The Name Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4)

by Helen Susan Swift

  Chapter Nine

  Two days later, I again left the house. With Father at the courthouse in Haddington and Mother talking to Cook in the kitchen, I left Coffee in the stable and walked to the Garleton Hills. Once again I had discarded everything but the most practical of clothing, with a warm skirt of autumn brown, stout boots for the muddy fields, a travelling cloak of the same hue and my father's oldest tricorne hat. I was growing rather fond of that battered old hat.

  'Where are you off to, Mary?'

  'I'm off for a walk, Mother.' I said. 'I might call in at Catherine Brown.' I wondered if I could take Catherine into my confidence over all that had happened but decided that the temptation to say too much would be too great for even Catherine to bear.

  It is a weary step from Cauldneb to the Garleton Hills, so I was ready for a seat long before I arrived. The rain of the previous evening had cleared, leaving one of those crisp, bright days that make living in East Lothian such a delight. I perched myself on a recently erected drystane dyke, munched the bread and cheese that Cook had provided and wondered what to do next.

  I knew what I wished to do, and that was to find Captain Ferintosh and persuade him to give himself up to Father. However, there is many a slip twixt the cup and the lip, as the old saying goes. My lip was my intention, with my cup being the actuality. I sat on that dyke for some time with the coldness of the stones gradually working its way into my rather ample nether portions. I had a splendid view of the hills from my position. They were not tall hills by Scottish standards, but in the plain of East Lothian they rose into quite a significant landmark.

  Dressed in brown and with my back to the trunk of a weather-twisted old tree, I must have been nearly invisible to any casual traveller. I saw Lady Emily's coach trundle past without stopping. I saw a kestrel out hunting and heard the screaming of a hundred seagulls as they followed the plough in a field downhill and closer to the sea. I did not see the man until he appeared from nowhere.

  For a moment I wondered if he were the mysterious man who had guided me through the dark a few nights ago, but somehow I knew that he was not. Even with my mind full of Captain Ferintosh and John Aitken, I had thought about that strong, confident figure that had appeared at just the right moment. Who had he been?

  The man seemed to have risen from the middle of the hill. If I was ten rather than twenty, I might have thought he had emerged from fairyland. As it was, I remained still, with the final crust of my lunch held in my hand. I watched the man walk somewhat furtively across the field, vault over a dry-stane dyke at right angles to my own and part-stride, part-trot along the road to Haddington.

  Now, where did you come from? I repeated the words in my head. You must have come from somewhere; you could not spring from the earth, although you seemed to do just that.

  Naturally, I had to go and investigate. The time was passing, with the bright morning having turned into a blustery afternoon where a north-easterly wind threw squalls of near-sleet onto my face. Head down, I hurried across the field and onto the slippery grass slope of Craigie Hill, where I had first seen the man. Of course, he could have been entirely innocent, a farm servant on some errand, a man off to Haddington to purchase a gift for his sweetheart, or a labouring man returning home. However, given my previous history in this area, I doubted the innocence of anything or anybody here.

  I had not been aware of the existence of the ruined castle at the foot of the hill, with its tumbledown walls, gun-loops and large chambers. On any other occasion, I would have spent time exploring the ruins. Today I only checked to see if my man could have emerged from within the massive walls. He could not. He came from further up the slope, so, hitching up my skirt to protect it from the wet grass, I set myself to climb.

  Compared to Lammermuir, Craigie Hill was nothing. I was at the top within a few moments, with an immense panorama stretching around me.

  'Halloa again.'

  The voice was familiar but distorted. I looked around. 'Who said that?'

  'Why, I did.'

  'Who are you?' I could see nobody. 'Come out, sir, and stop skulking like a Frenchman!'

  'Do the French skulk? I thought they were a formidably brave set of fellows when I met them.'

  'Who are you, sir?' I looked behind me. Nobody. I looked to each side; only the empty hillside of grass and the occasional rocky outcrop stretching to the level plain beneath.

  'It's me, Mary; it's Alexander.'

  'Alexander Colligere? Are you here again?' I sighed. That man had obviously been sent by a vengeful God to plague me because of my sin in releasing Captain Ferintosh from durance vile. 'Where are you, sir? Show yourself, I demand it!' There was my temper revealing itself, you see. If only I could have been that open with John Aitken, I would have scared him off to find a woman more his own age.

  'Here I am.' Alexander appeared before me, grinning like an overgrown schoolboy.

  'How dare you scare me so!' I railed at him, pointing my finger. 'You frightened the life out of me.'

  'Are you looking for the cave?' Alexander ignored my temper.

  'Which cave?' In a contest between my temper and my curiosity, the latter wins every time. 'I did not know there was a cave on this hill.'

  'Oh, yes.' Alexander's grin did not falter. 'It has quite a history. Have you ever read Blind Harry?'

  I had to confess that I had not even heard of the gentleman.

  'Blind Harry wrote about William Wallace, who was a patriot who fought the English…'

  'I know who William Wallace was!' I had retained a fraction of my temper in case I needed to rebuke this man. I reminded him of the fact.

  'Well,' Alexander was not one whit concerned about my temper. I knew then that I would require other methods to keep him under control. That was a strange thing to think about a man I had met only by chance. 'Blind Harry mentioned that Wallace sheltered in a cave on this hill.'

  'Was he collecting plants by any chance?' I hoped to put this eager man in his place.

  'No, indeed, he was fighting the English at the time.'

  My words seemed to bounce off Alexander like hail off a stone wall. 'So where is this famous cave?' The thought came to me that my mysterious man may have been hiding in Wallace's Cave.

  'Right here.' Alexander took hold of my cloak and nearly dragged me down the hill. Within a dozen steps, we were within one of the outcrops of rock I mentioned earlier. 'Can you see it?'

  'No,' I wondered if Alexander was playing some prank on me.

  'Here.' Letting go of my cloak, Alexander ducked behind a slanting grey rock and immediately vanished.

  I followed. 'I passed right by this cave without seeing a thing.'

  'William Wallace knew his stuff,' Alexander said. 'Blind Harry wrote that from here, Wallace fired arrows into Garleton Castle, just down there.'

  I looked down into the ruined castle. 'I was there a few moments ago,' I said. 'I did not see this cave.'

  'I was watching you,' Alexander said.

  'You seem to spend a lot of time watching me,' I replied, crossly.

  'You seem to be following me,' Alexander responded quickly. 'It is not intentional. You ran up Craigie Hill like a young deer.'

  'Thank you.' Was that a compliment?

  'I didn't know girls could move that fast.'

  'Well, now you do.' I looked away. I was not sure how to react to Alexander Colligere. He was unlike any other man I had ever met.

  I know that Craigie is not high, as hills are measured. It's like a pimple on a girl's bottom…'

  'Alexander!' I stared at him, not sure whether to be shocked or to smile. 'You should not say such a thing in front of me!'

  He looked at me and laughed. 'Why not? I'm sure you think the same.'

  I looked away. 'I would never say that word.'

  'Never? Not even to your most particular friend?'

  I thought of Catherine Brown. Would I have said that word to her? I blushed at the memory of some of the conversations we had had when we we
re younger and discussed the men and marriages we hoped for. Yes, I would say that word and much worse to Catherine.

  Alexander touched my shoulder. 'I did not mean to upset you.'

  'I'm not upset,' I said. That was true. I was only surprised by my own false overreaction, not with Alexander's words.

  We were quiet for a while as Alexander wondered if he had offended me and I wondered at the fragility of conventions that prevented us from speaking of things and feelings that we all share. I had never considered such a philosophy before.

  'You are a strange man, Alexander.' I said at last.

  'Most people think so,' Alexander agreed. 'I have learned to accept my eccentricities and hope that others do likewise.'

  'Your Mr Ormiston seems to do so.'

  'Wattie is a prince among men.' Alexander smiled. 'He talks as if he hates the world and acts as if he alone must save it and all inside it.'

  I smiled at the description. 'Mr Ormiston has a wife and children.'

  Alexander nodded.

  I was going to pursue that conversation until I realised Alexander had gone very quiet. He was looking anywhere except at me. Rather than him upsetting me, I had upset him. I did not know how or why.

  'Show me around your cave, Mr Colligere.' I changed the subject onto something more comfortable for Alexander.

  The cave was not extensive, merely a scrape in the rocks with an atmosphere that reeked of history. 'Do you like it?' Alexander sounded as proud as if he owned the place.

  'I do,' I said.

  We both heard the voices at the same time. 'Did you hear that?' I asked.

  'The voices come from time to time,' Alexander said. 'If I had an imagination, I might think they were ghosts from the castle.'

  'Or William Wallace come back to claim his own,' I smiled, thinking of the romantic novels I devoured when forced to stay indoors.

  Alexander seemed very ready to smile. 'I had not thought of that.'

  The voices sounded again, male and rough, with words that I certainly would not have liked my Mother to hear. Although, knowing her, she probably knew them all and had them catalogued, defined and ordered in a notebook in her immaculate copperplate writing.

  'Did you see a man come out of this cave?' I asked.

  Alexander shook his head. His clothes were a little ragged, I thought. His queue was unkempt, with loose hairs and the ribbon was untidy as if he had tied it in a hurry. He needed somebody to look after him, I thought vaguely. 'I've been in here since early morning,' he said, 'looking to see what manner of plants grow in the dark and cool.'

  'I thought you said you were watching me.'

  'Only by chance. I happened to look up, and there you were.'

  The voices sounded again, a low grumble through the cave. 'Ghosts?' I hazarded. 'Fairies? People used to believe that fairies lived underground.' I screwed up my face until it became even uglier than it already was. 'I wonder if they can hear us as well.'

  'We'll speak softly,' Alexander said.

  'Maybe there is another chamber in this cave.' I said.

  'I've checked,' Alexander shook his head. 'There is no second chamber.'

  'I don't know then. I've run out of ideas.' I sat on a relatively flat rock. 'I know what it might be,' I said.

  'What's that?' Alexander had found a tiny flower to examine.

  'Witches.' I lowered my voice, trying to sound sinister. 'When I was a child I learned about the local witches. Well maybe the spirit of the East Lothian witches remains in this cave.'

  I think that was the first time I saw Alexander lose his smile completely. 'I can't jest about witches,' he said. 'I knew one, once.'

  About to attempt another joke, I saw sense in time. I wanted to ask Alexander about witches. I thought it best not to. 'I'm sorry, Alexander. I meant no offence.'

  'Oh, it's all right.' Although Alexander attempted to bounce back immediately, his smile was crooked. 'You didn't offend me. You never offend me.'

  'Not by intent, anyway,' I said. Alexander was like a puppy, I thought, all bright eyes and wagging tail, always wishing to be friendly.

  'You can talk about witches if it pleases you,' Alexander said.

  It did please me, of course. 'Only if you are sure.' I wanted to see why the subject vexed Alexander. 'If you don't wish to, then, why, we shall not.'

  Alexander was silent for a long time. The only sound in that cave was our breathing.

  'Who did you know that was a witch?' I asked the direct question.

  Alexander's silence continued as I waited for an explanation. I think I would have waited until the cows came home with that stubborn man. I shook my head. 'It's all right, Alex. You don't have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable.'

  'Yes, I can tell you.'

  He was playing with words now. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything. Why? I was set on Captain Ferintosh was I not? My choice was between the bold captain or the balding old John Aitken. So why was I in the slightest interested in this eccentric plant collector? I liked him well enough, or at least I did not dislike him. But there was no more than that. After all, Alexander was hardly husband-material was he?

  No: I was not interested in him as a man, I told myself. I was interested because of my natural curiosity. Nothing else.

  'Would you tell me more?' I felt that I was torturing the poor fellow. Reaching forward, I touched his shoulder. 'No; forget I said that, Alexander. Let's talk about something else.'

  Alexander breathed heavily. 'Yes I can tell you,' he said, ignoring my last statement. 'I don't like secrets.'

  'Nor do I,' I said, thinking of the huge secret I was keeping from my parents. I felt sick with guilt at having freed Captain Ferintosh from the lock-up, just as I would have felt sick with guilt if I had the means to release him and I had left him there.

  'I met a witch once,' Alexander said.

  'There is more than that.' I felt that I knew this man. I could read his character well enough to know that he was hiding something from me.

  'There is more than that.' Alexander sounded like the Spanish Inquisition was dragging the words from him by means of the rack and red-hot pincers. I realised that I was doing the dragging. I was acting the part of one of these sinister hooded figures from my childhood nightmares.

  'Only tell me if you want to.' I pressed no further. I leaned back, allowing my question to penetrate Alexander's mind and work its way into his conscience.

  About two minutes or a lifetime later, Alexander replied. 'I have not told many people.'

  I nodded. 'I won't tell anybody else in the world.'

  'I used to tell people.' The words came slowly. Alexander did not meet my gaze.

  'Start at the beginning,' I advised. Something made me lean forward and touch Alexander's arm. 'Don't tell me if you don't want to.'

  I already knew Alexander well enough to understand how he thought. If I pressed too hard; he would not say a thing. If I gave him time, he might relax sufficiently to tell me more.

  'My mother was an herbalist,' Alexander said. 'It was she who taught me about plants.'

  I nodded my encouragement.

  'People used to seek her out for advice about things.'

  'What sort of things?' While I sensed that Alexander wanted to talk but was afraid to do so, I guessed that he had spoken too much when he was younger, and others had responded with ridicule. 'It's all right, Alexander, you have no obligation to tell me anything.'

  'How to find things that they lost and…' Alexander hesitated again.

  'You can trust me,' I meant what I said.

  'Some people, even married people, don't always get along well all the time.'

  'Marriages have their good days and bad days.' I tried to hurry Alexander up. My impatience matches my temper.

  Alexander lifted his chin again. 'My mother often gave advice to women who had problems in the bedroom.'

  'I see.' I had no experience in such matters. Nor did I have any knowledge, except what I h
ad gleaned from Catherine Brown. We had been two giggling youngsters, talking about subjects about which we knew little. Oh, we knew the mechanics of the thing, it was impossible to live in a farming community without understanding the basics of reproduction. The emotional side and the essence of love itself was as much a mystery as the man in the moon.

  Alexander's smile was bright but forced. 'My mother's marriage was not of the best. I don't know the details.'

  'No,' I said. 'Mothers don't often discuss their very personal business with their sons or daughters.'

  'My mother warned me about marriages that don't work.' Alexander said. 'I told you that she was a healer. That is another word for a witch.'

  I nodded. I knew all about the witches of East Lothian. It was an East Lothian witch coven that was reputed to have given King James VI the scare of his life, which may have contributed to the witch hunting epidemic that spread across all of King James's countries in the 17th century.

  'Well, Mary, my mother did whatever witches do and wrote something on a piece of paper. I carry it with me all the time.' Reaching inside his sadly-battered cloak, Alexander produced a folded missive, heavily sealed with red wax, and tied with red ribbon.

  'What's that?' I asked.

  'It's the name of the only woman I can marry.' Alexander said.

  I could not think what to say to that.

  'My mother gave me this when she was on her deathbed.' Alexander lifted the packet. 'I am only to break the seal when I am certain I have found the right woman.' He shrugged. 'If the name inside here matches her name, we will be happy forever. If it does not match, we are destined for a miserable life.'

  I still could not think what to say.

  'Interesting eh?' Alexander tucked away his folded paper. 'As you can imagine, I am a bit wary of talking about witches.' His smile was lopsided. 'I am even more wary of becoming attached to a woman. Could you imagine how I would feel if I found a girl I thought was for me, opened the parchment and discovered the name did not match?'

  'It could be your mother's way of ensuring that you choose carefully,' I said, thinking of Captain Ferintosh.