The Skylark’s Secret by Fiona Valpy EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Fiona Valpy
- Genre: Scottish Historical Romance, Historical Scottish Fiction
- Publish Date: 29 September 2020
- Size: 2 MB
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Avail for Download
- Price: Free
Lexie, 1980
It’s one of those days, on the cusp of early summer, when the sky and the sea
alike are awash with sunlight. Days like this are rare enough up here in the
Scottish Highlands to be remarked upon and stored away in the memory,
hoarded as talismans against the long darkness of the winter. I button Daisy
into her coat and pull a woollen tammy over her curls.
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Even though there’s
warmth in the sunshine, the wind on the hills above the croft can still nip
noses and chill ears, turning them cherry pink. Then I buckle her into the
carrier and hoist it on to my shoulders. She chuckles, loving the sensation of
height, burying her fingers in my hair, and we set off up the path.
Climbing steadily, leaving the waters of Loch Ewe behind us, my breath
becomes more laboured as the path steepens, twisting through the pines
alongside the burn that chatters and babbles companionably on its way down
the brae. Finally, we emerge from the darkness that pools beneath the trees,
into the sunlight of the higher ground. Calf muscles burning, I stop for a
moment, my hands on my hips, taking gulps of air that is as clear and cold as
the water in the stream. I turn to look back the way we’ve come. The clusters
of whitewashed croft cottages fringing the road here and there along the
lochside are still just visible, but in a few steps more they will disappear as
the heather-clad arms of the hills fold us into their embrace.
Along the edge of the path, half-hidden among the scrub of rowans and
birches, primroses turn their faces to the sunshine while shy violets attempt to
hide theirs. The climb evens out a little and Daisy and I sing as we go, our
voices chiming in the clear air.
‘And we’ll all go together
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather,
Will ye go, lassie, go? . . .’
Higher still, when we run out of songs of our own, a lark bursts from the
cover of the yellow-flowered gorse, soaring like a tiny skyrocket into the blue
above us. Against the silence, its song seems to hang, suspended, each note
cut with perfect clarity, creating a necklace of sound. I stand stock-still and
Daisy and I hold our breath, listening, until the bird is a tiny dot, high above
the hills and its song is stolen away by the wind.
The path becomes a narrow, grassy track, more accustomed to the
hooves of sheep and deer than to the soles of walking boots. At last, we turn
the corner and there is the lochan, sheltered in its dip in the hillside. Daisy
waves her arms in delight and laughs at the sight. Today, the water of the
pool is scarcely visible. In a magical transformation, its peat-blackened
depths are obscured by a coverlet of white waterlilies whose petals have been
coaxed open by the sun’s warmth.
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