Beneath (2 page)

“Yes, but then a feed sack would suit you,” said Jess, noting how intensely blue Freya’s eyes looked next to the wool, and how her hair shone against it. She was still right though: it didn’t matter. People stole glances at Freya
whatever
she wore. Her body curved softly in all the right places. Standing next to her, Jess felt about as shapely as one of the smoked eels she’d just delivered.
Scrawny
. That was the word. She sighed.

“You try.” Freya held the blue wool in front of Jess. Jess scowled at her reflection.

“Mmnn… maybe the red would suit you better,” said Freya critically.

“They’re wasted on me,” Jess said. “I’ll still look like a bundle of sticks, whatever you put me in.”

They folded the cloth and put it back as Arnor came over with a handful of coins for the blaeberries.

“Spending or saving?” he asked as he handed them over.

“Saving.”

“No new dress then?” He gestured to the counter.

“Goodness, I can’t imagine I’ll
ever
need a dress that fancy. I’d have to move to Dundee. Anyway, it would upset the cows if I went to milk them wearing something that bright.” She grinned at him.

“I’ll get your mother’s order made up.”

“We’ll go for a walk so we don’t get in your way,” said Freya, steering Jess towards the door.

“Or you could stay and help…” Arnor suggested.

“No, it’s all right. We’ll be back in an hour.”

As they emerged onto the street, Jess said, “How do you
do
that? I’d never get away with wandering off when there’s work to be done.”

“Well, there’s more work on a farm. Anyway, he likes to do it himself really, and Lachlan’s in the storeroom if it gets busy and he needs help,” said Freya promptly.

Lachlan was Arnor’s ancient assistant, so slow-moving now that if you asked him for milk you’d likely get cheese. Jess was unsure how much help he actually was, but he was as much a part of the shop as the floorboards or the wolf’s head.

The real truth was, though, Arnor never refused Freya anything. Her mother had died when she was three, and Freya was all that Arnor had left of her.

They strolled past the smithy and the carpenter’s shop and dodged a bucket of slops being thrown out the back door of the inn. When they reached the arched bridge where the river flowed through town they stopped and sat on the parapet. The water was low at this time of year, and sluggish. As she watched it, Jess remembered the conversation with her grandmother the day before.

“Have you heard anything about Donald?” she asked Freya.

“Only that the search has been called off. Why?”

“You haven’t heard anything about him drowning, then?”

“
Drowning
? Donald? He could swim like an otter.”

“Mmnn… That’s what I thought. It was something my gran said, but she must have been confused.”

“Hah! That’ll be the day. Your gran’s got a sharper brain than most people in Kirriemuir.”

“I know. That’s why I wondered. She said something about footprints at Roseroot Pool.”

Freya shrugged. “Footprints all look the same. I don’t see how they could know if they were Donald’s.” She tossed a pebble into the river. “Will your father go on the wolf hunt?”

“I think so. I bet Arnor will.”

Freya flashed a smile. “He can’t wait. He still hopes he might find another one like the Summer Wolf. There are meant to
be black wolves over by Dundee, but I’ve not heard of them round here, though Lachlan says he’s heard stories.” She rolled her eyes.

“Come on. It should be safe to go back now.” Freya hopped down from the parapet.

Arnor had already packed the order on to the cart for Jess when they arrived, and she set off soon afterwards. This time, lost in her own thoughts, Jess forgot to think of eyes that might be watching from the shadows under the birch trees as she neared home.

Bathed in summer sun, Westgarth Farm was a welcoming sight: the farmhouse with its thick stone walls, and deep eaves to help the snow slide off and to shelter the woodpiles in winter. Around the farm buildings were the fields and little orchard and pastures that fed the family and provided their income, and beyond that the forest and the hills began – the summits of Glas Maol and Cairn Bannoch lost in cloud even on a fine day like this.

“I’m back,” Jess called as she drove into the farmyard. Ashe came running from the stable on the off-chance that there was a surprise for him, and found himself lugging a sack of flour into the larder instead. Martha and Jess finished unloading then sent Ashe to unharness the horse.

While her mother put things away, Jess went to talk to Ellen.

“Gran?”

“Yes, child?”

“Yesterday, when you were talking about Donald drowning, you were going to say something else when Mother came in.”

Ellen looked up from her knitting, with an innocent look.

“Was I, dear? I don’t remember. Perhaps you imagined it.”

Jess knew she hadn’t. She looked hard at her grandmother, but the old woman returned her gaze calmly.

“At my age I’m bound to forget things sometimes,” she said, and went back to her knitting.

Mist hung above the sea of grass, the sun no more than a suggestion of light beyond it. The land breathed quietly, waking.

There was a sound, a mutter that grew to a drumming: hooves. A half-grown horse emerged from the mist, black coat streaked with sweat, running desperately. It pounded across the grass without slackening pace. Behind it, gaining with every second, ran three black wolves, yellow fangs bared, bloodlust in their eyes.

As the grass gave way to trees the horse had to slow a little and the wolves closed the gap still further.

The path between the trunks was blocked by huge briar bushes. The horse swerved and turned, but there was no way through. It stopped at last, at bay, flanks heaving, trembling with exhaustion.

The wolves walked forward slowly. There was no need to hurry. The horse would not escape them now.

The horse’s shape wavered like a disturbed reflection, and suddenly it was no longer there. Instead, there was a girl; brown haired, blue eyed.

The wolves paused for a few seconds.

Then they sprang.

He should have done it when he had the chance, but she’d sensed he was there, and then… and then he had had to fight the wolf that had somehow followed him through the gateway. She had fled by then, terrified, and she hadn’t been back to the pool since. He would have to find another way.

His feelings for her were as strong as ever. She belonged with him, she just didn’t know it.

As for his family… once he had taken her, there was nothing they could do.

Summer wore away. The hay was safely in, the barley harvested and the apples ripening. The blaeberry season was over and the brambles were almost ready for picking.

No one outside Donald’s own family spoke of him any more.

Jess turned fifteen. Her parents gave her a jacket lined with fur for the winter and her grandmother knitted her some gloves. Freya gave her a string of blue beads and Ashe gave her a frog, hoping she would scream, but yelped himself later when he found she’d tucked it up in his bed.

The day of the harvest ceilidh came: a major social occasion in Kirriemuir and the surrounding farms.

Jess grumbled her way through the preparations.

“I should have made you a new dress,” said her mother, frowning at her.

“There’s nothing wrong with this one.” Jess looked down at it. “It still fits.”
Unfortunately
, she thought, but she wasn’t about to say it.

“I know, but you wore it last year.”

“Well, you and I are probably the only people at the ceilidh who’re going to remember that,” Jess said, a bit more sharply than she’d intended.

It was true. Jess would spend the evening with Freya, which meant no one would really notice her,
whatever
she was wearing.

Not that she minded. At least, that was what she told herself. Lately she seemed to have trouble knowing how she felt about lots of things.

Boys, for instance.

It used to be easy. They tried to pull your hair and you either ignored them or tripped them up so that they fell into a cowpat.

Lately though, it had got much more complicated. They went about in packs, like dogs. They stood and stared, and whispered to each other and sniggered. Occasionally one would sidle up and mumble something incomprehensible. Jess knew she ought to smile and encourage them to try human speech, but she was usually so disconcerted when it happened that her tongue would say something that sent them off with a scarlet face before her brain could stop it.

Freya didn’t seem to have any such difficulties. She smiled and tossed her hair and turned her blue eyes on them until they blushed and stammered. Some of them were allowed to put an arm around her waist, but the one who once dared to try and kiss her got a slap that left her handprint clear on his cheek. After that, no one else tried.

No one had tried even once to put an arm around Jess’s waist. She didn’t know whether she was relieved or aggrieved.

Back in her room, she brushed her hair, tried it up, tried it down, and gave up altogether.

“Ready,” she called as she came back into the main room to find Ashe complaining about being left at home with his grandmother.

“Next year,” Ian was saying to him. “Maybe. If you stop
moaning now.”

Ashe thought about it and quietened.

“You look lovely, lass,” said Ellen.

“I just look the same as always, really, except that the dress is clean,” said Jess prosaically.

“I know.” Her grandmother smiled. “Here. Put this on.” She held out a flat wooden box and opened it. Inside lay a fine gold chain, set with small garnets.

“Oh no, Gran. I’d better not…”

Jess recognised it as the necklace her grandfather had given her grandmother as a wedding gift.

“Nonsense. I meant to give it to you on your birthday, but I forgot. I’m too old to wear jewellery any more and I always meant it to go to you.” Ellen fastened it round Jess’s neck. “There. Now you look ready to celebrate the harvest.”

“Thank you.” Pink with pleasure, Jess hugged her grandmother.

“Off you go then, all of you. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”

“Jess!” Freya called from halfway up the hall, her bright blue dress standing out clearly from the duller clothes of the people around her.

She came over, her eyes instantly drawn to Jess’s new necklace.

“That’s lovely,” she said. “Was it a birthday present?”

Jess nodded. “From Gran.”

“It’s beautiful,” Freya said, then spoiled the moment by adding, “But you should have had a new dress to go with it.”

With an exasperated sigh, Jess followed her over to get something to eat.

“Anyway, never mind about the dress, no one else will notice. I’ve got a surprise for you,” Freya continued.

“What?”

“Turn round and you’ll see.”

Jess turned and found that someone was standing right behind her. Someone so tall that she was staring at his chest. She looked up.

“Magnus!” She hugged him, then took a step back to look into his blue eyes. “My goodness, I’ll get a crick in my neck. You’ve grown a whole foot since the last time I saw you. When did you get here?”

“This afternoon,” Magnus replied, laughing. “And Freya hasn’t stopped talking since.”

Freya gave his dark blond hair a yank.

“Ow!”

“Behave yourself, cousin. Just because you’re a city boy now doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be rude about your country relations.”

“I bet she’s been talking to you about clothes,” said Jess with an evil smile.

“Yes. And boys.”

Freya was scarlet. “Oh stop it.” She drew herself up and tried to look dignified. “I was hoping you were both mature enough by now to have stopped ganging up on me, but obviously you’re not.”

Magnus howled with laughter. “Why would we stop? It’s much too entertaining watching you rise to it every single time.”

Freya tossed her head and flounced off.

“Oh dear,” said Jess remorsefully, watching her back recede.

“She’ll forget to be angry in about two minutes,” said Magnus, looking around at the crowd of people gathered in the hall. “I miss this place, you know.”

Magnus was a year older than Freya and Jess and, until two years ago, had lived just outside Kirriemuir. The three of them had been good friends growing up, but Jess had lost touch with Magnus a bit since he moved with his parents to Dundee.

The fiddlers struck up and Magnus dragged Jess off to dance a reel, despite her protests. After a minute Freya whirled past them with one of her admirers, hair flying and eyes shining, her good humour evidently restored.

Later in the evening, Jess, Freya and Magnus sat on the parapet of the bridge, letting the fresh air cool their sweaty skin. It was stiflingly hot in the hall now; when the people of Kirriemuir got together to enjoy themselves, they did it wholeheartedly.

“I heard about Donald,” Magnus said. “I can’t believe they didn’t find any trace of him at all. It’s like that other boy last year.”

“Aidan,” said Freya.

Magnus nodded. “What do you think happened?”

“Jess’s grandmother said something about him drowning in Roseroot Pool, but that can’t be right or they’d have found… him,” Freya said.

“She didn’t say drowned. I’m not really sure
what
she meant,” Jess pointed out.

“Most people seem to think a rogue wolf must have taken him,” said Freya. “There have been a few around since midsummer – there was another hunt about a month ago and they killed four – but there were no tracks or blood when he went missing… No one knows anything, really.”

“Have you decided yet if you want to stay in Dundee?” Jess asked Magnus, wanting to change the subject.

There was enough light to see him shrug.

“I don’t know. My parents like it there and I suppose I can get a job in the same sawmill as my father eventually. He earns good money. And he certainly smells better than I do when I come home from work at the tannery.”

He jumped down from the parapet on to the road. “Come on, let’s go back in. It must be time for another dance.”

In the end, Magnus stayed for almost a fortnight, and seemed to Jess to spend nearly as much time helping around the farm at Westgarth as he did with Freya and Arnor; an extra pair of hands was never unwelcome.

“That lad’s taken a fancy to you, you know,” said Ellen after Magnus had gone back to Dundee.

“
Magnus
?” Jess turned to look at her gran, soapy water dripping from her hands. “No, he hasn’t. We’ve known each other forever. He’s a friend, that’s all. Goodness, I hardly even think of him as a boy. He’s just… himself.”

“You must admit he’s spent a lot of time here, the last two weeks.”

“Well… yes. But that’s because he misses farm life in Dundee. No, you’re definitely wrong, Gran,” Jess said firmly, and turned back to the sink.

Behind her, Ellen smiled.

Freya arrived at Westgarth to spend the weekend. She seemed to have brought a great many clothes with her for two days, Jess thought as she watched, mesmerised.

“Did I misunderstand how long you’re staying? Not that I wouldn’t be happy to have you here right through the winter, but we’ll need to get a bigger cupboard, or make Ashe keep his clothes in the barn.” She thought for a second. “Actually, they smell as though that’s where he keeps them already.”

Freya gave Jess a hard look.

“Just because you’re happy to live in three dresses all year round – last year’s dresses at that – doesn’t mean I have to. You’re going to have to grow up sometime, Jess.”

Jess sat down on the window seat with a thump, mouth open in astonishment.

“What on earth do you mean?”

“You want life to stay exactly the same as it is now: you here, me helping my father in the shop, spending time like this. But it won’t. You need to start thinking about the future.
Looking for someone. The farm will go to Ashe one day. You’ll need to find somewhere else to be home.”

“Ashe is only ten. It’s not exactly urgent,” Jess said, laughing. “What brought this on?”

“You scare off all the boys in town. You ought to be a bit more… patient with them.”

“But I don’t
like
any of them. Why would I want to encourage them? And anyway, what am I meant to do – flutter my eyelashes and pretend to be an idiot?”

Freya rounded on her.

“Is that what you think I do?”

“No! I didn’t mean that.” She got up and took Freya’s hands in hers. “Of course I don’t think that. It’s just all that
I
can think of to do.”

After an awkward few seconds, Freya turned back to her unpacking and, to Jess’s relief, the subject was dropped.

Next morning, the girls went into the woods to look for mushrooms and late berries. It was surprisingly warm, and once they’d filled a basket with mushrooms they sat on a fallen tree trunk in a little pool of sunlight. Jess unpacked the bottle of water and slabs of apple cake she’d brought.

“Have you heard from Magnus since he went home?” she asked.

Freya shook her head. “He was never one for writing letters. I’m going to stay with them next month though. Father wants to go and see the cloth merchant in Dundee, so I thought I’d go with him. You could come too,” she added, as though it was nothing more than an afterthought. “Magnus would like that.”

Jess gave her a suspicious look. “You sound like my gran.”

Freya’s brow creased. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind. I’ll think about it – if you don’t think I’d just be in the way?”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

Jess brushed crumbs from her skirt and jumped down from
the tree trunk. “I’m bored with mushrooms. Let’s see if there are any brambles left.”

The first two patches they reached had already been stripped.

“Let’s try that big patch at Roseroot Pool,” Freya suggested.

Jess felt a chill run through her limbs. “No,” she said abruptly. She hadn’t been to the pool since that odd day in the summer, and found she didn’t want to go back, even now. “I mean, they’re probably all gone too.”

“They can’t
all
be gone,” said Freya. “Let’s at least have a look.” She looked at Jess curiously. “Or has what Ellen said about the pool got you spooked?”

“Of course not,” said Jess. “Come on then.”

Don’t be ridiculous,
she told herself.
You’ve been messing around there all your life. Nothing’s changed.

She followed Freya.

The brambles formed an impenetrable wall, higher than the girls’ heads. They put down the basket of mushrooms when they saw that there were still plenty of berries, and their hands were soon scratched and stained purple.

Jess leaned forwards to grab a particularly large berry and found she was stuck, her hair tangled round a shoot. She tried unsuccessfully to free herself.

“Oh, blast the thing! Freya, come and help me.” There was no answer. “Freya?”

“Shh! I’m listening.”

“To what? No – never mind. I’m stuck here. Come and help me.”

Unable to turn her head, Jess listened to Freya pushing through the undergrowth towards her, and then laughing.

“How on earth did you get so tangled up?”

“I don’t know. Get me loose,” Jess wailed.

“Hold still then.”

A couple of minutes later, Jess was free and the girls decided they’d had enough of brambles for the day. They had a respectable basketful anyway.

Jess bent to pick up the mushrooms.

“What were you listening to, before?” she asked.

“I thought I heard a horse on the other side of the bramble patch. I wondered who was coming.”

“No one, or we’d have seen them by now.”

“I know. That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Let’s go round that way and have a look.”

They gathered their things and strolled round the edge of the brambles until they could see Roseroot Pool itself.

Jess gazed across the water.

“No one,” she said. “They might have stopped to say hello, whoever they were. They’ll have known we were there, the amount of noise we were making.”

Freya gripped her arm suddenly.