“Don’t mention it,” I said. “You may talk about Fiona as often as you like. She is part of your story and is Gwendolyn’s mother, and therefore I am interested.”
“But still, that is the past and I prefer to look ahead. In any event, our mother, too, was unwell. And faithful Alicia Forbes was by then her housekeeper and has been with me ever since.”
“How much longer did your mother live?”
“Another two years. I was on the Continent at the time of her death.”
Alasdair paused and shook his head. “I have much to repent of to both my parents, if such things are allowed in the next life,” he said after a moment. “I’ll leave the theology of that to Iain. But I do have many regrets that bite more deeply the older I grow. I was not with them for either of their last days on earth. I know they longed to see me, but I was too absorbed with my own self at the time.”
He let out a long sigh. “Life is full of regrets,” he added slowly. “At every age, it seems, we are stupider than we have any idea. It is only the future that reveals the truth about the past, and then continues to reveal it again and anew with every passing year. What would Iain say? Probably that if God forgives us, we have to learn to forgive ourselves…and then move on.”
I could not help smiling to hear Alasdair speaking of God as if through Iain’s thoughts. I nodded. “I think that is very much like what he would say.”
“It is easier said than done,” said Alasdair.
“Probably all forgiveness is easier said than done,” I added.
We sipped at our tea and I took another oatcake.
“You know, it is a curious thing, now that I think of it,” said Alasdair after several minutes. “Alicia isn’t the only one of Olivia’s friends who never married. I’d never thought of it before, but there is Adela, of course…and then Tavia and Cora—that is incredible now that I think of it.”
“I didn’t know whether Adela was married or not.”
Alasdair shook his head, still thinking. “Oh, I’d forgotten about Fia,” he said. “Didn’t you say she was taking lessons from you, too?”
“Yes, she just started.”
“And of course there’s Winny Bain, who died before she was old enough to think about marriage. It’s more remarkable than I realized. None of them ever married.”
“An amazing coincidence.”
“Or perhaps more than a coincidence,” added Alasdair cryptically.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing…There couldn’t possibly be anything to it. It’s just that Olivia’s group of friends was…I don’t know, different. Separately the girls were all pleasant and perfectly normal, but when they were together, something changed. There was a bond between them that didn’t seem entirely healthy. I don’t know how else to describe it. When other children saw them together, roaming about on a Saturday or during the summer, they ran away. Even boys gave them wide berth. That’s why seeing you with them the other day disturbed me. I am sorry—it just hit me hard.”
“Think nothing more of it. But were people actually frightened of them?”
“Yes, I think they were. Especially the younger children. You remember what I told you before, about her rhyming curses.
“‘Look on the path—a slithering snake…
Tonight Alasdair will tremble and quake.
Trolls, goblins, and monsters, kelpies, and witches…
will gnaw your insides like unscratchable itches.
Spiders, lizards, and black slimy leeches…
are Alasdair’s friends and crawl up his breeches’—”
“Alasdair, stop, please…I don’t want to hear any more of them.”
“Sorry, but the fact is that Olivia’s group of friends—Alicia and Adela and the others—were all drawn into that to such an extent that they didn’t dare cross her.”
“All I know is that it sounds weird!” I tried to laugh as I said it. But it wasn’t funny. Obviously whatever Alicia had heard about Ranald and his house still held her in its grip. What I had seen on her face was no childish game but genuine fear. It was far more serious than being afraid of a snake.
“It was weird!” said Alasdair. “But even if half of it was imaginary, Olivia spread great evil around this community because people came to believe that she possessed the second sight and was in league with dark forces.”
Chapter Eleven
Curse
The watercresses surround each fountain, with shaggy eyebrows of darkest green;
And groves of sorrel ascend the mountain, where loose white sand lies all soft and clean;
Thence bubbles boiling, yet coldly coiling the new-born stream from the darksome deep;
Clear, blue, and curling, and swiftly swirling, it bends and bounds in its headlong leap.
—Duncan Ban MacIntyre, “The Misty Dell”
I hoped I wasn’t feeling the effects of Olivia’s hexes!
Whatever the cause, I tossed and turned half the night thinking about spiders and snakes and wolves and monsters. It was awful.
The mind can play terrible tricks on you during the night. Mine certainly did. Over and over Olivia’s silly chants played themselves in my brain until I thought they would drive me completely mad.
Never was I so glad to see morning come.
I can’t say the sunrise brought any resolution other than the usual effect of the coming of light—that all the perplexities and doubts and fears and imaginary goblins that seemed creepy and terrifying in the middle of the night no longer appeared so sinister.
One resolution, however, did come with the morning. All this about Olivia and hexes and curses could not be ignored, hidden, swept under the carpet and not talked about. I knew what Iain would say—that the surest solution to any quandary is light.
Olivia’s world was a world of hidden things…innuendo, suspicion, subtlety, doubt, fear, threat, secrecy. It was a world of darkness. It could not be allowed to infiltrate our lives again. Olivia’s ways must not creep back and work new evil in Buchan Castle as they had for so many years in the past. Alasdair was at last free from all that. I wasn’t about to let that evil come slinking back into our lives.
Light must prevail.
The reminder of Olivia’s threatening ditties and Alasdair’s being able to laugh about them himself, as much as they had swirled through my waking nightmares all night, had been a good thing—getting them out in the open where they could be exposed for the nonsense they were.
Obviously, however, they weren’t nonsense in Alicia’s mind.
Whatever Olivia had said about Ranald Bain still terrified her, even if her terror had been primarily for me. In Alicia’s mind, the words still contained power. Because of that, as Alasdair said, they still exercised a control over her, though Olivia herself was miles away in Aberdeen.
I scarcely saw Alicia the rest of the day after our walk. She slept most of the afternoon, got up for an hour, had something to eat, then went to bed for the night.
The following morning she was quiet and subdued. Whether she was embarrassed over what had happened or a rift had come between us, I couldn’t tell. She was distant, untalkative, and went about her day’s duties saying hardly a word. Strange as it is to say, I felt Olivia’s presence. I had spent enough time with Alasdair’s sister to recognize subtle similar feelings now.
The predicted storm hadn’t hit yet, though the wind had begun to whip up and clouds hung over the Firth that clearly meant business. But what I needed to do couldn’t wait.
Midway through the morning I sought Alicia where she was cleaning in the pantry.
“Alicia,” I said, “I am going up the Bin again. This time I am going specifically to visit Ranald Bain. I am going to have tea with him inside his house. I am going to play his harp. I would like you to come with me so you can see that there is nothing to any silly curse.”
The progression of expressions that came over Alicia’s face as I spoke were contorted and strange—first no expression at a
ll, then a flash from her eyes of something very much like anger. For an instant I almost thought I was looking at Olivia’s eyes, angry that I would dare go against her warnings about Ranald. That expression gave way quickly to one of horror and disbelief that I would actually challenge the curse, as if inviting it on my own head. But with my last words, suddenly she began shaking her head violently, with a return of the terror I had seen the day before.
“I won’t do that,” she said. “I am afraid for you, too, Marie. Don’t do it, I beg you. No good can come of it. He is an evil man.”
“Alicia, stop it,” I said firmly. “He is not an evil man. I don’t know what lies Olivia has told you, but he is as gentle and kind as any man I know.”
“It’s all a trick to lure you into his house…and then the curse will come upon you!”
“Alicia, there is no curse.”
“There is, I tell you. I heard it.”
Her words took me aback. Even after her exchange with Ranald, it wasn’t what I had expected.
“What did you hear, Alicia?” I asked.
She looked away.
“Alicia.”
Still she would not return my gaze.
I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder.
“Alicia,” I said, “look at me.”
Slowly she turned her head, as if battling having to look at me. Her features were wincing and contorting visibly. I stared straight into her eyes.
“Alicia,” I said, “I want you to tell me what you heard.”
Her lips began to quiver, just as they had under the force of Ranald’s stare. Then slowly, in a strange, almost gravelly voice, she spoke what she had heard from Olivia.
“The curse of madness will be the stain…of all who enter the house of Bain.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, her body wilted. As she collapsed in weakness, I eased her to a nearby chair. Shuddering from what I had heard, I turned and left her.
I wandered out of the castle in a flurry of emotions. If ever I needed Alasdair’s arms around me to reassure me, it was at that moment. But he was not at home. And could Alasdair resolve my confusion? He was part of it—as were all who had been within Olivia’s orbit.
Even now, Alicia was still under her influence. The force of Olivia’s personality, the force of her powers of persuasion, were not so easily escaped.
I wandered through the rose garden, confused and bewildered.
I realized that there was no way I could force Alicia to visit Ranald Bain. The curse still held her in its grip. Until she wanted to, she would not be free from it.
But I had to talk to Ranald.
Five minutes later, after dashing off a quick note to Alasdair, I was setting out up the Bin.
Chapter Twelve
House of Bain
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar.
Thunderclaps rend the air,
Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare.
—Harold Boulton, “Skye Boat Song”
As I made my way up the slopes of Crannoch Bin for the second day in a row, frightening and spooky thoughts assailed me. Even the trees blowing frenetically in the wind became menacing and sinister, as if they were conspiring to prevent my progress. I began to feel, as I had so many times since coming to Scotland, that I was part of a fairy tale. However, this time it was no Prince Charming story, but an evil tale with witches and goblins trying to lure me onto the mountain where they would kill me and my body would never be found.
Faster and faster I walked. The more I hurried, the more furiously the wind raged and the trees blew about me on every side. The worst of it was that the horrible, mesmerizing, chanting words of Olivia’s curse rang over and over in my brain. Even the sound of her smooth, calm, seductive voice began to haunt my thoughts with her terrible words.
“Madness will be the stain…madness will be the stain…madness…madness…all who enter the house of Bain.”
I hated it, but I couldn’t stop it. The curse took on a life of its own.
Was I going mad?
I had lain awake half the night tormented by Olivia’s words. Were her occultish powers getting inside me? Was I, too, falling under Olivia’s control?
Had the madness begun the very first time Ranald had lured me into his cottage…lured me with his deceptive words…lured me with the spell of his music that sounded sweet but had seductive powers that had put my senses to sleep ? That was how spells worked, turning everything upside down so you couldn’t tell light from darkness, right from wrong, good from evil.
When had the madness begun? Had I slowly been going mad all along?
Alicia was the sane one, not me. I should have heeded her warnings. Now I was on my way to the very house of madness itself.
Doubts flew at me out of the wind and trees like invisible arrows. They bombarded me with evil thoughts about Ranald, about Alasdair, about everything that had happened since I first set foot in Scotland. Olivia’s soft, soothing, mesmerizing words returned to me—
“You do not understand, Marie. You cannot understand. Things are not as they seem. But I will help you understand. I will help you see clearly. Only I can help you understand.”
I forgot everything good. I forgot my harp. I forgot Gwendolyn. I forgot the music of the angels. I forgot God. I forgot to pray.
Suddenly, out of the wind and storm, words that Iain Barclay had once spoken returned to me like a still, small voice of calm.
“Character is the most reliable validation of truth. You have to discern individual character. It will lead you to truth.”
When I’d had doubts about Alasdair—and those doubts, too, had been planted by Olivia—Iain’s words about character had helped me see Alasdair for the man he truly was.
I couldn’t let Olivia’s lies and distortions twist my mind into terrible confusion again.
Character mattered. It mattered more than anything. And as I had discovered in Alasdair’s case, Ranald’s character was true. I knew it. I must hang on to that belief. Though I had no proof about her allegations, I knew Olivia’s perceptions were lies. Alasdair’s character spoke truth. So did Ranald’s.
I pressed on. The wind continued to batter against me as if in angry retaliation against my resolve to defeat the force of Olivia’s curse.
I reached the cottage under gloomy skies.
The place looked deserted, and unaccountably foreboding. I shivered and couldn’t help Olivia’s horrible chant running through my brain yet again. I hated myself for allowing it. But I couldn’t help it. Once planted, the seeds of evil are hard to uproot.
I reached up and yanked on the rope that rang Ranald’s bell, then rang it again even louder, as if the sound could banish the incantation from my mind.
In the distance I heard a dog bark. My heart almost leaped for joy at the familiar sound.
Several minutes later, the collie and two sheepdogs romped toward me, bounding and barking in a frenzy of canine greeting. Ranald himself was slower to arrive but at last came into view, well bundled against the approaching weather, his proud gray thatch shooting out in all directions from under a well-worn brown tartan wool cap, his familiar smile easily visible amid the gray-white beard blowing about in the wind.
“Marie, lass!” he greeted me warmly. “I had the feelin’ I’d aye be seein’ ye again afore lang after yesterday. Hoo’s Alicia?”
“Not so well, I’m afraid,” I answered. “I am so sorry about all that. I was mortified by what she said.”
“Think nae mair aboot it. I’ve been used tae it these mony a lang year. Bein’ at cross purposes wi’ young Olivia Reidhaven made me ane wha had tae endure the slings an’ arrows o’ outrageous fortune mony a time afore yesterday. But come in oot o’ the win’,” he said as he led the way inside.
He put on water for tea, then added several chunks to his fireplace and jabbed the coals a few times with a poker.
“How do you know Alicia?” I aske
d as I sat down. “You seemed well acquainted.”
“Aye, but I haena seen her for mony a lang year.”
“You knew her when she was young, then?”
“Oh, aye. In a wee village the likes o’ Port Scarnose, there are nae mony folk a man like me disna ken. Ilka body kens ilka body, as they say. Alicia an’ oor Winny were frien’s, wi’ Olivia an’ the rest o’ her wee group o’ lassies. I haena spoken wi’ the lass for years as I say, an’ hae only seen her fae a distance upon occasion, at yer weddin’ an’ the like. But I kennt there was ill-blud swirlin’ aboot on account o’ Olivia an’ her mischief. I didn’t ken ’twas still sae deep intil the puir lass’s mind as we saw yesterday. I fear for her. When the seeds o’ anither’s evil get such a deep grip in a body’s mind, naethin’ but ill can come o’t. The seeds o’ Olivia’s evil are still growin’ aroun’ us, I’m thinkin’.”
“I was shocked at what she said,” I said. “When I told her this morning that I was coming to see you, she became frightened all over again. She begged me not to come. She hasn’t been herself since we were here yesterday. She slept most of the day. She looks different. Her voice is different.”
Ranald sighed and shook his head. “’Tis deep spiritual mischief afoot,” he said. His voice was grave. “Fit’s lang lain dormant may be comin’ back tae rear its head again. We maun be on oor guard, as the Lord says.”
“What do you mean, spiritual mischief?” I asked.
Ranald had been standing near his hearth as we spoke. He now sat down opposite me and thought seriously for at least a minute before answering. As I waited, the cottage became so still and quiet inside that again I became aware of the wind blowing about outside, occasionally whistling or gusting down the chimney and agitating the fire.
“Hoo weel acquainted are ye, Marie,” said Ranald at length, “wi’ the forces o’ spiritual darkness in the world?”
“I, uh…I don’t know,” I replied. “Are you talking about…you mean the devil and Satan and that kind of thing?”
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