The Highwayman's Curse (18 page)

I
ona was dead. There could be no doubt. A part of my mind was blank, numb, refusing to accept. And yet, I must accept it. Murdoch had drilled a hole in the side of her head while she was alive. He had tortured her before leaving her to drown.

I could say nothing to Bess. Not now. She needed to believe, to hope. I needed something else to fill my head. I needed to believe that there was a reason why I struggled through that passageway, in the dark, in fear and exhaustion. Because now, indeed, exhaustion began to take hold. As I sat there, uselessly rubbing her hands and trying to stop my tears from flowing, I felt my strength dissolve; I sensed the cold creep over me until I was shivering with an iciness that pierced my bones.

Iona had died a useless, cruel death, just as Henry Parish had done. Bess and I had tried to save them both. And we had failed.

Despair began to take a hold. What was the point in believing in justice? Yes, I would take Iona's body back, because that was right and proper. But what then?

If it were not for Bess, I think perhaps I would have given up at that moment. I am ashamed to say so, because I thought myself stronger. But then Bess did not know what I knew, that Iona was dead and that we had failed.

From the noise of the waves, I knew that the sea rose quickly behind us. I could feel its spray, hear its rhythmic breath, like a huge monster spitting at us.

“Hurry!” urged Bess.

For a moment, I did not reply. But I glimpsed her face in the candlelight. Full of hope it was, her eyes alight, full of determination once more.

Although I had no hope, yet what else could I do but follow her?

“Lead the way,” I said. And she squeezed past me as I sat with Iona's body on my lap.

A wave crashing against my back and splashing across Iona's upturned face goaded me to activity. Quickly, I grasped her under both arms and hoisted her over my shoulder, summoning all my strength once more to climb up the unknown passageway.

Sometimes the passage levelled out. Sometimes it twisted round a corner. Sometimes we seemed to climb as if up a flight of stairs, though never have I seen stairs so irregular and treacherous. Always, we moved slowly, painfully slowly. Stones slipped under our feet, rocky overhangs threatened to lacerate our faces, and all the while, over and over again, the waves below us reached up with their grasping fingers or sent their icy spray across our backs.

As we climbed, the force of the waves behind us grew. More than once I found myself hurled forwards, sometimes falling onto my face, Iona's legs beneath me. Although I had no hope of her being alive, I nevertheless tried to protect her body from further harm.

Although I would doubtless have moved faster without her weight, not once did I think of leaving her body to the waves. How could I have borne to see Jeannie's face, or Jock's, and Calum's, if I had not brought her body home? They needed to bury her, I knew that. Even Thomas, though he had condemned her for her betrayal, surely he too would want to mourn over her corpse? When he saw her small frame, her beautiful flame-red hair, surely he would forgive her too?

And so, I carried her, though my heart was as heavy as it had ever been. I followed the small flame that Bess carried before her.

But I did not know how much longer I could keep going. My head felt dizzy. Pain sliced through my lungs, my chest, each time I took a breath. And my legs grew more and more tired, losing strength, until even lifting them required all my effort.

Yet, every time I thought I must stop, every time I almost called to Bess, another wave would hurl itself against my legs, snatching at my ankles. And when it did, I wanted to scream my anger at the sea.

In my head, strange sounds flitted. The pounding of blood, the roaring of the sea, my own breathing, the crunching of stones beneath my feet, Bess's footsteps in front of me, and voices.

Voices!

Ahead of us! Surely that was Calum's voice! We were almost there – at the place where the passage from the farmhouse met this one, the place where we had had to leap across when the tide was high.

My mind was broken in two parts. In one part, relief at our safety, mine and Bess's. And in the other, dread.

“W
e are safe, Will!” came Bess's voice from above me. I saw her legs disappear quickly upwards, saw her smiling down, and Calum's face beside hers. The dancing light of two lanterns leapt up the craggy walls. Red was there too, I saw, reaching down with his strong arms towards me.

I said nothing, but prepared to lift Iona high above me so that he could take her. I had only to climb the last few steps with her, before heaving myself over the lip of the hole, and hauling myself over and to safety.

“Hurry!” urged Red, as I gathered my strength. What was the hurry? The waves had not beaten us. We would be safe.

I did not know if I had the strength to lift her above my shoulders. She was heavy, lifeless as she was, and soaked through, her clothes weighty with water. And I was tired. Very tired. This was why I paused so long, summoning all the strength I could find. I almost wished not to let her go, perhaps to hold onto the knowledge that she was dead. I wished no one else to know.

“Hurry!” said Red again. “The highest waves are near. Ye dinna ken their strength.”

“I know their strength!” I snapped. “Have I not come this far?”

Now Calum's voice came to me. “The last waves o' the rising tide have a terrible power, Will. Hurry – Red is right!”

And, as he said that, as if the sea had heard, an awful muttering roar came from below me, in the bowels of the cliff. I felt the air sucked from around me, a gathering pressure on my ears, and the hairs on my neck rising. The moment after Red reached down and pulled Iona from me, I grasped the edge of the rock, and an enormous wave hit me from behind, shooting its power high into the air.

For several moments I could neither breathe nor see. I could hear nothing but the roar of water around me, feel nothing but its tugging arms, think of nothing but gripping the rocks for dear life. But when the wave fell back, its vast, dragging power ripped me from the wall of the tunnel and plunged me into its depths.

As the water carried me down at huge speed, I felt no pain, though the rocks tore my clothes and sliced the flesh on my side. In an instant, I was being hurled upwards again. I had no time to think, no power to make any choices at all. I had, I know, resigned myself to a quick death – already my thoughts were drifting into emptiness – when suddenly I found myself hurled to the top of the wave, and grabbed by unseen hands.

Now, the pain was intense as I landed on my side, hauled to safety by Red and Calum, their faces looming over me. I was choking and coughing, vomiting seawater. My clothes were shredded in parts, blood seeping through the cloth above my hip and my thigh. I must have been cut in a dozen places and the air and salt water stung viciously.

Barely able to remain awake, scarcely aware of what was happening, I felt myself lifted into the air in strong arms and I groaned as I was thrown over a broad shoulder. Red was carrying me, I dimly understood. In front of us, I saw Iona, carried in the same way over Calum's shoulder, hanging limp and grey-faced. Bess went first, carrying one of the lanterns, and I saw her look back at me with concern. I did not know whether she understood that Iona was dead, or whether any of them did, though I think they must have known. But I could do nothing now.

And then, at last, I surrendered and let my eyes close on the pain.

I
awoke to the sounds of voices. We had reached the trapdoor. Calum had already carried Iona's body up the rungs and the sound I heard above all else was the crying of Jeannie as she tried to take in her granddaughter's death.

“Let me walk,” I said now. I would not be carried up like this. But Red ignored me and carried me upwards until I was pulled into the warm fug of the dwelling by other hands.

Blood was all over one side of my body, soaked through my clothing, and the palms of my hands were cut in several places. I must have been a shocking sight, bedraggled and bleeding. For one confused moment, I thought I saw Iona stoking the fire or stirring something in a pot. But it was Bess who brought warm water to bathe my cuts. And it was Bess, drenched through herself, who would not let them question me until she and Red had removed my jacket and trousers. She made me sit by the fire, with only some sheeting to preserve my modesty and a scratchy blanket to keep me warm, while she soaked the scraped flesh of my legs and hip and shoulder with warm water, wincing for me as she did. Someone brought a salve which she pasted onto the cuts – these were not deep, but the ones on my hands bled profusely until she bound them.

I suppose that Calum had already told them much of what had happened when he had returned to the cottage after Mad Jamie's message, though he could not have known the outcome, and much cursing of Douglas Murdoch had doubtless been done as they waited for us to come up the passageway. Of this I was glad: I do not think I could have borne to hear them rant and rail. They seemed shocked into inaction, with no arguments about immediate punishment and revenge.

The horses! “Where are the horses? Did Mad Jamie…?”

“Do not fret,” replied Bess. “I have already asked. They are safe. Jamie sent Billy to fetch them. They had stayed where we left them.”

Through half-closed eyes, I watched the others. I had not spoken to Jeannie. I did not need to, not yet. With tears still wet on her cheeks, she was stroking Iona's face and smoothing her hair. The girl's body lay on the other side of the fire from me – I thought it should be away from such warmth, but it was not for me to say or to interfere. Jeannie gently removed the wet and torn clothes, shaking her head at the bruising. She wiped away the still oozing blood from wounds which were similar to mine, and wrapped her carefully in some sheeting.

Thomas wept, too, kneeling beside his daughter. His face was white, his eyes glazed. He said not a single word. I know not what he thought, beyond his grief. Did he forgive her now? Calum, I believe, did forgive her, and his grief was indeed real and raw and right.

Old Maggie was not there, for which I was very glad. She would be in her cottage and I hoped she would stay there.

Jock lay where he had lain before. On his side, his face turned away. I suppose he slept. Tam lay beside him, also asleep. Mouldy sat at the table with Billy. Their faces spoke of sorrow and shock and a lack of understanding. They did not know what to do. Red went to Jeannie. He put his arm across her shoulders. It was strange to see him so subdued by events.

A hush now fell across that dwelling.

Bess took hot water from the pot and mixed it with oatmeal. She poured some into a bowl and brought it to me. I thanked her and, although brose was far from my favourite food, I was glad of it then.

“Bess, ye should put dry clothes on,” said Jeannie after a while.

I was angry that I had not said so myself. Although the room was warm, Bess was beginning to shiver. At first she refused, but Red insisted, and so did I. Jeannie smiled at her a little as she spoke, “I have need o' ye in good health, Bess. We all have need o' ye more than ever now.”

I did not much like to hear this.

Mouldy went with Bess to the other cottage and a short while later they returned, Bess now wearing her woman's clothing. She brought with her some clean clothes of mine, too, though I did not put them on at that time. Then she sat beside the fire with me, on the other side from Iona's body. When she looked at me and met my eyes, I know she thought of Henry Parish, as I did, and of Iona. I could not help but think also of the world's injustice, and I wonder if she did too.

Very soon, the salve which Bess had pasted on my grazes began to soothe the pain and I started to feel drowsy, listening to the hissing of the fire and the whimpering of the dogs, and the soft clink of tankards as men drank the next hour away. And I think some of them began to settle down to an uneasy sleep themselves, to ease away the sadness of that evening, to lose their thoughts in dreams.

But it was not to be. Into my sleepy mind, came a knocking on the door of the dwelling.

Old Maggie. In she wandered when Billy opened the door. All dishevelled from sleep, she was, her matted white hair loose around her shoulders. But her eyes were bright, alert, like an early morning bird's.

Jeannie looked up from where she sat beside Iona's body. Her eyes narrowed, and her shoulders drew together slightly. Her whole body became still, as she waited.

I, too, waited, wishing the old woman had not come here now. Her presence threw a pall over everything. I looked to Bess but could read nothing in her face.

Surely, now, at last, Old Maggie would soften, when she saw Iona's body? Surely she must have some heart left?

O
ld Maggie walked into the cottage. We looked towards her, those of us who were awake.

She shuffled slowly, clutching a thin shawl round her shoulders. Her feet were bare, the gnarled toes yellowed. Her jaw moved constantly, as though she chatted to some unseen spirit, but no words came, no sound other than of her feet on the floor. Straight to Iona she went. She stood there, looking down on the vivid red hair, the empty face, the peaceful lips, the closed eyes. Jeannie had made her hair cover the tiny mark on her skull.

Old Maggie nodded. Just nodded. And then moved on. Over to the spinning-wheel she shuffled, settled herself down and took the loose thread in one hand. With the other hand, she began to move the wheel and soon its rhythmic click filled the cottage. My eyes narrowed as I looked up into the rafters, where smoke sat heavily, wrapping itself around the twisted beams.

No one had spoken since Old Maggie came in. It was as though they looked to her to make a judgement. Their silence angered me. Her silence angered me. I wanted to know what she thought, whether it was too much for her that Iona had died. I wanted to see how far her hatred would take her.

I would not be silent.

“Are you satisfied?” My raw anger, my rudeness, broke the stillness of that place. There was a shifting of bodies, an intake of breath. I knew that my words, and their harsh tone, were wrong, that I should not speak to an old woman in such a way. She was sick, and frail, and probably mad. Yet she had a power I did not like.

The wheel stopped spinning. She turned to me. Then she looked at Iona.

“I tellt ye. I tellt ye all.” It was a simple statement. Yet it said all I needed to hear.

What of the others? Was Iona's death enough to salve their hatred and anger? I felt it my right to ask now, that I had earned such a right.

“Jeannie? Thomas? Will you even now let this hatred grow?” Jeannie looked to her oldest son and Thomas seemed as though he wished to speak, but no words came from him.

It was Red who spoke first. “The lad is right. Iona has died and we should no' speak ill o' her now. 'Tis an evil man's doing.” Calum was nodding at this.

Now Thomas spoke. “Aye, she brought shame on us but she was a bitty lass. She didna deserve this.”

“'Twas written,” said Old Maggie. For a moment I thought she referred to the words on the scrap of paper, but she could not have done. She only meant that it was written in fate. But I knew that could not be – I knew in my heart that destiny is not written down. If it was, God would have nothing to measure us by when Judgement Day came. “She was curst,” muttered Old Maggie. “She was always curst.”

“No!” I shouted. “She was not cursed, any more than I am cursed! Think of her – was she cursed with her beautiful hair, her green eyes, her lovely face? Was she cursed to live in this place, with her family? Was she cursed that she found love and happiness? It was men who killed her, not a curse, and they only did so to hurt her family. They only did so to continue the hatred.”

Everyone looked at me now, and I saw that Red nodded in agreement. I went on, “I have had an evil man throw a curse on me too, and no bad came of it. And if evil happens to me, it will be through no curse, but through my own actions, or the actions of others, or chance. A curse has no power if you allow it no power.”

“All drest in white they were!” said the old woman, her mad eyes blazing still, though with a fragile desperation. “All drest in white, an' the waves rose an' the waves rose an'…”

“'Twas long ago,” said Jeannie.

“But 'tis still the truth! Look at me! Do I no' bear the scars o' that day?” And she touched her terrible face.

Thomas spoke now. “If Iona was cursed, she is now at rest. We should mourn for her. We should forgive her.”

“Forgive her?” Old Maggie cried now, getting to her feet. “Forgive her! For going wi' an Episcopalian lad? For going wi' the men who killt my mother?”

“Those men will pay,” Red assured her. “We will see to that, but Iona is dead and we should forgive her and think well o' her.”

“He is right,” said Thomas, wearily. “And ye may be sure that Douglas Murdoch will pay for this. Wi' his life.”

“Aye! So he will, and all his clan along wi' him,” Red exclaimed.

My heart sank. Would it ever end? Had they learned nothing?

And yet, should not a murderer pay? Would that not be justice for the terrible thing he had done?

Calum did not speak.

Old Maggie did not hear their last words because now she pointed her finger at Red and spoke again, spitting her rage. “Forgive? I'll no' forgive her even wi' my dying breath! God is on my side.” She pointed now at Bess. “The lass kens. She kens wha' 'tis tae lose a mother and a father. Would she forgive those soldiers?” When Bess said nothing, the old woman was triumphant. “She would no'!”

I looked at Bess. Would she take the old woman's side still? Surely not!