The Blood And The Barley

by Angela MacRae Shanks

  Immediately they entered the wood, he felt the chill. An iciness seeped into his bones, drawing his warmth away despite his thick plaid, and he shivered. There was not a sound in the denseness of the forest, the silence was oppressive, and an overwhelming urge to flee from the place came over him. It was only possible to walk bent double with the grasping branches of blackthorn and briar scratching at his face and in the darkness, he stumbled over the tussocky ground. The pale scrap that was the kertch Rowena wore to cover her hair bobbed in front of him through the trees, and he gritted his teeth and followed it. The sound of his own blundering advance seemed deafening, yet, oddly, Rowena made barely a sound.

  His back began to ache at his uncomfortably crouched position, and there was a dull pain in his jaw and neck – he was so tense he’d been grinding his own teeth. He took a deep breath. How long had they been floundering in this Godforsaken place? Long enough. He drew breath to tell Rowena as much when the distinctive sound of children's laughter rang out. He froze, then whirled to pinpoint its source. ’Twas gone, and the silence closed in again. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

  Rowena's white kertch vanished into a dark tunnel in the trees ahead, and he blundered after it, emerging suddenly into bright light. He stretched to his full height, blinking in the brightness, almost deafened by the clamour of birdsong and stared at his kinswoman.

  ‘What is this place?’

  ‘D’ye not know?’ she said with a soft smile. ‘Does it look like any place ye've ever seen afore? Like a human place?’

  He blanched and stared about him. Here the trees had room to spread and were evidently of great age. Twisted into extraordinary shapes, their branches draped to the ground and also climbed to incredible heights. Hung with mistletoe and crisped over with lichens, he realised they must have stood here untouched since ancient times. A great oak tree stood guard at Rowena's shoulder, smothered in curious panicles of blossom, and a warm breeze ruffled his hair. The air was gently perfumed; a familiar scent, yet one he knew he’d never encountered. Birds sang from amongst the leaves of every tree, and he thought he heard again the faint sound of children's laughter. ’Twas a peaceful place and seemed to welcome him, for he felt no fear, only an immense curiosity.

  ‘A faery glade?’ he ventured.

  ‘Sacred to Brigid. Or St. Bride as they call her now.’

  ‘But …’ He’d never really believed in such things, though he’d never been able to entirely deny them either. Nor had he ever ventured near the faery hillock of Tomnahurich in Inverness, though he’d been dared to often as a boy. And he knew every night of his life his mother had faithfully left out milk in a special cog for the faeryfolk in the hopes they’d leave their own churn untouched.

  ‘Dinna question it. I can speak here, think clearly wi'out the anger clouding my judgment, and I hope ye’ll be able to guide me. Never forget whatever we say here may be listened to and the guidfolk may help.’

  He glanced uneasily around as if expecting to see eyes glinting from among the trees, but there was nothing. ‘Will ye tell me now what happened yesterday?’

  She nodded, appearing less drawn and to have recovered some of her vigour. ‘But,’ she warned, fixing him with a shrewd look. ‘I ken how like yer father ye are, Jamie, and nae just in yer looks but in yer nature too. Ye must promise me nae to let yer temper get the better of ye, no matter what I tell ye. I seek yer guidance, but clear thought is needed here, nae a rush o’ blood to the head.’

  He blinked, nonplussed.

  As she talked, Rowena paced the clearing, her agitation growing, her gaze rarely resting on one spot for longer than a few seconds. Jamie watched her and felt his own unease rise, though he did not understand it. He listened in silence as she recounted the details of her ride to Balintoul with the two sisters, of the dead infant and her desperate attempt to save the child’s mother. The woman's life had ended in a rush of blood, a catastrophic loss, but Rowena had tried her best, had employed every practice known to her in a bid to save the woman’s life. When she spoke of Morven's anxiety for them to be gone before the gauger returned, his heart hammered in his chest while his stomach lurched at the man's wildly unjust accusations.

  ‘If only I'd been with ye,’ he choked. ‘I doubt he’d be so quick to accuse ye wi’ my dirk at his throat!’

  ‘Maybe not. Yet we must be wiser than that, must put aside our anger.’ She firmed the slight tremble to her jaw. ‘Only I’ve more to tell.’

  He took a quivering breath. ‘Go on.’

  She seated herself on a hummock of moss beneath the oak tree, hands clasped fast in her lap and looked up darkly. ‘He thought we planned to take his child fer some hellish purpose, fer …’ She shook her head. ‘I’m nae rightly certain what he imagined.’

  Jamie gritted his teeth. Was the man such a clot, he couldna see Rowena’s goodness, her humanity, that her only desire was to help?

  ‘He said we’d unfinished business, me and him, and he threw Morven out o' the house. The lass ran fer help, but while she was gone…’ The muscles in her throat convulsed, and she struggled to keep herself under control. ‘He wished to hurt me, as I wounded him years ago. I did crush his pride and still torment him yet just by living in the glen. He believes I've cursed him to be childless, occasioned the death of every one of his unborn infants and now brought his wife’s end too.’ A cracked little sob escaped her lips.

  ‘What did he do?’

  Her face crumpled, then she seemed to draw herself together, dredging up every scrap of strength to haul herself back from some chasm. ‘He told me he killed Duncan. ’Twas an execution. Done in deliberate cold blood. He said he gained pleasure from it.’ She made no movement, yet an involuntary spasm rocked her body, the tremor shattering the stillness of the glade. ‘I always knew it didna happen as they said, but never did I consider fer a moment that he'd planned it all. Knew where Duncan would be, and when, then laid a trap fer him, taking deliberate pleasure in his killing.’ She ran trembling fingers over her dry lips, then slowly brought her gaze up to her nephew’s face.

  ‘The bastard,’ he growled. ‘He actually told ye all this? Bragged about it?’

  ‘He said beating Duncan was rare entertainment. My man pleaded fer his life, and they jested with him, letting him think they’d release him once each had tired of kicking and beating him. The gauger then sat him up against a rock and took aim wi’ his musket.’ She pressed her eyes shut and took a quivering breath. ‘A musket ball will smash a hole the size o’ a clenched fist through a man’s chest. I’ve seen it afore and ’tis something I’m nae like to forget. ’Tis a terrible way to die.’

  ‘Dear God!’

  ‘Yet fer Hugh McBeath, ’twas an amusement. He said ’twas rare sport to listen to my love struggling fer breath, his chest filling wi’ his own blood, and that … that it took ower an hour fer him to die.’ Her shoulders shook, and she hid her face in her hands. ‘They took wagers, him and his hirelings, bet at how long ’twould take fer my man to drown in his own blood.’

  Rocked by her words, Jamie stared at her, white-faced. He wished to comfort his kinswoman, but what in God's name could he say after that?

  ‘He'll hang,’ he said with quiet certainty. He’d never witnessed a public hanging, had never felt a desire to do so, but this was one neck he’d take satisfaction in seeing stretched. ‘As God is my witness, I swear, I'll see him hang!’ He clenched his fists, the thrumming of his blood filling his ears. ‘If he gets to live that long.’

  Rowena’s ghastly expression was one he’d never witnessed before and sincerely hoped never to see again. ‘Ye dinna understand. He's a murderer, but I canna prove that. No-one will believe me, he took pleasure in telling me so, and … and he was right.’

  ‘But surely the evidence at the time pointed to –’

  ‘To nothing. ’Twas all twisted around. He made out Duncan attacked them. Acted like a madman he said, and they'd to fire at him, but,’ her mouth twisted bitterly, ‘didna mean to k
ill him.’ She looked at Jamie with a dreadful desperation in her eyes. ‘Ye see how useless it all is? Knowing what he did, the cruelty of it. Knowing he’s still free to … to brag about it, I canna bear it. ’Tis all ower me, the hatred, the …’ she searched for the right word, ‘the obsession.’

  She rose and swayed a little on her feet, a hand held to her throat, then began to pace back and forth between the trees. Not knowing what to do, Jamie reached out and squeezed her hand as she passed. She halted and looked steadily at him, then sat back down on the mossy mound and pressed her lips together; he had a horrible feeling there was still worse to come.

  ‘Revenue Officers are held in high regard,’ she said. ‘At least by magistrates and the like. Common folks see things a wee bit different. We do hold them in the grossest contempt. As for myself, as I live and breathe, I do despise that man like no other.’ Her eyes, dark now with despair, moved to his face. ‘Yet I must accept him, or he’ll see me arrested fer the murder of his wife and child.’

  ‘Accept him?’ He stared at her. ‘Ye dinna mean … as a husband?’

  Miserably, she nodded, then clutched her head in her hands.

  He gasped in disbelief. But no, for certain he’d misunderstood her. Yet staring at the crumpled figure, her despair was so profound it was difficult for him to look upon, and he realised he’d misunderstood nothing. He knelt awkwardly at her feet. She turned her face away, holding a trembling hand up against him. Even in the circumstances, the gesture struck him as somehow more troubling than her words. He blinked and sat back.

  ‘After he told ye he slaughtered yer man? And with his own wife nae yet cold from the birthing bed, he actually expects ye to wed him?’

  She gave a wretched nod.

  He thought he might be sick. The man was inhuman; he was … he didn’t know what he was, ’twas unthinkable. Realising he was still gaping at his kinswoman, he snapped his mouth shut and rasped, ‘Then I hope ye told him to go to hell, where he most surely belongs!’

  ‘I have three months to accept him, or he'll have me arrested fer the killing of his wife and child. And fer practising witchery.’

  ‘But, he could never bring those charges … there are witnesses, those who’d swear ye were only there to help.’

  ‘Aye, mebbe, but doesna matter.’ She looked up bleakly. ‘The scandal will be enough to see me evicted. His Grace willna tolerate the likes of me as a tenant. Nae wi’ the whiff o’ witchery and child-killing. My murderous ways will be brought to the Duke's attention, so I'm damned either way.’ She began to weep.

  ‘But I'll not let that happen!’ Still on his knees, he cautiously took her hand and stared down at the small perfection of it as his mind whirled. They sat like that for some time, Jamie searching in vain for something comforting to say to her, some way of easing her anguish, but finding nothing to offer but his own presence, utterly inadequate as he knew it to be.

  After a time, Rowena's grief exhausted itself, and he dried her face with his plaid.

  ‘Forgive me.’ She gestured with her hand, encompassing her red swollen face and crumpled appearance. ‘I meant to be strong. Thought maybe wi' your help we could, I dinna ken exactly, take a stand against him.’

  ‘And we will, I swear it.’

  She nodded and pulled herself straight, sniffing and trying vainly to smile at him. ‘But I dinna see how.’

  Neither did he, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. ‘Ye must tell me everything ye know of that day,’ he said. ‘The day Duncan died. Everything ye can so we can think o’ something.’ He squeezed her cold hand. ‘We'll nae let the bastard away with this.’

  She frowned, and her dark pupils dilated.

  ‘He was a quiet man, Duncan. You’d not the chance to meet him Jamie, but I'm certain ye'd have liked each other. I see a lot o' him in William, the same seriousness, the thoughtful nature, and I hear him speaking through his son wi’ that same soft-spoken voice.’

  She sighed. ‘It would’ve been profitable fer us that consignment, the result of a whole winter's distilling.’ She wet her dry lips with her tongue. ‘Duncan didna speak of the smuggling like some in the glen, didna boast ower it, but kept the details secret, kenning full well the gaugers were aye listening fer word of a convoy, most especially McBeath. But someone knew. Someone told them what Duncan was about that day.’

  ‘It couldna have been a chance encounter?’

  ‘With McBeath the idlest gauger north o’ the Highland Line? I dinna see how. And anyhow, he said he knew where Duncan would be – that he'd been informed.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘That I dinna ken. Only those closest to us knew; myself and the bairns, Grace, Malcolm.’

  ‘None of them would turn informer.’ He frowned, his eyes flicking over her face.

  She fixed him with a dark look. ‘Someone did. A traitor. Someone from the glen betrayed us.’

  ‘’Twould seem that way. Someone informed and likely profited from it. And you … you have yer suspicions?’

  She regarded him for a long moment. ‘I think we both know who I suspect.’

  ‘Malcolm, Morven’s da.’

  ‘Oh, I dinna ken! I canna believe I even said that never heed thought it.’

  ‘But ye did think it.’

  Wretchedly, she nodded. ‘I’ve gone ower it in my mind as often and can find no other earthly reason fer the change in Malcolm. Though scarce can I believe it. The two o’ them were as close as kinsmen. As close as Duncan once was to yer father, Jamie.’

  ‘And Malcolm knew every detail?’

  ‘He did. But then, he’s kent every detail of every shipment o’ whisky Duncan’s ever smuggled. ’Tis many a time they banded together and smuggled their mountain dew south lashed to the sides of the cattle as they drove the beasts to market at Falkirk or Crieff. That at ease were they with each other.’

  Jamie massaged his brow, trying to make sense of it all. ‘Yet there does seem a powerful hatred between Malcolm and McBeath. ’Tis hard to believe he’d be content to work fer the gauger and in so doing betray his neighbour and his friend. Indeed, betray everything he believes in.’

  ‘I know. There’s more to this than I can see.’ She shook her head. ‘I do fear I’ve made a terrible mistake. At times I can scarce look Morven in the eye, fer fear she’ll see what I’m thinking and ’twould hurt her so. ’Twould come atween us.’

  He nodded slowly, thinking much the same.

  ‘Only,’ she asked, ‘who else could it have been?’

  More troubled by this than he wished her to know, he said, ‘Can ye tell me what happened that day? The day Duncan died. As much as ye know.’

  Grimly, she nodded. ‘He'd only been gone half the forenoon when his pony came back wi'out him. William came with me to look fer his da.’ She paled at the memory. ‘If I'd known what we'd find, I'd never have taken him, poor lad. We found Duncan in a ditch nae two miles from the bothy, beaten and soaked in blood, a great hole opened in his chest. ’Twas plain he was –’ She swallowed.

  ‘Take yer time,’ he said, squeezing her hand.

  ‘I kent he was dead. William found his dirk in a clump o’ heather and the garrons we found straggled ower the hillside. The ankers were gone but ’twas only later I realised my ring was gone.’

  ‘Yer ring?’

  ‘Forgive me, I'm getting ahead o’ myself. ’Twas given me by Morna, an uncanny woman wi’ magic skills – the woman that taught me to heal - many years ago. Silver it was, the most delicate work, wi’ strange markings and trailing ivy leaves, verra ancient I believe. When Duncan and I were marrit I gave it him as a gift, a token of my love, and he wore it on a lace about his neck, it being too wee fer his finger.’ She smiled a ghost of a smile as if remembering something.

  Jamie felt a flicker of hope at last. ‘Then the killer must’ve taken the ring. If we could find the ring we could point to the killer, in the eyes of the law, I mean.’

  She glanced up sharply. ‘If the man’s nae sold it alre
ady.’

  ‘Aye, but something makes me think he's not done that. His obsession with you might make him keep it. Maybe even keep it on him, as Duncan did.’

  She stared at him, plainly sickened by that thought.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he stammered. ‘I didna mean to distress ye.’ Lord, but he wished to kill the bastard. Squeeze the life from the miserable obscenity with his bare hands. He cleared his throat.

  ‘There must have been some manner of investigation though, after the kill…the death?’

  ‘Oh aye, there was a hearing.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘They held it at the Craggan Inn in front o' the Sheriff Officer. Half the glen turned out to watch.’

  ‘The Craggan Inn? That hardly seems the place.’

  ‘Duncan was a smuggler, mind,’ she said bitterly. ‘A man of poor character and little consequence.’ She massaged her brow. ‘There were only the three witnesses called. McBeath and two cottars from Balintoul, his hirelings: Charles Stuart o’ Wester Lynatoul, Ghillie he's known as, and Dougal Riach of Laggan o' Campdell.’

  ‘And I suppose the two told the story they'd been paid to tell?’

  ‘Both swore Duncan attacked them wi' his dirk. Said he struggled fiercely when they tried to seize the whisky, but McBeath's testimony was most damning. He swore Duncan threatened them wi' a pistol. Said he was forced to fire at him, but Duncan made flight and they’d nae been able to find him. They'd nae been overly worried though, thinking him just nicked.’