White Stag to Queen's Pawn

By Martin MacDowall

Eilid* Stuart is tall, blond with laser-like blue eyes, deadly with a rifle and, at 21, is the only female deer stalker in Scotland. In January of 1959 she witnesses an airplane crash in a snowstorm in a remote part of Glen Torridon. She rescues an infant boy, the sole survivor, who is returning with his mother to Los Angeles having gone through a serious heart operation carried out by a famous London surgeon. Believing the child is orphaned, and because of her unfortunate relationships with men, she decides to “acquire” the child and raise him as her own.

Aided and abetted by her uncle, a General Practitioner who lives near Pitlochry, she names the child Charles Edward Stuart after the young pretender of that name. And so Jens Ericsson the twin son of ‘Red’ Ericsson an American oilman disappears and is presumed to have perished in the crash. ‘Red’ Ericsson becomes a grieving father and is left to raise his remaining son in Houston, Texas. He never remarries and builds a Petrochemical empire in Houston.

Thirty-four years later a photograph in a Scottish newspaper is sent to him by a friend who is struck by the similarity of the leader of the new Scottish Republican Party, a certain Charles Stuart and Lance Ericsson Red’s remaining twin son. Suddenly Ericsson is given a glimmer of hope that the son he thought dead might still be alive. He hires a Scottish ex-patriot private detective to investigate.

eilid* gaelic for a hind (doe-female deer)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martin MacDowall
• Release date: Aug 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476090498

Martin MacDowall

Born in Scotland. Educated at Strathallan School. Took up mountaineering at age 16. Served appreticeship as a Painter & Decorator, 5 bloody years! White Stag to Queen's Pawn took three years to write after gestating in my imagination for about 40 years. I built the saga in my mind over those years without committing anything to paper. I was finally prompted at least to put pen to paper to 'see how it goes.' My writing time was restricted to evenings because of work, so I devoted myself to working three evenings a week, Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursday from about 5:30 p.m. to 9:30 or 10:00 with a quick break for something to eat. I further fortified myself with bottles of Macallan so that it's not surprising that this very smooth malt is mentioned many times in the book. As this was my first book that I thought I might get published I tried to make every word count as 'padding' bores the reader, nevertheless the dialog stretched to about 670 pages. Once I had the MS in what I considered a reasonable state I launched myself into the market place and tried, for another three years, both in the USA and the UK to find an agent or publisher. Suffice to say that after many wrong turns from agents who promised publication for money, and other scams I eventually gave up and used BookSurge, now CreateSpace to publish this book. So from coming across the wreckage of a Lancaster Bomber in the Beinn Eighe corrie when I was a lithe 18 year old rock climber exploring Glen Torridon plus my experiences of stalking for Red Deer in the Scottish Glens, White Stag was born. I believe the story line to be quite unusual, but believable, and I think like all the kind folks who have written glowing reviews about the book, it would make a first class movie. All you have to do now is buy the book and a decent bottle of malt Scotch, curl up beside a warming winter's fire and get reading!

Book preview

Foreword

Parts of this book deal with Deer Stalking in Scotland with which the reader may not be familiar, especially those who live in the United States. This forward is an attempt to précis the cull of Stags (Bucks) and Hinds (Does) in the Scottish Highlands.

The culling of deer is monitored and controlled by the Deer Commission for Scotland founded in 1996 as a replacement for the Red Deer Commission. The objectives of the Commission are: furthering the conservation, control and sustainable management of all species of wild deer in Scotland, and keeping under review all matters, including welfare, relating to wild deer.

The title of Stalker in Scotland is regarded as a prestigious and highly regarded professional occupation and should not be confused with the criminal act of stalking of persons.

The culling of Stags (Bucks) commences on August 20th each year and ends on October 20th . Hunting Stags is an important part of any Estates income and hunters can pay large sums for privilege of going on the hill with the Stalker and shooting a Stag with a suitable rifle. The Stalker is in charge of all activities related to stalking and must be obeyed. A typical stalk starts in the early morning with the Stalker locating herds of deer on his March (Territory). He then makes a decision which Stag he is going to stalk and kill. His choice can be based on many factors including identifying an old Stag in declining health that may not survive the winter, or a Stag with poor antler growth, a switch, which has antlers without branches, or a Stag with too large a herd of Hinds to successfully cover over the period of the rut.

Having identified the Stag to be culled the Stalker makes his way up the hill with the hunting party usually consisting on no more that 3 or 4 people which would normally include a Ghillie (Gaelic for a hill laborer) who would help in bringing the dead Stag down the hill. The stalk can take some time and the distance covered can often be between 7 to 10 miles which makes for quite strenuous walking through heather, bracken and peat hags (bogs).

Once the Stalker is in position he puts the hunter with a rifle into a firing position and may advise the hunter when and how to make the shot. Once the Stag is dead the Stalker or the Ghillie gralloch (field dress or disembowel) the beast and drag the beast down the hill to an point that can be accessed by an ArgoCat, a small all terrain vehicle which can seat up to four people or two people and a couple of deer.

The Hinds (Does) are culled from October 21st to February 20th in any year. This cull is usually carried out by the Stalker with a Ghillie sometimes helping.

The deer meat is butchered by the Stalker and hung in the Estate Larder to await collection by a town or city butcher purveying venison.

Glen Torridon — January 8th 1959

Despite the driving snow the victim loomed large in the telescopic sight.

Just a little closer, breathed the stalker.

The prey turned slightly as if some imagined sound or presence had alerted her.

Bam! The Mannlicher .270 barked, the target swayed slightly as the bullet struck, her legs buckled and she fell motionless. A vermilion stain spread outwards from the body as the pristine snow blossomed red.

Eilid Stuart rose, brushed the spindrift from her Barbour jacket and slowly walked the 150 odd yards up to the body tucking her flowing blond hair back under her deerstalker cap which the wind threatened to whip off her head at any minute. A glazed, lifeless brown eye stared back at her; quickly she opened her hunting knife and pressed the sharp point to the corner of the eye. Not a flicker. The hind was quite dead. Eilid had accomplished her second cull of the day in appalling weather conditions.

As the stalker on Sir David Vickers’s estate it was her responsibility for the culling of hinds between the end of October and the middle of February of the following year. The cull was an essential part of Estate management throughout the Scottish Highlands. Deer were overpopulating the hills and glens and an annual cull was the only way the deer population was kept in check as the damage to crops and newly planted trees became excessive.

For an Estate the size of Sir David Vickers there was a specified annual number of Stags and Hinds she was permitted to take off the hill. Stags were hunted during the rut which stretched from August 20th through to October 20th in any given year; Hinds from October 21st through to February 20th. She was behind with the cull and it was for that reason she had decided to go on the hill despite the bad weather. She had shot only 22 so far counting the two that lay close by; normally she would have taken out at least half of the 60 hinds she took off the hill each year.

The two hill ponies whinnied noisily as the north wind’s strength increased and the falling snow became almost horizontal in the open corrie. Eilid decided that enough was enough for that day. She was frozen and the weather was deteriorating rapidly. She had rolled the hind over to gralloch the animal when the heavens were illuminated by a blinding flash, followed by a thunderous explosion which seemed to come from the summit of Beinn Eighe. Despite the bitter wind for a moment she felt a searing heat from the blast.

Quickly she pulled her binoculars out of her Barbour and scanned the area below the triple buttressed towers, the feature that makes Corrie Mhic Fhearchair (say Corry Veechkerachar) on the north-face of Beinn Eighe so unique.

She was at the lower west end of the corrie and, as she looked up and over to her right, cascading debris briefly filled the lenses of what she later discovered were parts of an aircraft, the driving snow then obliterated her view. She had no idea of what could have happened. Slinging the Mannlicher over her shoulder she made her way up the corrie traversing from west to east.

There were fires raging in different parts of the snow-covered mountainside. Great sections of painted aluminum covered the ground clanking and wailing in the wind, which whipped up from the lochan below.

It took her twenty minutes of hard climbing to get to the level where the first of the wreckage could be seen and a fire raged. Eilid was completely stunned. Her mouth she discovered was as wide open as her eyes as she tried to take in the enormity of the scene in front of her. The first obvious thing that told her it had been an aircraft of some sort was part of a wing tip, standing wedged vertically in the snow.

Suddenly the wind dropped and the snow came down more gently hissing and fizzing as it met the flames of the still burning sections of the aircraft. It was that lull that allowed Eilid to take stock. She looked all around her. It was an unbelievable sight. One she would take with her to her grave. The detritus of death littered the corrie. For a brief moment she could see broken bodies, bloodstains on virgin snow and personal belongings scattered from suitcases that had lost their contents in the crash. Perhaps, she thought, there just might be one or two survivors. She knew nothing about aircraft or the forces associated with them; all she hoped was that she could help someone get out of this hell alive. It seemed, at first glance, to be a futile wish.

There was hardly a body in one piece, some clothed in tatters, some unrecognizably scorched black, others almost as naked as they day they were born but all with dreadful injuries and with limbs, and in some cases heads, missing. Eilid was used to blood and guts, but that was with animals. Old John’s death came back to haunt her as she reached one body after another to see that they had that deathly gray pallor which indicates only one thing. She turned from the fragmented wreckage and started to make her way down from where she had come. The authorities had to be informed and it would be many hours from now, as she would have to get to off the hill to reach a telephone and raise the alarm.

It was then that she heard what sounded like the bleat of a sheep. She stopped frozen in her tracks, every fiber of her being strained for other sounds. There was nothing. Just the howl of the wind freshening again as renewed flurries of snow swirled in the corrie.

Then she heard the sound again. It was more like a wail, a cat’s, no…a baby’s cry. She stopped again. Maybe her imagination was playing tricks on her. Maybe it was just the wind milling through the wreckage of the doomed aircraft. She moved on down a few steps and then she heard it loud and clear. It was a baby’s cry. She turned immediately and made her way to where she thought the sound had come from. The wind howled, the snow started coming down thicker than ever. If I don’t get out of here soon, thought Eilid, even I might not make it, let alone anyone else. But she could hear a more repetitive sound now coming from below her as the wind blew up the corrie. She started down to where there was no wreckage to be seen. This can’t be right she thought, it must be connected with the ‘plane and there are no parts of the ‘plane to be seen, I must be mistaken. Then she heard the cry louder, more agitated this time and it was right below her feet. Panic stricken she looked everywhere.

Snow, there was nothing but pristine snow. Then it came again. It was right in front of her! My God, she thought, whatever it is, it’s under the snow. Again in front of her she heard the baby’s cry, and then she saw it. It was just a gray corner of some kind of fabric standing out against the snow’s white purity. But something it was. Eilid dug frantically at the snow around her and uncovered the gray carrycot that might well have been Jens Ericsson’s tomb. The carrycot miraculously had been shot from the tail of the plane, fallen 700 feet, tobogganed another 500 feet and ended up, almost completely covered in snow at the bottom part of the corrie. Eilid couldn’t believe her luck and the baby’s good fortune. Now she had to get it off the mountain and keep it alive. She touched the baby’s skin. God, it was frozen. She had to get it to some heat, and that was easier said than done. The wind had picked up again and virtual blizzard conditions existed. There were blankets and sheets in the carrycot but now these were wet and cold and she discovered the baby had been strapped in. Quickly she undid the straps and picked the covers up with the infant and started off down the hill just as fast as she could go. Her mind was working frantically. How was she going to get the child off Beinn Eighe without it dying? She had done a quick triage on the baby and nothing seemed to be broken. At least it was pink and yelling lustily. Eilid reached the hind she had left before the events of the day had diverted her to greater things. An idea was quickly forming in her mind; she could only hope it would work.

Leaving the baby to one side she took off her Barbour jacket and put it on top of the infant as some means of protection against the wind and the snow. Quickly, she gralloched the hind she had just shot. The hind’s innards were still warm, as she had hoped. She continued with the disemboweling at record speed. Now came the difficult part. With her hunting knife she made slits through the skin of the hind’s belly, which now lay in folds as a result of the field dressing. The baby had stopped bawling by now, she didn’t know whether this was from the cold or from being reunited with what it thought was its mother. It was that thought that stopped her in her tracks. The mother and the father had to have been on that ‘plane. This child was an orphan. Her skin crawled and the hair at the back of her neck stood on end as those terrible thoughts hit her. She had to save this poor little mite at all costs; it was the sole survivor and she its only hope.

She grabbed the child and the blankets and her Barbour jacket and placed the infant inside the warm belly of the hind. Next she took the skein of rope she always took on the hill and threaded the rope as you would as if lacing a shoe, until the stomach of the hind was closed and the baby cocooned in the hind’s warm belly. She then fetched the Shetland ponies that had been standing now for several hours seemingly impervious to the gale and the snow. Fortunately she had put deer saddles on both. More rope came into play. She cut lengths for attachment to the deer saddle on one of the ponies and tied them to the hind’s hind legs. Then, when she was sure everything was in order, she moved the ponies out of the corrie, one with a hind slung across its back on the deer saddle and the other pulling the hind converted into a sledge complete with child. The journey back was a nightmare. The snow was getting heavier all the time. Eilid was frozen by this time. No amount of beating her arms round her body could coax any feeling into her hands and arms. Her thick Fairisle sweater was covered in snow, somehow the heavy wool seemed to attract the flakes and they stuck like a freezing white overcoat.

The only thing in her favor was that the wind was now at her back and that she was going downhill as fast as she could muster the ponies. As she made her way thoughts swirled in her mind about the catastrophe she had just witnessed. She would have to tell the authorities, which would be the police at Loch Carron. God knows when she would get there, she thought. So she trudged on, looking for the easiest path down as the snow had obliterated the well-worn path that wound itself up the mountainside. Then she thought about Auld John, what he would have done. He would probably not have had a clue in how to tend for an infant. She wondered if it was a little boy or a girl that she had saved. Then she thought ruefully, I haven’t saved it yet, we all could end up like frozen statues. She had been going for over two hours now and it was getting dark, only the reflection of the snow helped her to see the path to follow. The hind had been dragged belly up but had tipped over to either one side or the other on occasion, so Eilid had been going backwards and forwards righting the sledge and running back to take the pony’s bridle and lead on. Even the ponies were finding the going difficult as the snow built up and they plowed into drifts that they couldn’t see or were too tired to go around. It was time to take a look at the baby.

Whoa there Shelagh, whoa there.

The ponies stopped. The wind wasn’t quite so bad here as they got some shelter from an outcrop of rock directly behind them. Anxiously she brushed the snow off the hind’s body. Gently she prized open the stitched up hide so that she could see inside. The body was now getting cold but there was still some relative warmth when she stuck her fingers in a little bit deeper. All she could make out was a bundle. Nothing was moving. She put her hand in farther and she felt something move, either a hand or a leg. She hadn’t too far to go now.

As she left the relative shelter of the outcrop the wind whipped up again and spindrift almost blinded her completely. Quickly she got the ponies going forward again and she flailed her arms for the umpteenth time in an attempt to get some warmth in her and to remove the snow from her sweater. Now she was crossing the big burn that cut across the path before the hillside flattened out some and became moor. Then she would be only a mile from the road and two miles from home. This was when she wished she had a ghillie and not waited until the spring, as Sir David had suggested, to think about hiring one. She hoped the peat fire she had left smoldering that morning was still on and offering some heat. The ponies whinnied as they recognized familiar territory.

The ponies and child-loaded hind reached Eilid’s cottage in the pitch black at just after six o’clock. It had taken Eilid over three and a half hours to do what she normally did in under two, but her progress was remarkable given the circumstances. Quickly she took the hind off one pony and put it in the deer larder. She cut the ropes from the other pony and tried to unfasten the rope she had used to lace up the hinds belly. This proved impossible as the rope had become frozen and stiff so she carefully used her knife to slice away the fastenings. The hind’s belly was stone cold by this time but she lifted out the Barbour wrapped package and went into the house. The pleasant warmth and smell of the peat fire wrapped itself around her as she bundled the baby inside the cottage. Going into her bedroom she placed the infant, still in its carrycot blankets onto her bed. Gingerly she peeled off the layers one by one.

The blankets were soaked in the deer’s blood but they weren’t frozen, cold maybe, but not frozen, that was the important thing. There was the baby’s little face, its eyes all screwed tight shut, covered in blood, which had dried hard. For goodness sake, thought Eilid the wee soul’s covered. She dashed into the bathroom and ran the hot water. Soon almost scalding water poured into the washand basin. She poured in cold until the temperature was lukewarm. Moistening her softest facecloth she then proceeded to gently wash the baby’s face. Suddenly its legs kicked and it began to cry. It was a miracle; it was literally alive and kicking. She smiled to herself at her homemade joke. She would give it a bath that would warm it up. It was wearing a little blue romper, which made her guess the baby was a boy. She’d soon find out. The baby began to cry more lustily and his lips were moving obviously searching for something. The bairn’s hungry, that’s what wrong, he’s starving, she told herself. Now came Eilid’s quandary, she knew nothing about babies except they needed lots of looking after. When she lived in Glen Cannich she had often seen her mother’s friends reach for a dummy or pacifier to stick in the child’s mouth to shut it up. Surely this baby would have had such a thing. Back she went to the blankets she had just bundled up. She opened them up one by one this time and, sure enough, stuck with blood to the corner of one was a dummy teat. There was something else in the blanket, something lumpy. She peeled off the sticky cover and there was a little teddy bear in a soldier’s uniform. He even had a little tin hat with ‘Tommy’ written across the front. It was a wounded soldier too; he had a bandage that was wrapped around the left side of his body. It had been badly stained by the hind’s blood. Eilid decided she would clean it up later. Food for the baby was now high on the priority list.

She cleaned the pacifier and tried it in the little boy’s mouth. It worked, but only for a moment. Detecting no milk the baby opened up again at a higher pitch. My God, thought Eilid, I can’t stand too much of this. The ponies whinnied from outside. Dear God, the poor horses, I’ve forgotten the ponies. Leaving the baby screaming on the bed she got back to the ponies and removed their tack, led them into the stable and put them in their dry stalls. Grabbing some straw she rubbed them down until they were almost dry and she left them with a huge helping of oats and as much hay as they would need for a while. Back she dashed into the cottage. The baby was still wailing. What was she going to do? She asked herself. She needed milk and fast. Her only option was to go to the store in Torridon village. It would be closed but she could rouse Mistress McBride to get her some milk. She dashed out to the Land Rover having put on a fresh sweater and her Barbour jacket and left the baby lodged between two pillows on her bed. He would be safe, she thought ‘til she got back.

The Land Rover proved difficult to start as the glow plug didn’t heat the system fast enough due to the cold. Finally the engine fired in a great puff of diesel and she shot out of the barn towards the village. She was thankful for the Land Rover’s four-wheel drive; it took to the snow like a duck to water. She drove right through substantial drifts until she reached the road. Everything was white in the glare of the headlights and if it hadn’t been for the poles that marked the passing places on the single-track road she’d have been in a ditch in no time. She was driving much too fast but her adrenalin was flowing and she knew she didn’t have a lot of time. The baby she had rescued had been through an unimaginable experience. Hopefully it wouldn’t remember much about it but there had to be scars, especially when it was reunited with people who didn’t really want the child, some relatives who lived who knew where. It was then, her mind racing as she careened down the road to the store that an outrageous idea began to form in her mind. She would adopt this child! Her experiences with men had convinced her she would never marry; this was a fantastic opportunity for them both, child and want-to-be mother. If she kept him, who would know? She asked herself again and again until she reached the store. Eilid leaped from the Land Rover and threw herself at the door of the house that adjoined the store and battered on it frantically. Light came through the fanlight as a door was opened from inside.

Mercy, mercy, what in the name of the wee man is going on? Who is it at this time of the night, and what might you be wanting?

Mistress McBride, it’s Eilid, Eilid Stuart, as if there were Eilids all up and down the Glen.

Wait a minute now, patience, patience, lassie. The door opened just a crack. What is it you’ll be wanting then; I was nearly away to my bed.

I’m terribly sorry Mistress McBride but I’ve got a sheep that’s lambed prematurely. The ewe died but the lamb’s still alive and I’ve no means of feeding her. Could you let me have some milk from the store? Please.

My now there’s a strange thing lambing in nearly the middle of January. Well we’re here to help, that’s what I always tell the folks, we’re here to help. Come away in.

Eilid stepped into the house and followed Eliza McBride into the store. Mrs. McBride went to a shelf and produced a large tin of National Dried Milk. There you are my dear, now you know how to make this up do you?"

No, not really, but I suppose I’ll find out from the label.

Aye, aye right you are. You just mix it with water, and let it cool, make sure it’s not too hot.

How much do I owe you?

It’s two shillings and sixpence.

Mistress McBride I’ve come away without any money can you put it on the slate for me?

Not a problem, not a problem anything for one of Sir David’s best employees. She leered at Eilid as if to say, I know what’s going on between you two.

Thank you, I’ll be off then.

Aye now, so you will, and just how do ye think this wee lamb’s going to get its milk?

Oh, oh right, I never thought about that.

There ye go now, all you young girls have no idea of how to raise or look after a family.

Oh God, thought Eilid, I can’t wait for the lecture that was sure to follow.

You’re so right Mistress McBride, what do I need? Do you have a baby’s bottle?

Indeed I have. One of the finest, with a choice of teats mind you. It’s only just come from Inverness but it’s expensive, ye know?

Eilid was sure it would be. Right then Mistress McBride put that on the slate too, I’ve got to be off and thank you so much again.

Eilid got back to the cottage in record time, snow not withstanding. The baby was on the bed still bawling loudly. Quickly she put on the kettle and made up some formula. She took the bottle from the package and selected a suitable teat. The formula was far too hot. How do I cool it quickly, she asked herself? I must be daft, she thought, with all this snow about. Outside went the bottle and in two to three minutes the little boy was sucking down the dried milk mixture like there was no tomorrow. Eilid was in a tremendous state of elation at her achievements. The baby would be fine, she would keep him and not say a word to anyone; there would be talk, but so what? This was a chance in a lifetime, the baby needed a mother and, possibly a father, she was reluctant to concede, but she was confident she could do fill both roles.

Then all the events of the day hit her like a ton of bricks, the little boy was quiet now but lying on the bed with his eyes wide open taking everything in around him. She realized she was hungry, and most of all, utterly exhausted. Picking him up again she carried him into the parlor and sat him on her big chair. She went into the kitchen and got some venison stew of doubtful age and freshness, out of the cool larder, but what the hell! She was starving.

The stew smelled wonderful to her as she put it on the hot plate of the Aga cooker. Back she went to see her new arrival. He was fast asleep, breathing contentedly. She felt his Romper it was wet at the back, she had forgotten, how stupid, the baby would have a nappy and after all he’d been through I bet it needs changing, she thought. She began to think that her lack of knowledge with babies was going to be a problem. She decided not to waken him as he was sleeping so soundly. Eilid brought her meal into the parlor and sat picking at the stew with a lack of enthusiasm. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry any more her ‘wee prince’, as she had provisionally named him, needed all her attention. As a new mother she wasn’t really doing very well, in fact, she said to herself, I’m a miserable failure.

Pouring herself a Macallan, the one luxury she allowed herself, she sat and thought about her decision to keep the baby. The malt whisky relaxed her to the point where she fell asleep in an almost upright chair. She wakened, catching herself falling forward, before she hit the floor. The little boy was stirring slightly as if having a disturbed sleep. Suddenly he awakened with a jolt and looked around without a sound. Then he whimpered very softly. It was time, thought Eilid, he hasn’t been out of those clothes for probably 24 hours. Off came the blue romper, then a little vest. He was squirming now arms and legs going in every direction. There was a brilliant flash of light, then it was gone. Eilid thought she had imagined it but as the baby tossed and turned it happened again. She leaned forward and looked more closely. Then she saw the yellow ribbon round Jens’s neck.

Well, well now, what’s this my wee man?

She gently lifted the ribbon from round his neck. There on the end was fastened a ring with a huge blue stone, she didn’t know what the blue stone was but she supposed the white surrounding stones were diamonds. She had only once been close to diamonds and that was when her Grandmother had come from Stornoway on her last visit to see her mother at Cannich. Granny had a large diamond ring, which she claimed Eilid’s Grandfather had won in a game of cards from a Russian seaman. Eilid didn’t know if the story was true or not but it was a good yarn.

My heavens, she said to herself, this is beautiful. She took it from the ribbon and placed it on her wedding finger. It was a perfect fit. She held it out in front of her turning her hand from side to side and watched the brilliants flash; the deep rich glow from the blue stone was hard to describe. Well fancy that, she thought, I have an engagement ring and a baby.

Off came the baby’s vest. His little chest was heaving up and down and his legs pumped the air. It was as if he had been given freedom to move about at last. Next came the nappy. It had a large pin securing it near the top.

She could see that his little buttocks were raw as she removed the nappy. I’m not really ready for this. I’m only twenty-one; maybe, just maybe, I’m making a mistake. She cleaned up the infant’s posterior and dredged it with talcum powder. What on earth was she going to use as a replacement? A towel that would have to do, the idea popped into her head. She had plenty spare towels in the bathroom as she had augmented her supply when her mother had come to stay. She searched for the right size and came across a hand towel, that would have to do until she could get proper diapers.

It was then that she stopped and stared at the infant. How could she have missed that? Covering the left side of his chest was a white bandage or surgical dressing which went under his little left arm all neatly stuck in place with tape. What was this all about she wondered? It didn’t seem to prevent him moving his arm about as he flailed away obviously relieved to be free of clothing, especially the damp stuff. Eilid was in a quandary; clearly this little fellow had been ‘in the wars’. Then she remembered the beat up and stained Tommy Teddy. Someone had made that to copy what had happened to the child. How very clever, she thought. She resolved to try and remember to clean the muck and blood off Tommy. But what was she to do with this dressing? If only she had a telephone, she could have talked to her Uncle Ken, the doctor, in Pitlochry. But there was only one phone box in the glen and that was miles away. Her wee prince started to cry again. Now what could be wrong, she wondered. He lay on his back girning away making motions with his lips again. He couldn’t possibly be hungry again? Could he? He was. As the newly prepared bottle of formula came close he stopped crying and sucked lustily. Eilid was in heaven. She felt all maternal, protective and tired, she was so tired. Once or twice earlier that evening she had caught herself nodding off, but she had managed to stay awake on account of the baby.

She was still concerned about the dressing. Clearly this indicated an accident or maybe an operation of some sort, she couldn’t be sure. The dressing was so professionally applied; she could tell that much just by looking, it had to have been put on by a doctor or a nurse. She would let things be for the evening and decided to look at what was under the dressing in the morning when the light would be better. Next she had to make up her mind on where the baby was going to sleep. She possessed nothing like a cradle or a cot to keep him secure. She leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, thinking about what she was going to do, not just for that evening, but also for the rest of her life. Eilid’s strong will and determination drove her to carry most challenges to a conclusion satisfactory to her, even although her decisions might often fly in the face of common sense. She was nearly dropping off to sleep again when she had another brain wave. The bottom drawer of the chest of drawers was huge; the baby would fit in that perfectly.

Then she could use the sleeping bag that she had had for years and used in the summer when she stayed out on the hill in the shieling on some nights watching her father’s livestock. Quickly she got up, pulled out the drawer and started on the makeshift cot. By the time she was finished with it she was quite proud of herself. The folded sleeping bag made it soft and comfy and the sides of the drawer were still deep enough to keep the baby from moving too much. There hadn’t been much movement from him at all that evening except when she had changed his nappy. She wondered just how old he was. She was useless at judging the age of babies of this size. He could be six months or three months, Eilid didn’t know one way or the other. So Eilid’s little prince spent his first night in Scotland in a dressing table drawer sleeping right through until seven o’clock the next morning.

At that time of the year in the far north the dawn didn’t break until just before nine o’clock. By that time Eilid had cleaned her ‘wee prince’ using a facecloth and warm soapy water. She had considered a bath but that would have to wait until she looked at what was under the dressing. She had changed his makeshift nappy back to the real thing that she had washed and dried in front of the Aga. After the ablutions were complete she decided to take a look under the bandages. Being as careful as she could she peeled back the surgical tape. It was like none she had ever seen being paper-thin but not leaving any residue when she lifted it back. Her little prince came through the whole exercise with flying colors. His little face screwed up with a burst of tears now and then when she hurt him, but there wasn’t any sustained crying. Eilid left the top piece of tape on and lifted the white pad very gently. Slowly she hinged it upwards. Then she could see the red weal of a scar that started almost at his back and came forward towards his chest about an inch below his armpit. She could see the stitch marks clearly. The wound looked red and was oozing in one or two places. Gently she touched a yellow area. The little boy jumped as if stung and immediately burst into tears. Eilid was at a loss, she didn’t really know how to cope with this situation. This child was recovering from surgery; there was no doubt about that. From what she could see he would need medical attention soon. There was nothing for it, Uncle Kenny had to be brought into the picture. Her mind was working at breakneck speed as she considered her options. The estate was deserted over the winter months, Sir David didn’t come near the place until May and that, if what she had in mind was going to work, would be fine. She had no way of contacting Sir David. He could be anywhere in Britain or Europe for that matter. That was it, she would take the boy to Pitlochry and stay, if her Uncle Kenny would let her, until April that was about ten or eleven weeks away. No one would miss her. She decided it was worth the risk.

For the next two hours she loaded up the Land Rover with what food she had in cans, and some venison she had been keeping in the outside larder as good as any deep freeze in the wintertime. In went the drawer for her little prince complete with sleeping bag and Tommy Teddy. Some cans of Paraffin were added as she decided to take a Primus stove. Goodness only knows what the weather might be like on the way south to Pitlochry; she didn’t even consider that the roads might be impassable even to the Land Rover. Eilid was locked in and focused on target. Finally she piled all her big sweaters on the passenger seat along with an extra pair of boots. Then she went to the stables where the ponies were, enjoy your holiday, she said to them as she patted them and they nuzzled her. Opening the stable door wide she picked up a huge boulder and placed against the open door. No matter how hard the wind blew it would stay open and give the ponies their freedom to come and go as they pleased. Then she opened the door to where the hay was stored. That done she was certain they would be able to look after themselves until she got back. They wouldn’t go hungry, she told herself. At last, she was ready to go. In went the baby, who had been as good as gold all this time. She looked down at him and smiled; suddenly he smiled a lovely little smile back that made her glow all over.

My God she shouted out to herself, the bottle and the milk, I nearly forgot the whole damned lot.

Back she went into the cottage and packed the formula and Mistress McBride’s expensive feeding bottle. Doubts began to form in her mind again as she drove down the snow-covered track to the road turning to the right up the Glen.

Drumochter Pass — January 9th 1959

The weather was cold and cloudy with milky gray clouds scudding across the sky promising more snow. She had no idea how long the drive would take her, she had only done it once before and that was to attend Auld John Robertson’s funeral and then drive the few miles from Struan to look up her mother’s brother, a doctor in Pitlochry. She figured it was at least 150 miles but she wasn’t sure. The ten miles or so to Kinlochewe went without incident although she had some anxious moments when the Land Rover slipped to the sides of the narrow one track road. She couldn’t afford to go into a ditch on this isolated section of her journey; there would be no one to help her. Finally, having got to Kinlochewe she filled the Land Rover to the top with diesel. Few filling stations kept diesel so she had decided that if and when she saw one she’d top up, just to be on the safe side.

She was just out of Kinlochewe when a thunderous roar filled the air and two RAF bright yellow Bristol Sycamore helicopters passed low overhead and banked towards Torridon. Suddenly her conscience pricked her. They must be looking for the crashed plane but after all the snow they’ll never see it, she thought. I should have told them where it was. But to do that was sure to scupper any plans she had for the acquisition of her wee prince. These thoughts ran riot through her mind but she ruthlessly put those feelings behind her. And so she drove on. The A 832 was still single track for another nine miles until the junction of the A 890 at Achnasheen when the road became wider and better.

It was now about eleven-thirty in the morning and so far she felt she was making good time. Inverness seemed to appear out of nowhere and she drove through what was a virtually deserted town for a Friday. Her troubles began as she climbed the long hill out of Inverness to Slochd summit getting closer to the Grampian Mountains by the minute. The snow was very deep in places where the wind had created drifts across parts of the road. While the earlier road had evidence of some traffic, tire tracks began to disappear as the snow got deeper. To make matters worse it started to snow again. Eilid was getting concerned. Her wee prince hadn’t made a noise for some time and he seemed to be content lying in his big wooden drawer. As she got nearer to Aviemore the snow became heavier. The wind had also increased and it was becoming more difficult to see. The single electric windshield wiper growled noisily as it tried to shift the increasing weight of snow. Then the snow stopped. Elated, Eilid increased speed and drove the next few miles in relative comfort.

The heater in the Land Rover was doing a good job keeping her warm but she had begun to notice that the inside of the roof behind her was frosting up. By the time she got to Kingussie the wind had increased and the snow had started again with a vengeance. She pressed on with the speed of the Land Rover decreasing rapidly as the snow deepened and the visibility became poorer and poorer. Eilid’s biggest challenge was coming. She had to get over the summit of the Drumochter Pass, which, at over 1,500 feet above sea level, hosts some of the wildest weather in Scotland. In forty-five minutes she had made it through Dalwhinnie. It had taken her that time just to drive the seventeen miles from Kingussie. The Land Rover was getting colder and slower. She was now on the long climb through the pass. The snow swirled and the wind howled relentlessly. The baby began to whimper. Eilid tried to get the Land Rover past twenty miles an hour, but it was no good, the snow was getting thicker and falling heavier by the minute. Still she kept going. It was getting darker and darker as the mountains on either side of the pass closed in. Only the snow poles on either side that told her where the road was; otherwise she could have driven anywhere, there was just a great white plain stretching out before her. Without any reference point she could only reckon that she must be near the top of the pass. She was crawling now and trying to fight the panic that was beginning to grow within her. Then the Land Rover’s engine petered out. She had no idea of what had gone wrong or what to do. She tried the starter. It whirred again and again but the engine simply would not fire. She was stuck in a wilderness with a baby she had just rescued from a similar situation not twenty-four hours earlier. She began to cry. Not for her own plight, but out of frustration and for the baby. There was nothing else for it she would have to try and wait it out until some kind of help came. The snow was drifting at an alarming rate. She clambered into the back and pulled out the Primus stove. In no time she had the stove going and had made a bottle up for her wee prince, followed by a can of Heinz tomato soup for her. The baby had gone ominously quiet again. At least the soup was warming and the Primus cast a blue glow inside the vehicle as it roared away. Drips of condensation from the roof started to land on the baby. She grabbed a towel and wiped away the melting patch on the green metal roof directly above the stove. She looked at her watch. Twenty past three. Already it was getting dark. She felt the infant just to make sure he was warm. The sleeping bag was doing the trick and he was warm as toast. She wondered about the stove burning in a confined space. While it gave warmth she was beginning to feel drowsy, the air inside the Land Rover beginning to feel heavy with Paraffin fumes. She turned the stove off almost gasping for air. Back to the front she went and tried to slide open one of the windows. It opened only a crack to reveal a wall of snow. The Land Rover was buried. They were entombed on the Drumochter Pass.

Eilid sat motionless stunned by the outcome of what should have been a simple journey, which had placed herself in this circumstance. There was nothing to be done. She sat in the driver’s seat watching the uninsulated dark green roof of the Land Rover ice up.

So it has come to this, she thought, conceived in a raging blizzard as the bastard daughter of the Laird’s son Alasdair, she was going to die in one; the irony was lost on her as her mind went back to the circumstances that had destroyed her stable family life in Glen Cannich. It had started with the gift of a Mannlicher rifle on her eighteenth birthday from her Grandfather, albeit illegitimate Grandfather, Sir Andrew Ballantyne. Her mind drifted as she recalled happier times………..

Glen Cannich — Saturday July 9th 1955

The day for celebrating her coming-of-age had dawned wet, dreary and dismal. A gey dreich day, Kathleen Urquhart had pronounced, succinctly using an old Scot’s expression to sum up the miserable weather in a word, as she helped Catriona her daughter, Eilid’s mother, make preparations for her Grand-daughter’s eighteenth birthday.

Well, it might be cold and gray outside, mother, but for the birthday girl the sun’s shining, Catriona had observed. Just hand me over the pastry ‘til I put the top on this steak pie. I think five of these should do. Mind you, knowing the appetite of some of the young men in the village, it might be as well to have one in reserve.

Eilid’s birthday had actually been on Monday July 4th and she had wanted to have the party earlier on Saturday the 2nd , but her grandmother would not hear of it.

That’s tempting fate that is, she had declared, having a birthday party before the day will bring bad luck on you.

Catriona had agreed, which was just as well. There had been so much to do at the farm she was way behind in her preparations for the ‘grand party’ as Angus, Eilid’s father had called it, which was to be held in the Village Hall.

Her birthday party had been planned for some months. While twenty-one was still the age of majority in Scotland, eighteen was regarded as a milestone, a sort of coming-of-age. All the Stuart’s friends in the village had got together to organize what was really to be a ‘Grand Party’. It wasn’t just for Eilid, it was for everyone who had watched her grow up to become one of the most attractive and well-liked young ladies the village had ever known. Old Hamish MacDowell had promised some punch for the party, and to all the men attending he donated the first dram — ‘to get the evening off the ground’ — as Hamish put it.

Angus had managed to get a local Scottish dance band to come from Inverness. One of the stalker’s sons on the neighboring estate played the piano accordion in the band so, with a bit of judicious pressure, the band had offered to play just for the beer. The evening was set in the village hall which Catriona and Kathleen had decorated with as much bunting and ribbon as they could lay their hands on. It was to be a sit down dinner for about 40 people with Catriona feeling nervous that the five huge steak and kidney pies she had baked wouldn’t be enough to feed everyone.

By five o’clock the weather had started to brighten. The rain eventually stopped and by six a watery sun had filtered through the clouds to brighten Eilid’s day. Catriona and her mother had made Eilid’s party dress from a pattern they had found in one of the latest teenage fashion magazines. It was the latest 50’s style and Eilid had thought she looked fabulous. The dress was blue with a boat neck, a hooped layered net petticoat that caused the calf length dress to resemble a ball gown. A broad white elastic belt completed the picture with low-heeled shoes to match.

Eilid’s grandmother, Kathleen Urquhart, had got terribly emotional when she saw her granddaughter looking so beautiful and mature.

There’s just one wee finishing touch it needs, she had smiled at Eilid.

Off she went up to her bedroom to come back minutes later with a gold cross on a fine gold chain. She faced Eilid.

Turn round.

Eilid had done as she was told.

Mercy me, her Grandmother had said, you look really lovely in a dress, you should wear one more often, and you’re so tall, you’ll need to dip a bit to help me.

Eilid bent her knees. Slowly Kathleen fastened the chain round Eilid’s slender neck.

There now, let’s see you.

She had turned around again to face her mother, grandmother and her father, who had just come into the room.

My, my but you just look so fine, that’s my special birthday present to you. It was your great-grandmother’s cross, Eilid, and she gave it to me when I got married and I’ve had it ever since. I don’t wear it very often for the chain was getting so fine I was frightened it would break and I’d lose it, but your Dad got a new chain just the other day, so I want you to have this to keep you safe with the Lord’s blessing. Kathleen stepped back to admire her granddaughter again.

She remembered being quite overcome. Without a word she had stepped forward, hugged her grandmother and had given her a big kiss.

Thank you, thank you, Granny, it’s the first jewelry I’ve ever had. I’ll always wear it to remind me of this happy, happy day, she had said.

With that Granny and granddaughter had given one another tearful hugs. Angus had produced one of his mammoth red handkerchiefs from a jacket pocket.

My, my, we’ve got a fair bit o’ moppin’ up tae do here. He gently dabbed his mother-in-law’s cheeks. Since Angus had returned a hero from the war Angus had gone up in Kathleen Urquhart’s estimation, she had even invited him to refer to her by her first name.

That wis awfy kind of ye, Kathy, ah jist don’t know how tae thank ye enough. Ma lass looks splendid doesn’t she mither, he had turned to look at Catriona who was standing smiling wistfully with a mind full of mixed emotions. My God, Catriona had said to herself, if he only knew…... Now was certainly not the time for negative thoughts, she told herself. She had a party to organize and a hundred other things to do before the evening was over. Catriona had but one regret. She had asked Sir Andrew to attend but he had sent a very nice note apologizing for not being able to be there. In fact the tone of the note had rather upset Catriona. There was not one mention of wishing Eilid a happy birthday or anything. Catriona had been bitterly disappointed and had thought Sir Andrew’s response very strange. It wasn’t like him to miss a chance to see his only living relative.

The sit down meal had been a roaring success. There was just enough steak pie to go around complete with suede turnip, mashed potatoes and carrots washed down with jugs of ale that old Hamish had provided along with the Fruit Punch as his present to Eilid for the evening, however the Punch remained untouched. Even the younger attendees didn’t seem to like it.

The Beauly Dance Band was in great form. Anyone with a wooden leg would have got up to dance, so infectious was their rhythm and beat. They never seemed to tire, nor did the villagers. Dance followed dance in profusion. All the old favorites were catered for, the Gay Gordons, Strip the Willow, the Highland Barn Dance, Dashing White Sergeant, the Military Two-step, the Pride of Erin Waltz, and the St. Bernard’s Waltz and, of course, to finish the dancing off, the Eightsome Reel.

Every boy or young man in the village had danced Eilid off her feet. By ten-thirty everyone including Eilid was exhausted. Angus, Catriona and Kathleen were delighted the party had gone so well. Everyone had been well behaved even although a lot of beer had been consumed. Angus had kept a close watch on the younger lads as he saw the odd half-bottle of whisky coming out of an inside pocket and tipped into the beer. There wasn’t a young man there who hadn’t tried to make an impression on Eilid. But none had any success. There was an aristocratic look about her that evening, her mother thought that seemed to place an invisible barrier between her and the young village would-be blades without seeming to offend. It was like an aura emanating from her daughter that Catriona had never noticed before. Her little girl had grown up.

At eleven o’clock the lights had been dimmed and Angus wheeled in a huge birthday cake that had taken three of Catriona’s best friends about two weeks to bake and decorate. Covered in frosty white icing with a huge pink ribbon round the middle, the cake sported 18 blue candles sitting on top of a charming Highland scene of a Hind and her fawns grazing in a clearing of pine trees. It truly was a work of art. There were oohs and aahs from the revelers as the cake, mounted on a trolley, was slowly pushed to the center of the room.

Angus had turned to each corner of the room in turn, Charge your glasses, he commanded. Happy Birthday Eilid, he shouted for all to hear, and, following Angus’s lead the assembly burst into song, first with ‘Happy Birthday to you’, followed by, ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’.

With great poise and presence she had blown out all the candles with surprising ease. All her friends had crowded up to the cake and had helped her make the first cut through the icing and into the rich dark fruitcake beneath. The cake had been distributed with relish. It was no secret that Mary McLennan, regarded as the best baker in the village, had used at least two bottles of whisky in its making. As midnight approached everyone got prepared to leave. Sunday was the Sabbath and all revelry stopped by tradition just before Sunday came in. The farewells to the Stuart family had just begun when a hush fell over the assembly. The double doors had opened quietly to reveal the Laird, Sir Andrew Ballantyne silhouetted in the entrance.

Sir Andrew, everyone gasped. There stood the Laird dressed in his kilt and highland finery looking every inch a Knight of the Realm. From his Highland bonnet, set on his head at a rakish angle, to the Prince Charlie jacket then on down to the kilt in Ancient Stuart of Bute tartan to the silver buckled shoes he became quite the most elegant man at the party. The sgian dubh protruding from the top of his right stocking completed the picture.

Angus and Catriona had rushed forward in greeting.

Mercy me Sir Andrew, you look just like a Highland Lord, Angus had quipped.

Catriona had hugged Sir Andrew affectionately and had given him a huge kiss on the cheek. I knew you wouldn’t miss Eilid’s eighteenth, she had whispered in his ear.

Eilid to had crossed the floor and gone over to Sir Andrew. The Laird had never seen her more beautiful. She too gave Sir Andrew a kiss and a hug, like she had always done since she was a little girl.

My, my, what brings you here, Sir Andrew, she smiled, teasing him.

Well, Sir Andrew had said, Would you believe I was just passing and I thought there was a bit of a party going on and I just stopped by to see what all the noise and fuss was about, and there you all were. Is it somebody’s birthday? he had smiled back at Eilid continuing the little play-acting.

Highland Lord’s don’t go around unarmed, you know, so Angus if you’ll go into my car out there there’s a case lying along the back seat. Bring it in, would you.

While Angus had gone off to do as he was bid all the partygoers had surrounded the Laird shaking hands with him, and wishing him well. The villagers were well aware that the pain and sadness from losing first his wife to a heart attack, which then had been followed by Alasdair’s death in the Battle of Britain, still dwelled within him. Since the latter event he had always seemed to be a rather sad and very lonely man. But not tonight, the Laird was in fine fettle. He soon caught the eye of Hamish MacDowall and demanded a large Macallan.

Old Hamish had been astounded. Well now Sir Andrew, I don’t know if I’ll be having any of that. The war’s over, but there are still shortages everywhere.

Havers man, Sir Andrew had said, call yourself a publican with no decent malt, we’ll have to make some changes around here.

That had done it.

Well now I don’t sell it in the pub, you know, but I might just have some in my personal stock, if you wouldn’t mind having a wee dram of that? Hamish had inwardly groaned as he could see Sir Andrew ordering drinks all round from his precious hoarded supply of Macallan.

That’ll be fine Hamish, I’ll be right here. Sir Andrew had winked at the locals, knowing well that Hamish kept all the good malts for himself and his cronies.

Angus had come back from the Laird’s car carrying a large rifle case.

Ah, well done Angus, you’re a good man.

Hamish had slowly emerged from the gloom with a bottle of Macallan and one glass.

What’s all this then, the Laird had asked, am I the only one drinking?"

Hamish had dreaded this. His worse nightmare was about to come true.

"Well sir Andrew, you were the only