High on a Mountain Read Free

Ailean with a smile. “You won the game for us again this year. I
guess they’ll let you claim to be a part of the clan for a while
longer.”
    “Maybe.” Ruairidh MacLachlainn, one of the
chief’s tacksmen, clapped a hand on Ailean’s shoulder and laughed.
“Brilliant playing, Ailean, just brilliant! Thanks for winning for
us again.”
    Ailean, unaccustomed to being singled out for
praise and recognition, enjoyed the attention. “Thanks. I did my
best.”
    A growing feeling of being watched nagged at
him, made him uncomfortable, and he scanned the crowd. He saw
Latharn Cambeul’s dark eyes fastened upon him in a malevolent
glare. An almost imperceptible shiver passed through his body, and
he turned his back on Latharn. And toward the enjoyment of the
victory celebration.
    ____________
     
    Latharn sat by the fire with his father, who
was sipping his usual evening drink of whisky.
    “Are you still fretting about the game?”
Eachann asked his son.
    “That MacLachlainn boy. I wish he’d break a
leg or something. Ever since he started playing, we haven’t won a
game.”
    “Things come and things go. He won’t play camanachd forever. Then, we’ll probably be the winners
again.”
    Latharn noticed his father’s empty glass.
“Can I pour you another dram, Father?”
    “No. I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”
Eachann frowned, in thought. “I saw some of the MacThàmhais boys
playing when I rode by their croft a week or two ago. One of the
boys is good, quite good. He’ll be old enough to play in a year or
two, and maybe he’ll turn our fortunes around.”
    Latharn made no comment. He didn’t care about
the MacThàmhais boy, didn’t care if the boy helped Clan Cambeul win
in years to come. He only cared that MacLachlainn defeated his clan
while Latharn himself played on the team, that MacLachlainn bested
him.
    Latharn enjoyed his status as the best player
in Clan Cambeul. He resented the erosion of respect resulting from
the game losses to Clan MacLachlainn. He looked into the flames,
seething, his dislike for Ailean MacLachlainn deepening.
    ____________
     
    When spring arrived, thoughts of planting, of
eking out meager crops on the thin soil of the crofts, replaced
thoughts of camanachd competition in most crofters’ minds.
Matters of survival took precedence over clan rivalries and ball
games.
    Ailean’s family and the neighbors who were
joint tenants on their croft drove their sheep and cattle to the airigh , away from the unfenced fields of the croft where the
men would plant oats and barley. The women and children tended the
animals through the summer months, holding them at the airigh so they would not destroy the growing crops. And the
cattle fattened on the lush grass of the upland pasture.
    In late summer, after the people harvested
the oats, the men gathered the cattle and sorted them for the drive
to the croft. Aodh MacLachlainn discovered one of his cows was
missing.
    “Ailean. Go find her. She can’t have wandered
far,” Aodh told his son.
    His father’s order rankled. He always
gives me the worst jobs, things a child can do. And Coinneach
always gets the manly chores. It isn’t fair!
    “Why me? Why not Coinneach?” Ailean
asked.
    “Just do as you’re told.”
    Ailean walked away, grumbling under his
breath. He went to the hut to get a piece of cheese to carry with
him. This trek could take an hour or it could take all day, and he
wanted to be prepared. He didn’t enjoy going hungry.
    When he squatted to get a piece of cheese
from the bottom shelf, his scabbard banged into his leg and jerked
against the strap fastened around his waist. The irritation begun
by his father’s order grew with the aggravation caused by the
unwieldy sword. Ailean clenched his teeth and tried to push the
sword into a better position. But no matter what he tried, he
couldn’t reach the shelf in the close quarters of the tiny hut with
the sword strapped in place. At last, he unfastened the belt