The Posy Ring Episode 94

Afew days later, McAllister sailed into the bay. The birlinn anchored offshore, and the light tender was rowed ashore and hauled on to the sand. The two Spaniards were carrying packs made of hide, containing a few spare clothes for the journey and enough food to last them for some days: oatmeal for mixing with spring water to sustain them along the way, oat bread and cheese, flasks of ale and a little whisky. More than they had arrived with, anyway.

Beathag had hugged them, and then run off, weeping, her face buried in her apron. Ishbel had done the same. Lilias was nowhere to be seen, and McNeill, who was resolved on walking down to the shore to wish them a safe voyage, seemed annoyed.

The dogs were frolicking around him, uncaring. All comings and goings were alike exciting to them, as long as McNeill himself or his daughters did not leave.

“The least the lass could do is show herself to wish you God speed and a safe journey,” McNeill said, irritably.

“Perhaps she dislikes goodbyes as much as we do!” said Mateo, bleakly. “Don’t scold her on our account, sir. We saw her earlier. Give her our good wishes for her wedding.”

Disturbance

“Hmm.” McNeill persisted in his ill temper, although whether it was at the disturbance of their departure, or at the thought of the forthcoming wedding, they could not say. He was a man who liked things to be the same, day by day, week by week. To everything there was a season.

The tender was floated, the Spaniards stepped in, being careful to step into the middle, so as not to overturn the little craft.

Then one of the oarsmen pushed it off the sand, and stepped deftly aboard, picking up the oars as he did so, making sure that the boat turned with the sun.

As they began to pull away from the white shore, Mateo looked up and saw Lilias standing – as she had stood on the day of their arrival, last autumn – on the very tip of the promontory, close to the Dun. She was wearing her yellow gown, and her hair was streaming out in the sudden breeze that seemed determined to push the coracle back towards the island.

The oarsmen cursed and struggled to keep her right. Slowly but surely they began to make way.

Looking down, Mateo could see an underwater garden through clear water, another world, like a mirror of this one, where anything might be possible. Out on the skerries, seals were singing, sounding curiously human.

No wonder the islanders told stories about seal men and women, strangers who came ashore and stole the hearts of humans. Did all such tales end in disaster? Need it always happen?

He looked up again and was lost. She was calling to him, frantically, her arms extended and wide open to him. He didn’t think twice. He left bag and baggage, half stood up, and then, almost upsetting the tender and risking throwing the other men into the sea, he went head first into the water.

The intense cold was a shock. He had forgotten that the waters here never really grew warm. For a moment or two he was under the surface. Time slowed. He opened his eyes, saw the reddish sea ware waving sinuously below him, like a woman’s hair.

Gasping for breath

He saw crabs walking sideways along the bottom. Saw tiny silver fishes swarming and scattering in front of his gaze. Then he broke the surface like a seal himself, the droplets cascading down his face and his hair. He was gasping for breath, his heart pounding with the shock of the sudden immersion.

But he was floating. He saw the surprised faces of the men in the boat, saw Francisco break into a smile. Already the tender was moving away in the direction of the birlinn. Leaving him behind.

His cousin cupped his hands. “Go!” he shouted. “Go back! God go with you!”

Mateo raised a hand in acknowledgement, almost sank again, and then turned towards the shore. It was further than he thought, and before he reached shallow waters, he was struggling.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity, and he saw that Lilias had pulled up her skirts and was wading through the water, heedless of her fine gown, heedless of her father who, quite unable to swim and thoroughly bemused by the turn of events, was wringing his hands on the shoreline. “Come back!” he called.

She paid no attention to him at all, but stretched out her two hands to Mateo again, and hauled him ashore.

She toppled backwards and he fell forwards and they lay for a moment, quite winded, both laughing and crying simultaneously. The dogs thought it was some wonderful game. They gambolled about, licking faces, tugging at clothes, delirious with delight.

It was Mateo who got to his feet first, pulling her with him. He had captured her hand in his and was vowing that nobody would ever prise them apart again, even if her father killed him for it. But he spoke in Spanish, lest McNeill should suit the action to the words.

Astonishment

McNeill stood in front of them, frowning, shaking his head in astonishment. The tender had reached the galley, and Mateo saw them unfurling the sail, preparing to leave.

“What is the meaning of all McNeill asked. “Daughter? Mateo?”

Mateo shook himself and the drops scattered on to the sand. “Sir, I should like to marry your daughter. I love her. I have loved her from the moment I first set eyes upon her, and I will go on loving her until death and beyond.”

Lilias looked, clear-eyed and defiant, at her father. “He’s my husband,” she said. “Do you understand me, Father? The man I want to share my life with. He wants to stay here with me. I want to be his wife.”

She moved her hand to her stomach, damp with seawater. “I think I need to be his wife. Do you understand what I’m telling you?

“Will you agree to this match? You’ll not shame me, will you, you who have always been so kind to me?” this?”

He broke the surface like a seal himself, the droplets cascading down his face. He was gasping for breath, his heart pounding

The Posy Ring, first in the series The Annals of Flowerfield, is written by Catherine Czerkawska and published by Saraband. It is priced at £8.99.