When Fate Dictates Read Free Page A

he
reached his hand out to touch me and then stopped, as if checking
himself and withdrew awkwardly.
    “We share the same pain, but in how we came
by it, I have more choice than you,” he said simply.
    “Do you think, Mr. Campbell that because you
have chosen your path that it will be any easier than mine?” He
gave a throaty grunt and shook his head.
    “No, lass, it probably will not.” The shadow
of a frown creased his brow, his wide jaw tensed and the regular
beat of the pulse at the side of his neck quickened. He had
probably lost as much as I in this valley. Self-consciously, I
realized that I was staring at him and dropped my eyes to gaze
unseeing at the ground. We were silent for a long period, during
which Mr. Campbell consumed several large sips of the amber liquid
in the flask. Finally, drawing a long sigh, he broke the silence.
“You must be hungry?” he said, turning to pick up a cloth sack from
which he removed a loaf of dry bread. I had not thought about food
or the need for it since fleeing the valley the morning of the
massacre and the mention of it now made my stomach churn with
hunger. I nodded fervently, as he broke small chunks off the bread,
and handed them to me. I accepted the offer gratefully, ravenously
consuming the dry crusty bread as if it were the finest cuts of our
precious cattle. “Tell me, lass, what should I call you?”
    “I am Corran.”
    “Well then, wee Corran,” he responded,
lifting the flask in an exaggerated toast. “I am very pleased to
know you,” he said, allowing the briefest hint of humor to cross
his lips.
    “And I you, Mr. Campbell,” I replied
shyly.
    “A toast,” he said softly, “to the
future.”
    “What will you do now?” I asked.
    “Well, I cannot go back to my home, and I
won’t be going back to the army, that is unless I have a fancy to
be hanged for desertion or treason,” he paused briefly, taking
another sip of the whisky. “But more than that, I am not sure of
yet.”
    I was starting to feel drowsy. The bread had
filled my stomach and the whisky was doing its job well. Dusk was
drawing in and the night mist hung heavily in the crevice. I pulled
the red coat higher and tighter around me in an effort to keep out
the damp evening air.
    “Are you tired Corran?” he asked gently.
    “Aye, Mr. Campbell, I am,” I replied, yawning
widely.
    “Why not rest a wee while then? You will be
safe enough here for now.” His tone was warm, gentle and reassuring
but terror still clung to my soul.
    “Are you sure we will be safe here?” I tried
to hold my voice steady, hoping not to betray my fear but
exhaustion and whisky had robbed me of the control I sought.
    “Aye, it’ll do nicely. No one will find us
here, if you stay still and quiet that is,” he said.
     
    Later, I awoke to the comfort and warmth of
his body. We were sitting, backs to the hard rock face of the cave.
Huddled together, like two old friends, my head resting gently on
his shoulder, his coat, draped, like a blanket over my knees. I
lifted my head, slowly, trying not to wake him. He felt me shift
and instinctively his eyes sprang open, his hand darted for his
dirk.
    “Shh, shh, it’s alright, Mr. Campbell,” I
whispered soothingly.
    “Sorry, lass, I didn’t mean to startle you,”
he replied, returning his dirk to its sheath. He stood up, running
his hands through his long, thick, curly, black hair. I smiled at
his unsuccessful attempt to neaten his hair, thinking with
amusement that it would probably take a lot more than a quick rub
with his hands to tame the wild mop on top of his head.
    “Did you sleep well, Mr. Campbell?” I
inquired, averting my eyes and trying to hide the amusement in my
voice.
    “Oh aye, that I did,” he said, his eyes
lingering on the blood stains that crusted my shift. “Perhaps,” he
said, gently touching my blood and mud-stained cheek, “we could
both use a stream of water to tidy ourselves a bit.”
    We made our way deeper into the woods. It