Turn of the Tide (16 page)

‘Debts weigh heavy on me, Mistress, though . . .’ Hugh shifted the child from one shoulder to the other, ‘. . . not half as heavy as some.’

Munro looked away, for watching them felt uncomfortably like intrusion. He was still studying the state of his boots when Hugh pulled him forward.

‘I should have introduced you. Elizabeth Shaw, to whom I owe a gown, and Gillis, the youngest and . . .’ Hugh tweaked one of Gillis’ braids, ‘. . . pawkiest of her
sisters. This is Munro – we rode together from Stirling. He makes for Renfrew the morn, but has an errand that takes him to Clonbeith, so I offered him a bed on your behalf.’

A trickle of sweat ran down Munro’s spine – if she was to enquire . . . Elizabeth held out her hand, ‘My apologies, you must think me rude, chiding an old friend before
welcoming a guest.’

He bent over her slender fingers and for a moment was back at Langshaw, greeting Lady Margaret, the message from Glencairn burning in his throat. But when he felt the roughness of her palm,
indicating that laird’s daughter or not, she didn’t spend her days in leisure just, the moment passed. ‘I trust I don’t intrude?’

She directed her smile at him, but he had a feeling that she chose her words for Hugh. ‘Any friend of Hugh’s is a friend of ours also.’ She slid Gillis’ slippers onto her
feet, and set her down. The lad began to lead the horses towards the stable as Hugh, pivoting on his heel, pulled at the cord that held the plump package strapped to the saddle.

‘Now that one weight is removed, I wish to discharge another, that I may sleep undisturbed at night.’

‘Indeed. Well then, I trust it will serve that purpose, even if no other.’

‘I trust it will serve at least one other function.’

She took the package and Munro again felt a sense of intrusion as their fingers touched. He turned away to study a pair of gulls on the barmkin wall who squabbled over a crust – she
reminds me of Kate: not short on spirit.

She retraced her steps to gather Munro up, the parcel stowed under her arm. ‘We have dallied long enough. Christian will be crying me all sorts for keeping you out here in the cold.
I’m sure you’re ready for a bite.’

He answered her, smile for smile, ‘That I am – the breakfast at Fintrie was adequate, I can’t say else, but it was a while ago and the journey extended somewhat by our stop in
Glasgow. The clothier clearly didn’t have much regard for Hugh’s knowledge of fabrics. It’s a blessing that Patrick was there to aid in the choice.’

‘That isn’t quite the experience I look for in Hugh, or not yet awhile.’

In the lull between their arrival and the serving of supper, Munro sat by the fire playing cats-paw with Gillis. Opposite him Christian blushed each time he caught her eye. Gillis, tiring of the
game, disappeared onto the stair and Munro heard the slip-slap of her slippers on the stone steps and the muffled creak of a door. It was a matter of moments only before she burst back into the
hall.

‘Hugh and Elizabeth are by the caphouse, and Hugh has lent her his jerkin.’

Christian turned from the laying of the table. ‘Well? It’s a mite chilly. Earlier I felt the need of some air, and was likewise unprepared.’ She took Gillis by the hand.
‘You can help with the bringing of the dishes. It will all be ready I’m sure.’ And ignoring the child’s scowl, marched her towards the door.

Munro stared into the fire – how these sisters look to each other. As it should be, of course. But not always so. Hugh reappeared and Munro searched his face for telltale signs of a job
well done, chiding himself as he did so – why should I care? I scarcely know them. Though I can’t help liking them both. Elizabeth reappeared, but as she carried nothing, Munro knew
that it wasn’t from the kitchens she came. She gestured him to the table.

‘I trust you aren’t famished with the wait.’

‘You had other, more pressing affairs to see to?’ He drew the suspicion of a smile, and thought of Kate, who had that same ability to convey much in the twitch of a lip. It would be
easy to see them friends.

Gillis sidled in, tongue protruding between her teeth, carefully balancing a jug of ale in both hands, John hard on her heels. Elizabeth moved swiftly to take it from her, but Gillis jerked back
so that ale splashed on the stone flags.

Her face puckered into a frown and she stamped her foot. ‘See what you made me do – Janet said I could carry it myself and I was careful.’

Munro stifled his laugh, for there was some justice in the complaint, and though it didn’t do to countenance rudeness in a bairn, he could tell by Elizabeth’s tremor that she
likewise struggled.

‘Put it down else there will be more spilt than saved. And run and wash your hands.’

Gillis put them behind her back. ‘They don’t need.’

Elizabeth scrubbed at an imaginary mark on the palm of her hand, ‘Well, mine do. We’ll do them together.’

For Munro the evening that followed was a blur of good food laced with laughter, so that he had a wish that Kate was there to share in it. Not a feeling he’d ever had at Kilmaurs.

Hugh chose the moment as Elizabeth was gathering Gillis for bed, to stand up and rap on the table. John jumped up.

‘I see she has landed you at last. Though whether my father will look with favour on such a troublesome addition to the family . . .’

Hugh made a show of protest.

‘You needn’t fear. I’m not keen to cross Elizabeth if she’s a mind, and I doubt father has a stouter heart. Or you for that matter – are you sure you know what
you’re taking on?’

It was Elizabeth’s turn for mock anger. ‘I don’t need an enemy to speak ill of me, for my own brother does it well enough.’

Munro, laughing with the rest, turned his head sideways in time to see Gillis, who had been pulling on Elizabeth’s arm and demanding to know what John was talking about, finally lose
patience. She screwed up her face, opening her mouth as wide as she could and screeched at the top of her voice. The effect was instant.

With everyone’s attention on her, she stared hard at John, ‘No-one has asked me if I want another brother.’

‘Nor Hugh if he wants a corncrake for a sister’

Hugh bowed to Gillis, ‘And do you wish it, lady? And will I serve?’

She cocked her head to one side like a sparrow, her expression severe. ‘I dare say there could be worse . . .’ then stamped her foot when everyone around her dissolved again into
laughter. She prepared to repeat her earlier performance but Elizabeth tugged her plait, ‘Before I am to have a husband, I must needs have a maid. Do you think you can do that?’

The conversation broke then, words flying like shuttles, humorous and atrocious in equal measure, with Hugh, and Elizabeth, when she slipped back to her place, in the midst of it all and
perfectly at ease. Afterwards Munro lay on the pallet in the small chamber above the solar, listening to Hugh snoring rhythmically beside him, thoughts of the past few days killing sleep –
how easy they are. How easy I am with them. He thought of Broomelaw. And of Kate who had been first his friend, before his wife and lover. Who he had thought, wrongly, all softness and dimples,
with hair lustrous as a raven’s wing. Who was totally without malice, yet had a core of steel. Who wasted no words, but armed with a quiet intelligence that underpinned everything she did or
said, could slice into his soul with all the precision and efficiency of a well-judged sword thrust. Who had made a home of their modest tower-house, warm and secure. And who would see danger in
his current ease. He thought on the bairns; perhaps Kate’s greatest weapon: Robbie, fine-boned and dark, his mother incarnate; Anna, small and sturdy and feisty yet. Falling into an uneasy
sleep, his dreams disjointed and irrational, he woke to the memory of his own words to William on his return from Langshaw. ‘Your father is a dangerous man to cross . . .’ And as he
took his leave and rode for home, regret at what couldn’t be dragged at him, like an anchor snagged on weed.

Elizabeth was leaning on the barmkin wall, shading her eyes against the late afternoon sun.

Behind her, John’s footfall. ‘It is a goodly thing you do. Hugh has long had need of a wife, and one that he can trust withal.’

She thought of the visits lately made to Newark, and of how she had not yet explained that circumstance and how it were as well she did before she was forced to tell their father. She picked at
the lichen on the capstone, now was as good a time as any. ‘I meant to tell you, Christian and I made some visits while you were away, and have contracted that father will make others, so
soon as he returns.’ John, his thoughts still on Hugh and the wedding and therefore not entirely listening, queried,

‘Visits?’

Encouraged, she continued before his concentration improved sufficiently to protest. ‘There was a child . . . he was taken stealing from the warren . . . we fed him and sent him away, but
. . . it’s a shameful thing that there are folk half-starved, and we wasting more than many families have to eat altogether. I set about raising a collection.’

Something of her words seemed to penetrate. ‘What?’

‘A collection: from those of our own class, to provide aid for the unfortunates who, through no fault of their own, find themselves with less than enough food. To tide them through to
harvest just, and ensure that they don’t start the winter half-starved.’

She had his full attention now. ‘So that was your secret. Do you think that father will look kindly on you begging from our neighbours, even if it isn’t for ourselves?’

‘I couldn’t just ignore him.’ Then, as a softening, ‘And neither could you if you’d been here. The child was just a rickle of bones and gey feart. At least we
thought at first he was too feart to eat when offered, but then I said he could take the food away and he was that pleased.’ She pictured the waif running off down the valley, the pail of
bread hugged to his chest. ‘I haven’t asked for much, and in truth have got less, though some have promised to think on it, and to speak to father on his return. Maxwell has been
generous.’

Under her fingers his muscle hardened. ‘Maxwell? For why was he so ready to loose his money? He is no philantrop.’

This was difficult water. ‘I think that the moment I picked was right. His steward was but lately returned from some trading deal: sufficiently successful that he was disposed to be
helpful. I didn’t stay long.’ She found herself flushing at the remembrance of his hand on her arm and his breath hot on her cheek. ‘Indeed, I won’t look to go a-begging
there again, for to find him so kindly disposed another time would be to expect too much.’

‘And how many of our near neighbours have you seen fit to hector on their responsibilities to the poor?’

‘Not hector, John. It was all done in the best of spirits.’ She fought to keep her temper. ‘I have a list of those who have promised at least to think on it and perhaps . . .
if you could look to it before father’s return, then I needn’t trouble him at all.’ She was smoothing the nap of his doublet sleeve, but he tossed her hand away.

‘As far as father goes, you may do as you please. But don’t expect me to go cap in hand to anyone.’

She stared out across the valley, tried again. ‘If you don’t want to be involved in the collection . . .’

He snorted.

‘. . . I had another idea . . .’

‘Which was?’ His tone was hardly encouraging, but she ploughed on.

‘A common warren.’

‘You’re crazy. Who’d have control?’

‘Why not the parish?’

‘The parish couldn’t agree the day of the week, far less a scheme such as that.’ He thumped the capstone beside her. ‘And I suppose you have a list of those who will
support you in this also?’ When she didn’t reply he continued, ‘The sooner Hugh takes you to Braidstane the better, so that your meddling will be his problem and not
ours.’

Her eyes sparked. ‘It’s fine for those who have enough lard about them to keep them warm all winter.’ And in case he missed the point, ‘You were aye roly-poly and set
fair to be so again. If my own family won’t support me in this, I swear to God I’ll be proud to meddle. Our warren released onto the moor and it won’t be long before the
countryside is overrun with meat, for all and to spare. And not before time.’

Munro stopped briefly at Clonbeith to retrieve Sweet Briar and in Greenock to buy gifts: a tiny carved wooden horse for Anna and a miniature brightly painted top for Robbie.
Kate was harder. He didn’t know how she would receive him and wished to choose carefully: something generous enough to please, but not immoderate, lest she thought he sought to buy her
renewed favour. He settled on an embroidered cushion filled with lavender, the scent of it enveloping him like a cloak with every jolt.

Dusk stalked him as he reached Broomelaw and he halted in the gateway, slipping from the saddle to look up at the tower windows. ‘No light, lass,’ he said, fondling Sweet Briar.
‘I trust they aren’t from home, else we must look to ourselves.’ He had paused his hand as he spoke and the horse lifted her head and nudged his palm, so that he petted her again.
‘You shall be first.’ A square of light spilled across the courtyard as the lad opened the top half of the stable door, then, with a rattle of the bolt, swung wide the bottom section
also. Munro relinquished the reins, ‘It seems you will be well cared for, but as for me . . .’ He nodded towards the still dark house. ‘Is your mistress at home?’

‘Aye sir, they are but lately returned from a visit to your mother at Renfrew.’

A light flickered on the stairway as Munro reached the door. He watched its progress through each of the three small windows that lit the turnpike. For a moment again there was darkness. Under
his breath he counted: six steps to the top of the stair, two to the door of the solar – now.

Light flared.

Kate’s face was in shadow, so that he couldn’t tell whether she smiled or not.

‘We hadn’t expected you so soon. No matter . . .’ her voice was half way between uncertain and warm, her body stiff.

‘Kate? What use courtesies if things aren’t straight between us? It isn’t right to waste what we have in regrets. God knows I’m not proud of what was done, but however
much I may wish it, I can’t go back.’ When she still avoided his eyes he stretched out one finger and ran it lightly down her cheek and across her mouth, resting the fingertip against
her lips. ‘Kate?’ She leaned towards him.