Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times

by Robert William MacKenna

She nestled to me for a moment, then shyly drew herself away. "Has it meant a' that to you?" she whispered. "Then what has it meant to me? It has brocht love into my life, beloved, and love is of God."

I folded her in my arms again, and held her. A little tremor shook her as I bent and kissed her on the brow and eyes and lips. "Flower of the Heather, God keep you," I said. On my little finger was a silver ring. It bore the crest of my house. I drew it off, and taking Mary's hand in mine I slipped it upon her finger and kissed it as it rested there. "For love's sweet sake," I said.

She gazed at her finger and then looked at me archly, her wonted playfulness awaking. "I wonder what faither will say? He'll read me a sermon, nae doot, on setting my affections on the things o' this world; but I winna care. A' I want is to find him; and if he likes he can preach at me till the crack o' doom."

I smiled at her upturned face. "And when we find him, Mary, as find him we will, I will ask him to let me marry you."

A light flashed in her eyes that all morning had been strained and sad. "Let's find him quick," she said. "Noo we maun awa. That is your road, and this is mine. Good-bye, and God bless you," and she lifted her face to me.

I would fain have prolonged the happy moment, but reason prompted me to be strong, so I bent and kissed her fondly, little dreaming of all the sorrow that the future held. At the end she showed herself to be more resolute than I was, for it was she who tore herself away. I watched as she sped lightly over the tussocks of heather like a young fawn, then I turned and took the path she had indicated to me, a path which I had blindly followed amidst storm and lightning once before. Ere I had gone far I turned to follow her with my eyes, and as I watched she turned to look for me. I waved my hand to her, and she waved back to me. The sunlight fell on that dear head of hers and, even across the distance, I could see the brown of her hair and the witching coil of gold set like an aureole above her forehead.

I plodded forward steadily, looking to right and left and from time to time uttering the whaup call. But there was no answer; nor did I anywhere see sign of Andrew. When I turned again to look for Mary she had passed out of sight and, though I scanned the distance eagerly, I could catch no glimpse of her.

My path had begun to lead me up the hills and as I went I was conscious that the strength of my injured limb was not all that I had thought. On the level it served me well enough, but on the slopes the strain began to tell. I was not to be beaten, however, by mere physical pain and struggled on with all the spirit I could command, though my progress was hindered seriously. It was close to noon when I came to the place of the hill-meeting where I had first seen Mary face to face. I clambered down into the hollow. It was a place of hallowed memories. In the hope that Andrew might be near, I uttered the whaup call: but there was no reply. I sat down, and took from my pocket some of the food with which Jean had provided me, and as I ate I pondered. I was not yet half way to my destination and the portion of the road that lay before me was harder far than that along which I had come. I judged that in my crippled state it would be evening before I could reach the loch-side, and to return to Daldowie again that day would be impossible. I dared not go back without having completed my search. To fail of accomplishing my part of the quest would be disloyalty to the friends to whom I owed my life.

My absence for a night would doubtless cause them anxiety, and as I thought of Mary's pain I was sore tempted to abandon my search and turn back to Daldowie at once. But I remembered my debt to Andrew and determined that at all costs I should see this matter through to the end.

Possibly Andrew was lying somewhere in my path with a broken limb such as I myself had sustained, and if I abandoned the search, his death would be upon my head. When I considered what Mary would think of me in such a case, shame smote me; so, without more ado, I set out again and battled on until, as the sun began to climb down the western sky, I found myself within sight of the loch.