Summer of Love by Gian Bordin

The
girl’s slight body suddenly seemed so fragile. Taking care of her sister’s
anguish relieved her own mind from the hideous pictures that relentlessly
assailed her—her mother’s brutal rape, the loathsome face of the dragoon
who caught her, Andrew’s frightened eyes.
     
     * * *
     
    Under the cover of the fading light, the MacGregor men came out of their
daytime hiding places in the ravines or the moors near the mountain tops and
returned to their families.
         "Is dinner ready?" Dougal called out as he entered his hut, the largest of
three. "We are hungry!"
         "We’re all hungry," muttered Mary, her back turned to him, as she stoked
the fire under the big soup kettle.
         "There is no game left, just a few crows. Not worth wasting our bullets on
them… What’s for dinner?"
         Mary did not respond.
         "Maybe I should lift a sheep or two from the McNabbs up Ardeonaig’s
way. Trouble is their guards carry guns, as if they expected trouble. And if
they suspect us they will call the soldiers in."
         He looked at her expectantly. She still busied herself with the fire.
         "Woman, why don’t you talk to me?"
         She rose, facing him, and he saw the roughly stitched rips of her petticoat.
"What happened to you? Was there a fight?"
         "We were roughed up by English dragoons. They tore away our plaids."
         "Did they come into our shielings?"
         "No, it was over by the Achmore burn."
         "What were you doing over there? Didn’t I tell you not to leave our
shielings?"
         "And where do you think our food comes from? There are no oats left,
and you men haven’t brought us anything yet."
         He looked at her outraged and raised his voice: "Didn’t you hear? There’s
no game left. We’ll have to kill our goats. That will give us some decent
food."
         "You will not touch the goats, not over my dead body! We need their
milk. Or do you want to bury your son before the summer is over too?"
         "All right, woman. But why did you go all the way over there?"
         "Because we have to dig roots where they grow. The same as you will
have to get meat where there’s some."
         "Don’t you ever listen, woman? I told you the shepherds are armed. Or
you want us to get shot at?" retorted Dougal angrily.
         "And you want us to get raped?" It was said with vile vehemence.
         "What do you mean, woman?" Dougal thundered. Then he noticed Helen
huddled in a corner, holding Betty. The girl started to tremble again when
Dougal raised his voice.
         All color drained from his face, and then he roared: "The bastards! I am
going to kill them all! Robbing me of my honor."
         "Is this all you care about? Your honor?" Mary asked, hurt, the tears she
had suppressed all that time suddenly bursting.
         For an instant, he looked at her as if she had slapped him. Then he yelled:
"If you hadn’t gone over there, this wouldn’t have happened. But you always
know better! … And why couldn’t you run away?"
         "Because they were on horses," she cried.
         "One of you should have been a lookout?"
         "It wouldn’t have made any difference. They came over the top and were
upon us before we reached the ravine below the lochan." Her voice sounded
resigned again.
         "Oh, God!" He pressed both fists onto his forehead and pushes out an
angry groan. "I will kill every one of them," he growled between clenched
teeth. "These bastards, defiling my wife and daughters." He slumped onto a
stool.
         "Betty and I weren’t harmed," Helen murmured. "Master Andrew helped
us get away."
         "Ah, I should have guessed it. It was he who brought the dragoons over
the top, the conniving bastard," Dougal raved again. "He led them to our
clachan, killed my mother, and now he brought them up into the shielings to
rape our women. I will strangle him with my own hands."
         "But he