Ness stretched back on the grass and watched Juliette work. Juliette must have removed about fifty buckets of water before she looked up again. There was a pungent odour in the air. Something smelt like burnt grass. She looked directly at Ness. Ness was smoking. She had a man’s small clay pipe between her lips.
Juliette shovelled the water out of the pool and watched Ness smoke. Slowly Ness’s eyes began to close. Every now and then, she opened them again, just to make sure that Juliette was working as quickly as she could. By now, the water level in the small pool of water was down to her mid-calf, and she could see what lay beneath.
She wasn’t cold anymore, although she was, of course, sodden. Ness squeezed more of her herb mixture into her small clay pipe and carried on smoking, her eyes closed much of the time. Juliette thought about running away, but where would she go? And anyway, Kenneth was in the cave tied up, and the outlaws might make him pay for her escape. And there was Angus to think of.
Juliette looked over at Ness again. This time she really did appear to be dozing. Juliette started to climb from the rock pool, but Ness must have heard. She bolted up, delved into her sack, and threw a strange metal spear at her feet. The spear had a very short handle. Juliette had never seen anything like it. The strange spear had five prongs like fingers that forked at the end. The large hand-like thing had clearly been forged by a smithy. It reminded Juliette of a skeleton’s hand with long, sharp-pointed fingers.
Ness mimicked how the spear was to be used. And she kept pointing back at the rock pool. Juliette just stood there looking at Ness, wondering if she was strong enough to threaten the woman with the spear. If she was successful, she’d need to capture Ness’s knife, tie Ness up, and then go back to the cave on her own. But Juliette had not been taught to fight and was bound to make a mess of things. She’d always been better at using her words and her wits.
Picking up the fork, Juliette jumped back into the pool. She watched Ness mimic spearing the mud. With little enthusiasm, Juliette speared the muddy bottom of the pool.
Ness yelled and cussed in her native Gaelic, but, as usual, Juliette ignored her. Then with one angry splash, Ness was in the water, wrenching the spear from her hand. Ness threw it hard into the mud. Then she pulled it out again, and held it in the air for Juliette to see. Two wriggling, fat eels were impaled on the tines.
“Arrgg, putrid,” Juliette said, shaking her head, but she noticed Ness found her revulsion amusing.
Ness climbed out onto the bank and put the two eels into her bag. Then she threw the spear at Juliette and said, “Manger, Kenneth, Angus.”
That was clear. If she wanted Kenneth and Angus to eat, she’d better catch more eels. Juliette thrust the spear hard, just as Ness had done. She knew she’d caught something because she felt the resistance. It took strength to haul the spear out of the sodden mud. One giant squirming eel looked back at her and tried to bite. Juliette squealed and dropped the spear back into the muddy bottom. Ness erupted into more laughter, but that was quickly followed by another telling off.
Fearing she’d lose her huge eel and that Kenneth would have nothing to eat, Juliette reached down and picked up the handle again. The eel was still speared, still squirming, and still angry. Keeping the thing as far from her body as she could, she clambered out of the pool. Once out, she hunted around for a rock and then whacked the rock over the eel’s head. The eel stropped trying to bite her then, and it lay still. She hated herself for killing it, but at the same time, she’d stabbed it through the middle so to best put the eel out of its misery.
Juliette tried to pull the slimy eel from the teeth of the spear, but it was horribly slippery. She looked about for something to hold it with. Then it occurred to her that if she rolled the eel in grit, she’d be able to hold the slimy creature better. The ground was covered in fine, sandy stones. She coated the eel, and then she was able to pull it free of her spear. It was surprisingly heavy. She slipped him into Ness’s harvesting bag.
She couldn’t help wondering what her eldest sister, Sybilla, was doing right now in her grand Highland Castle. Possibly she was having a bath scented with lavender oil. Sybie loved to bathe. No one else could be bothered waiting for all that water to be heated, only to discover that the first bucketful was already cold. By time the wooden tub was full enough to hop into, the first lot of water was icy again. If Sybie wasn’t bathing herself, she’d be bathing her dog. By now, she’d have talked her barbarian husband around and be bathing him too. Juliette looked down at her legs and skirt caked in bog mud. Her arms smelt of eel. What would Sybie think of her now?
And Mama, what was she doing this very moment? Likely she was in the grand kitchen harassing their cooks. She would be saying, “Cook, no more pigeon or songbird pie, if you please. Is it too much to expect a little bit of swan on my trencher now and then? Surely, Cook, you can lay your hands on a porpoise?”
Never mind the swan or the porpoise, Juliette would give her grinding teeth to eat any sort of pie right now. And where was Vienna? Likely she was staying at the king’s own castle in Dingwall, being pampered like a princess. When she got home, Vienna was going to be impossible to listen to, or rather, to put up with; every few sentences would be littered with lines like “When I lived with the king . . .” What would Vienna say if she saw the state of Juliette now?
No matter. Something inside her was changing. Not so long ago she would have run from the muddy eel pond screaming: “No, no, no, I’ll not touch those slithery, disgusting things.” But life changed people. She could no longer afford to be that closeted, precious girl she once was. Right now, she had a duty to Kenneth and Angus: to provide food for them. She’d been given the opportunity to fish, and they hadn’t. They would certainly do the same for her.
She caught many eels that morn, too many to count. If they caught any more, they’d not be able to carry them all back. On top of the eels, Juliette insisted on bringing fresh water back.
She knew it would be a slow, heavy trek back to camp with the eels strapped in bags on their backs and with half a pail of the fresh water slopping her skirts. Still, the discomfort would all be worth it when Kenneth saw the water he had to drink and the eels to feast on.
On the walk back, her stomach rumbled. They ate smoked eel at home sometimes, and it really was delicious. She hoped that Ness would be reasonable for once and let her smoke a few, rather than chopping them all up and shoving them into a pot. If Ness would only show her how to smoke the blighters, Juliette would willingly do all the work.
They continued on, the eels heavy on their backs, and the pail even heavier against her cut palm. The land they travelled over was bog-ridden and spongy. Ness was always scolding, pointing out that Juliette was clumsy and careless and silly. Ness never walked right into watery sodden ground. Juliette’s once-soft kid boots were now almost destroyed. She had as much mud inside her boots as out.
She squelched her way through the puddles and sinking soil. This mud had a smell to it, a putrid staleness that spoke of marooned and rotting mammals.
Just as she was yanking yet another boot from the sucking mud, she spied Bog Myrtle. Putting her pail down, she snatched handfuls of the stuff, ramming it down her kirtle, and up her sleeves, and anywhere she could think of. Bog Myrtle was a weed that warded off mosquitos. It was a rich find indeed. Then, not far away, she spotted another gem: a hairy clump of nettles. A tonic made from nettles was exactly what Angus needed. Nettles helped the body fight infection, and it was claimed that the plant restored health too.
Juliette would take the whole clump and be careful not to get stung. She found a stone with a sharp edge and used it to dig down into the soft earth to lift the long, tubular nettle root. To pick up the root and green stinging clump, she simply used the bottom of her dress, and then she put the lot into her harvesting bag with the eels. Those nettles might be just the thing to make all the differenc
e. They might even be the turning point that Angus needed.
Ness suddenly noticed Juliette was no longer following behind and rushed back to yell at her. It was something nasty in Gaelic again. Juliette picked up her pail and lumbered on in the direction of camp.
The first thing Juliette noticed when she arrived back at camp was how quiet the place was. One of the outlaws was sitting by the fire as usual, and he was smoking his pipe. The strong, sweet smell filled the hearth and surrounding area.
Juliette wandered into the cave and saw that the outlaw who usually hung around the entrance whittling wood with his sharp hunting knife was also gone. She bolted to the back of the cave, and in a hushed voice cried, “Kenneth.”
There was naught but silence. No one was there. She grabbed Kenneth’s bracken and tossed it again, as if she expected to find him hiding beneath. She kicked Angus’s bed of branches aside too. How could they go and leave her all alone here?
She slumped down onto her makeshift bed of greenery and let her head fall into her hands. No point in getting distressed over naught. They were most likely out gathering food, just as she’d been doing. Their absence might be a good sign, a sign that Angus was better. Mayhap Angus had awoken and was feeling much improved. But then, something shiny caught her eye. She brushed the pine needles away and saw her medallion. Someone, Kenneth or Angus, had put the St. Christopher medal under her own bedding, hiding it there away from poaching eyes and thieving fingers.
That meant one of two things: either the men were gone or Angus was better. She slipped the medallion into the thin leather pouch still hiding under her kirtle.
She bolted back out of the cave and stopped in front of Ness. “Where are Kenneth and Angus? Where are they? What have you done with them?” She was speaking in English, and her tone was anything but respectful, but she didn’t care.
Ness barely glanced her way. She continued to laugh and chatter with her Irishman, explaining something in length. He and Ness were the only outlaws at their camp.
Orange Hair, as she called him now, looked peaceful and droopy-eyed. He passed his clay pipe to Ness, and she dragged the cloying smoky smell deep into her lungs.
This time in French, Juliette asked again. “Angus et Kenneth, ou?” Where are Angus and Kenneth?
Ness turned and with a great, cat-like grin, she said, “Angus mort.”
“No,” Juliette shrieked. “No, no, no. Angus is not dead.”
Ness just nodded and smiled.
“And Kenneth—what have you done with him? You murdering thieves. You heartless, lowlife animals. I hate you all. When the king finds out what you have done, he will skin you alive.” Juliette knew she was shrill, like a shrieking bird who returns home to find her nest raided, but once again, she didn’t care.
Ness must have understood some of her tirade because she leapt up and struck Juliette hard across the face. Juliette reeled backwards with the force. Her cheek stung, and her eyes filled with water, but she would not let Ness see her cry nor hear one solitary sob.
Juliette fell to the ground and buried her face in her hands. Her body rose and fell but, true to her word, she did not utter a single sound. To think that naught more than a dozen days ago, she fretted over her best kirtle and whether it was detailed enough to please the king’s eye. How perfectly silly she’d been!
At last she managed to still her sobs and straighten her back. Looking back up at them, in a quiet resigned voice and in polite French this time, she asked about Kenneth.
Ness showed she had some semblance of heart after all because she responded, instead of leaving Juliette to wonder. “Kenneth a vendu,” she said. Kenneth is sold.
Juliette stared, and she mumbled to herself in English because neither of them would understand, nor care. “But Kenneth’s not a dog. You cannot sell him.”
She studied the glowing embers in the fire, knowing that the outlaws had done exactly that. It would be her fate too, when the time came. Once the outlaws found a buyer, one prepared to pay a high enough ransom, she’d be next to go.
Chapter 14
Following Ness’s instructions, Juliette gutted the eels. She cut a line all the way from the head down to the tail. Then, using her fingers, she ran them down the length of the eel, squeezing its body from top to bottom till the innards oozed out. She worked without noticing how slimy the eels felt or how grotesque their entrails were. She wouldn’t think anything anymore. She was just a body and hands.
Why bother planning and guiding her life, when, so easily, someone could step in and take it all away? There was no point in wanting a titled Englishman for a husband, no point in wanting to live in England with Vienna, and no point in wanting anything. Juliette was no more important than a leaf or a worm. She was just a body—a chattel to be sold. She could be ransomed at any time.
Her allies were gone. They’d met their own fate, and soon it would be her turn to discover what fate had in store for her. If she was lucky, she would end up back in England, and if God happened to be smiling on her that day, she might even be ransomed back to her own family. But there were so many other possibilities too—worse ones. If the Irish outlaws were afeared of drawing too much attention to themselves, they’d not risk contacting her family. Instead, they’d sell her to another outlaw, probably a wealthier one. She could be used and traded till she passed on to the next world. She must guard against hoping for too much. Hope was a risky business because it oft brought heartache and disappointment. She’d best forget her old life and ways. She was a servant now, nothing more than a slave. That was her lot.
Once the eels were gutted, she laid them out over large flat stones, just the way Ness had instructed. Then, when all the eels were lined up like sticks, she shovelled hot coals over the top of their shiny skins. With that done, it was just a matter of waiting. She had no problem with waiting, not anymore. There was nowhere else to be and naught to do but work.
While Ness and the orange-haired man cozied together, laughing and smoking their pipe, Juliette stared out at the tree-lined horizon. She focused in the same way a blind woman does, looking without seeing. She gazed far off into the distance determined not to dwell or think ahead, trying to simply exist. Now, at her lowest ebb, at the very moment when she expected so little from life, life suddenly gave back. There was something there, a moving stick-like thing in the distance. The smallest lick of hope caught in her chest.
Someone was at the tree line, and it looked as if that someone was waving at her. Was it one of the outlaws returning? But the figure didn’t look like an outlaw. The Irishmen wore wool mantles with long shirts or tunics. The build of the Irish outlaw men she’d come to know was distinctly different to the king’s Highlanders. The Irish were short and nuggetty and mean.
The figure in the distance was tall, and he wore a plaid. Was it Kenneth returning for her? Could he have fought off the outlaws and be returning to free her? Her hand clenched the St. Christopher medallion hidden under her skirts. She mouthed an “Our Father.” She wasn’t sure what prayer to say to St. Christopher, so an “Our Father” would have to do.
The figure slunk forward, using the cover of the trees. He was wearing a blue plaid. The hope inside her chest leapt, firing into a warm glow. This could not be one of the Irish outlaws approaching because the clothing was entirely wrong. Droplets of sweat coated the inside of her hands. She was scared to say it, even to herself in her head. But, after deciding to abandon hope altogether, hope had sprung within her and was now a towering, curling, burning thing.
How could it be Kenneth? Kenneth’s plaid was a muted blend of greens and blacks. She blinked, and yes, the figure was still there. She forced herself to look away. She glanced over at Ness and at her orange-haired outlaw. They were sleepy-eyed, stretched in front of the camp fire as if their bodies were spongy and bendable. They were not expecting a visitor.
&n
bsp; Juliette could not keep her eyes from him for long. This time he was closer. He waved again. Part of his head and hair was obscured under a bandage, but yes, this wasn’t an illusion. It was him. It was Tam. He was right there and looking far from dead. The surprise pinned her down, holding her to the spot. He darted forward.
Joy hit her hard, like the rogue wave. It was a battle to keep her relief and happiness within—a rascal of a feeling barely under her control and desperate to seep out to spoil everything. Carefully, she studied the fire. Ness and her man were making merry, almost unaware of their surrounds. Juliette needed to guard against any hasty action. These outlaws were used to life on the run and therefore, quick to ready themselves in the face of danger. If Ness or the orange-haired man caught her smile or saw her eyes dance, they’d jump up and reach for their weapons.
No matter the risk, Juliette simply could not stop herself from peering at the distant figure and willing him forward. She should do something. She might even be able to help. It was neigh on impossible to sit still any longer.
“Ness, I’m going to use the bushes.”
Ness looked over but turned away again, giving her man her full attention. They were not worried. She’d used the bushes many times by now and had always returned. Ness and her fellow held Juliette in low regard. To them, she was naught but a useless girl, one too afeared to wander off on her own. They’d think her incapable of surviving without them. And, if she was hair-brained enough to leave their camp, they’d easily track her down again, quick-smart. Therefore, Ness let Juliette go to the bushes to see to her needs without giving the deed another thought.
Juliette hurried downwards toward the thickets and straight for him. She stumbled, falling over her own feet, fighting her need to run. Her heart hammered, as if beating out a strange pagan chant. She could be mistaken. This might not be him. If not, then the disappointment would be swift and severe. How would she survive then? Mayhap she could sink into the ground and disappear like a chunk of ice left out in the sun.
Thistles and Thieves Page 11