Two Kinds Of Truth(27)

“What are you doing out here alone?” she asks as her brows knit together.

I glance around. There’s no one else here except the two of us.

“I could ask you the exact same thing,” I say, and she laughs.

“Yes, good point. Although I’m guessing you’re not from around these parts?”

“You mean the fact I’ve slipped down the bank? I simply wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No, the fact you didn’t use the path that leads down to the water.”

I gaze to where she’s pointing and my cheeks burn once again.

“Oh, I guess you’re right. I didn’t notice that track before.”

The stranger shakes her head. “Never mind. Let’s get you up and make sure you’re okay.”

She looks as though she’s going to try and help me, so I rise to my feet unaided, to prove I’m quite capable and still in one piece.

“So, no bones broken, then?” she asks, and I’m touched by her concern.

“Honestly, I’m fine. I’m just a little shaken, that’s all.”

“Do you need a drink or anything?”

I shake my head. “No, thanks. I have water in my rucksack if I need it.”

Jamie pops into my head, his words of warning bouncing against my brain: Take the rucksack, ye ken? Just in case ye get lost, or worse, injured. I despise that he clearly has more sense than I do, not that I’m about to admit it.

The woman takes a step back and I try to brush the dirt from the back of my clothes.

“By the way, I’m Maddie,” I say, in way of an introduction.

“Hi, I’m Bridget.” She gives me a cute little wave. We both laugh and I don’t feel quite so uncomfortable in her presence anymore.

“Do you live locally?” I ask.

Bridget shakes her head. “No, I’m on holiday. I’m staying in a remote cottage a couple of miles from here.”

“What? Alone?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.

“Yes. I try to visit here three or four times a year. I write, so it’s a perfect location.”

I nod. If I was a writer, this would be exactly where I’d want to be, too.

Bridget points to the stone. “Did you come here today to see the memorial?”

I nod again. “Yeah, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

She stands aside to let me pass. “Go ahead. It’s certainly worth the trek.”

I hesitate, fearful I might slip again, but Bridget powers full steam ahead and makes her way to the edge of the stream. I’m not so sure-footed and walk behind, treading with care in her footsteps.

The stone is little more than two metres high by a metre wide, but there’s something haunting about it. I brush my fingers against its solid rock. It’s ice cold to the touch and I’m quick to pull my hand away.

Bridget stands beside me and explains the history of the memorial.

“This rock is a symbolic reminder of the clansmen who died fighting in a most harrowing battle in April seventeen-forty-six. This monument was erected to face north, towards the battlefield of Culloden. Those who come here pay their respects to their ancestors whose souls will forever wander along the moor.”

My gaze sweeps across the chiselled words cut deep into the stone. They’re written in Gaelic, though, a dialect centuries old and one I cannot understand.

“I have no idea what the words mean?” I sigh, and turn to Bridget.

“It’s the same inscription that’s written on a wall at Culloden,” she explains. “Translated, it says: ‘Our blood is still our father…And ours the valour of the hearts…’.”

She speaks softly, her lips rounding as she says each word with careful precision. A cold breeze appears from nowhere, perhaps blowing in from off the distant sea. In my mind’s eye, I see those fateful clansmen fighting for their lives, for Scotland. A river of red lies before them, the ground soaked in their own blood. I shiver.

“Wow, I have to say: the way you conveyed those words just now sent a chill down my spine.”

Bridget shakes her head. “I just think, if you’re going to remember the dead, then you do it from the heart.”

I nod. “Yes, and you caught the mood perfectly.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you saying so.”

I glance at my watch. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I didn’t realise the time, and I’d better get back before my husband sends out a search party.”

She gives me a wide grin. “No problem. It’s been great meeting you.”

“Likewise, and at least my fall wasn’t counterproductive.”

“Oh, in what way?”

I grin. “I met you.”





Chapter 7


When I reach the farm gate, I see Jamie sitting on a low wall next to one of the many raised flowerbeds. His rich curly hair has fallen into his eyes and I have a sudden urge to go over and brush it aside. He looks up and waves. I lift my hand and automatically wave back, then push open the gate and make my way along the path towards him, the gravel crunching noisily beneath my feet.

He’s playing with one of the farm dogs, a cute black fluffy Collie with a white patch splashing one ear. Its inquisitive eyes flick towards me, then he barks and jumps up onto his hind legs, keen to make my acquaintance. A long, narrow nose twitches as he takes on board my scent. Jamie holds his collar and the dog wags its tail. I hold my hand out and it’s diligently sniffed before the tips of the fingers are licked. I chuckle, the dog’s tongue is like sandpaper, and it tickles.