The Blood And The Barley

by Angela MacRae Shanks

  ‘I couldna bear to see ye learning from Rowena. Couldna abide having to see the woman, or speak wi’ her or be anywhere near her – nae when I kent I’d played a part in making her a widow!’ He brought a fist crashing down on the tombstone. ‘And was too guilt-ridden to even tell her.’

  The cold settled in Morven’s heart. ‘Tell me then,’ she said in a voice she barely recognised. ‘Tell me how ye made her a widow.’

  He nodded, his face so rigid with loathing he’d to force his words through stiffened lips. ‘I was the worse for drink. Blind stinking fou, my mind fuddled wi’ it. We were sat by the fire at the Craggan Inn, Duncan and me, but I left him to go gab to Craigduthel, the McHardys, anyone that would gie me the time o’ day. I was loud-spoken and coarse, swollen with myself. I didna see Ghillie sat in the shadows watching wi’ that weaselly way he has, and I ken now Duncan didna see him either.’

  He swallowed. ‘When I saw Duncan rise to go I was peeved at him, I thought him tired of waiting fer me to come sit wi’ him again, and my blood flared up. He could be hard going at times, Duncan, he was that quiet. No muckle use to me when I wanted to drouth the night away, he was never one fer that.’ His eyes flicked briefly to her face, his throat convulsing.

  ‘So, I shouted out to him: “That you awa’ already is it, Tomachcraggen? Ye’ll be needing yer rest, right enough, afore the morn’s work.” He gave me a look, I mind, a quick feart look but I just laughed. “Ye'll be leaving Inverlochy at dawn, then? Wi’ yer load.” Fer that's where his bothy was hid. And he gave me a wee nod and was gone.’ He clutched his head in his hands, and his shoulders shook violently. Morven gave him a moment before saying,

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘’Twas the last time I did see him alive. The next night we all heard he’d been killed – caught and killed trying to save his whisky. But I could see in my mind, Christ, I see it yet, thon weasel Ghillie – Charles Stuart o’ Wester Lynatoul, that's his right name – I see him rising from that dark corner and creeping away, a right pleased look on his face, and I kent he was away to tell his master.’

  ‘Did ye not go after Duncan and warn him?’

  He looked up at her, and she saw his eyes were bitter and haunted, his harsh look gone and his face all atremble.

  ‘I meant to. In my mind, I do yet sometimes see myself doing it, I do dream ’tis what I did. But that’s wishful thinking, fer there was ower-much ale and whisky in me fer that. Fer such quick-thinking, fer any measure o’ judgment.’ His face twisted. ‘There’s nae a day goes by I dinna curse myself, but I was well fou and gave little thought to Duncan. I think I supposed he’d seen Ghillie, Duncan hadna supped the ale and whisky I had after all, and what thought I had, if I had any, was that he’d take more care now and change his plans.’

  Morven let her breath out with a sob. She’d been holding her breath, holding it so long she felt giddy and sick. She scarce knew what to make of her father, never mind what to say to him, but when she looked on his bowed head, grizzled and wretched, and the silence stretched grimly between them, she felt an overwhelming urge to reach out to him.

  He spoke up again. ‘But he never did change his plans. Likely he kent nothing o’ what awaited him, poor bugger, and what happened next morning only the Black Gauger and his hirelings ken about, only ’tis nae what they said at the hearing, that much I’m sure o’.

  She looked down at her father’s hands. They were calloused and scarred, clasped together as if in prayer and she felt her heart fill for him. He should’ve told Rowena this, but she could understand why he hadn’t. His churlishness toward Rowena had mystified her, even shamed her, but now she saw it was hatred that begat it. A burning hatred, but nae fer Rowena, no, rather fer himself. She’d felt little for her da this last year, nothing above the respect she considered him due as her sire. Now she wished him to hold her again as he’d done a moment ago, hoped he might gain from her the comfort she’d drawn from him. But he was too remote from her now for that.

  She touched him gingerly on the shoulder, and he flinched. ‘Come hame with me, Da. Mam’ll be needing ye.’

  ‘And tell her?’

  ‘That’s fer you to decide. But ye didna cause Duncan's death. ’Twas others did that. Ye spoke foolishly – ye did make a mistake – but there were others there that night as well as you, others that might’ve warned Duncan and chose nae to. Dinna punish yerself ower it; it pains me to see it.’

  He looked strangely at her, his grey eyes wide now and incredulous, and she gave him a little nod and reached out her hand. After a moment, he took her hand and gripped it fiercely.

  ‘Bless ye.’ He pressed her cold fingers to his lips.

  There was no edge of bitterness to his voice now. She slipped her hand under his arm and led him, stumbling, through the damp grass and away from the stillness of the chapelyard.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  As they emerged from the thicket of alder and gean that screened Delnabreck from the south, the crofthouse came in sight, and her father nudged her. Following his gaze, Morven could see Alec sat on the doorstep, hunched almost, his back turned to them. The sight was a sad one, stirring her heart. He'd not expected to find his mother so weak, so silent and crushed in spirit, nor the wee soul dead and lain to rest already and him nae even there to lessen the pain of it. She could well imagine the look on his face and was glad she wasn’t witness to it.

  But when he turned toward them, she saw that Sarah was sat beside him, her face stark and pale. The girl made an agitated movement with her hand, and Morven's pity turned to irritation. From Alec’s strained expression it was clear Sarah hadn’t come to console him in any way but had rather brought him fresh anguish. Could she nae give him time to learn of the dead infant? Time wi’ his mother afore laying her own troubles at his feet? And anyway, what right had Sarah to seek flattery from a lad she kept so carefully at arm's length? But it wasn't her concern, and with a twinge of guilt, Morven set her irritation aside.

  Malcolm grunted to his son, then stopped to rummage among the packs and belongings the boys had piled by the cot-house door. From one of the bags, he withdrew a thick bundle wrapped in sacking, and Morven was curious to see him finger it a little self-consciously. With the package clutched in his hand, and showing more than a little reluctance, he went in to his wife.

  She couldn’t be sure whether he’d find the courage to tell Grace what had lain festering in his heart all this time, but Morven hoped her da had gained at least some measure of release. A lessening of the pressure he'd kept himself under might even allow him to reach out to Grace and draw her back to them. When he'd gone inside, she turned to her brother and their visitor.

  Sarah was staring a mite fearfully at her, then flicked her gaze to Alec, who rose to his feet. ‘Sarah has something she would tell ye.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Nae here.’ Sarah darted another glance at Alec. ‘Is there somewhere we could go? Somewhere more … private?’

  Morven nodded, indicating Sarah should follow her; perhaps she'd misjudged the girl, something plainly troubled her.

  Alec stepped aside to let them pass and looked on after them a little wistfully. ‘I'll be here if ye need me,’ he said, but which of them he meant, she couldn’t tell.

  Sarah followed her through the tussock grass of Delnabreck's pastures, past the ponies that paid them no heed and up a wooded slope behind the crofthouse. Rarely did anyone climb Seely's Hillock, it was said to be a faery sìthean, a place spoken of in hushed tones – a place unbaptised babes were rumoured to be buried. The ancient stones rooted in its summit were whispered to hold dark secrets from the past. Morven liked to sit among the stones and sensed nothing forbidding there. She thought Sarah might speak more freely in such a place, a place she knew others preferred to shun.

  Sarah made no sound during their climb. Her movements were dogged, almost reluctant, and her breathing seemed fitful, as though she stifled it to keep so quiet. Morven glanced sidelong at her several times,
but the girl refused to meet her gaze. When the ground levelled at last to a flat stretch of heath near the ruined watchtower, Morven led her to the ring of upright stones, de’il stanes folk called them, where she knew they’d not be disturbed.

  ‘Is this private enough?’

  ‘Aye. Thank ye.’ Sarah sat down in the heath and plucked a stalk of moor-grass. She frowned at the rough spike and ran her thumbnail up its edge. A scatter of tiny seeds danced into her lap. Evidently, despite her ashen appearance and marked agitation, whatever it was she wished to say required a deal of forethought, maybe even courage.

  ‘What was it ye wanted to tell me?’

  The girl glanced up, then flicked her gaze away, yet that brief exchange revealed how enlarged her pupils were, how dark, and that she seemed on edge, almost to the point of desperation.

  ‘Yer mam's a’right, Sarah?’

  ‘She’s well, aye. ’Tis Jamie, though. He means to leave the glen, and ’tis only you can stop him.’

  Morven blinked. ‘Leave? But he left ye all weeks ago.’

  Sarah scowled furiously into her lap. ‘I lied … that is … they lied. There's none o’ us told ye the truth, Morven, but I lied more than any.’

  Morven leant back against a stone. There was a breeze blowing on the hillock, a rawness to the air there’d not been in the glen, and she shivered, watching the moor-grass flurry in the breeze.

  ‘If ye mean to tell me he only ever went as far as Balintoul,’ she said in a voice she struggled to keep steady. ‘Then ye can save yerself the bother, fer I ken that already – I’ve seen him. I ken what he is, there's nae need to be delicate. He's a gauger. And a filthy betraying one at that!’

  She’d not meant to be so sharp in her reply, but Sarah’s persistent desire to protect her cousin rankled. Had she known what Jamie planned to do? Had she known and lied to defend his honour? She shifted her gaze from the surrounding braes and moorland to contemplate her companion more deeply.

  Sarah nodded. She appeared unsurprised at Morven's knowledge of this, only breathing a little harder now.

  ‘He only did that fer the plan. The scheme he hatched wi’ Mam. ’Twas the deception he played. It’s what I’ve come to tell ye about, fer I need ye to understand it, understand him, so ye can stop him from going.’

  Morven blinked. Inside she felt a swirl of emotion, a longing well from within, then ebb away. What plan? What deception had he played? Frowning, she studied Sarah more closely.

  The girl had been glaring into her lap all this time, plucking at the nodding heads of grass by her hand. Now, at last, she looked up and met Morven’s scrutiny. Her nose was running, and she swiped it along her sleeve. Her bodice had not been laced correctly, and a scrap of pale underlinen was visible through a bulge in her gown. Her expression was a little fearful, her eyes rimmed with red.

  ‘Tell me o’ this plan.’

  Sarah swallowed. ‘I think ’twas the day the gauger’s wife died it began. The exciseman was maddened and believed Mam used witchery to bring about her death. You’ll mind it, I think?’

  Morven nodded. That day was forever etched in her memory.

  ‘He said something terrible to her, to Mam, he told her he did kill my da.’ Sarah’s expression hardened, and she began to tremble, an emotion Morven recognised as hatred rippling through her. ‘He told her how ’twas done … the … the killing. Said they took turns to beat him, and the Black Gauger did shoot him through the chest. They stayed to watch … to taunt, till he died. ’Twas rare entertainment he said, to do something that deliberate.’ She sniffed savagely and swiped her nose along her sleeve. ‘I think he said this when ye werena there, Morven, when ’twas just the two o’ them.’

  Morven groped for the solid touch of stone beneath her fingers. The blood had fled her face, and a coldness stole over her. She’d always known something took place in that room. She’d sensed it in Rowena’s strange behaviour, though her friend had tried to hide it. And she knew whatever happened had left Rowena shaken and physically sick. Yet this, this had never entered her head. Why would it? Rowena had said nothing.

  Sarah went on. ‘He threatened to have her arrested fer murdering his wife and bairn, fer using witchery to bring their end. He told her she must wed him else he’d have her examined, likely by the witch-prickers, and the scandal o’ that …’ She stopped to catch a hiccupping breath. She was breathing hard now, forcing her words out as though they might scorch her tongue should she let them linger. ‘Folk have whispered against Mam afore, ye’ll ken that, but a scandal like this would be enough to see us evicted. Ye see that, aye? Whether he managed to get her sentenced as a murderess or not.’

  Morven was too shocked to even nod, but aye, she could see that. This was what Rowena had long feared; an accusation of this kind would play right into the factor’s hands. She tried to make some sound to communicate her understanding, but none would come. One thought kept expanding in her head. Rowena wed to that brute! Dear God, ’twas unthinkable.

  Receiving no outward reaction to this from Morven, Sarah swallowed hard and pressed ahead. ‘He gave Mam three months to make her choice, but I’m thinking her time must be near up, and Jamie’s plan has come to nothing.’

  Morven shook her head. ‘But what plan?’

  Sarah nodded, her eyes darting from her lap where she fretfully plucked at loose threads in her gown, to Morven's face.

  ‘Jamie swore he’d bring the Black Gauger to justice. Said he’d see the bastard hang, but first he must get close to him, must gain his trust, must uncover evidence to use against the devil. ’Tis why he joined the gaugers. Only no-one was to ken o’ their plan – most especially nae you.’

  Morven stared at Sarah, her face half-frozen in disbelief. Her mind whirred furiously as she fought to keep up, for none of this could be true. But already that part of her she'd hardened, the part Jamie had once melted and stirred to life, was softening, bursting with the hope it was true. Her breath caught in her throat. Only there was still much she didn’t understand. Far too much to be grasping at the first sliver of hope offered. She needed time to think, time to decide how to feel. But Sarah was waiting, watching, fidgeting in the grass with an air of quivering impatience, anxious to tell all and there was still much she needed to know.

  ‘Why was I nae to ken o’ this plan?’ she croaked.

  Sarah's mouth twisted, and she bared a tooth. ‘Mam was worried fer ye. Ye’re precious to her, surely ye ken that? She thought the gauger had ye marked out as a mischief-maker – as her apprentice. She didna wish to put ye in danger, ye being her favourite. But there was another reason too.’ Her expression hardened. ‘Mam believes there’s a traitor in the glen. McBeath knew my da was smuggling his whisky out that day. He kent every detail. Someone had informed him. Mam suspected ’twas yer da, Jamie did too. Only they daren’t tell ye fer fear they were mistaken.’ She swallowed. ‘That would hurt ye. But mostly ’twas because they didna wish to test yer loyalty, fearing ’twould tear ye apart and ye might warn yer da.’

  A strangled sound escaped from Morven’s lips and she rose to her feet and staggered away, the ring of standing stones tilting dizzily around her. Dear God! But her da wasna a traitor – only a drunken fool.

  ‘Are ye a’right, Morven?’ Sarah was on her feet now too, peering uncertainly at her.

  In an instant, Morven whirled back to the girl and gripped her by the wrists. ‘They told you though.’ Her voice was sharp with suspicion. ‘Why would they do that? And how do I ken ye’re telling me the truth? Ye’ve lied to me afore – ye’ve just said as much.’

  ‘They didna tell me anything!’ Sarah twisted to free her wrists. ‘They never do. I was listening, spying on them. ’Tis … ’tis what I like to do.’

  Morven released the girl, and Sarah stood tensed and gripped before her, breathing hard and rubbing at her wrists. Her face was flushed, and her eyes burned with something earnest at their core. She wasn’t lying, that much was plain. Sarah had held her father above all
others. The bond between them was one she’d never make a lie of, Morven was confident of at least that much.

  ‘Forgive me.’ She stepped back from Sarah as though the girl might ignite if touched again. ‘I should be thanking ye fer telling me all this, ’tis just …’ She swallowed. ‘So hard to believe. I thought Jamie a turncoat when all along –’

  ‘He was trying to save us. To see justice done. But there’s no time to go ower all that now. He means to leave this time, he's likely doing it as we speak and we're still standing here wasting time!’

  ‘But …’ Morven could feel Sarah's anxiety rising around her, infecting her. Her stomach began to churn, her limbs to quiver. ‘How can I stop him? I mean, I didna even believe him when he …’ She choked back a sob as she remembered what he’d said in the bothy after McBeath’s attack. Things are nae as they appear. And weeks before, he'd asked her to trust him, to have faith, but she’d only branded him spineless and accused him of betraying her.

  ‘He’ll nae want to see me now,’ she said in a tight voice.

  ‘He will. He’ll want to see ye, ye can depend on it.’

  The girl’s tone held some meaning; Morven shot her a look.

  Sarah curled her lip, a spark of anger lighting her eyes. ‘Surely ye ken? Surely ye’re nae going to make me …? Christ!’ She spun furiously around, cracking her knuckles and wringing her hands. Almost as abruptly, she whirled back again, her eyes flashing. ‘He loves ye, damn it! Are ye so blind? He'll stay if ye ask him. Jesus God, I believe he'd do anything if you asked him!’

  ‘What?’ Morven's knees gave way, and she sank down among the moor-grass. ‘But how do ye …?’

  ‘Holy God! I’ve heard him say so! I heard him tell my mam. Damn it all, do I have to hand him to ye on a platter?’

  ‘No … that is … I dinna ken what ye mean.’ Sarah's anger was bewildering, the energy of it crackled the air between them. Morven fought the joy now coursing through her heart and limbs, not knowing if she should believe it.