Highland Island (Book 6)

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Back aching, hands raw and only half the washing completed, Isla was ready to give in. Her head pounded with the rhythm of the water, her eyes stinging from the light and the soap she accidentally rubbed in as she tried to scrape her escaped hair out of her face. All in all, a pain of a day, and it was not even anywhere near finished yet.

She had not spoken to her mother in over an hour. Both having done this enough by now to know the temper of the other by this point in the day. It was just easier for them to silently work side by side. Slipping the last of her basket back on the pile, she groaned as she stretched out her back. Almost feeling the popping of her spine as it tried to realign itself. Not fully successfully after so long bent forward. It knew that as soon as she had these linens hung she would be back on these banks once more. Breaking her back again.

Standing to cracking knees, she leant her head back, allowing the sun to rain down upon her a moment. Soaking in a moment to herself. Hands on her hips, she allowed herself to take in the scents of wild flowers just beginning to bloom in the warmer spring air.

"I'll not be long behind you. Just grab a load and bring it out, I'll see you back here after I've hung mine out." Her mother missed her distracted nod in return for her words. Instead of voicing her agreement, Isla just bent to pick up her now heavier load. Wet cloth really did weigh too much for her to be lugging it about like this. The edge of the wicker digging into her hip, her arm stretched to full capacity over the rim, she headed back to the cottage, lugging the load up her body every few steps as it tried to slip from her grip.

The uneven surfaces she walked on did not help her in the slightest. From the bumpy grass and meadow area, to the pebbled rocky walkways between the Keep and village and finally the churned and dried surfaces of the paths between the cottages. Dropping her load with a dull thud on the compact earth before just inside the small fence separating her cottage from the mud walkway beyond, she stared at the rope her mother had spread around the small area for maximum coverage.

Where to start was always the obvious question, mostly because it gave Isla a few minutes respite before the bending and lifting began. She felt her back twinge at the knowledge already. Rolling her head on her neck, she tried to loosen the knot she could feel at the base of her neck, and knew no matter what she did it would be useless. A day sweltering in the kitchen was looking like paradise at this moment. It was hot, challenging work, but at least it did not try and break her back. At least the work in the kitchen meant that her arms were now used to heavy labour, so the scrubbing had been nothing to copious amounts of sticky dough.

Knowing she could put it off no longer, for if nothing else she heard voices coming in her direction. Any slacking and her mother would be informed, then there would be hell to pay and no doubt about it. Pushing the basket with her foot was another arduous task, but she preferred that to picking the blasted thing up again. So instead, she nudged and pushed it until it was roughly in the centre of the rope maze her mother had created. Just as she bent to retrieve the first sheet a sharp whistle rent the air. Dropping the damp material back onto the mountain in a wicker basket, she turned sharply, hands on hips and scowl already firmly set.

"Donald Malcom Boyd. How very dare you?" The outrage in her voice was just the same as her mothers, and her poor depart grandmother before her. God rest her soul. It seemed the women in Isla's family have a knack for getting people to know their feelings plain as day. "If that had gone on the ground," her finger came up and the point was in motion. "You would be the one to be washing it clean once more. After the hours I have just spent doing this," Finger moving to express what this meant, in the shape of the large pile of newly laundered linen and clothing. "I am in no mood for your games. You hear me, hmm, do you Donald?" His names was as if she had said the dirtiest of slurs. She could not help it. He really did nothing to endear himself to her in the entire time she had known him...which was in fact her entire life.