God's Highlander by E. V. Thompson Page B

the spot where Lachlan Munro had built a shelter for his family.
    He was still talking when Mairi suddenly reached out and gripped his arm, bringing him to a halt.
    â€˜What is it?’
    â€˜Can’t you hear?’
    Wyatt listened. Above the wind he heard a distant sound that might have been surf pounding on a long sandy beach – but they were many miles from the sea up here in the mountains.
    â€˜It’s a squall. A bad one.’ Mairi looked about her, seemingly seeing beyond the enveloping mist. ‘This way. Run!’ She set an example, and Wyatt followed, hard put to keep up with her.
    A couple of minutes later she scrambled into a crevice between tumbledown boulders and pulled him in after her. There was a shelter here, of sorts. A framework of branches had been driven in the ground; other branches were woven through them, and turfs and grass laid on top, weighted down with stones.
    â€˜I built it,’ Mairi explained. ‘I bring the cattle up here sometimes.’ She needed to shout above the wind which was rising in a frightening crescendo.
    Wyatt shifted his position beside her. The shelter had been built for only one person. It was very cramped with the two of them inside.
    The wind increased in ferocity until it seemed it must carry all before it. The framework of the small shelter creaked and complained, and tufts of grass were peeled away. And then the rain arrived. It struck with a force that caused part of the tiny structure to cave in, and before he could raise a hand to save it Wyatt’s hat was snatched away by the wind. The battered shelter groaned and distorted as its two occupants inched as far back as they could into the crevice between the rocks. Suddenly a section of the crude roof was carried away and rain poured in upon Mairi.
    Removing his coat with great difficulty inside the tiny beleaguered shelter, Wyatt pulled it over both their heads as they huddled closer together. They did not talk. The sheer ferocity of the storm rendered
conversation impossible, but each gained comfort in the other’s presence as it raged through the mountains.
    The storm passed on as abruptly as it had arrived. One moment the wind was screaming furiously about the shelter – and then it had moved on. Deserted by its powerful ally, the rain faltered and died away, leaving only the dark angry clouds to menace them.
    Not until now did Wyatt realise he was holding Mairi very close to take advantage of what shelter was provided by his coat. Mairi, too, was aware of their closeness. She avoided his eyes as he released his hold on her and disentangled the sodden mass of his coat.
    â€˜I can’t remember ever experiencing such a tempest.’ Wyatt’s voice sounded tremulous to his own ears. The sheer violence of the storm had made him acutely aware of man’s insignificance in the world God had created.
    â€˜It’s not over yet.’ Mairi shook back her long dark hair, soaked by the rain despite all Wyatt’s efforts to protect her. ‘This is only a lull. Listen.’
    Wyatt could hear nothing for a moment, then he caught the sound of the wind approaching once more, howling across the mountain-tops towards them. As he hurriedly wrung out his coat and placed it about them once more, Mairi said: ‘I hope Lachlan and Elsa have chosen a well-sheltered spot. Where did you say they were?’
    â€˜I didn’t, but they’re camped well up the slope in the glen that breaks the mountains to the east of Eskaig. They’re beside the stream, well down in a gully. They should be out of much of the wind, at least.’
    Mairi threw off the water-heavy coat. ‘Tell me where. Exactly where. Not beside the stream that flows through Ranald’s Glen … the one that comes down from the mountains in a series of waterfalls?’
    â€˜It sounds like the place, but I went no farther than Lachlan’s camp…. Where are you going?’
    Mairi was