How many times had I stood here watching the purple mountains of Harris appear through the mists, shrouding the almost black waters of the Minch?
I am on the top deck of the Eilean Leodhais, Isle of Lewis, car ferry, braving the elements to watch the land of my birth come Into view.
The Hebrides. The most Northerly Islands of the United Kingdom.
Today The Minch, the water that separates the islands from the Scottish mainland, is relatively benign. In winter, however, the water can be treacherous, and the wind can be bitter and cruel.
I have been away a long time, too long, an inner voice whispered. I have been running away from my past and the past of my ancestors, and I have also run from the present.
I escaped to Glasgow and went to university to study sciences. After I graduated, my interest lay in natural remedies and “lotions and potions.” I established a small business, selling high-end cosmetics and remedies using the abundant fruits of the land and sea. I was carrying on a family tradition but in the 21st-century style. Up until now, my business hadn't required my presence on the island, but it had become so successful that this was no longer the case.
It coincided with a break-up with my boyfriend back in Glasgow. There was no real drama; we had just drifted apart. I needed a getaway from the city and its noise and crowds. The call of the Hebrides was always there, urging me to get away to the islands and home. I had ignored it before.
The wind whips my hair into my eyes. It was untamed at the best of times. I have the unmistakable colouring of the Celts, red hair and green eyes. My name is Caitriona McLeod, Cat to my friends. My thoughts turn to the past and my departure five years ago.
~ ~ ~
June the 21st. The summer solstice. A magical, spiritual time for the islanders. A day that seems endless, with a sky that never darkens completely.
The youngsters of the district of Ness had been planning this party for weeks, and now it was in full swing. We had gathered on the beautiful beach at Eoropie. No crofts were nearby, and the bay was framed by dunes. The mighty Atlantic crashed its waves on the shore. A large Bonfire burned. Someone was playing the guitar, and others were singing. There was a lot of illicit alcohol involved. A few of us were only seventeen. I sat with my friend Mhairi, watching the flames rise skyward, pleasantly tipsy, half listening, but in reality, lusting over the boy I had loved for as long as I could remember.
Ruaraid Cameron or Rory, as he was known.
He was also totally forbidden to me because of long family feuds from the last century.
I was aware that he watched me, as I watched him.
As the light faded a little, most of the group decided to go for a paddle in the waves. Swimming was too dangerous. Mhairi joined the others.
I stayed where I was. I knew what was going to happen. It had happened on this very beach over two hundred years ago.
I have lived before.
Of that, I am certain. I am what is known in this part of the world as “fey”. Ever since I was a small child, I could finish relatives’ tales with an unerring accuracy. I spoke as if in a trance. I saw those people, I heard their voices, I felt their feelings. My family accepted I was different and loved me despite my strange gift.
Rory walked towards me, hand outstretched. No one had seen us. We walked hand in hand away from the beach and the flames. The soft grasses and the plants of the machair, the land edging the sands, were like a cushion beneath our feet.
In the fading light, we kissed for the first time, in this life, and he undressed me skilfully, but with an urgency too. I mirrored his actions and soon we were both naked. He gazed at my full breasts and nipples and his hands cupped and stroked and teased while he kissed me deeply.
He was fully aroused. I had never seen an aroused male before and the sight both fascinated and thrilled me. He would be inside me soon, I knew that for certain. Unfamiliar moisture gathered between my legs, along with a throbbing and pulsing I had never experienced before. We dropped to the soft ground and explored each other's bodies with fervour and passion. I was a virgin, but instinctively I knew what to do, after all, we had both lived before. We both knew the risks involved but at that moment we forgot them.
His fingers edged between my legs, a slight hesitancy, and then I felt them inside me. I gasped at the initial pain. His hand stilled, he stopped kissing me and looked at me anxiously.
I whispered, “Don't stop.”
He didn't. He was only two years older than me, but this wasn't his first time. I felt an unreasonable surge of jealousy. Who was she?
Then coherent thought left, as he entered me, my virgin status now gone. He was gentle at first but as I got more and more aroused, my fingers raked down his back, his passion mounted and his thrusts got stronger and deeper until he came, drenching me with his orgasm. My entire body was on fire and I was desperate to do it all again. But this was forbidden love, from both our families,
Hurriedly, but reluctantly, we dressed and slipped back, unobserved, into the group of laughing youngsters on the beach, who were now dancing to the strains of a fiddle, or violin.
Mhairi eyed me questioningly. My unruly red hair would now be a riot!! I knew my secret was safe with her.
It was only supposed to be once. Any love between us was fated, and cursed by our ancestors.
All that summer we sneaked away to meet and make love in the dunes, the machair, or the ruins of the black house crofts of our forefathers.
We never got caught and miraculously I never got pregnant.
But was that true?
Rory’s family were wealthy landowners and unexpectedly, it was announced that Rory was being sent to Canada to study. There was no way out. He promised he would return to me, but to defy our families by being together was unthinkable.
I had passed my exams at school, so decided to miss my final year at The Nicholson Academy and go to University a year early. I couldn't face life on Lewis without him.
We both left the Hebrides within days of each other. We agreed it would be easier if we never stayed in touch.
It wasn't.
Now I am returning. No one will be waiting to greet me at Stornoway. I haven't told my family. I know though they will be thrilled at my return.
~ ~ ~
As I drive my car off the ferry into the familiar streets of the town, I do not take the road which leads to The Barvais Moor and the North of the Island. Instead, my car is heading south to the adjoining Isle of Harris. I have rented a small cottage in the hills, facing the ocean, for a few days before I face the rigours of business, family and memories.
I drive for a few miles then the ocean beckons. I park the car at an isolated beach of silver sands and rolling waves.
I am home. I am back in the Hebrides.
My mind drifts. My earliest memories of the past were of my great, great oh I don't know how many greats, grandmother, also Caitriona.
~ ~ ~
The year is 1880. It is a special year, I am sixteen and no longer considered a child. Great adventures await me, but also the chores of the only daughter of Finn McLeod. These chores are around our home, the blackhouse near the shore in Ness. Fetching water from the burn, stacking the peat, tending the animals on our Croft. The chore I love is gathering herbs, flowers and seaweed for my grandmother who makes the most amazing remedies and potions from the wonders of nature.
She is a leigheadair, a healer.
My father and brothers go across the Island to cut the peat which heats our home. How I long to go with them.
Today though I have an adventure of my own. I run through the machair in all its dazzling colour, to the deserted beach of silver sands, where the Atlantic Ocean washes the shore.
He is there. Ruaraidh Cameron.
He is the eldest son of the Laird, two years older than I am.
His back is to me, standing still as a statue, watching the incessant turmoil of the waves.
He turns and smiles and holds out his hand
Today, I would leave the girl behind and become a woman.
There is no sound apart from the waves and cries of the seabirds. It is magical. We wrap our arms around each other and walk to the soft grasses edging the sand, as we kiss for the first time, unsure, inexperienced and faltering. This is new for us both. Gradually our mouths open and our tongues begin to probe with curiosity and then passion. Undiscovered emotions and feelings engulf me. Kissing is not enough. I want to feel skin on skin, feel his hands touching every part of my body. I need to shed my restrictive clothing right now. Quickly I stand up, out of his arms. His face shows puzzlement and his blue eyes are glazed with passion.
I discard my tweed shawl and proceed to unlace the top I wear. My fingers are sure and steady, unlike the turmoil of feelings raging inside. The top goes the way of my shawl. Ruaraidh’s eyes have cleared and he watches me disrobe with an intensity I have never seen in him. Only my bodice remains on my upper body. I enjoy the effect I was having on him. I slowly and deliberately untie the ribbons, the bodice lies partially open, revealing hints of my naked, untouched breasts. Ruaraidh is still.
Have I cast a spell on him?
I ease the bodice off my now trembling body to reveal my ripe, young breasts and pink nipples. The sensation of freedom and something else, which I cannot identify, takes over. I kick off my shoes, feeling the springy turf beneath my feet. I untie the long heavy skirt I am wearing and it falls to the ground. I now stand proud and naked before him.
I had removed and hidden my undergarments before I left home. They are cumbersome and ungainly. I did not want Ruaraidh to see me in such unflattering attire.
His eyes roam my body from my face to my rounded breasts, to the triangle of red hair, guarding the entrance to my inner delights. I want more than his eyes on me.
He springs to his feet and he too disrobes swiftly. Two naked teenagers facing each other about to embark into adulthood. I have never seen a man’s naked body, despite living with my father and 3 brothers. They are very protective of me.
I know about mating and I have witnessed it in the animals but not this way. I think his body is beautiful. Black hair fringes his manhood. His penis points skyward and is wet with moisture. We stop looking and fall to the ground again, touching, tasting, and exploring. We do not rush.
I am aware that between my legs is very wet. Surely I have not relieved myself during our lovemaking? I couldn’t live with the shame.
No, it had to be the fluids that were required before coupling could occur.
Then he mounts me and hesitantly pushes his fingers under my red bush to separate my wet folds. Instinctively, I open my legs to ease access. The feel of his fingers in the most private parts of my body is overwhelming. He is trembling as much as I am. Then the tip of his penis touches my opening. Ecstasy! Slowly but steadily he pushes further in, breaking the seal of my girlhood. I feel no pain. The rhythm grows and our bodies rise in unison. Then with a shout, he empties inside me.
We cling together, shaking with emotion, vowing that somehow we will be together, despite our difference in status, a really important matter on the island.
Summer blends into autumn, then winter. We have not seen each other. I am bereft.
I am with child. I have hidden it beneath the warm bulky clothing but I know my time is near.
I still have not seen him. A message comes from my grandmother, the healer. Some say she is a witch, she is fey, she has second sight. She is loved and respected by all. She wishes me to spend the Winter and the Winter Solstice with her.
Gratefully I pack a few possessions and head to her remote Croft. She, of course, had seen the situation in her dreams. She does not scold me but treats me with love and warmth.
Word reaches us of Ruaraidh.
The Laird had sent him to the Mainland months ago. He is to marry another wealthy Landowner’s daughter. I am distraught.
My grandmother tends me with her potions and creams but I go into early labour.
It is December 21st. The Winter Solstice.
Hours pass with her by my side and at dawn, my beautiful daughter is born. My time on this earth ends soon after hers has just begun.
~ ~ ~
As I sit on the beach in the fading light, that memory, that life came to me in vivid detail yet again. In Glasgow, I never once had a vision or episode. I shiver, get into my car and drive on. The cottage comes into view. Smoke rises from the chimney. A Hebridean welcome from the owners. As I approachthe unlocked door, the unmistakable sweet smell of peat smoke assails me. I feel tears prick my eyes. For the lost years, lost loves and the lost life of the young woman whose vision I had just seen.
Again I ask myself the question. “Was that me?” I am certain it was.
The cottage is warm. I sit in front of the fire. It had been a long day. A long journey. My eyes close The dreams, and visions begin again.
~ ~ ~
This time it is a small boat on the Minch. The waves are huge, and the wind powerful and destructive. On board the fishing boat, braving the elements, stands a young man.
Ruaraidh Cameron. He had defied his father and refused to marry against his will. He is returning to his only love, Caitriona. They would marry and make a life together with or without his family’s blessing. The Hebrides are in sight.
The small boat never makes it. Within sight of home, she founders and sinks, No one survives. In a Croft on the island, a tiny baby girl wails sorrowfully.
~ ~ ~
I awaken with a start. Both visions, dreams, episodes whatever you want to call it, happening so soon after my return shakes me. I am of course, descended from Ruaraidh and Caitriona. You are thinking Rory and I were forbidden to be together because we are related.
No. In a distant way perhaps. He is descended from Ruaraidh’s younger brother, Iain.
In memory of the Laird’s beloved firstborn son, the name Ruaraidh has been passed on down the generations. As my name is too, in honour of the first Caitriona.
The feud occurred as both families blamed the other for the deaths of their beloved children. They have never spoken since. In the 21st century, it seems ludicrous, here on the islands it is not.
I have been back for three weeks now. I decided to rent this cottage in Harris indefinitely. My family are overjoyed at my return but understand that I need my space to concentrate on my flourishing business. They do not know that it lessens the pain to live in Harris rather than Lewis. Also, dreams continue to haunt me.
Images of a tiny red-haired girl being raised by heartbroken grandparents and a wise great-grandmother. Funerals and Burials of two young people, in the bleak cemeteries, grieving families, bitter words being spoken. I would wake with the blankets in a tangle, tears on my cheeks. Those are sad and tragic, but the hardest to bear are the dreams of Rory.
The summer solstice of five years ago replays nightly. Every caress, every kiss, every touch. I would wake and still feel his touch on my body, smell his scent and between my legs would be wet.
How could I possibly live at home through this?
My business is thriving.
“Fior-ghlan”
The Gaelic word for pure, is the name I have chosen for my business.
The small building is located in the Hamlet of Fivepenny. It produces wonderful cosmetics, candles and potions. My friend Mhairi, my loyal friend, is in charge of the small but dedicated team. They gather seaweed and wildflowers and herbs and following my recipes, and those of my ancestors, create the magic products which they ship around the world. The fragrance is a therapeutic balm. I have had a particularly disturbed night.
Rory had been in my bed making love to me so passionately. I wake alone. It was a dream so vivid I can still taste his kiss on my lips.
Inhaling the scents and listening to the lilting Gaelic voices soothes me. I put on my apron and sit at my table mixing an idea for a new scent.
Rory Cameron.
I hear the name uttered by one of the older women. I feel faint and rush to the door for air.
A concerned Mhairi follows me.
“I didn't get a chance to tell you. He arrived back last night on the last flight from Inverness. He has never visited once since he left for Canada. He came alone.”
She hugs me closely and returns inside, leaving me to absorb the news. Then realisation dawns. How could I not have noticed?
Today is the 21st of June. The Summer Solstice.
It is six years since Rory and I made love for the first time.
The day drags on. I immerse myself in work. Did he know I was on the island? Will he want to see me? Is he married? Questions flood my brain. I have never stopped loving him.
Every sound, every footstep, every car makes my heart beat faster.
He does not come. I send my team of ladies home early. There is going to be a bonfire and party on the beach here at Fivepenny. Strangely, there has never been another Celebration at Eoropie again.
Mhairi stays with me till I eventually persuade her to leave and join the celebrations. I decline the offer to go.
I lock up, although it is not necessary, and go to my car. I do not turn south to Harris but to the North.
There is a pilgrimage I have to make. An exorcism of sorts. I drive to Eoropie. It is deserted.
I park my car in a layby on the single-track road and walk in that strange, mystical light, through the dunes to the beach.
A lone figure stands there, silhouetted against the leaping flames of a bonfire.
Had I known he would be here?
Who or what had guided me to this place?
As I approach, he holds out his hand again,
The years fall away. We embrace in a deep, passionate kiss, our bodies moulding together. The heat rising between us is not caused by the flickering flames of the bonfire.
Our forbidden love has endured. We are no longer children. The ghosts and feuds of our ancestors will not part us again.
We undress each other in the firelight, then sink onto the tartan blanket he brought with him. We make love without fear of the future or our families. The slow caressing and touching reach a fever pitch and he enters my body, which has waited so long for his return. This time we both come together in a shuddering climax.
We are finally home………together.
The Hebrides have called.
