The Highwayman's Curse Page 16

  Thomas galloped away in the opposite direction from Mouldy. Calum paced about, unable to settle. But his father was back in less than an hour, I think, frantic, not knowing where to begin looking.

  Soon after this, by which time it was many hours since Iona had disappeared, there was a clattering of a cart and a clashing of hoofs in the yard. Billy had returned with Hamish. We waited for them to come in through the door.

  When they did so, they were not alone. The blind minister was with them. And what he had to say put an end to any care that Red might have felt for Iona. It put an end to any hopes of peace.

  It promised bloodshed and more hatred.

  Chapter Forty

  He walked with a rolling step, slowly tapping his way into the dwelling, holding Hamish’s arm with one pale hand, and a polished stick with the other. Cloud-white was his hair, hanging like icicles around his neck. He wore a black hat, stiff and tall.

  And his eyes were white as bone, rolling beneath thick, steely eyebrows. As he walked, his face flicked now this way, now that, with birdlike movements, as he sought to catch any sound.

  Hamish, on the other hand, looked down, at the ground. He met no one’s eyes. At first I thought that his grim expression was for Iona’s disappearance, but that was only part of the truth.

  Into the cottage they came, and, apart from Jock, we all stood up, because a man of the church was among us even though he could not see what we did. Mouldy removed his crumpled hat and the pipe from his mouth, but the others had none to remove. Even Old Maggie stood, smiling all the while.

  “God be wi’ ye all,” said the minister.

  Hamish was guiding him to a seat. He gestured to Billy, who set the chair carefully behind the minister as he sat down. Tension grew within the cottage.

  Jock, his face the shade of ash, his eyes narrowed, began to speak between heavy breaths. “Ye are welcome. Welcome.” Everyone looked to him to see what he would say further. But his eyes seemed to blur and his mouth to move without sound. He passed his hand across his forehead again, pressing his fingers to one temple. The other men looked away.

  But Hamish now spoke. “Our minister has some news. Ye’ll no’ like it. Ye should sit yourselves down.” There was a thump as Jeannie almost fell onto a stool. One hand clasped her mouth, the other gripped Jock’s arm.

  One by one, everyone sat now, except for Thomas, who moved close to Jeannie and Jock, but remained standing. Old Maggie resumed her knitting. Everyone else looked to the minister. None spoke. Only the fire crackled and a bubbling came from the water in the steaming pot.

  One of the dogs scratched itself, the violent thumping of its leg on the ground loud in the room.

  And now the minister’s voice came again. “I have news o’ the lass.”

  “Oh! What news? Tell me! What news?” Jeannie could not hold back her fear.

  “The devil has surely ta’en her for hisself,” said the minister, his voice shrill and nasty. There seemed some cruel pleasure in him. He savoured his words as though he wished their flavour to linger on his tongue. He must have known the effect of them; he must have known how everyone wanted to know Iona’s fate.

  “Is she dead?” demanded Thomas, his voice strident.

  “She may as well be,” snapped the minister.

  “Then she’s no’!” cried Jeannie.

  The sound of Old Maggie’s knitting tapped against the edges of my mind. I tried to ignore it, not to notice the moments when it slowed, or stopped, or gathered speed. If I could have ripped the wool from her hands, I would have. I had never felt such anger at her.

  My mouth was dry. When would the minister tell us what he knew?

  “A message was brought to me. By a well-wisher. The lass has run off wi’ a lad.”

  “Is that all?” Jeannie laughed, a forced laugh. As though she knew it was not all. There was a shifting among the men. Did they too expect what was coming?

  “He is an Episcopalian,” said the minister now. Was that a smile, that twisting upwards of his lips? Or a sneer? Did he enjoy the news he brought? More than he should have if he had a heart, I think.

  Now I could only watch and hold my breath as the men’s angry words tumbled over each other. Only Jock and Jeannie stayed motionless, and wordless. I did not look at Old Maggie but from the corner of my eye I could see her knitting more quickly now, as though her fingers were chased by flames. I was aware that words mumbled from her lips but I wished not to know them and so I did not let myself hear.

  We, Bess and I, could only wait. Bess said nothing, though the surprise showed in her face. She looked towards me but I turned away.

  What would they do now?

  Did the minister know the last piece of the story? That Iona’s lover was none other than…?

  “There is more,” said the minister now. His thin, beaky face was angled and shadowed, as though chiselled from some northern granite. There was no softness anywhere, only sharpness and edge. Silence fell once more, and into it his words. “’Tis Douglas Murdoch’s lad. They have run away together.”

  “I tellt ye!” shrieked Old Maggie now. “Curst, she is! Curst! I tellt ye she would turn out like this!”

  Now Jeannie let fly with her anger. “Hold your tongue, old woman! I’ll no’ hear ye talk like that ever again, d’ye hear?”

  “I was right! Was I no’ right?”

  But Jeannie leapt at her now and grasped her shoulders. With tears on her cheeks, she shook Old Maggie like a blanket, shouting angry words at her. Thomas and Red grabbed Jeannie, while Bess took Old Maggie and sat her back down, soothing her.

  Jeannie wept as she struggled to free herself from the two men. “How can ye let her talk so when wee Iona is in danger? D’ye care nothing for your daughter, Thomas?”

  “She has betrayed us!” growled Red. “To go wi’ Murdoch’s son!”

  “Aye, she has shamed us all!” agreed Thomas. “To go wi’ an Episcopalian. Does the Bible no’ say, ‘the tree is known by his fruit’? Am I no’ shamed by her act?” The minister nodded, offering no words of comfort.

  And then everyone’s words poured out. I heard harsh damnation of Episcopalians and those who followed bishops; there was Old Maggie repeating over and over again, “All drest in white they were.” Red was for mustering as many arms as we could and going to Douglas Murdoch’s place. What good would that do, asked Thomas, if Iona and the lad were not there? But the villain needed to be punished, argued Red. And if we no longer had to fear him stealing her away then what did we have to lose?

  “But if she loved the lad!” said Jeannie.

  “Did ye ken about this?” demanded Thomas.

  “No!” said Jeannie. “But she is the age when such things happen.”

  “Did we no’ teach her our history?” asked Thomas. “Did she no’ listen often enough to the story of her great-grandmother? Does she think our people didna suffer enough at the hands of Episcopalians and kings and others who betrayed their own faith? That our persecution was no’ enough?”

  “She is but a bitty lassie!” cried Jeannie.

  “Aye, and she’s a lassie who must learn a lesson. When she comes running back, she will find out that God is a harsh judge and we will no’ cease in His work,” said Thomas.

  “‘Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed’,” the minister’s voice rang out. I suppose he meant to justify their need for vengeance against Episcopalians, but Iona had killed no one.

  Murmurings of agreement passed around the cottage.

  Calum, I saw, sat silent, his face troubled, his eyes going from one to the next. I could not tell what he thought. Did he wish to protect his sister now?

  The door flew open and Tam ran into the room. When he saw the minister sitting there, crow-faced, and saw everyone’s grim looks, he went quickly to Jeannie, where he buried his face in her skirts and she ruffled his hair absentmindedly, her face rigid as she struggled with her thoughts. Thomas and Red had now let her go and she grabbed Tam’
s hand and led him to the fire, where she set him to pounding something in a bowl. She would not look at Old Maggie. Tam asked no questions, though he looked fearfully at the minister.

  The minister stood and Hamish and Billy led him out.

  “All things work to the good for them that love God,” he pronounced, as he left the dwelling. I was glad indeed when he had gone. He had brought a chill to the place, a darkness, something not of this world.

  Into the shifting muttering of the men when he had gone, came Jock’s voice. “We must show mercy,” he said. “’Tis no’ for us but for God to judge.” His eyes looked empty, or as though a thin fog veiled them.

  “Ye’re a good man indeed,” said Jeannie eagerly, nodding and looking around at the others, as though to tell them that he was their leader still.

  Thomas and Red looked away at their father’s words. It was clear they did not agree with his mercy. Though Red was more angry that Iona had gone with Douglas Murdoch’s son, and Thomas that his daughter had gone with an Episcopalian, both must act in revenge or punishment.

  And Old Maggie would not have this talk of mercy. “My ain son! Gone weak! How will God judge us if we dinna help Him in his work?”

  “Dinna speak to Jock so!” snapped Jeannie now. “He is a good man. And we do what he says.”

  “Curst be her heid and all the hairs on it!” said the old woman spitefully. With a noise of pure rage, Jeannie rose to her feet and ran from the cottage, knocking over a stool. Tam fell onto the ground, where he sat crying. She was like a beast gone wild and soon we could hear her sobbing outside. Jock made to get up, but seemed overcome by dizziness, and fell back on his stool.

  Thomas and Red looked at each other, knowing not what to do.

  Calum stood looking from one man to another, saying nothing. I knew his views on the religion of the Murdochs, remembered what he had said about killing them if they came to his house, and that he did not forgive them for the Killing Times. But I knew too that he feared for his sister and loved her. Which would be stronger? His hatred or his love?

  Bess turned her mind to giving Old Maggie a drink, busying herself, while Tam was crouching on the ground, looking from one person to another, wondering what was splintering his world – a world which had Jeannie’s strength and love at its centre.

  So it was left to me to follow Jeannie outside and as I did I could hear the others continuing to argue, and to rail about bishops and Catholics and the English and the King and Episcopalians. Between them all, Iona had made herself some powerful enemies by her unfortunate choice of boy to love.

  I hoped she was very far away by now and that she would not come back, for her own sake and the sake of peace.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Out in the yard, I found Jeannie staring towards the sea, twisting the sides of her apron. I went to her, with no thought of what to say, only that she had seemed the only one who would not condemn Iona to Hell. She turned when she heard my steps. Her voice now was without power, flat. It was as though a large weight pressed down on her, and she could make only a small sound.

  “I should have held my tongue. It’s no’ Old Maggie’s fault. I shouldna hurt her. She is just a poor old woman.”

  “But it’s not Iona’s fault either, surely? She cannot choose whom to love.”

  Jeannie looked at me then, deep into my eyes. After some moments, I had to look away. For one long breath, I almost told her that Iona had confided her secret in me. But it would not have helped. And I did not know how far I could trust Jeannie.

  “I think ye care for her,” said Jeannie now.

  “I am sorry for her,” I said. “And I do not like the hatred that is between your families. For something that happened so long ago.”

  “Aye, but it did happen. And mebbe Old Maggie was right. Mebbe Iona was curst, though I never liked her to hear it. The both o’ them grew up without a mother – Iona’s died of a fever when Tam was a wee baby. I didna like to see her flinch under Old Maggie’s words, but the woman was right after all. The silly lassie has run off wi’ our enemy. How could she be so foolish! She doesna deserve my protection any more. I should wash my hands o’ her and leave her to her lad.” She shook her head, sadly.

  Not Jeannie too! Did Iona have no friends at all?

  “A silly girl, perhaps,” I said. “But does she deserve this?”

  “How often in this world do we get what we deserve?” retorted Jeannie now. “Did Old Maggie get what she deserved? Iona should have kept herself from him, if she’d any loyalty, any love for her family.”

  How much love did they have for her? I could not understand it, any of it. So much hatred, so little hope for better times.

  “Jock has need o’ me,” said Jeannie, straightening her back now. “I have a family to care for. I pity Iona, but she has brought this on herself. She’d better no’ return, or she will feel the anger o’ her uncles and her father. I wouldna wish that on her and so she should no’ return,” she repeated, shaking her head, sadly. She walked towards the cottage door.

  The door closed, leaving only me outside.

  I did not follow her. The only person now who might show any kindness to Iona was Jock, and Jock was weak and very ill. And it seemed to me that, without Jeannie’s agreement, he would wither under the anger of everyone else. Besides, I did not think that mercy was a word much used by these people. No, his talk of mercy was not something I could rely on.

  Iona had no one other than me. And all I could do, it seemed, was hope and pray for her to escape.

  The sun shone strongly for an April day, with a warm west wind. I went to the stable and stroked the horses. Burying my face in Blackfoot’s mane, I breathed in his smell, his grassy, musty, living smell.

  Why did I not simply ride away? I could gather my few possessions from our cottage and slip away without anyone knowing. My heart sang with the thought of this, the freedom once more of the open road.

  Could I leave without Bess? Not if there was any hope that she would come with me. But if I could not persuade her… Then, I must leave and must find the strength to make my own way, find a new life once more.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  My first chance to talk to Bess alone came a little later. She had gone to fetch some water from the well, and there I joined her.

  “Poor Iona,” I said, to see what her response might be. Surely she would not think that these people were right to treat Iona as harshly as they had?

  “She was a silly girl,” retorted Bess. Her thick hair was greasy and untidy, scraped back from her forehead and tied roughly behind her, the colour of coal dust. Already she seemed to have taken on a little of the harshness of these people. Some of her grace had gone, that mysterious strength and elegance. Her lips now were cracked and her skin lifeless.

  “But only a girl,” I replied. “Too young to understand.”

  “Older than Maggie was when she was branded by the soldiers. Old enough to know.”

  “And I suppose you believe in the old woman’s curse?” I said, with some spite. Why was Bess being so cruel? Did she think that the ancient anger of these people was right?

  “Old Maggie is a good woman! She is strong in her faith and no one will sway her. She does not change her heart just because things around her change.” Bess now reached up to finger the locket round her neck again, rubbing it softly, perhaps not noticing what she did.

  “Perhaps she should! Perhaps she has no heart.”

  “She has suffered as you never have! One silly girl’s error will not change her heart. And nor should it. Iona has proved Old Maggie right.”

  “Yes!” I said, furious myself now. “And I suppose your mother’s error in falling in love with your father would not change her father’s heart! I suppose he was right to nurse his hatred and to throw you out when you were a tiny baby! He said your mother and father should never have loved each other and so he caused their deaths. Perchance he said your mother was a silly girl too, until she died. Did he think
she was silly then?”

  “Be quiet!” she cried. “Do not speak of my mother and father like that! You understand none of it!” She picked up her bucket and ran towards our cottage.

  I regretted what I had said, or how I had said it. Yet I knew I was right.

  It came to me then that Bess would carry her hatred with her to her grave, just as Old Maggie would do.

  As she disappeared across the yard, I no longer saw the Bess I had come to know, the brave spirit who would not be imprisoned. And it seemed to me now that perhaps she was suited to these people after all, that she would stay with them and be wrapped round in their own ancient hatreds, passing their anger down the ages until no one could remember why any of it had started.

  I did not wish to stay with her if she would not change.

  Should I simply leave, without Bess?

  If I could not stay, and she would not come, then I must go.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I would leave the next morning, I decided. It was now too late in the afternoon and darkness was only a few hours away. In the stable, with a heavy feeling in my heart, I groomed Blackfoot, and ensured that his saddle and bridle were in good condition. Bess’s horse, Merlin, pushed his nose into my back, demanding my attention too. Willingly I gave it to him.

  I fed Blackfoot well, or as well as I could, and checked his legs for signs of injury, but he was sound, strong and fit, and as ready as I was to make a journey. And the more I considered it, the more ready I felt. A sense of adventure grew in me now as I thought of leaving behind the dark and hopeless lives of these people. In such a beautiful land, why should they hold onto such cruelty? Was it what God wished for them? I could not think so.

  But I knew not where I would go. Perhaps to Edinburgh? I had heard tell of it as a place of learning and erudition. If I could find a way to earn money, I could perhaps afford to go to the university there. Or I could travel to England again. A part of me wished to know how my family fared now, whether they thought of me at all and, if so, in what way. But I did not think I could return and so perhaps I would never know.