The Highwayman's Curse Read online

Page 20


  What treachery! Why would the minister do such a thing?

  At that moment, I heard Bess call. We went round the side of the dwelling again and walked towards the doorway, which now stood open, warm light spilling out.

  “I told Jeannie you wished to see Iona,” said Bess softly. Robert did not move for some moments.

  “I am sorry,” I said to him, touching his arm. “I wish we could have saved her.”

  He said nothing. I think he could not.

  Bess and I watched him walk into the doorway but we stayed outside, not wishing to see any further.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Robert stayed inside for some while. Bess and I said little as we waited, shivering in the night air. We watched the distant hills, where I could see torches dotting one part of the landscape. Were these the men bent on revenge and punishment of Douglas Murdoch? I felt no pity for the man. He deserved whatever might befall him, but I wished not to be part of it and I feared for what would happen next. Would it end? Could it?

  How eerie a full moon is. Strange events occur when the moon is whole, they say, when a certain magic holds creatures in its sway. It is as though every night leads towards this perfect circle, when nocturnal powers strengthen, and anything can happen, for good or for ill.

  Now that I had time to think, my wounds began to sting more strongly than before. My skin and joints were stiffening in the chill air and my head throbbed with tiredness. And yet I did not think the night’s action was over.

  Jeannie and Robert came to the doorway. I think that he had been weeping. He pulled the hood of his cloak up again and went towards his horse.

  Now, his strength seemed to return and he leapt into the saddle.

  “My father will pay for this!” he shouted. And with that, he kicked his horse hard and galloped away, clattering through the yard entrance and along the track towards the road.

  Bess and I looked at each other.

  “Shall we go with him?” said Bess.

  “No. It is not our battle.”

  “But I fear for him.”

  “It is not our battle,” I repeated.

  “Will is right,” said Jeannie. “There is nothing can be done. And I need ye here, Bess. Nor do I like to see ye ride out wi’ the men. There is better work here.”

  Jeannie took Bess’s arm and I followed them into the cottage.

  “There’s the fire to be stoked,” continued Jeannie. “And I must prepare Iona’s body. It must be washed and made ready. And all manner o’ things to be doing.” She bustled around, busying herself with anything that would take her mind from what had come to pass that night. And what might yet happen.

  But nothing could have prepared her for what did indeed happen next.

  She screamed. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes saucer-wide in the glow of lantern and fire. Bess, too, gasped. I did not at first see what frightened them so.

  And then I too saw it.

  It was as much as I could do not to scream myself.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Iona’s whole body was shivering beneath the sheet. While Jeannie stood too shocked to move, I ran to the fire and pulled the edge of the cloth down. Her eyes were open – she was alive!

  I knew not how this could be. Yet she was no ghost. I had heard stories of people being in a deep sleep and waking when all hope was gone but I had never believed such a thing to be possible. Her body had been so cold, so motionless, that we had assumed her dead. Her sleep had been so deep that we had detected no breath, but she must have been breathing very shallowly all the time. And now the warmth of the fire was rousing her from her strange sleep – for sleep was all it had been. Still her skin felt chilled, but there was a softness to it now. There was life in her.

  And the hole in her skull? Surely she could not have survived such a thing, though I had heard of people in times gone by being trepanned to release a bad spirit, and I suppose they sometimes did not die.

  Jeannie ran to her and gathered her up in her arms, where she lay, still limp, still silent, but with her eyes open, and breathing more strongly. Now, too, Tam was waking, smiling at his sister, never having known that there was anything to fear.

  “Hello, Iona!” he said, as though it was morning, any morning, after any night.

  Now Jeannie laughed, as she kissed Iona’s face and smiled at Tam. Bess and I grinned at each other too, more pleased than I can describe. All that pain, that fear – it had not been for nothing!

  Iona’s hand went to her head, and Jeannie pushed back her hair to reveal the hole. But when we looked, we saw that the hole had only pierced the flesh covering her skull, and had gone no further. Her skull was unbroken. Murdoch and his men had not trepanned her after all – it was nothing more than a mark from some other injury.

  And Old Maggie had indeed been wrong, wrong in every way. Douglas Murdoch still deserved all that might happen to him, but how glad Robert would be that the worst had not happened.

  Robert! He was riding towards his father with vengeance in his heart. Although I had no desire to protect Douglas Murdoch, I did not wish Robert to do something he might regret. And if he thought Iona dead, who knew what lengths his grief might lead him to?

  Besides, I wished him to know, and to have something to be glad for. There had been enough of the other.

  Bess ran to our cottage and changed quickly into man’s attire once more, and we saddled our horses again, somewhat against Jeannie’s wishes. But Jeannie was so intent on looking after Iona – as well as Jock, who lay now with eyes open but glazed, his lips slack – that she did little to stop us. Tam wished to help her, running about on his bare feet, fetching wood with his one good arm, and stoking the fire expertly.

  The moonlight still gave the air a steely gleam, though some clouds were drifting over the sky now, and in the distance we could see the moving pinpoints of torches near Murdoch’s tower.

  In that direction we rode, fast. My wounds stung but I did not care about that. In some strange way, the pain reminded me that I was alive, and that it was good to be so.

  Could this whole ugly feud be stopped now? The power of Old Maggie and her foolish curse was over. Surely, once Thomas knew that his daughter was alive, and once Red and the others saw how nearly they had lost her, and with Douglas Murdoch stripped of his power and his friends, with everyone rising against him – surely now it would be the end of the back and forth battling about who had done what to whom? Surely they could be at peace, and continue with their lives?

  This I hoped with all my heart as Bess and I galloped into the night, the rhythm of our horses’ hoofs familiar now, my stride perfectly matching Bess’s. The fresh wind on my face filled me with new strength. It was with excitement, and hope, that I rode.

  Would I leave after all this, as I had planned? Yes, I would, with even more certainty now. Would Bess come with me?

  Perhaps foolishly, I dared to hope so.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  As we came closer to the valley where Murdoch’s tower sat, we could hear distant noises. Shouts of men and the whinnying screams of horses. What was happening? The sky was lightening rapidly, glowing almost orange in the east, in the direction of the valley. Was it so late? Was dawn breaking so soon?

  When we rounded the crest of a hill, we pulled the horses to a sudden halt. We sat there, staring.

  It was not a rising sun that suffused the night sky with orange. It was fire.

  One side of Douglas Murdoch’s tower was on fire, the flames leaping skywards, dancing from the wooden roof, whipping the air. Below it, running around it like frantic ants, many men darted about, throwing firebrands through windows or onto piles of sticks against the walls. At the entrance to the tower itself, six or seven men held a tree trunk, which they used as a battering ram, crashing again and again against the door. It remained firm.

  Other men tried to breach the thick double door into the low wall that enclosed the outbuildings. But it held firm. One of the buildings insi
de was on fire too and there was a terrible noise from frightened animals. Then I saw men, Murdoch’s men they must have been, running to free the animals from the blazing structure. Horses stamped and whinnied, and cows huddled together at the wall furthest away from the flames.

  I could not tell where Robert Murdoch was. It was not possible to be certain where our men were, though I thought I recognized the great hulking frame of Billy, and was that Thomas with him? But there were more men than ours – perhaps twenty or thirty, and who knew how many at the other side of the tower? Douglas Murdoch had made many enemies.

  I could see our ponies waiting near by, tied, I think, to trees. They stamped and snorted, fearing the smell of the flames. I hoped they would not take fright and break their reins. Our men would need them.

  “Listen!” Bess pointed in the other direction, from the west. At first, I heard only the noises from below. Then I, too, heard it. Hoofbeats. Many hoofbeats. Cantering. Iron shoes on the stony road. Not local ponies then, for they never went shod.

  I knew before I saw them what sort of men would ride iron-shod horses, cantering in such great numbers.

  Soldiers. Redcoats. Perhaps a quarter of a mile along the road, coming towards us along the ridge of the hill. We saw the moonlight glinting on their bayonets, shining on their white sashes. They had no need to hide from anyone.

  We moved off the road and into the shelter of some trees. “Deeper!” I urged Bess, when she stopped. Bess’s terrible hatred of redcoats had led her to rash actions in the past. I hated them too, for what they had done to Henry Parish. But this time, I felt, we might be glad of them.

  For them to be out at this time of night, there must be good reason. Were they making for Douglas Murdoch’s tower? Even if they were not, they must see the fire. They would investigate, would they not?

  I watched Bess as the soldiers passed by our hiding-place. She saw me looking, and smiled. “Do not fear! I am not so foolish!”

  But now, we must warn Thomas and the others. It would not help Jeannie if some of them were caught and hanged for fire-raising. Or murder, if that was what was happening.

  It was then that I heard a curlew. So close by that it startled me. But it was no curlew, I realized quickly, seeing Bess’s face. She had her hands curled round her lips, and once more she made the piercing wail, an eerie sound, with nothing human about it at all.

  Calum had taught her well. But the men would not hear from here, not above the other noises.

  “Take Merlin and stay here with the horses,” said Bess. I would have argued, but there was no other way. She dismounted and handed the reins to me.

  “Be careful!” I urged her, but she was gone. All I could do was wait and hope.

  From my position in the trees, I could not see into the valley, could not see the tower, though the glow in the sky did not diminish. But with the redcoats now far enough from me, I dared to come out from the hiding-place and peer into the valley. I could just make out the shape of Bess, sliding down the slope, dodging from one patch of gorse or boulder to another. I wished that the moon would go behind a cloud but such things are in the hands of God. And God, I think, had left us to chance or our own devices that night, for the moon stayed bright in the sky and the few clouds did not move across it.

  My wounds were hurting afresh, my hands sore as I gripped the reins. I tried not to think of the pain.

  The redcoats were out of sight, though I knew roughly where they would be by now. Soon, they would be in the valley. I could just see Bess again, crouched beside a patch of gorse. From here, I could faintly hear her curlew sound. At first, the men did not seem to hear her, but then I saw two of them stop, listen, and drop the battering-ram. A few moments later, all the men who had held the huge tree trunk had scattered. Some ran towards ponies, others ran round the side of the tower. Now, the redcoats were upon them, and the noise of shouting, and some shots, filled the air.

  “Hurry, Bess!” I muttered, under my breath. I could see her darting up the hillside now and within a minute she was with me once more. She leapt onto Merlin and we galloped back in the direction of the farm.

  But when we were safely away from the tower, I called a halt. Of a sudden, I did not wish to return so soon to the farm. I had no desire to witness the moment when they saw that Iona was alive.

  It would be better to leave it to them. I cannot clearly explain why, only perhaps that I was tired and I wished not to be part of it any more. It was peaceful out here, with Bess and the horses. It was easier to breathe.

  “We are near the stream, Bess,” I said, by way of excuse. “I need to drink.” We found the water, not very far from where we had found the old shepherd murdered – how long ago that seemed now, though less than two weeks – and I stooped to drink, putting my face to the water.

  And then, after the horses had drunk their fill, we made our way slowly back to the farm.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Some time later, while birdsong told of an approaching dawn, I found myself lying wrapped in my blanket, desperate to sleep. The men had all returned safely, though with battle wounds to boast of and stories to tell. Their joy at finding Iona alive was short-lived – very soon, they were arguing about whom to blame. Still they talked of revenge, and their hatred seemed as great as ever, though this time fuelled by strength and the sense of victory.

  Iona simply lay on the box-bed near the fire, grey-faced, and silent. She seemed unaware of what had happened or of what anything meant. I feared for her mind then. Her hair, fiery as ever, framed an empty face, her eyes like cold embers. The fairy light had gone from them.

  I had not stayed with them longer than I must, preferring my own company. Bess, however, stayed with Calum, to listen to his stories of bravery and action, his face gleaming in the firelight as he sat beside his sister, rubbing her hands uselessly.

  And so, in our cottage, I slept at last, with only the sounds of an old woman’s snoring and the distant calling of sheep, and the small noises of a countryside awaking without me.

  I dreamt of my father again, and of my brother. Again we fought, but this time it was not the same. This time, it was my brother who writhed in the mud, as I stared down on him, my sword-tip poised at his throat. I had won. But I did not know what to do with my victory and strangely there was no pleasure in it. And then, suddenly, the face in the dirt was not my brother’s any more, nor even my father’s, but a stranger’s. I did not know what I had done or why I was there. When I had been the loser, the dream had an end – a frightening one perhaps, but an end all the same. Losing is not difficult. But where was the end for the victor? What was the winner to do?

  When I woke from my dream, I felt oddly dissatisfied.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The sun was quite high in the sky. I think it was mid-morning. The shutters were open, fresh air sweeping through the cottage. Bess was shaking my shoulder. And the sound of a cart came from the yard. I pulled on my clothes with stiff and painful fingers. I removed the bandages and found the cuts to be clean and knitting together, so I did not replace them. I ached in more places than I had last night, but the pain was bearable.

  It was Hamish’s cart. And he brought with him the blind minister.

  I was the only person here who knew what this man had done. And I vowed that by the end of the day, I would not be alone.

  Bess, who had slept for even less time than I, explained, “It is for Jock. Jeannie fears he is dying. She sent for Hamish to bring the minister.” I said nothing as I followed Bess slowly across the yard. A chill wind blew suddenly and I pulled my coat tight round myself.

  I did not enter the dwelling. I did not wish to. If the man was going to pray for Jock, if he was going to be there to help this family through the death, then I did not wish to see his hypocrisy. Nor did I wish to see him pray. Or to look at him, knowing what I knew.

  Bess glanced at me as she went inside without me. She didn’t know my thoughts, of course. But I would not speak them, not quite
yet – this was a man’s death, after all, and I had no wish to make it harder for them to bear. Or for Bess, for I sensed that she felt some affection for Jock, some sadness at his passing.

  But when the minister had finished, when the time was right, then I would speak to him.

  While I waited, I went to the stable to see to our horses. This always brought me peace, as though their easy breathing and their warm eyes contained wisdom beyond words.

  It was not long before I heard the voices of Hamish and the others in the yard again. I went outside to meet them, the low sun briefly blinding me. To my side, by the wall, a spray of forget-me-nots, in a single shade of blue, grew in a patch of grass. Three dandelions nodded in a soft breeze. Unseen birds chattered in roofs and trees. Everything was innocent and simple.

  My heart beat fast as I walked towards the group, wondering what I would say, and what the minister would say in return. Should I perhaps stay silent? Should I let it pass? This was a man they trusted. Would it help if they lost that trust?

  Yet it was because they trusted him that they should know the truth.

  Beyond them, I could see the rolling hills of Galloway, rich, fertile. And to the distant right, the crystal sea, herring-silver, gentle-seeming. The smells, of salt and sand, of grass and horse, of dank and marshy ground, were things I had come to know. This land was worth something. It was a place of beauty. And yet it was being sullied.

  I stood in front of the minister. “I wish to ask you something.”

  His face turned in my direction, the hollow white eyes wandering over me. His face was still, though his hand shook on his stick.

  No one else spoke, though Hamish frowned. I had never liked Hamish. His face was somehow too clean, too scrubbed, too gleaming. He sweated overmuch. I did not like his wet lips. There was an unnatural silence about him, as though he had things he wished to say but would not say them. I cannot say precisely why I felt this. I can only say that I did not like him.