None of that was important. He could take care of all that. But now something else occupied his thoughts—or rather drew all his thoughts away, so he couldn’t think at all.
He stood at the open door of the farmhouse and gazed out at the rain.
Hard again a steep hillside, beside a meadow ringed with trees, stood the MacClannough house, a thatched cottage with wood plank windows closed against the storm. The aromatic smoke from a cozy fire in its hearth curled up out of its chimney and mingled with the rain. Inside the house, the old man was in the chair, the wife was sewing, their daughter Murron was embroidering something, and there was knock at the door.
“Who can that be in this rain?” Mrs. MacClannough wondered.
Her husband stood and opened the door to—a horse! The animal stood just outside his doorway as if the beast wished to come in! then the farmer recovered from his surprise and saw that the horse had a rider: none other than William Wallace.
Both man and horse were drenched with rain; huge steady drops exploded over them. Young Wallace smiled as if he had just come calling on a bright, warm Sunday and said, “Good evening, sir. May I speak with your daughter?”
Mrs. MacClannough stood bug-eyed at her husband’s shoulder, and then Murron appeared behind her stunned parents.
Wallace persisted. “Murron, would you like to go for a ride on this fine evening?”
“The boy’s… the boy’s insane!” Murron’s mother sputtered.
“It’s good Scottish weather, madam. The rain is fallin’ straight down,” William said and grinned again, but he was losing hope.
Farmer MacClannough was still stunned, but his wife’s words were all the quicker. “She absolutely may not, she’ll—Murron!”
Murron had grabbed a cloak off the back of the door; she ran out and hopped up behind William, and they galloped away. Her parents stood in the doorway and looked at each other.
In a long, wordless, exhilarating gallop, William and Murron raced along the heather, up hills, and through streams swollen with the rain. Then the rain stopped; the moon came out behind broken clouds, and a billion stars, washed clean by the storm, shone in the black depth of heaven. William pulled the sodden reins, drawing the horse to a halt, and they sat there together on the warm horse’s back, the mare breathing and blowing yet seeming to feel the sudden beauty of the night, and Murron still pressed against William’s back. They just sat there together, the two of them, neither saying anything, neither feeling the need to.
Then, at last, William spoke without turning to face her.
“Thank you for accepting,” he said.
“Thank you for inviting,” she said.
“I’ll invite you again. But your father thinks I’m crazy.”
“You are,” she said. “And when you invite again, I’ll come again!”
He lingered; he seemed to want to say something more, or perhaps it was just that he didn’t want the night to end. Finally he nudged the horse with his heels, and the mare made her way back down into the valley.
They reached the door of her house. William hopped off the horse and reached up to help her down.
The moment she touched the ground, they looked into each other’s eyes…
But the cottage door was snatched open so quickly that there was no time for a kiss. “Murron, come in!” Mrs. MacClannough snapped.
William walked Murron closer to the door. They turned and looked at each other again. She waited for him to kiss her.
“Murron, come in!” Mrs. MacClannough said even louder.
Still Murron hesitated, and when even then he did not kiss her, she knew he was not going to. She lowered her eyes and started into the cabin, but then William grabbed her hand and into it he put something he had taken from deep inside the long woolen fabric wrapped around his body. It was something small and long, wrapped carefully in flannel. He hopped on his horse, glanced at her, and galloped away.
She stood in the open doorway and looked down at what he left her. Her mother stood beside her, all reproach gone, two kindred souls bounded in womanhood, both staring in wonder at the curious gift.
Murron unwrapped the flannel.
Hidden within its folds was a dried thistle flower, the one she had given him at the graveside many years before.
15
THE NEXT DAY DAWNED CLEAR AND FOUND WILLIAM rethatching the roof of his house. Standing there on the high bracing timbers, he could see off in the distance a column of English soldiers marching through the countryside, training. He stared at them a moment, then went back to work, spreading out the long yellow strands of thatching grass. He heard a rider approach and looked down to see that it was MacClannough.
“Young Wallace—” MacClannough said.
“Sir, I know it was strange of me to invite Murron to ride last night. I assure you, I—”
“My daughter is another matter. I came to fetch you to a meeting.”
“What kind of meeting would that be, sir?”
“The secret kind.”
There was a pause then of barely two seconds, yet it seemed long to both of them. “I’ll get my horse,” William said.
They rode together deep into the hills and reached a cave tucked in a corner sheltered by trees and shadow. They looked to be sure they weren’t watched, and then dismounted, leading their horses with them as they entered.
The inside of the cave was very dark, but as William and MacClannough got in, someone struck a match, then lit a candle. Its flame illuminated twenty men, farmers of the shire.
“You all know William Wallace,” MacClannough told them.
They did. Among the men were Hamish and Campbell, his father, who seemed to be the leader here. “We risk our lives bringing you here, because we are willing to risk our lives for the son of Malcolm Wallace. You understand?” Campbell asked him.
William nodded. He knew rebels when he saw them.
“Every day, they send in more troops. Our country becomes an English playground, a place to harvest our sons as soldiers and our daughters as whores,” Campbell explained.
“That’s a bit too vivid, Campbell!” MacClannough bristled.
“Vivid but true! When Malcolm Wallace was alive, we met here for every raid.” He turned his wild gray eyes on William. “Your coming back made us remember your father. And made us ask if we are still men.”
William looked around the group, lastly at MacClannough.
“I came back home to raise crops. And, God willing, a family. If I can live in peace, I will,” William said. He looked once more at old Campbell, then at Hamish, and walked out of the cave, leading his horse with him.
Campbell shook his head. No one else spoke. Then MacClannough followed William.
The two rode back in silence; they reached the crossroads on the ridge above the Wallace farm. As they were about to part, MacClannough stopped his horse and spoke. “If you can keep your intention to stay out of the troubles, you may court my daughter. If you break your intention, I’ll kill you.”
MacClannough rode away. William rode down to his farm. But along the lane, he stopped and looked for a long time at the graves of his father and brother.
16
THEY DID NOT SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN FOR TWO WEEKS. BUT when one of the MacClannoughs wed his daughter to the son of another local farmer, he sent out a runner to announce the event and invite friends to the celebration. Young Wallace was included in the circle—scarcely anyone was left out, and yet he took the invitation as a sign of acceptance by his old neighbors. So on a Saturday afternoon in late summer he found himself beside Murron, strolling through grass up to their kneetops, in a field beside the church. All the farm families had turned out, but very few of the villagers, as the bride’s family, being tenents on the land of a nobleman, was not prosperous enough to invite and feed them all. Yet there was ample food and flowers full of spirits followed the nuptial couple about and serenaded them with bawdy songs.