It was another slow Monday afternoon in Ullapool, but Rahne was still feeling quite cheerful as she walked down the main street – after over a week of self-imposed night time house arrest she had tentatively ventured out in wolf-form last night and no dead bodies had turned up this morning. She was still somewhat weary, but had decided that she probably deserved some kind of celebration for not being a psychotic killer the previous night.
"Oi, Rahne!" came a young male voice on her right, over at the village green. She turned around to see a group of boys of about her age gathered there, with her friend Tony MacLeod, his distinctive tangle of messy brown hair, waving her over. The hair was a constant source of irritation to his mother, but Tony somehow managed to avoid her questing scissors more often than not. Today, his hair was looking even more like a birds nest than ever, as though he'd been running around, and he was bouncing a football. "We need another for a four-aside – ye want to join?"
As she reached them Rahne noticed a certain amount of displeasure in both the faces and scents of some of the other boys, most notably that of Murray Crawford, the ringleader of the group of village boys who thought that girls shouldn't play football. But that had never stopped her before she went to America, and it wasn't about to stop her playing now. Especially with Murray's face twisted into that particularly derogatory sneer. "Sounds great, Ton," she said, joining him.
Murray sneered. "Still wanting ta play with the boys, eh Sinclair? When are ye going ta learn that ye canna hack it?" Rahne merely rolled her eyes at this comment, but he continued anyway "Tell ye what – we'll give ye the ball to start with, eh? Ye'll be needin all the help ye can get…."
"Your loss then," she said simply, for once finding it easy to control her temper, and bent to tighten her shoelaces. Murray and a couple of his friends all leered, causing Tony to fire up. "Keep ye eyes to yerself, Crawford," he barked, but Rahne silenced him.
"Ignore him Ton," she said. "He obviously can't get his thrills anywhere else." Murray started to growl something, but she ignored him. "So, I get to start? Someone care to remind me of the rules?" One of the less observant boys on the other team opened his mouth, having missed the mocking tone, but she laughed "What, can't you boys understand sarcasm, then?"
She brought the ball to the centre of the makeshift field and rested her foot on it. "Should I just go?"
"Sure, we'll give ye a couple of metres as a head start," said Murray nastily.
"Why thank you sir, you're too kind," Rahne replied, pretending to bat her eyelashes, then kicked off. True to their word, at least to some extent, she had a couple of metres free run before the first one came in to tackle her. Too fast, as it turned out – she merely nudged the ball to her right and he ran past her. The second had learned something from his team-mate's mistake and came in slower and more cautiously. She feinted to the right, as if to repeat the same move, but as he went to block her off she stopped the ball, tapping it behind her leg back left, spun around and went past, leaving him turning around trying to see where she'd gone.
Now there were only two left between her and the two piles of clothing that marked the goal. Murray motioned his last crony forward to take her on. Rahne smiled as he lumbered toward her. As he neared she sent the ball past him to her right, but dodged left, coming around him to join up with the ball again, and face off against Murray.
"Ye might as well give up now, girlie," he told her, confident in his reputation as the best player in the village.
"After I've come all this way? Fat chance, loser," she rejoined. Flicking the ball up with her toe, she began bouncing it from foot to foot. "You'll have to come and get it."
He came toward her carefully, pushing his sandy hair back from his face so he could see properly – he wasn't about to be taken in by the same simple tricks as the others. Rahne kept juggling the ball as he drew close, until he was only about half a metre away. Then she flicked the ball over the top of her own head, turned and kicked it up again, this time letting it soar over behind Murray. She reached it just after the first bounce and volleyed it right between the two 'goal posts'.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she smiled, seeing the disbelieving and disgusted look on the boy's face. "Was I not supposed to do that? This game is just a little hard for my poor little female brain to understand…."
"That was mad, Rahne," exclaimed Tony as he and the rest of her team came up to congratulate her. "I mean, ye were never bad or nothing, but how did ye learn to beat someone like Crawford like that?"
"Guess I just picked up a few things in America," she said, mysteriously. "I had some good coaches…." Jean had been the first to notice the young Scottish girl's interest in football, and had started playing with her occasionally after school, but it was when Roberto had found out about it that her playing had really improved – he had been a rep back in Brazil, the home of soccer, and she'd taken the chance not only to hone her skills, but to have an excuse to spend time with him. Not that he'd seemed to mind, although she had thought originally that that just went to show just how obsessed with football he was.
After recovering from their first shock of being bested by a 'mere girl', the other team settled in and proved to be slightly more of a challenge. Nevertheless, Rahne's team was winning comfortably as a small crowd began to gather to watch the spectacle, apparently taking some enjoyment from it too….
"How's ye pride, Crawford?" called Toni's brother Jamie from the bank which formed one of the 'sidelines'. "I'll go call ye ma, tell her her wee boy must be ailin', he's being beaten by a lass!" There was a round of laughter at that – Murray was disliked by much of the village for his arrogance, and it seemed to be thought by most that it was about time that he got his just desserts. He glared at the crowd.
Rahne took the opportunity provided by this distraction to step past the sandy-haired boy once again with the ball, and grinned at him again. "Oh, are you sick?" she asked sweetly. "Maybe I should give you a headstart?"
"Ye wish, Sinclair." He narrowed his eyes and came at her again, as if to attempt to tackle her.
But instead of going directly for the ball his foot lunged out at her ankle. She heard a crack as she was sent tumbling to the ground. Murray stood there with an oddly triumphant smirk on his face as she tried to get up and fell down again as she put her weight on her right ankle.
"Rahne, are ye alright?" asked a concerned Tony as the rest of her team rushed up to check on her. "What happened?"
Before Rahne could speak, the boys were pushed aside by another figure from the crowd who solemnly intoned, "The Lord has righteously repaid the sins of undue pride and lack of decorum in a woman, by His holy providence."
Oh, hallelujah, Rahne thought (slightly blasphemously) – Reverend Craig. She chose to ignore him. "Oh, it's nothing too bad. I think my ankle might be sprained though." She glared at Murray Crawford, who, far from appearing abashed, returned the expression.
"What should we do?" Tony asked her. "Should I be carryin' ye home or gettin' a bandage or something?"
"Most certainly not!" cried Reverend Craig. "It is not for us to interfere with sufferings that our Almighty God inflicts upon those who transgress His holy laws – such divine punishment must not be ameliorated." There were some looks of faint disagreement in the faces surrounding Rahne, but none seemed willing to speak – she could smell their fear of the minister who had the whole of the small god-fearing community well in his control.
"Nonsense," came another firm voice from the back of the crowd. "Divine punishment my foot! It was more like a spiteful piece of petty revenge from an immature boy who should have been brought up better." There were a few quiet murmurs of almost assent at this speech, and the crowd parted to reveal the same short woman who'd helped Rahne out the week before – what was her name? Moira something?
"Now let me see the damage that's been done," she said, brushing past Craig without a second glance as she bent down to inspect Rahne's ankle. The crowd stayed, almost hypnotised by this woman who seemed to pay no heed to the all-powerful minister. "Don't you have better things to do?" she asked briskly, looking up at them. So much for Jess's description of a head-in-the-clouds scientist type, thought Rahne. "Go on, there's nothing to see here!" They all scattered, including Murray. "And don't be thinking I won't be talking to your father young man," Moira called after him. You could see Murray quake slightly – his father was known to deal harshly with any sons that brought shame on the family.
Tony was still hovering around. "Do ye need me ta do anything, miss?" he asked.
"No, thank you, Mr MacLeod, was it? We'll manage just fine," she told him firmly.
"Yeah, it's okay, really, Ton," Rahne added. "I'll see you later…." She wanted to find out something about this mysterious woman who seemed to be making a habit of coming to her rescue.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked, suspiciously. The wolf in her was inclined to be distrustful of strangers, even seemingly friendly ones.
"I think it would be best for now just to say that we have a mutual friend who charged me with keeping an eye on you," said the older woman simply, with a slightly wary glance around them. She wasn't lying, Rahne could smell that much, but she wasn't disclosing everything either.
"Friend? Do you mean the Pr…," Rahne started to ask, but was quickly cut off.
"That's enough of that topic for now." And the scientist refused to say anything more about the topic as she helped the girl to her feet and back to the Sinclair's home.
NB: Football would be what Americans and Kiwis would call soccer, in case anyone's forgotten. And… what else? This chapter owes a lot to Bend it Like Beckham, which is an awesome awesome movie.