The Skylark's Secret(72)
Then, at last, the wind and rain had abated and the day had dawned clear and calm.
‘Make the most of it,’ warned Iain. ‘The deer are staying on the lee of the hill. They know when there’s another storm coming in.’
As Flora and Alec climbed the path to the lochan, the wind began to pick up again, filling the sky to the west, stretching it as taut as a blue sail to where it met the horizon. From the heights they could see a pair of ships entering the loch.
‘Is there to be another Arctic convoy so soon?’ asked Flora, surprised.
Alec shook his head. ‘Not yet. Those will have journeyed up from the south to join the muster for the next Atlantic convoy. There’s one due to leave in a few days’ time.’
Flora breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she had him safe on shore for a while longer. Today was a gift. They fished for a while, but nothing was biting; then they retreated to the shelter of the bothy’s walls, which offered a little protection from the teasing bluster of the wind. It had swung round to the north-east, the Arctic breath slicing through their layers of clothing. There was a small stash of dry sticks and peat in one corner, half-buried beneath some old boards, and Alec managed to coax a fire alight in the grate so they could warm their hands and toast the bannock that they’d brought with them, the butter melting into the oatmeal and dripping on to their fingers.
He pulled her close to his side and wrapped his coat around them both, cocooning them from the world beyond the bothy’s walls, and she breathed in the smell of the peat smoke on his hair.
‘In the summer, let’s come and camp up here,’ he said.
And she nodded, a wave of hope surging through her at the thought that the summer would come and he would be there. And maybe the war would be over by then, and the doubt and fear that cast such long shadows would be gone. They’d be able to plan a life without goodbyes, and the paralysing unspoken anguish that each one of those farewells might be their last. And she would hold Alec in her arms until he was healed.
At last the glow of the fire began to fade, the peats crumbling to grey dust. Alec stood, brushing crumbs from his jumper, and took her hand to help her up. Beyond the shelter of the bothy wall, the wind was like a cold blade against their cheeks.
‘Looks like your father was right,’ he said, glancing to the west. As the winter sun slipped towards the sea, a bank of dark clouds rose to meet it, hungrily devouring the light. ‘There’s another storm coming in. We’d best be getting back.’
By the time they’d reached the cottage, the darkness had enveloped the loch and the wind had turned from a tease to a bully. Drawing the blackout to shut out the threatening storm, Flora shivered a little despite the warmth of the kitchen. This was no night to be out at sea. She was thankful Alec was on shore, and thought maybe the storm would delay the departure of that next Atlantic convoy. She just hoped all the ships were now safely gathered inside the harbour.
At first, as she surfaced from her sleep, Flora thought the banging was part of the symphony of the storm, a bass beat joining the banshee howl of the wind and the rush of sleety snow being driven against the walls of the cottage. But then she realised the rhythmic, insistent knocking was someone at the door. She scrambled out of bed, hearing her father’s footsteps in the corridor as he went to answer it.
It was early morning, still dark outside. Alec stepped across the threshold, quickly pulling the door shut behind him as the storm threatened to wrench it from his grasp. Rivulets of melting snow ran from his oilskins and pooled on the floor around his boots.
‘There’s a ship in trouble out beyond the point,’ he said. ‘We’re going to need more hands, stretchers, ambulances. Flora and Ruaridh . . . ?’
‘We’re here,’ said Ruaridh, already pulling on a jersey and reaching past Alec for his own waterproofs, which hung next to the door.
In her room, Flora hastily tucked her nightdress into a pair of trousers and grabbed her greatcoat. ‘Drop me at the base,’ she told them as they jumped into the car at the gate, its engine already running. ‘I’ll get the ambulance and pick up Mairi on the way past. We’ll catch up with you at the end of the road.’
Alec nodded. ‘It’s gone on to the rocks at Furadh Mor. It’s not going to be easy to reach them. Bring the ambulance along the track as far as you safely can.’
In the darkness, the truck’s headlights were scarcely able to pierce the spinning eddies of snow that lashed the windscreen. Flora peered ahead, her eyes straining to pick out landmarks, driving as fast as she dared, thankful that she knew every twist and turn like the back of her hand. The gale pummelled the sides of the ambulance, making it sway and lurch, the snow rattling against the metal like machine-gun fire, and she had to fight to keep it on the road, which was slippery with melting sleet. Mairi sat beside her, white-faced and tense, gripping the sides of her seat.
Flora knew what was on her mind. Just the other day, Bridie had shown her a postcard from Hal saying that the brothers were on their way back to Loch Ewe having managed to get berths on one of the Liberty ships coming up from London, which would meet with others there before returning to America to pick up another cargo. Neither girl spoke as the ambulance battled onwards through the storm, but they both shared the same fear and each prayed silently that Hal and Roy were on some other ship, in some other port, weathering the storm.