Matthew rose from behind the barrels and crept along the wall. So close, close enough to see the other man’s exhalations despite the darkness of the night. He tightened his hold on the bludgeon. Not yet, not yet… now!
So easy; a swift clip to the head, and the lieutenant folded together. Matthew bundled him in an old cloak and stowed the unconscious man in a barrow. He picked his way through town, keeping to the shadows as much as he could.
“Who goes there?”
Matthew near on leapt out of his boots. A young voice, squeaky with fear, and out of the corner of his eye Matthew saw a soldier approaching, a mere lad no more. He didn’t wait. Down one close, into an another, the iron banded wheel of the barrow clattering over the cobbles.
“Halt! I say, halt!” Heavy footsteps behind him, and Matthew increased his speed. A swerve to the right, another to the left, and Matthew rushed for the graveyard and the protective shadow of the kirk. He pressed himself to a wall and clapped a hand to his mouth to muffle his breathing. The barrow groaned. Dear God! Matthew clobbered the bundled lieutenant. Once, twice, and the shape collapsed.
“Come forth,” the young voice called. “Come forth or I shoot.”
At what, you daftie? At shades in the night? Matthew remained where he was, counting seconds. After what seemed an eternity he head the soldier move off, booted feet near on running over the cobbled ground as he hastened to distance himself from something he no doubt feared was a restless wraith. It took several minutes for Matthew to regain enough courage to rush the few hundred yards separating him from his horse.
Ham nickered in greeting, dancing about when Matthew slung the lieutenant over his back.
“Be still, aye?” A foot in the stirrup, astride, and off they went. Matthew tore the contraption of hen feathers from his head, suppressed an urge to whoop and urged Ham on.
A dog barked, another fell in, and Matthew swore, halting Ham so abruptly the horse skidded on his hooves. Horses, several horses coming fast, and for an instant Matthew was certain they’d seen him, but the mounted soldiers galloped by, and the bundle that was Lieutenant Gower squirmed frantically, muted sounds escaping the gag.
“Be quiet,” Matthew hissed, but that only made the man increase his efforts, so Matthew hit him over the head again.
“I’m an officer of the crown,” the lieutenant bleated an hour later. He was standing in only his shirt and breeches, hands tied behind his back and a noose fitted around his neck.
“I don’t hold with kings,” Matthew replied.
“This is murder!” the officer tried, filling his lungs as if to scream. The air was expelled in a rush when Matthew’s fist drove into his stomach.
“Retribution, not murder.”
“Oh God; I’m sorry for hitting her! Please… I won’t tell, I promise I won’t! I’ll leave, yes; I’ll resign my commission, but please, please…” Too late for all that; they both knew it. “Please…”
Matthew just shook his head, gagged the man and heaved him up.
“For my wife, aye?”
The officer, for obvious reasons, didn’t reply; he gargled.
“There,” Alex said a couple of days later, smiling at Janey. “All done.”
She sank down on the bench outside the laundry shed and regarded the laden clothes lines. Item after item had been ticked off on her list, and now there was only the weekly baking to be done plus all the mending. Not today, she decided, today she was going to treat herself and the children to a long evening in the laundry shed with warm water in the bath and perhaps a story or two, while she dried them and untangled their hair. Rachel plunked down on the bench beside her, scrubbing her head against Alex’ arm.
“The pig ate her babies again. She just bit them in two and swallowed them.”
“Horrible mother,” Alex said. “Did she eat them all?” She beckoned Jacob over, wet her finger and rubbed at a streak of dirt on his nose.
“No,” Rachel held up four fingers.
“She ate four or are there only four left?”
“Four left.” Rachel opened her mouth wide and made a chomping motion. “Like that, aye? One bite and then they‘re dead.”
“I see, I wanna see,” Jacob said, taking his sister’s hand.
Rachel set off towards the stables, explaining over and over again that pig mothers ate their babies but human mothers mostly didn’t. Alex laughed at the worried look Jacob threw her over his shoulder, turned her nose up in the general direction of the March sun, and closed her eyes. Peace and quiet, at last. The thickets further up the slope were alive with birds, their monotone winter chatter transformed into a carpet of song, and Alex relaxed further, sinking closer and closer to sleep.
“Mistress?” Janey’s voice was urgent and Alex opened her eyes to see a line of soldiers riding towards her. What she really wanted to do was to leap to her feet and hurry inside, slam the door in their faces and not come out until they’d left. Instead she braced her hands against her knees and got to her feet to face them.
“Now what?” Sweat broke out along her spine, at the back of her knees and in her elbow creases. She grabbed a broom for support.
“Mistress Graham?”
Alex nodded warily.
“Captain Howard, at your service. Is your husband at home?” the officer sounded only mildly interested, scanning the well-tended fields, the yard and the soft grey stone of the house.
“No, he’s not.”
The brown eyes sharpened with interest, bearing down on her. “No? And where is he, if I may ask?”
None of your effing business, is it? But Alex opted for being less provocative.
“He’s in Edinburgh, he’s been gone for the last four days or so.”
The little gleam of interest faded as quickly as it had come.
“So he was not home two nights hence?”
“No, he left already on the Saturday.”
The officer looked away, beyond the house and up the wooded slope behind it.
“A fair little place,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Reminds me of my home,” the officer continued. “Or rather of what was my childhood home, before the Commonwealth troops burnt it to the ground.”
“Oh,” Alex said. “Long ago?”
“Eighteen years come June, and not a night when I don’t relive that day in my dreams.”
Alex had no idea what to say, disturbed by the viciousness of his tone.
“Am I to give him a message?” Alex asked as they turned to leave.
The officer shook his head. “No, there’s no need. We’ll be riding by next week.” He held in his horse and looked down at her. “It might interest you to know Lieutenant Gower is dead – murdered.”
Alex had no idea how she remained standing, fingers clenching tight around the broom.
“Dead?” she squeaked.
“Very,” the captain said and clucked his horse into a trot.
She didn’t move for ages. Well, she couldn’t, what with how her left knee had gone all wobbly.
“What have you done, Matthew Graham?” Alex whispered, hanging on to the broom for dear life. “What in the world have you done?” Never committed a crime in his life, she’d told his son the other day, and now… She swallowed and swallowed, and she could hear the strange noises her breath made when it hitched and caught in her drying windpipe. Dragging the broom behind her, she set off for the fields.
“Samuel!” She beckoned the old man over and explained what she wanted him to do. “But be careful in how you ask things, alright?”
Samuel promised he would, saddled up the roan mare and was gone within the hour, returning just as dusk began to shift into night.
“What?” Alex grabbed at his stirrup. “What did you find out?”
“He was hanged, they say he was hanged from the crossroad oak.” Samuel dismounted and looked at her with weary eyes. “They think it’s Williams that did it.”
Yes, of course it was; Alex weakened with
relief. Williams had decided to avenge himself on the man that had stolen his life from him.
“But it can’t be,” Samuel went on in a flat voice. “On account of Williams being dead.”
“He is?” Alex said.
“Aye, I heard it from my cousin. How Williams and his eldest bairn died out there, sickening with fever. He’s been dead for some weeks.”
“Oh, but that’s awful!” Alex felt like crying. Poor Mrs Williams, left alone with four children. How could she possibly keep them alive? Samuel made a concurring sound, tut-tutting at this sad state of affairs.
“But if it wasn’t Williams, then who?” Alex twisted her hands together. A quick shared look with Samuel and Alex could see her own suspicions mirrored in the old man’s eyes. “He’s in Edinburgh, he’s not here.”
“Aye,” Samuel said, sounding unconvinced. “There are many men with grievances against the lieutenant, and Williams had extensive kin in the area.” He shrugged. “We’ll never know, and nor will they. But it’ll become that much worse now that one of theirs has been killed.” He nodded in her direction and led the horse off towards the stables. Alex stood for a long time in the dark before going back inside.
They were waiting for Matthew when he rode down the road some days later in the company of Simon. The officer nudged his horse across the road and went on to explain that there had been an unfortunate incident in the area, a murder no less, and that they had questions to pose.
“Murder?” Matthew adopted a horrified tone. “Murder of whom? My wife?”
The captain hastened to assure him that no, as far as he was aware Mr Graham’s family was hale, or had been, last he saw them a few days ago.
“No, it’s the murder of a servant of the crown,” Captain Howard went on. “A Lieutenant Gower. You knew the man, I hear.”
Matthew looked at him calmly and inclined his head in affirmation.
“Aye, I did and I won’t pretend that I’m distressed by his death. He mistreated my wife some weeks back.”
“Yes, I heard,” the officer said. “Brought it down on herself, didn’t she?”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Matthew snapped.
The captain hitched his shoulders. “It does make you a most probable suspect, Mr Graham.”
“Me?” Matthew injected his voice with as much incredulity he could muster. “I’ve been in Edinburgh.”
“Aye,” Simon said. “We’ve had deeds drawn up and witnessed a few days back.”
“And you set off on Saturday?” Captain Howard said. Matthew could see him count days; Two, three days to ride to Edinburgh, some days to conduct business and three days back. The officer pulled at his lip and frowned at Ham. “A good horse – even very good; but somewhat winded at the moment.”
“Cough,” Matthew sighed.
“Ah,” the officer nodded, did some more lip pulling. “A horse matching yours was seen the night Gower died.”
Matthew looked at Ham, let his eyes travel over the officer’s horse, two other horses in the troop and then back to the officer’s brown gelding.
“A dark bay horse?” he said sarcastically. “Besides, my brother-in-law can vouch for me being in Edinburgh.” Howard continued to block his way, looking at him with suspicion. “If you’d excuse me, I wish to hasten home.”
The captain backed his horse and waved his hand to indicate the road was free. Matthew bowed and dug his heels in, making the horse snort before it bunched its legs and took off in huge strides.
It took some time for Matthew to regain control over himself. It had been an inhuman effort to maintain that outward calm while facing the inspecting eyes of the officer, and he wondered at himself for having been able to keep his hands steady on the reins. Now all of him trembled, and in the pit of his stomach a viper flung itself from side to side, forcing what little food he’d eaten today back up his gullet to block his throat. He’d killed a man, an officer no less, and should he ever be caught he wouldn’t only be hanged, he’d be disembowelled and beheaded as well.
“You’re sailing very close to the abyss,” Simon said once he caught up with Matthew. “What in God’s name have you done?”
Matthew didn’t reply. The last week had been a race against time, with Ham pressed to his limit when Matthew stormed off in the direction of Edinburgh just before midnight on Sunday instead of early Saturday morning when he officially set off. But it had been worth it, he thought, shocking himself. A life taken in payment for Williams and the minister, for the petty cruelties that coloured all his neighbours’ days, but most of all for Alex, for the blood-red welts on the pale skin of her back.
“Matthew?” Simon said. “You haven’t been fully honest with me have you?”
“Nay, I haven’t,” Matthew said. “Will you still stand by me?” he asked, once he had finished retelling the events.
Simon closed his eyes in exasperation. “It’s too late to ask now.”
Matthew was very ashamed, dropping his head.
“And what will Alex say?” Simon said.
Matthew straightened up. “You won’t breathe a word of this to Alex, never, you hear?”
Simon swore that he wouldn’t. “But you must tell her. You can’t keep something like this from her.”
“Aye,” Matthew said. “But I’ll choose the when and the where with caution. And it isn’t now.”
Except that there was no way Matthew could evade the bright blue of Alex’ eyes, scorching their way into his soul; she knew him better than he knew himself, and when she followed him across the yard into the stable he knew it wouldn’t be him choosing anything, it would be her. So he took her by the hand and helped her up the ladder to the hayloft and there he sat with her on his lap and told her how Gower died. She didn’t say anything once he had finished, leaning back against his chest.
“No one,” she finally said. “We’ll tell no one. And we’ll never talk of it again.”
“Never,” he agreed.
Chapter 13
“Daniel Elijah?” Alex looked down at the wean. “Two very solemn names, don’t you think? It makes him sound very religious.”
“Good,” Matthew said, caressing the downy head of this his latest bairn. “Quite appropriate for a future minister.”
“A minister?” Alex raised a brow.
“Aye, a man of the church.” Matthew had problems keeping a straight face at her dumbfounded expression.
“But what if he doesn’t want to?”
“We’ll make him want it.” Matthew scooted closer, eyes on his nursing son. It was still a miracle to him that something so small could be so determined when it came to food. “Both of us,” he added, ignoring Alex’ frown.
He waited until his son had finished feeding before taking him from his mother, holding the wean in the crook of his arm.
“A wee lad, hmm?” he crooned. “Look at you, all rosy and glowing with health.”
“What will the others be?” She sounded put out, clearly not taken by the notion that he should decide what direction his sons’ lives would take.
He smiled. “Mark will be a farmer, and this wee one will be a minister.”
“And Jacob?”
Matthew shrugged. Jacob could be so many things; strong and placid and with a good head on his shoulders, Jacob would make his own way in the world.
“Jacob? Ah, well Jacob will be happy.”
“And the others won’t,” Alex muttered.
“Aye they will.”
“And Rachel?”
Matthew rolled his eyes and made a choking sound that had Alex bursting out in laughter.
“Rachel will be a wife. God help her future husband.”
May; wooded slopes clad in bright new greens, drifts of bluebells and windflowers covering the ground, the trees in the apple orchard heavy with flower and sitting there, in the shade, his wife and his newest child. Matthew remained where he was, watching how she lifted Daniel from her breast to settle him in his basket. She smiled in the direc
tion of Jacob and Rachel, playing among the trees, and he was filled with a sensation of deep contentment. His world, his family, a small corner of paradise that belonged to him – made possible by the woman who now raised her hand in a wave. Three sons and one madcap daughter in a bit more than six years, and there would be many more, for she was healthy and fertile and both of them were still calf-sick with lust for each other.
“Here,” Matthew extended the small posy of flowers he had picked.
“For me?” She looked pleased.
“Aye,” he said, dropping down beside her. “Seeing as I couldn’t find my honey-haired mistress.” Now what had made him say something as foolish as that? She gave him a chilly look, and he felt a familiar rush of shame at the memory of Kate Jones, with her dark eyes and hair the exact shade of honey. But he’d only bedded her because he was ill and afraid he would die, all those years ago in Virginia.
“I…” he said.
“I know,” she cut him off, leaning back against him. “I had a bad dream last night.”
“Och, aye?” Matthew found a long stalk of grass and began nibbling at the soft, pale end. Alex settled into him and yawned.
“About Magnus; he looked awful, his head shaved, and all of him sort of shrunk together…” Her voice trailed off. “I think he’s ill.” She gnawed at her lip, looking quite concerned. “He’s too young, not yet sixty-four.”
“We can’t do much for him from here,” Matthew said, “and three score four is an impressive age.”
“You think?”
“My da died before the age of fifty,” Matthew reminded her.
Alex made an irritated sound. ”Yeah; he drowned – not exactly due to old age, was it?”
“He’s still dead. And besides, it’s just a dream, not necessarily true.”
“It’s ages since I dreamt of them,” Alex said, “and I almost never think of them. Not of Magnus, not of my little Isaac; slowly but safely it’s all becoming a fairy tale.”
The Prodigal Son Page 13
