It was the worst of all weather, and the worst of all feelings—to long for a place, to be dreadfully afraid and to want to get home yet for each leg to sink deep into drifts of snow, and the heart panics at such sinking but panic makes it worse by far. I fell fully down. My skirts and cloak were drenched from the snow and stuck to my skin, and I couldn’t see for the blizzarding—I could not hear at all for the wind howling round. I thought of Alasdair. I thought of how he said what harm could they do us? They are our guests—and those seemed very gentle words, and wise words, but I’d not believed in them. Even though he’d said them—him, with his freckled hands, his eyes. I loved how he said my name and how he’d held back branches for me as we’d walked, and as I ran through the snow I said over and over let all be well, let all be well… I tripped, I cracked ice and fell into pools. I fell against a rock, and struck my jaw, and I tore my skin on thorns so that I bled and left red on the ground. But when we want we find a way, we do, and I said to myself up! Get up!—for all I wanted was to be back in Glencoe. I knew trouble was coming. I knew what lay ahead.
Blood is coming, Gormshuil said.
As I ran, I said I am hardy. I am winter-born. I will reach the glen before any blade is pulled through flesh, before the byres are emptied. Or I will come to the glen and find them all gone—all those I love will have fled, and be safe. I hoped this so much. And I charged like garrons do. I was mud-shot and blue-skinned. My hair slapped my back as I ran.
I came to the shores of Loch Leven and I saw the boat was gone. There was no ferry, now—so I went east along the bank to the loch’s far end, behind the northern ridge. From there, I knew there was a pass—high, and airy, but it was the only pass I knew of that came across that ridge, and down into Glencoe. It was all I had left, so I ran to it. I had no food in me, no warmth. But when we must, we must, and we manage it, and I tripped on my hem so that it tore but hems never mattered. I climbed the steep pass through such heavy snow that it made the Inverlochy weather like a mild dust of snow. It was chest-deep on me. I used my arms like swimmers. My head was all I had left to feel—my body now was gone. If I had sat down on the high pass I reckon death would have swung down and caught me. Despite my December birthing. Despite being hardy, and small.
I did not stop. Only when I crested the blustery ridge did I pause—for I heard Lowland voices. In the white, I heard men’s voices. I blinked. I thought hide. Two redcoats were coming up the pass towards me, so I crouched down. I dug into the drifts with my hands, and crept in, and I clutched my hands to my mouth to keep in my ragged breath, as they passed. They hurried. One said I will not be part of such business! I will not! I cannot—and the other said it is against all laws I know of! And they were as anxious as I was, those two escaping men.
They went. And I said to myself go! Run! Run! So I pulled myself out of the hole, and I tripped as I came down into the glen which made me fall, tumble down the slope like a stone would, and it made me very sore and wretched but it was a quick descent, which was all I wanted. Then west, west, west into the glen by the way I had first ever entered it, on a silent moonlight night, and as I came to the Meeting of the Waters which were frozen, and blue-bright, I looked down into the glen and saw beauty. All was white. All was hushed, and bright.
I slowed.
I stood very still. At that moment, as I breathed, and as the snow fell very softly, I wondered if I’d ever seen such beauty as this—this, here. Now. It was a glinting world. It was gentle, and sleeping. The hearth’s smoke from Achtriochtan drifted up, very straight, and the trees bent down with snow, and I saw deer tracks about me. Icicles shone. The morning star was out.
I thought, I love this place. Deeply.
Also, as I stood in all this silence, I thought have I been wrong, all along? Is there no death coming? I almost smiled at this. I almost laughed, said to myself look at all this beauty. How can there be murders here? Look how wrong you have been, Corrag—how wrong…
I believed it too full of light, for any darkness. Too loved.
But then there was a musket shot. It cracked the glen open. And I ran thinking no no no no no no no no.
IN I went. Snow-shod, and bloodied from rocks.
I went in, panting, and I saw a bright, orange flash in the west, and burst of grey smoke. There was a second flash, and a third, and I heard the bang of the muskets echo back to me, from the heights. I thought of the legends—of these ancient warriors who slept beneath the hills, who may rise up with their swords to protect the glen, and I thought rise up now. Now is your time, to rise up and fight. Your people are in danger. Your glen is being plundered and set alight, and inked with blood. Rise up! And yet they slept. So I shouted rise up as I ran. I said rise up now! For I could not save the MacDonalds of Glencoe on my own. I knew I was too small and too slow, too human to save them on my own, and I was praying to all things, now—the sky, the snow, the eyes in trees, the eagles, the rocks, the shadows which moved as I passed them, and the ones that did not move—to be with me as I ran, to quicken my feet and strengthen my hands. Rise up I asked them. I had never been so afraid.
I came to Achtriochtan and they were already dead.
It was an awful sight. Their chimney still smoked, but they were not beside it, sleeping—not now. Old Man Achtriochtan was face in the snow, hands outstretched, and his skull was blown away. The back of his head was not there anymore—instead, there was redness, and a thin line of snow settled on his hair. I thought I saw two of his fingers move, briefly, as if had only just been shot—but when I crouched down beside him there was no breath, or heartbeat in his wrist. His eyes were shut. His mouth was partly open. Beside him, was his brother who was half-lost in the snow. I gasped, and looked up. Behind the house, I heard another shot. I thought that is his wife. She is also gone. And as I thought this, I saw three redcoats dragging her body out. Her apron grew redder as she was dragged.
She had kissed me twelve hours before. Said eat to me.
Run. I left Achtriochtan—for what could I do? What could be done? He could not tell his poems, now. He could not nod, as I passed him by, and she could not sing, and I wiped my eyes, said do not mourn them yet—run west, run west and I ran to where the sky was flashing, and dark with smoke. Here, there was screaming. There had been silence, before. As I’d knelt by the dead old man, I’d heard no sound till the bang of his wife. But now, it was noise—screaming, and crying, and the muskets were so loud their sound was breaking the snow on the highest peaks so that it came down with a roar, and bringing rocks with it. I saw a person fleeing up into the heights, who was buried in it. Lost in the snow.
I shielded my eyes. I had to peer through the smoke which stung, and look for faces—and I saw some. Amongst the snow and smoke, I saw the red-headed family from Achnacon were hurrying through trees with their cloaks tied up, and bundles pressed to them which were maybe food, or bairns. I watched them flee, and thought yes, go! And I saw a grey-haired couple making their way up the slopes, hand in hand, and I thought hurry—do not stop till Appin. As I moved on, a redcoat came out to me. I wailed—but he had no sword or musket. He was weeping. He was a boy—so young, and pale—and he knelt down upon the snow and wrapped his arms about himself. Just a small boy.
I rushed to him. I grabbed him by his arms and said why are you killing us? What is this? Talk!
He shook his head. He mumbled there is a dead man over there…His face…
I shouted tell me!
There was mucus running from his nose, and he sobbed, said they were the orders.
To kill?
He nodded.
To kill who?
The Chief. His eyes closed up. All of them—but mostly the Chief. His sons…
I let go of him. I stepped back, said very quietly why?
He wailed. He opened his small, pink mouth and said the oath was late. It didn’t count… And he pressed his face down to his knees like a child, and I left him—for he was not killing. He was as scared as me.
I ha
ted this. I hated how the snow was melting in the heat of houses on fire, so the grass was showing itself, and old ferns. I hated that Achnacon was blazing, as I came to it, and its flames were so fierce that I could not be near it, and had to run by with one arm up, shielding me. Its sparks fell down with the snow. Its ash came down upon me, and I heard men’s voices. I heard one say there! That woman! And some tried to grasp me as I ran. One fired a musket. I heard the bang, felt the rush of air as it passed me, and a bite, and the smell of powder, and later I would find a blackened streak upon my bodice where the shot grazed me, and some blood.
I yelped, at this. I felt a pain.
But I did not stop. I wanted to make it to Carnoch—to save who I could, to warn who was left. Alasdair would have warned most of them, but all? Perhaps not all. Perhaps Carnoch does not burn yet. So I left burning Achnacon—but as I did, I glanced to my right where the midden was. A shape was on it. It was a star-shape, so I cried no… I tumbled over to it and grabbed the body and hauled the man over. It was Ranald the piper who had once picked blackberries with me. Very dead. Run through the neck with a blade, so his head was almost a hat for his neck—half-raised in hello.
I retched then. I vomited up on the midden.
I vomited again as I pulled what I could of Ranald from that place, for he deserved better. A midden is no dying place.
I closed his eyes, and re-settled his head. I tried to make him look like it was a gentle death.
Keep him safe, in the realm. Give him a peace that he deserves.
There! There! It was an English voice. And I turned to see soldiers pointing at me, saying there! Her! And one of them I recognised. One of them was the cloud-haired man with the button eyes—the one who had wept in a ditch, talked of ghosts, and I had felt so sorry for him, as I had passed that ditch. Now? I did not feel sorry. I felt so black for him, so desperate, so that I screamed out how can you do this? They were your hosts! How could you? He heard me. I could tell from his face, and he lowered the hand that had pointed at me. Others said there! Get that one! And I had to run on after that.
I ran over the body of a woman, musket-done.
There was a hand, in the snow. A hand, on its own.
I took myself to Inverrigan. The house in the woods, by the bend in the Coe. Where once I had mended a toothache. Where there had been a dog who’d lie on her back when she saw me, to have her belly stroked, and I ran to it. I moved in amongst the trees. There were many soldiers there, packing their muskets with powder or cleaning their blades, and I felt arms try to catch me as I ran through, smelt their breath and sweat, and blood, and when one hand caught my hair, and grasped it, I spun to face the man. I screamed with all my power. I flashed my eyes and bore my teeth, and I think Cora was with me at that moment—she was in me, roaring. She was stormy-eyed and bloodied. She made the soldier let go of me, back away, say witch…
When I came to Inverrigan, it was too late to help.
The house was not burning. It stood as it always stood—but behind it, in the snow, were all the Inverrigan men. They were tied up, and lying down in a line. They were shoulder to shoulder, all on their back. All were dead. The last of them was a child—the jug-eared boy who’d shared honeycomb with me.
I sobbed. I stamped a foot weakly, and wiped my nose on my arm. Why did they not go south? And flee? Why did they not heed Alasdair, for he would have told these men. He would have knocked on their door, said run… I made a sound like a dog—a howl—and I could not see well for the tears which pricked. Alasdair had said I will warn them. But they were tied up and lying down, and dead—even a boy. I saw his dead face, and remembered it when it was living—laughing, with honey on its chin.
You cannot help them now, I thought. Carnoch. Go there now. Save them.
I turned. But a man grabbed my arm. I scratched, and fought the man. But he was saying Corrag! Corrag! It is me.
It was Iain. He was wild-eyed, and his hair was grey with ash. He had a rash of blood upon his cheek, as if someone had died near him, and he took me by the shoulders and said run. Don’t stay here. They are killing everyone—women and children are dying.
I tried to speak.
Go, he said. And then he glanced behind me, to where the nine lives were gone. I saw his eyes widen. I saw how sad he looked, and as he looked upon the bodies he whispered to me, get yourself away, Sassenach.
Why are you all still here? I asked. Why? I told Alasdair! He said he would warn you all!
And he did. He warned us. But some did not heed him.
I kicked the side of the house, sobbed. Why did they not heed him? Why not? I said, you must run, too. They are after you, and your father—a soldier said so. Make for the coast. For Appin.
We go there now. Come with us.
No.
They will kill you, Corrag. They are killing every living soul…
I must save who I can save, Iain. There must be some who are still hiding, or who are hurt. I must save them…
Corrag! There are three-score of them! With muskets and blades and what do you have? Your heart? Eyes?
I shook my head. Iain, I said, will you tell Alasdair? That I have stayed? Tell him why I have stayed, and that he must keep his family safe, and himself safe—for always? In case I don’t survive the night? Tell him?
Then he stepped back from me, let go. He gave one hard breath. He glanced about the trees, said I cannot. He is not with us. He will not come.
I stood. I stared for a moment. Then I bent at the waist, like it hurt. He has not made for Appin?
No. He’s still in the glen. Somewhere…
I vomited again. I did it in the snow, by his feet, crouching. I wiped my mouth, and whimpered, and when I straightened, I said why? Why did he stay? He said he would flee! He told me he would flee…
Briefly, Iain put his hand on my shoulder. He opened his mouth, but had no words.
I ran from him. I pressed my teeth together, and charged through the trees, and felt so cross at his wet-earth hair and wide smile and his stubborn ways for he was meant to be safe, and yet he was still here? In the glen? It was the fighter in him. His nature, his ways—and I charged past some soldiers. I ran through a herd of goats which had broken free, and were bleating with fear, shifting their eyes. I fell out into the fields where once there had been fire to celebrate a birth, and dancing, but the fire was houses blazing now. I slid on melting ice. I slid straight into two soldiers and feared they would draw out their dirks and finish me, so I grappled with them, said let me go, but they backed away and did not hurt me. They said to me don’t stay here. And they looked more afraid than anyone I’d seen—more hopeless.
Not all soldiers murdered that night. Note that down.
But I did not note it. I noted nothing, for all I had was let him still be living in my head. I said it loudly, into the air. I hoped Carnoch might not be ablaze.
But it was. Of course it was.
All its houses were burning. There were cows roaring, rolling their eyes, and I called out his name above all the noise. I screamed it. I heard a dog barking, and Bran came to me. He licked my face as I knelt to him and I asked him where Alasdair was—where is he Bran? Good dog. Where is he?—but he did not know. He left me, and galloped west, to the loch.
Their house had fallen in on itself. There was nothing left to it. I prayed that Sarah and her baby had made their way south-and-west, and was sure they had. Surely they had. He would have warned them, and they would have fled. Then I went to the edge of the Coe where the great house stood, and its stone and glass was not fully burning yet, but inside I could hear a clattering and a breaking of things, and I saw there were redcoats inside. Looting. Taking his silver and cow-horn drinking cup. His books. His antlers from the wall.
I saw him, too. The MacIain.
I took myself about the side of the house. I stumbled, anxious, and I came upon a window which was broken, and its wall torn down. There he was. There was the MacIain—and I am minded not to tell you how I saw him
. He was a man of dignity in life, of grandeur. But he was not so in death. He was shot as he climbed out of bed to meet his guests, who must have walked into his chamber with false, dark smiles and their muskets hid behind their backs, and what might he have said? Gentlemen! Welcome! What troubles you, at such an hour? Maybe. But I know he was lying on his belly, a hole in his back, and his trousers only halfway up. An ignoble death. A wrong death. It makes me doubly sorry and sick, in my heart, to think of it.
I knelt down to him. I kissed him on his brow, where I had stitched him once.
Outside, tearful, I trod upon a thing.
I looked down.
It mewled, like a cat.
It was Lady Glencoe. She was lying in the snow, half-bare. They had stripped her of her top clothes, and she was shivering, still living, but with gruesome wounds done by a blade all upon her. Her fingers were bloodied, with teeth-marks on them. I gasped. I dropped down. I said her name over and over, and stroked her, and I took off my cloak and laid it upon her for warmth and a dignity which her husband did not have. I said her name again, said can you hear me?
Very faintly, she said, Corrag?
Yes, I’m here. Why are you here? Why did you not run to Appin? Didn’t Alasdair warn you?
He did…Too late. They shot my husband… And she closed her eyes, opened up her mouth in a long, silent howl.
I said ssh to her, and smoothed her hair. I said, I will take you from here, and mend you. I will find herbs that—
No… she breathed. No herbs will do. I’m dying. I am dead, Corrag. He is dead, and I am stabbed…
I can lift you, and—
Let me be, she murmured. Mend other ones. My boys.
I laid my face beside her face, so that I could see her eyes. I said Lady Glencoe, I have seen Iain. He is well. He is making for safety, and will survive. But where is Alasdair? I must find him.
Corrag: A Novel Page 28
