All of this was on her mind as she made her way down the steep slope that led from the hilltop to the mill. She stopped in a small clearing to catch her breath, spent a few agreeable minutes sitting on a stone, her face raised to the sun.
She was in a mellow mood when she got to her feet, a state of mind that changed drastically when she turned to find herself eye-to-eye with her brother-in-law. Alex flew backwards, her hands spread across her front. Her breath rasped its way up and down her throat as she studied him, remembering far too vividly the night not quite a year ago when he killed her other child.
“And so we meet again.” Luke cut a dashing figure in deep blue and a sash the colour of his fiery hair, complemented by high heeled boots. His eyes stuck on her belly, and for an instant Alex thought she could see shame in his eyes. For an instant, mind you, and then his face hardened. He took a couple of steps in her direction and she emitted a yelping sound. A swift movement and he had her by the arm, pulling her towards him when all she wanted was to run, screaming for help. She swallowed, trying to lubricate her throat. Stiff fingers in his eyes, knee him in the balls, fall to your right and use his body weight to flip him over. She tensed in preparation, but he felt that, twisting her arm up behind her back.
“Let go of me!” It came out as a shriek, loud and high. “Get out of here before Matthew finds you.” Much better; more controlled, less scared witless.
He released her and stood back. His eyes glinted a pale, celadon green, lingering on her stomach.
“That child threatens my son’s inheritance.”
“You don’t have a son. Matthew has a son that you’ve stolen off him, but you don’t have one. Incapable of siring your own, hey?” She regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth and backed away. She tripped, fell to land on her bottom, but was up on her knees and crawling as fast as she could, when his hand came down on her shoulder and wrenched her round to face him.
“Slut! You’ll pay for that.” That was when Matthew barged into him from behind.
*
“Take your hands off my wife!” This time he was going to destroy this serpent of a man, slice him down in pieces. Luke made choking noises, his fingers tearing at the strangling hold around his neck. Matthew pulled his dagger, and Luke’s eyes bulged when the blade sliced through his breeches, baring his privates to the August air. Oh, aye; he didn’t much like it, did he, when it was him being attacked. Misbegotten cur; today he would pay. Luke screeched, kicked and flailed – all to no avail.
Matthew knocked him to the ground, sat on him and grabbed Luke’s scrotum in a brutal grip, pressing the testicles until the skin looked about to burst. Luke convulsed under him, he was begging, crying, his nails digging into Matthew’s back, but Matthew was in no mood to listen.
“Matthew!” Alex’s voice barely penetrated the rage that thudded through Matthew’s brain. He drew the blade of the knife over the bared skin. “No, Matthew, you can’t!” A thin line of blood welled forth and Luke shrieked, a wordless plea for help.
“Aye I can,” Matthew said, and Alex threw herself forward.
“No! Please don’t!”
Matthew shook her off and directed himself to his brother. “I warned you, I let you off last time we met, no? But this time…”He heaved his incoherent, babbling brother to stand. “It seems my wife wishes you to keep your balls, however useless they may be. I will, however, have my blood.” And with that he sliced off Luke’s nose and pushed him away.
“Oh, God!” Alex gasped.
Luke keened, squirming like a hooked worm.
“Stand up,” Matthew said roughly. “Stand up or I’ll do you some more harm.”
Luke staggered upright, one hand to his bleeding face, the other attempting to hold his breeches together.
“Get off my land, and if I ever catch you on it again I’ll kill you.” Matthew shoved Luke in the direction of the woods. “Go.”
“My nose,” Luke moaned through tears and blood.
“Go!” Matthew screamed at him, and Luke stumbled away.
“He’ll never forgive you,” Alex stammered, staring at Matthew’s bloodied hands.
“I can live with that. I haven’t forgiven him either.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“He’ll try.” The blinding fury was receding, and his hand holding the knife was trembling. He tightened his grip on the handle and bent down to wipe the blade clean. “I can’t kill him, he’s my brother.”
Alex began to laugh, a horrid sound that made him want to clap his hands over his ears. She sank down to the ground and the laughter became tears.
“Don’t expect him to show you any mercy,” Alex said. “He’ll move heaven and earth to destroy you for what you just did to him.”
“I know.” Without another word he walked off.
*
It took time for Matthew to regain some semblance of control. He spliced and spliced, he worked until his arm shook, and only when the light was gone did he stop for the day. He’d heard Alex come down the hill behind him, had sensed her standing to the side to watch him drive his axe with frenzy into the hazel poles, but he’d pretended he hadn’t, not quite sure what to say to her.
She was right; this Luke would never forgive, and while one part of him was elated at having finally made his brother pay, another part shivered with shame at what he’d done. Not that Luke didn’t deserve it, bastard that he was, but in one single slicing motion Matthew had forever severed whatever blood-ties remained between them. He sighed, hefted his axe over his shoulder, and went in search of his wife.
He found her in the stables, sitting in the straw with her lap full of mewling kittens. When she raised her face to his, he saw that she’d been crying.
“Ah, lass, there’s no need to cry, aye? He won’t harm us, I won’t let him.”
That only made her weep all the more, long hiccupping sobs as he shushed and repeated that he’d keep them safe – somehow. She shook her head.
“It’s not that.” She wiped at her nose with her sleeve. “Well, it’s that too, but not only.”
“Then why?” He lifted her to sit on his knees.
She rubbed her face against the bristle of his cheeks and sighed.
“I was thinking of Isaac. I never wanted him, I resented this stranger that had been foisted upon me by a man that I hated and feared.” She took hold of Matthew’s hand and placed it on her belly. “Today our child moved inside of me and I could feel it, and I was so happy to know it was there, alive and safe.” She exhaled softly. “I never noticed when Isaac became a real person inside of me. I didn’t love him, not then. Do you think he knew?”
Matthew kissed her ear. He didn’t know what to say.
Chapter 34
“You look like a pear.” Simon grinned down at Alex from his horse. “A giant pear.”
“You have a death wish, Mr Melville,” Alex said, miming a slashed throat.
“I was referring to the colour of your gown, not the shape of your body.” He dismounted and hastened over to help Joan, before turning to greet Matthew. “Minister Crombie was asking for you, he wondered when you’d be in Cumnock next. I told him it would be a few weeks yet.”
Matthew nodded. He stretched and surveyed his lands; wherever he turned he saw work calling to him. There was threshing to do, roofs to be mended, fields to be tilled, and… He sighed, kneading at his left buttock. No rest, not for many weeks yet.
Alex had been working as hard as he had lately, returning inside with grubby hands and reddened cheeks after yet another day in the kitchen garden. He snuck a look at his wife, most definitely pear-like in her soft green. Now in her sixth month of pregnancy, she was blooming, with a constant appetite not only for food but for him. He intensified his gaze, was gratified to see her ears turn pink.
“Captain Leslie has been recalled to ride with General Monck,” Simon said over kale and pork. “Word is that the general is thinking of riding south, and Minister Crombie advices you to
be careful. Royalist sentiments are running high, and then there’s this whole matter with Luke.”
Matthew shifted on his chair, shared a quick look with Alex. Dear brother Luke worried him, much more than he cared to admit. He should have killed him, he thought darkly, not sliced off a wee piece of his nose.
“He’s telling anyone who’ll listen just how he will make you pay,” Simon went on, “and I fear it’s not an empty threat.”
Matthew frowned, tilted his head in the direction of Alex. Simon flushed. He cleared his throat and turned the discussion to politics, sharing what little news he had of what was happening in Edinburgh and London.
“I heard General Monck has been approached by messengers from Charles Stuart.” Matthew said. Despite having once been imprisoned for his support of the royalist cause, General Monck had proven a capable governor of Scotland, a firm adherent to the principles of the Commonwealth. If he was listening to the blandishments of the would be king, then it was just a matter of time. Well, he knew it was, but he still hoped Alex was wrong.
“Sent them packing was what I heard,” Simon sat back and regarded Matthew. “No one wants war. And unless a strong leader for the Commonwealth materialises soon…”
“It could be the general.”
“I don’t think so; if he hankered for such power he would already have taken it. No; I fear we’ll shortly see the Commonwealth revert to a Kingdom.”
“Unfortunately,” Matthew muttered. “Will Charles have learnt his lesson, do you think? To not meddle with men’s faith nor force a common church upon us all?”
Simon shrugged, looked away.
A little frisson of disquiet fluttered up Matthew’s spine; this future king was no friend of Presbytery – and in particular not after those long months he’d spent as a virtual prisoner of the Covenanters, king of Scotland in name only – which did not bode well for men such as Matthew.
“I think he’ll have learnt the lesson of subterfuge,” Simon said. “Steel inside a velvet glove, and woe to those on whom Charles Stuart decides to wreak his vengeance. All those that voted in favour of executing the king that was, must be passing right restless nights.”
Matthew shifted the conversation to other matters.
*
“I met Margaret the other day,” Joan said, setting her sewing aside. They were alone in the parlour, Simon and Matthew having decided the evening was better spent reviewing Matthew’s accounts and in general setting his affairs in order. Every now and then, the sound of laughter would emanate from the little study, making Alex suspect that more attention was spent on the whisky than on the matters at hand.
“Oh.” Alex wasn’t that interested. Margaret had made a huge scene about Luke’s nose – understandably –but been curtly reminded by Matthew that she’d violated the conditions of her lease by allowing Luke to stay. The next day she’d been gone, hopefully forever.
“And Luke.” Joan shook her head. “It was horrible.”
“I know, he has the same effect on me,” Alex muttered.
“His nose, Alex; it’s gone!”
“I told you, didn’t I?”
“How could Matthew do such? To so disfigure someone, mark him like a common criminal.”
Alex frowned. “There’s disfigurement and disfigurement; I hope you don’t consider Luke an innocent victim.”
“No, of course not, but still…” Joan sighed. “He was such a bonny wee lad.”
Alex chose not to comment. She stuck her knitting needles through the ball of yarn and left the room.
*
“It’s just…she was very judgemental, you know?” Alex said next morning. Matthew grunted; if Joan had anything to say about Luke, she should come to him, not to Alex. As it was, the little altercation had poisoned the rest of the evening, with Alex retiring to bed much sooner than she would normally do. He sniffed at his stockings and wrinkled his nose; too much wear, he needed a clean pair. He threw the lid of the mule chest open, all but disappearing into it.
“What are you looking for?” Alex asked.
“My…” He fell silent, hands closing on a burlap wrapped object.
“Your what?”
He didn’t reply, instead he straightened up and turned to face her, holding the swaddled square in his hands.
“I thought you burnt it.”
“So did I. Well, no, I didn’t think I burnt it, but I totally forgot.” She blushed a bit under his gaze. “Maybe I didn’t forget to begin with,” she admitted at his continued silence. “But then I did. What with everything else happening in my life, I haven’t even thought about it.”
“Hmm.” Matthew was not convinced.
“Well, okay; maybe I did think about it, but…”
“Mmhm.” He closed the lid of the chest and placed the package on it, not wanting to hold this vibrating object for longer than necessary. “But you’ll burn it now.”
Alex shrugged a yes. “But…well, before I do, I’d like to look at it once more, and I don’t want to do it alone.”
“Why?” Matthew had no wish to see the painting again in his life, all of him crawling as he remembered that beckoning square of blue.
“I don’t know. I just feel I should.”
“I think you should burn it unseen,” he told her, but resigned himself to doing as she wanted. “Not here,” he barked when she made as if to unwrap it. “Outside.”
They were well away from the house before Matthew told her to stop. She kneeled down and unfolded the burlap, and with every fold, Matthew’s fear grew. The painting murmured, a seductive whisper that grew to a clamour inside his head, an imperative that he lean forward and look, drown himself in the exquisitely executed heaving sea.
Alex muttered something that sounded like a curse and reared back, banging her head hard against his collarbone. Matthew grabbed at her with urgency, closing his eyes against the suggestive pull exerted by the painting. He breathed through his nose, fighting back waves of nausea, and all along his spine sweat drops formed. His hands shook as he held her hard around her waist.
“We burn it.” This was magic – evil ungodly magic. He groped, found a stone, and drove it through the painting. Once, twice, and all that remained was a mangled mess. He bundled it into the burlap and stood. “Now.”
The picture pleaded with him to put it together and look at it, please look at it. He prayed; over and over he muttered the same short prayer, anything to drown this silent pleading. Alex took his hand, they stumbled their way back to the yard. When he made as if to enter she shook her head.
“No,” she said, “not inside. It has to be burnt here, in God’s free air.” She took the bundle from him, and he rushed inside to find a taper, just as quickly stormed back out.
She’d moved over to sit on the outdoor bench, and in her lap the massacred painting lay uncovered, her fingers caressing its sides. She swayed, made a clumsy attempt to fit the pieces together.
“Nay!”
She started at his voice, raised unfocused eyes in his direction.
“Alex, no, leave it be, aye?” He’d reached her by now, knelt to take it from her. He had to tug it free. The taper died in a gust of wind.
This time Matthew took no chances, taking the bundle with him as he returned to the kitchen for a new taper. Once outside, he made for the secluded area behind the privy, with Alex trailing him.
All of him twitched with the urge to take one last look, one final peek. A deep breath, one more prayer, and he set the bundle on fire. Smoke uncurled from the burlap and rose dark against the sky. He sniffed when the paint began to burn, tingeing the air with scents of oil and spices; saffron and cardamom, nutmeg and ginger and the pungent smell of rosemary in the sun. Suddenly it shrieked, a loud, eerie keening that filled the air. And then it was gone, small wisps of ash floating into the air when he stamped the fire into extinction.
“What was that?” Simon asked, making both of them jump when he popped his head out of the privy.
“Hm
m? Oh, the sound, you mean.” Matthew hitched his shoulders. “I don’t rightly know; a bird mayhap?”
“A bird? It sounded like a flayed cat.”
“Maybe then it was,” Matthew took Alex by the hand and led her inside.
Chapter 35
“You burnt it!”
Alex jumped, whirling to stare at Hector Olivares. “Burnt what?”
“The painting. You stupid bitch, what have you done? Look at me!” He threw off his hat and Alex inhaled noisily.
She’d only seen him briefly, that afternoon back in early July, but since then things had gone downhill for the man in front of her. The last months had torn pounds off an already thin frame, and his skin had converted itself into something resembling an elephant hide, collecting in wrinkled pouches under his eyes and his chin. There were lesions on what she could see of his arms, his hands, his neck, open wounds that leaked blood and pus. And he stank; a cloying stench of rotting garbage.
“What happened to you?” Alex said, surprised into feeling pity rather than fear.
“Age; it catches up with you at some point.”He took a step towards her, crowded her back against the stone wall that bordered the higher pastures. She tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed her by the arms and slammed her into the uneven wall.
“Let go.”
“Or what? You think you can fight me just because you have a black belt or two? Think again.” As if to underline his words he slammed her into the wall again, this time with enough force for her to gasp.
“Have you any idea? Can you imagine what it’s like to be imprisoned in a body that’s falling to pieces and be denied the release of death?”
Alex shook her head, licked at her lips. He held up a desiccated hand.
“See? A walking skeleton, and still I live on. And it’s all her fault, it’s all that accursed Mercedes’ fault and now you – you! – have destroyed my last chance to make my way home to my time, my Sevilla!”His hands closed round Alex’s neck, shaking her like a ratter shakes a mouse.
“Aagh,” Alex croaked, trying to prise the fingers off her.
A Rip in the Veil (The Graham Saga) Page 33
