MacGregor

Chapter 4. The Cèilidh

Birlin. Scots: meaning spinning or turning.

This night, she thought, would be splendid. Bodies spinning, intertwining, falling in to each other; and the music! She could not wait for the music. Drunken laughter spilled out of various buses and cars and into the village hall, sending jovial echoes over the peat bogs. The group of young Glaswegians sang their way off the bus. " I belang tae Glesga!..." encouraging a few local girls to join them along the way. Glasgow folk were very liked and often shown special hospitality on the Western Isles due to long standing ties.

Chloe stepped out in to the night. It was milder on Harris, the wind was much more gentle and warm. The only other buildings close by were a ruined old croft house and a hostel which seemed mostly occupied by the visiting musicians. The locals were still pouring in, gathered by bus and to be delivered safely back to various dwellings across Harris after the event. Without these gatherings, in such a remote place, it'd be a pretty impossible task to find any fun with the opposite sex. Mostly, people met at these events, courted and probably married, such are Island traditions and it's only those who escape to the mainland who can sample the anonymity it affords. The visiting musicians knew this well and minded to be discrete in their liaisons with the locals. As they spilled out of the hostel into the hall with their instruments, many a local and tourist looked on with a twinkle in their eye. Chloe watched as the last of the musicians made towards the hall, noticing that one of them struck a very familiar form. Tall, broad... "Wait!" Chloe's whole body jolted as she realised the kilted giant MacGregor was walking towards her with bagpipes slung over his shoulder. "Oh!" Chloe gasped. "It was him playing the other night! Ahhh now it makes sense." She threw him a coy smile as he caught sight of her and halted his pace. His face delighted and surprised at her presence. "I had no idea..." Chloe gestured to the pipes. "Oh aye" Macgregor chuckled "These, aye, we didn't get to that last night, that's why I'm here," MacGregor smiled flirtatiously, allowing his thoughts to conjure their erotic moment from the previous night. "And I better get in as I believe I am required to chant out a tune presently." Chloe followed the sway of his kilt in to the hall and took a seat at a small table near the door as MacGregor disappeared to the back.

A small rotund woman appeared on a raised platform and Chloe thought it must be the infamous knitting demon Mrs Sutherland. "Good evening all and I trust that you're looking forward to night of good music and birlin!" The gathered people made noises of approval between sips of ale and whiskey. "And what night would really be started without the talented fingers of Rory MacGregor! Give him a warm welcome everyone!" The woman clapped her hands excitedly as she retreated to the side and was replaced by the giant Rory MacGregor. He walked confidently in to place and stood poised with his pipes before giving a sharp, violent punch to the bag, kick starting the haunting drones. He joined with his chanter, fingering out a jig and stamping the rhythm with his right foot. The crowd soon joined in, tapping their feet on the floor to the beat of the jig which switched dynamically in to fast reel making the gathering burst with whoops and cheers and hand claps. Chloe was mesmerised by his skill and was almost disappointed when MacGregor finished his rousing toe tapping tune, taking a bow to incredible applause and appreciation. The band swarmed in from the sides of the hall, shaking his hand and patting his back before asking the gathering to take their partners for a strip the willow. Chloe found herself immediately pulled up by an elderly gentleman who led her to the dance floor. She was polite and humored him, doubting his fitness to get through the dance alive. As she took her place opposite him she scanned the room, spotting MacGregor appear by the bar, surrounded by people wanting to buy him a drink in appreciation of his piping skill. Mrs Sutherland joined a group of older women gathered around a small round table to the right of him, one of many crowded tables placed around the perimeters of the wooden floored hall. They muttered between each other as they looked in Chloe's direction, then MacGregor's, then back again. She scorched a scarlet blush at the thought of this enigmatic giant and her being the center of some scandalous gossip, continuing the strip the willow in an attempt to whirl off the anxiety and excitement she'd felt when they were alone in the bothy. His mere presence was enough to find her not fully in control of her quivering limbs. She glimpsed him again where he stood, at the bar, towering over the men waiting for a refill. "He really is a giant!" She thought. "No wonder I was so anxious in his company. If he wanted, he could snuff me out with one hand." But he had shown no such character. He seemed, to have deep waters running under a tough exterior and shown a very protective and caring side when she'd been stranded by the mist. "I'd never have found the bothy without him." She pulled up the fresh memory of being enveloped in his huge body which produced the most incredible heat, radiating from him like a wood burning stove. And his hard torso, sculpted and god like, every inch of him, it seemed was perfectly masculine.