by Cait Dee
‘You never do.’
‘He’s my husband. You don’t understand because you’re not wed. But when you are —’
‘I’m never getting married. Not to a man like Gregor.’
‘Stop being so peevish. He’s the only one who can protect us. Did you not see all the folk looking at us, pointing at us in Strathcraig? We mustn’t draw attention to ourselves. Whoever killed the sheep and ransacked the bothy, they’ll be punished in time. Gregor will see to it. But for now we must listen to him. Please, Iona. You need to trust me.’
She puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. For the first time I notice the strain in her face; the way her eyes plead with mine.
Then her eyes drop to my neck. ‘What’s this?’ She runs her fingers down the leather cord until they touch the bloodstone. I pull it away from her.
‘It’s mine. Grizel gave it to me.’
‘I wasn’t going to take it. I just want to see it.’ She reaches out her hand again but I slap it away.
‘Iona! Stop behaving like a —’
‘Don’t tell me what to do. You’ve not got the right. You let them take her. All because of that stupid love spell. Four years we watched you change, become more like him. But I never thought you’d turn on us.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Her chin starts to wobble. ‘I loved Grizel same as you.’
‘You know what I wish? That morning when you dug up the marigolds — I saw you, I knew what you were doing. I could’ve stopped you. Now I wish with all my heart you never forged that love spell!’
There follows a long silence. Ishbel studies my face, frowning. Why doesn’t she yell at me, strike me, do something? Instead, she blinks her eyes, then gazes about the room.
‘Ishbel? What’s the matter with you?’
After a while she shakes her head and says, ‘I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day. Go to bed. We’ll talk more in the morning.’ Then she goes into her sleeping chamber and closes the door behind her.
After she’s gone I can’t help but dwell on what Ishbel said about Grizel. As much as I hate to admit it, part of me knows she spoke the truth. Our aunt had no time for village gossip and she was quick to anger. Some folk in Heatherbrae had been whispering about her for years. She knew what people said about her and she simply shrugged it off.
The last time Grizel attended the kirk was more than half a year ago. Minister Gourlay made her sit on the cuttie stool and pay a fine for non-attendance. Afterwards, as we walked home, Grizel spat on the ground and swore she’d never set foot in the kirkyard again. Ishbel visited us soon after. She went on and on about Minister Gourlay’s standing in the presbytery; how he had powerful connections in Strathcraig and even as far as Aberdeen. Her meaning eluded me then, but now I realise that she was warning Grizel to humble herself before the minister and the kirk elders. It was plain enough that their power and influence had grown in the last few years. The world had changed, but Grizel refused to change with it.
* * *
I can’t sleep. In the dark I lie awake, listening. Every sound — a howlet’s cry, a branch creaking in the wind — causes my heart to race. Finally I force myself to get up and open the shutter.
The moon has set already. It must be past midnight. With the blanket around me I take in a few deep breaths of the cold night air. It helps to calm me down a little. I light the crusie and untie the leather cord to get a better look at the bloodstone, turning it over in my fingertips. I’m supposed to be the guardian — shouldn’t I feel something? Feel different, somehow? But I don’t feel anything. Perhaps Grizel was wrong and Ishbel was supposed to be the guardian after all. Disappointed, I refasten the leather cord around my neck.
Magic comes to Balfour lasses when our womanhood is upon us. After Ishbel’s courses started, her magic came on so quick and strong that even Grizel marvelled at how powerful she was. My courses began almost a year ago but I haven’t felt any changes. Your magic will find you when the time is right, Grizel often reassured me. I peer into the hearth fire; the rowan twigs have long since turned to ash. That was the first spell I ever forged without Grizel’s help, and it’s all come to nocht. For all I know I have no magic in me at all.
When Gregor is home things will go back to normal and I’ll never convince Ishbel to leave. We must away tomorrow morn, before he returns.
His leather bag is hanging on a hook behind the front door. From the spence I take a flagon of Ishbel’s grosset wine and decant some into his pigskin flask. I stuff it in the bag, together with a bundle of oatcakes.
An icy breeze blows in through the open window. As I walk back to close the shutter, a flickering light catches the corner of my eye. At first I can’t see anything, so I lean out the window just to be sure.
In the distance, a row of flames dances in the darkness. Seven, eight, nine torches wend their way through the copse of silver birks between the road and Gregor’s farmhouse. The torchbearers, whoever they are, are only a few minutes away.
With a growing sense of panic, I run to Ishbel’s bed chamber and throw open the door. ‘Ishbel! Wake up.’
‘What is it?’ She rolls over, squinting at the lamplight.
‘They’re coming for us!’
She leaps out of bed and traces my footsteps to the window. She leans out, then quickly closes the shutter.
A feeling of dread erupts in the pit of my stomach. ‘We must go!’
Ishbel nods. ‘Dress in your warmest clothes and climb out the back window. Run into the woods as fast as you can. I’ll distract them, keep them here.’
‘Nae, you must come with me!’
Ishbel cradles my face in her hands. ‘Don’t worry about me. They won’t dare touch a councillor’s wife.’ There is a shrillness in her tone that makes me hesitate. She reaches up and takes Gregor’s dirk from the high shelf. As she gives it to me, she accidentally nicks the palm of my left hand with the tip. When I cry out in pain she grabs my hand and holds it against hers. Then she tells me to put the knife in Gregor’s bag. I throw my arms around her slender waist.
She returns my embrace for a moment, then pulls my arms away and bustles me into the sleeping chamber. ‘Always remember that I love you more than anything. Now, go!’
In the dark I pull on my thickest petticoats and green woollen skirt and then tie the laces of my bodice with shaking hands. My cloak is still in the front room so I take Ishbel’s grey cloak off the hook on the back of the door. It’s too long for me.
Despite the layers, I stand shivering in the darkness.
There’s a rap at the front door, followed by the sound of Ishbel unlatching it.
‘Goodwife,’ says a familiar voice.
‘Gregor!’
A cold sweat breaks across my forehead and my whole body begins to shake. I can’t even force myself to take the few steps to the window. It’s as if my legs are made of iron.
‘Where is she?’ Gregor shouts. I can hear his boots crossing the wooden floor.
‘Iona, run. Run!’ Ishbel cries.
The door to the bed chamber bangs open.
But I’m already out the window, over the low wall of the kailyard and sprinting towards the woods. My sister’s cloak catches under my feet and Gregor’s bag bounces against my legs.
I keep running and don’t look back.
THE CAVE IN THE WOODS
With no moon to light the way, the going is hard. After a few miles of running blindly through the woods, I feel the earth below me give way. I slide down a slope and land heavily. A branch from a fallen tree trunk sticks into the side of my foot, just above the anklebone. The back of my hand muffles a yelp of pain as blood trickles inside my torn boot, soaking my stocking. Queasy, I probe at the wound with my fingertips, trying to work out how bad it is. You just made a blood trade with Bride, Grizel once jested when I pricked a finger on a thorn while out picking blaeberries. It’s a fair bargain.
It’s bitterly cold and the night air burns my lungs with every breath
. I force myself to sit still and listen to the woodland night chatter; the rustling and croaking is familiar to me from the many hours I’ve spent with Grizel, harvesting herbs by moonlight. If Gregor and the others follow me this deep into the wood, I’ll hear them long before they reach me. I’m safe, at least for now.
It doesn’t take me long to get my bearings: I’m roughly three miles south of Heatherbrae. Not far from here is a cave where Dalziel and I used to play when we were younger. As long as wolves have not made it their winter lair, I can spend the remainder of the night there.
After limping through the woods for perhaps an hour, I manage to find the cave. The air is damp and loamy, but there are no animal smells. Just to be sure, I throw a rock into the gloom and listen to it bounce off the inner wall of the cave. Nothing stirs, so I gather it’s safe enough to enter.
Once inside the cave, I feel around for a dry patch of ground and sit, resting my ankle on a rock. I rummage in Gregor’s bag for the flask and take a large swig, then slide off my boot and splash a few precious drops of the wine onto the wound. In the morning I’ll need to find something to dress it properly.
The cold stone ground threatens to suck all the remaining warmth from my bones. My teeth won’t stop chattering so I grind them together until my jaw aches. I wrap Ishbel’s cloak tight around me and curl up into a ball.
Ishbel. As I lie shivering on the floor of the cave, I wonder what might be happening to her. Would Gregor protect her, like she’d convinced herself he would?
A wave of panic overwhelms me. When I forged the spell I was angry with Ishbel, and I hadn’t added a strand of her hair to the charm as I’d intended. Perhaps it protected me after all, but left her defenceless. A lump fills my throat and tears drip down my chin. A cry of anguish escapes my lips and I double over, clutching my heart. I should have listened to Grizel. I should never have used magic.
* * *
I doze fitfully, until shards of sunlight stream into the cave. The dull throbbing from my ankle prompts me to peel down my stocking. The cut is ragged but not too deep. I stand, relieved to find that the leg can take most of my weight.
Outside, footsteps crunch against gravel. My breath quickens as I move into the darkness as far as I can. Crouching in the shadows, I wrap my hand around the handle of the dirk. A figure stands silhouetted at the mouth of the cave so I cannot see his face.
‘Iona? You in here?’ He’s only a few steps away. The sound of my own heartbeat thrums in my ears. There’s nowhere to run. My knuckles turn white as they grip the handle of the dirk.
‘It’s me.’
The shadowy figure bends down and enters the cave. Our cave.
‘What are you doing here?’ I snap at him.
‘I’ve been searching everywhere for you,’ Dalziel replies, taking a small step towards me. I let my hand drop so he can see the blade. I could never use it against Dalziel, but he might just believe that I would.
‘It’s alright, Iona. Calm down.’ He speaks as if trying to soothe a frightened animal.
‘Calm down? Do you not know what happened last night?’ I push past Dalziel and step to the entrance of the cave, half expecting to be greeted by Gregor and the others, but he’s alone.
‘Of course I do, that’s why I came. I overheard the councillors talking at a meeting yesterday. I had to wait for them to leave and then rode through the night to warn you. By the time I got there it was too late. They’d already reached Gregor’s and you were gone.’
I search his dark blue eyes for a lie, but there is no sign of one. With my ankle injured, even if I run there’s no chance of getting away from him. Dalziel could always outrun me.
‘What have they done with Ishbel?’
He glances at the dirk. ‘When I looked through the window, I saw her talking with Gregor and Minister Gourlay. When I didn’t see you, I set out to find you.’
‘She’s in danger!’
He shakes his head. ‘Gregor was by her side. He’ll protect her, but he’s thrown you to the wolves. Told the burgh council you were apprenticed to Grizel and that she was teaching you your family’s ways. They’re scouring the woods near the bothy, but they’ve no idea about this cave. You’ve made good ground already. If you keep moving, you’ll stay ahead of them.’
My breath hisses through pursed lips. ‘What would you have me do?’ I ask him.
‘If you can make it across the river, I don’t think they’d follow you. It’s two days’ walk from here. I’ll show you the way, but then I must return. I left word in Strathcraig that I was headed to Aberdeen. If I don’t arrive within the week, they’ll grow suspicious.’
I nod, realising what an enormous risk Dalziel has taken to find me. But I still feel a nagging sense of unease.
‘Why are you helping me?’ I ask.
‘Do you really need to ask me that?’ he replies, as the tips of his ears turn scarlet.
‘It’s just . . . in Strathcraig, it was as if you didn’t want to know me.’
‘Is that what you thought? Nae, it . . . I was . . . on edge about seeing Father. That’s all. You know how he gets.’
Something within me softens. It makes sense that Dalziel was not quite himself that day. He’d not seen Dougal in a long while and didn’t know what to expect from their encounter. Relaxing a little, I stow the dirk in Gregor’s leather bag.
Dalziel reaches for the bag. ‘Here, let me carry this for you.’
Instinctively I pull it towards me, then sling the strap over my shoulder. ‘It’s not heavy.’
‘Well, I suppose we should get going.’ He leads the way out of the cave.
I follow a few steps behind, making sure the dirk is within easy reach. I may yet need to use it.
GUDDLING TROUT
It’s a bleak winter morning. Clouds roll in from the west, bringing a steady, drizzling rain that soaks me to the skin. My boots and stockings are sodden and my toes squelch with every step. Dalziel helps me find some curl-doddy and watches as I chew the leaves into a rough pulp.
He draws in a sharp breath as I smear the pulp onto the cut on my ankle. ‘How’d you do that?’ he asks.
‘I tripped.’
‘Not like you. Forsy Kintor always said you were part hill pony.’ He proffers an uncertain smile.
‘Next time I’m running for my life through the woods in the midst of night I’ll be sure to take more care.’
Dalziel’s blue eyes widen but he says nothing. He holds out his hand to help me stand up but I pretend I don’t see it. There’s something inside me that still doesn’t trust him, not entirely. We continue on in silence for a while. He walks a few paces ahead of me, occasionally looking over his shoulder to see how far behind I am.
After an hour of walking he stops abruptly.
‘What’s this?’ He kneels down on the ground and waits for me to catch up. He points to a tiny white flower growing at the base of a juniper, blithely nodding in the breeze.
‘Snowdrops!’ I say, unable to hide my delight.
‘Just the one.’
‘What, no others?’
‘None that I can see,’ he replies, standing. ‘What’s the matter?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s nothing.’
Snowdrops are an early spring flower, often having to push up through the frozen earth, sometimes through layers of snow. It’s uncommon to see one growing alone like this. Grizel told me it’s an ill omen.
‘We need to go back. Something might have happened to Ishbel.’
‘I see. And you know this because of a flower?’
‘Don’t tease, Dalziel.’ I grab my bag and start walking back the way we came.
‘Wait.’ He grabs my arm. ‘I told you, there’s no need to concern yourself about Ishbel. She’s with Gregor.’
‘I don’t trust Gregor.’
‘And you don’t trust me. You’re still sulking about Strathcraig, aren’t you? You Balfour women can hold a grudge longer than anybody.’
‘Sulking?’ I turn on
my heel to face him.
One hand is planted on his left hip, the other rakes through his brown locks.
‘If I was going to hand you over, then why not simply lead them to the cave?’ he asks. ‘Do you not think I know you a little better than Gregor? I was certain you were there. It’s where we used to play, remember? Pretending to be Robert Bruce.’
My cheeks grow warm. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘You always wanted to be him, and made me be lookout for the English patrols.’ He throws back his head and laughs.
Despite myself, I cannot help but smile. ‘I was a better king than you. Besides, you’re feart of spiders.’
‘It’s true, you’re a braver man than I.’ He grins. ‘Now shall we walk on, Your Grace?’
I stand there, filled with uncertainty. Dalziel touches my arm.
‘I know you’re worried about Ishbel, but there’s no need. Do you think Gregor would risk his standing as councillor by accusing his own wife of witchery?’
My shoulders loosen a little. Dalziel could have told the men about the cave, but he didn’t. And he’s right about Gregor: he’d want to protect Ishbel if for no other reason than to save his precious reputation.
I sigh, feeling silly about my reaction to the solitary snowdrop. ‘Very well. Lead the way.’
* * *
After a few hours of walking we come to a hillside burn. Dalziel tells me he’ll catch a trout to break our fast. The thought of food lightens my mood. Dalziel’s not much of a hunter, but nobody guddles trout like he does.
He takes off his shoes and rolls up his breeks, wading slowly into the icy waters of the stream, grimacing against the cold.
‘Over there,’ I call to him. From the bank I point to a large grey rock. Under it, a dark brown tail fin waves in the current.
He nods, having seen it. He approaches the rock slowly from down current. When he reaches the rock he kneels down, bending to tickle the trout with his forefinger. He starts at the tail and slowly works his way down the underbelly. I watch him, transfixed. In just a short time he has the trout right where he wants it: the fish is now in Dalziel’s thrall, dazed and helpless. He grabs it with both hands and clambers out of the water, slamming its head against the rock in one swift movement. Then he hands it to me. I take my dirk and slit its belly open, cleaning it in the flowing waters of the burn.