnant of red. I’m going to add a wee stripe of colour, just at one end. That way, whichever soldier ends up wearing it will know we wanted to cheer him up.’
Mairi laughed and dug into her workbasket, holding up a skein of daffodil-yellow wool. ‘Good idea. Even just a row or two will make it a bit more personal.’
From the loch, the blast of a ship’s siren caused a flurry of sandpipers to rise from the shore, taking fright. Over the past couple of days, more ships had arrived, including one that was said to be laying anti-submarine nets across the mouth of Loch Ewe.
‘What’s going on now?’ Mairi raised her head from her work, craning her neck to see out of the kitchen window.
‘More ships coming in,’ said Flora, absent-mindedly tucking a strand of her russet-gold hair back into the braid that hung down her back. ‘Maybe Bridie’s guess was right the other day. There do seem to be an awful lot of them now.’ The stretch of water between the shore and the island teemed with vessels of all sizes, from the great battleships with their vertical prows and towering turrets to smaller and faster destroyers and cruisers. The launches that buzzed back and forth between the gathering fleet appeared tiny alongside the imposing grey hulks.
Slower and more cumbersome than the launches, two fat tugs chugged back and forth in the distance, out towards the mouth of the loch. They were rumoured by Bridie, who’d heard it from Mrs Carmichael, to be laying a boom that stretched from the end of the island across to the rocks on each of the opposite shores in order to protect the harbour, keeping out any U-boats that might manage to slip past the nets fixed across the mouth of the loch.
Flora set the tea to steep and picked up her knitting again, splicing in a strand of the red wool and deftly working another row of neat stitches. When the front door opened she barely glanced up, expecting Braan to come bouncing in ahead of her father, the pair of them just down from the hill. But the next moment she had jumped to her feet, knitting thrown aside, and flung her arms around the young man in his blue and white naval uniform who stood in the kitchen doorway.
‘Ruaridh!’ she cried. ‘Oh, we hoped you’d be on one of those ships. Dad will be so pleased.’
Her brother grinned, picking her up and swinging her around until she couldn’t tell whether she was giddy with the whirling or with the joy of seeing him. Setting her back on her feet, he reached to give Mairi a hug, too. ‘Glad to see you’re keeping yourselves busy. Any chance of a cup of tea?’ he said matter-of-factly, as if he’d just popped out that very morning instead of it being nearly three months since his last leave.
‘How long are you here for?’ asked Mairi.
‘Not long at all. I’ve managed to wangle an hour ashore, that’s all. We’ve come to accompany the Nelson north. We’ll be leaving tonight.’ He settled himself at the table, stretching out his long legs.
‘Which is your ship?’ Flora asked, passing him a cup.
‘The Ordie. She’s over there towards the island. See those three destroyers? She’s the one on the right.’
‘Will you be coming back?’
‘Hard to say.’ He blew on his tea and then took a sip. ‘It all depends on where the action is. But for now it’s just great to be sitting here at home with my two favourite lassies.’
‘Didn’t you meet anyone in Portsmouth then? A girl in every port, as they say,’ teased Mairi. Although Flora had used to secretly hope that one day her best friend and her brother might become a couple, she knew that Mairi was more like a second little sister to Ruaridh.
‘Och, they kept us far too busy with our training for boring things like war, so I’m afraid I have nothing to report on that front.’
Just then the door was pushed open and Braan burst into the kitchen, giving a yelp of joy at the sight of Ruaridh who leaned forward in his chair to fondle the Labrador’s ears. ‘Good dog, Braan. Where’s your master then?’
‘Here,’ said Iain Gordon, pulling the tweed deerstalker from his head and stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket as he stepped across the threshold. ‘I knew there was something up when Braan turned and raced down the hill. Thought it might be you, son.’
Ruaridh stood and embraced his father and Mairi began to roll up her knitting, stowing it in her basket.
‘I’ll be off now,’ she said. ‘Best be getting back to help Mum with the supper and the weans.’ Mairi was the oldest of six, her siblings ranging in age from fourteen years down to five, which possibly accounted for her reserves of patient good humour. Her parents were hard-working farmers, with sheep and a herd of milking cows that kept the Macleods busy from dawn until dusk every day. Flora envied her and her sprawling family, but Mairi always joked that she’d happily swap them for a big brother like Ruaridh who could introduce her to his friends. ‘Take care of yourself, Ruaridh Gordon. And I hope we see you back here before long.’