‘Forgive me. Hurting you was never my intention.’ He shook his head. ‘You of all folk. I thought it wouldna matter to ye, that ye did think me a traitorous louse and … and this was the only way I could think of striking back at him, I wished him dead that badly.’ He looked away with a shudder. ‘I still do.’
‘But surely there’s still time.’ She swallowed at what she was about to suggest. ‘Time to stop this, to cry it off. I mean, ye must see the man’s nae worth it? Nae worth dying ower, in the same way Tomachcraggen’s nae worth it, nor …’ But the words died on her tongue at the look in his eyes.
‘’Twas McBeath had my family put from Druimbeag. He paid reivers to drive away my father’s cattle. Paupered him.’ He clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on her hand. ‘He admitted it to me after ye put the fear o’ God into him at yer father’s bothy. And d’ye know why? What reason he had to have us exiled? To break my father’s heart?’
She shook her head, not trusting her voice.
He fixed his gaze on the land they were leaving behind. Turning on the narrow plank, she followed his gaze. Overshadowed by the dark mass of mountain, the familiar pattern of rig and dreel was still faintly discernible, imprinted on a land long since fallen fallow. He leaned forward, fixing her with his eyes.
‘Fer spite.’ He clenched her hand a little harder, droplets of blood welling from his torn knuckle. ‘He suspected ’twas my father poisoned Rowena against him. Eaten with her wanting he was, and when she turned him down fer Duncan, he saw my father as the cause and engineered his revenge. Took pleasure in it.’
‘God, Jamie.’ She swallowed, her mouth dry as cinders. ‘And now ye want yours. Justice fer yer family. Fer Duncan and –’
‘Fer you.’
She drew back, her breath catching in her throat. ‘But it doesna matter to me. It’s only you that matters.’
‘It matters to me.’
‘Fer pity’s sake. I dinna care about McBeath. ’Tis madness. He’ll kill ye, I ken he will.’ She gripped the edge of the boat, staring up at him, then let go to snatch up his hand again, trying to urge reason on him through the press of her fingers.
He blinked, a slow rolling movement immeasurably calm. ‘I must.’
The finality in his voice brought a racking sob to her lips. Rowena wouldna be wanting this; likely she’d rather wed the scum. Yet his expression was set and unyielding, and at the sight of it, her heart sank without a trace. He was lost to her. She knew it as surely as she knew he was hell-bent on this course.
‘Is there nothing then, nothing I can say to stop ye?’
He sighed, and his dark eyes were infinitely sad. ‘Tha mi duilich,’ he said softly. I'm sorry. ‘Ye see why I say ye must forget me? I can give ye nothing now, nae even myself, and I dinna wish to hurt ye further, I …’ He sat back, mastering himself. ‘I’ve naught to offer but misery, and it seems I bring that to all who come close.’
‘Ye've nae brought me misery, only …’ She shook her head, her throat too swollen to go on.
‘Heartache, then?’
She nodded.
‘Then I pray it heals quick, that when I’m gone from here, ye’ll nae think so badly of me.’
She’d been unable to answer, and they sat in silence, save for the slapping of the water against the flank of the boat and the tuneless whistling of the boatman, who watched them with interest. On reaching the east bank, Jamie paid the man, and they walked on to Delnabreck in silence, Morven conscious of little but Jamie’s supporting hand beneath her elbow.
At Delnabreck, her father greeted Jamie with warmth.
‘Ye’ll take a dram wi’ me?’ He stirred Rory and Donald from their prime fireside position with a swipe of his hand.
Jamie gave her a fleeting half-smile and squeezed her arm, then while a seat was swiftly found for him, Morven retreated into the shadows and listened to him recount the details of his challenge to her family.
Grace made another distressed sound and Alec hastened to fetch her some water. He lowered the cup, catching Morven’s eye, and in that look said far more than he could ever say in words. She nodded back bleakly, acknowledging her brother’s innate understanding. It felt as though her heart lay open, swollen and raw for all to see, and she strove to somehow defend it, tighten and compress it into some small confine within herself, some guarded chamber where she could hide away her hurt. Where she’d not distract Jamie with the sight of it. Nor fall to pieces herself at the pain of it, fer what good would that do anyone?
Her mother was still staring at Jamie with frightened eyes. She crossed herself and began a frantic prayer. Malcolm silenced her with a curt,
‘Wheesht, woman! I need to think.’ He turned back to Jamie. ‘Ye’ll have a decent-enough weapon then, lad?’
‘I’ve the sword I bought with my exciseman’s allowance. A blade of poor craftsmanship I fear, untried and likely brittle.’
Malcolm nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ve a sword I believe would suit ye right fine. A broadsword mair fitting fer yer size and make-up, I’m thinking.’ He ran an appraising eye over Jamie’s powerful frame. ‘It’s nae every man could wield it, but you … It’s nae been drawn since my ane father drew it upon Culloden field, but I’ve kept it well – kept it wi’ the respect it deserves, fer ’twas drawn in anger upon those who strove to keep the rightful king from these shores. And was the last earthly thing my father touched afore he was sent to meet his maker.’
Jamie choked on his whisky. ‘But I couldna –’
‘Ye could,’ Malcolm said gruffly. ‘What I mean is, I’d count it an honour, lad, if ye’d think to trying it.’ He turned toward Rory and Donald, who were now perched on the meal kist with rapt expressions, and looked pointedly at the great chest standing against the far wall.
His meaning instantly apparent, the boys almost tripped over each other in their eagerness to comply and draw their granda’s broadsword from the secret place where it had lain for the last thirty-five years. Carrying the weapon between them, the boys offered it to Jamie with shy reverence.
He stood to accept it a little reluctantly, but it was plain he immediately recognised the calibre of the weapon he held. Sliding the sword from its ornate scabbard, he tested its feel, its balance, and made a series of deftly controlled strokes. A basket-hilted broadsword of immense weight, in Jamie’s hands the weapon appeared little more than a natural extension of his own body.
Malcolm’s quivering intake of breath was audible. ‘’Twas made fer ye! Show me the man ’twould stand unflinching afore such a blade,’ he muttered to himself, ‘and I'll show ye a fool.’ He hesitated, more uncertain. ‘I’m wondering if ye’ve had time to think much on yer preparation?’
Jamie sheathed the sword and sat down again. ‘I had thought wi’ prayer –’
‘Yer instruction, I mean. Would I be right in thinking ye’re little accustomed to the handling of such a weapon?’
‘Ye would,’ Jamie admitted.
‘But ye see,’ Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck, clearly unpractised at choosing his words with any particular care. ‘The Black Gauger, God rot his soul, is well acquainted wi’ the wielding of a sword, fer he is wi’out question a first-rate swordsman. Dinna let his appearance deceive ye.’ He cocked one eye in a crude imitation of the exciseman’s squint. ‘Fer all he looks like a drunken weasel, he’s the eye of a hawk, and he’s as ruthless as they come.’
‘I take yer meaning. I’ve witnessed wi’ my own eyes how base the man is, how he seems to lack any human feeling.’ Jamie swallowed. ‘Yet my mind’s made up, and I’ll not be dissuaded. I mean to send the devil to hell. Should it be God’s will that I must join him there, then so be it.’ He glanced over at Morven and held her gaze, unblinking. ‘And if I must die,’ his voice now held an unmistakable edge, ‘then, by God, I dinna mean to sell my life cheap!’
Morven’s constricted heart strained against its confines. She glanced at her mother. Grace sat ashen and swaying, Alec grim-faced at her side. She shifted her gaze back to
her father. Do something, she silently willed at him. Fer pity's sake Da, make him stop this. But Malcolm only nodded.
‘I thought as much. It wasna my intention to dissuade ye, I can see how futile that would be. I meant only to be certain ye kent the nature of the man ye’ve pitted yerself against.’ He inhaled strongly. ‘And to mak’ sure ye’re acquainted wi’ the penalty should ye succeed in running through an officer o’ His Majesty’s Excise.’
Jamie glanced at Morven again. ‘The penalty’s hanging, I know it well. Only, fer the sake of my kinfolk, who’ve no-one else, I’ll take my chances wi’ the hangman’s rope. And anyhow,’ the corners of his mouth quirked with grim humour, ‘they’d need to catch me first, aye?’
‘That they would.’
Only the barest twitch below Malcolm’s right eye betrayed his emotion now. ‘That being so, I’d count it an honour, lad, if ye’d permit me to instruct ye in the use o’ the broadsword, fer there’s an art to the weapon.’
Jamie's strained expression relaxed a fraction, and he inclined his head. ‘I believe the honour would be mine.’
***
Rowena accompanied Jamie to Delnabreck the next morning for his first practice session with the sword. The day was grey and louring with layers of dark cloud gathered low atop the hills and a damp chill hung in the air. The mountains had been swallowed by the dark sky, and Morven wished the rain would come and chase away the heavy air that made her head ache. Standing in the doorway beside Rowena, she shivered.
‘Ye’re chilled, lass.’ Rowena took her icy hands and drew them into the folds of her arisaid but there was little warmth to be found there; both women were stiff and cold with their own tensions. At length, Rowena squeezed Morven’s hands a little apologetically and let them go.
Morven glanced sidelong at her. ‘I know ye’d yer reasons fer keeping the plan ye made with Jamie from me,’ she said. ‘And I understand that, truly I do. But I wish ye to know ’twas never my father’s intention to betray Duncan. He’s told me what happened and it wasna an easy thing to tell. An error of judgement it was, a drunken one. He did let slip the details. If he could go back and change things, take back the liquor he did fuddle his brain with, he’d give all he has to find a way. The guilt and the sorrow … it has eaten away at him. Changed him. In so many ways. Made him surly, made him avoid ye.’
Rowena looked earnestly at her, then massaged her brow, her expression softening. ‘I think I knew that. He’s a good man … the best. It’s just, I let grief cloud my thinking. Along wi’ the conniving o’ the Black Gauger. But in my heart, I’ve always known it.’
‘He’s nae the easiest to get along wi’, mind.’
Rowena chuckled, then took Morven’s hands, regarding her soberly. ‘I know that too.’ She sighed and pressed her eyes shut for a moment. ‘I should’ve told ye what Jamie was about, Morven, I see that now. I’ve hurt ye. We both have. But ’twas my doing more than his, I made him swear to me.’ She looked up with a haunted expression. ‘Never did I wish to hurt ye, Morven. Never. Please believe that.’
‘I know. ’Tis forgotten. Ye’ve enough to worry ye – we both do.’
Rowena lifted Morven’s hands and kissed them, giving her a tight smile, a smile that thanked her for understanding, and Morven hugged her back. They parted then, with a little more peace in their hearts.
What Rowena thought of her young kinsman’s decision to challenge the Black Gauger in such a desperate fashion, Morven hardly knew, for Rowena was skilled at keeping her innermost thoughts to herself. But looking at the widow’s strained expression, Morven could imagine only too well.
‘I dinna think I can watch this.’ Morven averted her gaze from her younger brothers, who were clearing stones from the ground in front of the byre. The boys were in high spirits, evidently relishing the reckoning to come, and had plainly been set the task of clearing the practice ground of anything liable to cause a deadly slip or stumble. They worked with the blithe excitement of the very young, their high-pitched voices grating on Morven’s frayed nerves.
Rowena turned back into the cot-house to attend to a draught she was preparing for Grace. With a shiver, Morven followed her inside. After a moment, she heard her father's voice rise harshly above the clamour of the boys.
‘Can ye nae hold yer wheesht? How's the lad to think straight wi’ that great squalloch going on? If ye’ve finished clearing stones, ye can go fill sacks wi’ straw, and I’ll hang them from the lintel here.’
The sacks of straw were to represent bodies – chests and bellies and innards – feeling sick, she turned back to her mother.
‘The lad must have a great heart.’ Grace glanced over at the now empty chest where the great sword had been hidden for so long. ‘But what’s to become o’ him? I mean, even should he carry the day …’
‘We can only pray,’ replied Rowena. ‘And mind our prayers are nae always answered in the manner we expect.’
‘What d’ye mean?’ said Morven.
‘Nothing ill. What’s done’s done, and canna be undone. We must put our faith in Jamie now and in the power of good to overthrow evil. ’Tis all we can do.’
Despite her fears, Rowena poured Grace’s draught with a steady hand. ’Twould do no good to voice those fears now, but even so, she reeled at Jamie’s actions, at the boldness of his deed. She’d not expected that. Even knowing the keen sense of duty the lad possessed, she’d not thought of him demanding satisfaction in quite such a manner, though she admired his gall. Yet it unnerved her all the same. The ancient rite enacted in Sìthean Wood was done and final, and couldna be undone, but the question was, what sacrifice would be needed to sanction it? And would that sacrifice now be Jamie's? She prayed not but couldn't dispel the unease that churned her belly. If only he'd given her some hint of what he intended.
Yet she must keep faith, else all would be lost. Lost for Jamie and herself. She passed the fortifying draught to Morven and watched the lass carry it carefully to her mother. If anyone had any inkling of her foreboding, of her unease at the way her invocation might play out, ’twould be Morven, for the lass could sense such things. And Morven had worries enough without lending her more. There was nothing to be done now, nothing but wait and pray and keep her fears to herself.
Morven straightened, watching her mother sip at the tonic of feverwort Rowena had prepared. As always Rowena spoke sense. Faith was needed now, for Jamie didna need her fears and grief, what use had he for those? They’d only distract his focus. They were things to be hidden away, buried so deep they'd only be known about by herself.
‘Aye,’ she said abruptly, making Grace jump. ‘We must show we support Jamie, nae cower in here like mice.’ She moved to the door and pushed it open.
‘Where are ye going?’ Grace cried.
‘To see if there's anything I can do.’
Rowena drew her arisaid about her. ‘I'll come with ye.’
Out in the yard, Jamie was stripped to his sark, the linen fluttering in the breeze, while her father stood behind him moving his arms into the correct positions, placing the blade in a defensive position to ward off the fierce attacks McBeath would let loose.
‘Ye parry like this,’ Malcolm was saying. ‘Wi' yer legs wide and firm, see, so ye canna be wrong-footed, even should the blows be fierce, and ye can dodge to either side should ye need to. Afore ye learn the cuts and thrusts, ye must learn to defend yerself, else ye might never get a chance at the other strokes. See?’ He demonstrated a neat deflecting move with his own weapon.
Jamie found the correct positions easily, he was light on his feet for such a powerful man, graceful. Morven could see her father was pleased. He’d that twitchiness to his face that always gave away his excitement, for all his expression was grave.
The boys were playing nearby, aping the men's actions, capering with sticks instead of swords and she frowned at them. They were still bairns, they’d nae be thinking, but had they nothing better to do?
Seeing Morven, Jamie dropped his g
uard a fraction and consternation crossed his face.
‘I'd have run ye through there! Ye must keep yer wits about ye, else he'll finish ye as soon as …’ Malcolm’s eyes flicked to Morven and more briefly to Rowena, standing quietly at her side, and he faltered, his face reddening. ‘’Tis yerselves,’ he murmured. ‘Can ye nae see we've work to do?’
‘Forgive me, Da.’ For a moment, Morven felt like a child again and nodded awkwardly to Jamie. ‘Only, we were wondering was there anything we could do? Any way we could help at all?’
‘Was ye now?’ His face reddened still further.
He would think this no place fer a woman, would likely tell her as much – she waited.
‘’Tis a help just knowing ye’re thinking of us,’ Jamie said shyly. ‘Is it not, sir?’ He looked her father squarely in the eye.
‘Well aye, it is, aye.’
Morven had never seen her father squirm before, though he quite plainly did so now, discomfited, she knew, by Rowena's presence.
‘There is something,’ he said at last. He stared down at the ground, scuffing dust with his homemade boots. ‘I was thinking how there’s nae much sense in leaving a whole year’s harvest in Rowena’s fields fer the factor’s men to pick ower. I mean, pray God the fight goes our way, but should it …. What I mean is, we wouldna be wanting to swell his Grace’s coffers wi’ the fruits of the young lad’s labours, now would we?’
It was Jamie who came to his deliverance.
‘That we’d not.’ His face grew pensive. ‘And should my aunt have to leave the glen, then the move would be made a deal easier for her wi’ full meal kists.’ He turned his dark gaze on his aunt. ‘I think I should leave this now.’ He propped the ornate broadsword against the byre wall. ‘And get on wi’ the reaping and threshing. Ye can see the sense in that, Rowena?’
Rowena opened her mouth to object, but Malcolm got in first.
‘No, lad, that’s nae what I meant.’ He offered the weapon back to him. ‘I thought if I sent Alec and the lads ower, the bairns are fair getting my canker up anyhow, and if Morven was willing too, then so much the better.’ He glanced at the louring sky. ‘They could mebbe have most o’ the harvest in afore the weather turns.’
The Blood And The Barley Page 31
