The Blood And The Barley

by Angela MacRae Shanks

  Sarah frowned at this rebuff, but her relief at having her mother back was too great to feel any real injury. Never had she been so thankful to see her. Biting her lip, she came to kneel before her, wishing to be held by her mother yet aware of the inherent distance between them.

  ‘But I was worried,’ she said, confused by the emotions that assaulted her. ‘I was damn near witless wi’ worry. Wherever have ye been?’ She looked at the creel still clutched in her mother’s hands and moved to lift its covering.

  Rowena caught her hand, her fingers closing tight around Sarah’s wrist.

  ‘Ye dinna want to be doing that,’ she warned. ‘I’ve had to do what must be done, but there’s no need fer you to be drawn in. ’Tis best nae to ask, my heart, ’tis better to know nothing and stay safe.’

  Sarah felt a sting of resentment and wrenched her hand away. ‘I'm nae a bairn! I mightna have the gifts you and Morven have, but I still ken things. I ken more than you know.’

  Rowena sighed, and a half-smile touched her lips. ‘Oft-times those gifts can be a curse, and I’m powerful glad ye dinna have them.’

  She lifted a grimy hand and smoothed away the crease between her daughter’s brows. It was the same crease she’d often seen on Duncan’s brow, and she trembled, feeling his presence. ‘They bring with them dangers and dark accusations, and I wouldna want that fer you, my heart.’ She cupped Sarah’s cheek, feeling the bloom of her young skin, remembering the blithe bairn that had become this sad girl. ‘Anyhow, what is it ye ken?’

  ‘I ken about him, thon bastard McBeath. I ken he killed my da, and I ken he’ll have ye fer his wife or have us put out o' the croft.’

  Rowena’s hand froze on Sarah’s cheek. ‘How do ye know this?’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘I heard ye. Heard ye plotting wi’ Jamie. And I ken the plot failed, so …’ She gave another little shrug. Yet demonstrating her hard-won knowledge didn’t feel as good as she’d hoped. She scowled. ‘If ye’d only thought to tell me, though, I’d nae have needed to go prowling and prying, would I?’

  Rowena’s hand dropped to her lap, and she sat back, blinking at her daughter.

  ‘Ye’re right,’ she said at last. ‘I should’ve told ye what happened to yer da – ye had a right to know. And … and I should’ve said what that man intended.’ She looked up and appeared to watch her words flounder in the air. ‘But I didna wish anything to ever hurt ye. You and William are … are m'anam, are part of my soul, and I love ye both that much.’ She met Sarah’s eyes, her own heavy with regret. ‘Please forgive me, Sarah. ’Twas wrong of me.’

  Somewhere in Sarah’s innards came a strange tightening, a giddy spasm that clenched and made her shudder and hug down into herself. Never had she felt so full, so brimming with emotions. She blinked, then the feeling passed, leaving her with a strange glow. She thought of all the nights she’d lain in her dark box-bed atremble at the howl of wind and crack of thunder. And each time, with her soft voice and hands, ’twas always her mam who came and chased away her demons.

  She cleared her throat. ‘’Tis alright, I dinna need to ken everything ye do. I was afraid fer ye, was all.’ She blinked and swallowed. ‘I know I dinna often say it, but I’m right glad to see ye.’

  Rowena’s throat tightened, and she drew the pale girl into her arms, a wave of tenderness rolling over her. ‘Ye’ve nae need to say it, my heart, I know. I’ve always known.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘Ye’ll be returning later, will ye?’ The boatman held out a grubby hand to Morven and helped her from the boat, then eyed her pale countenance a little darkly.

  ‘Aye, soon enough.’ She turned away. The ruin of Druimbeag crofthouse was only a half-mile away now, hidden by the forested ridge that formed part of its land. Her eagerness to reach it was tempered only by dread that she would find it empty.

  The hopelessness of her search for Jamie lay in her chest like ballast. When she’d left Sarah at the foot of Seely’s Hillock, she’d thought he might return to the bothy where they’d spent so many hours together, and without considering her actions had hurried there. But even as she climbed down the rock-face, she knew she’d not find him.

  The bothy was untouched. The newly replenished tinderbox sat by the fire-cairn, and beside it, she found the remains of the meal she’d shared with Donald. With a twinge of shame, she saw the crushed harebells Jamie had left as a gift for her. She knelt to gather what was left of them when something caught her eye. She reached for it, then jerked back. An axe. Lying discarded by a stack of barrels. She knew at once Jamie had thrown it there before going after the exciseman. Unwilling to touch the vile object, she rose and kicked it savagely into the falls.

  As she made the climb back up the gorge, her heart beat heavily. His loss touched her deeply, the more deeply knowing she’d had no faith in him, hadna trusted his word. And it was only later, wrapped in the close darkness of the night that she thought of Druimbeag. Turning and fretting in her narrow bed, it came to her that Jamie might feel the need to go there one last time and she clung to that hope.

  Anxious to find him, she was inadvertently hindered by her mother. Her father’s return had done much to draw Grace from her grief, and some semblance of her former spirit had returned, but she’d been horrified at how ghastly she looked. Aged by the rigours of her labour and the pain of loss, the flesh had shrunk from her bones, and her eyes now stared from a face grown stark and pinched.

  She’d wished to be bathed in wild rose water, to have her skin rubbed with sweet gale milk for its sharp, fresh scent, and her hair bound up and dressed. Morven wondered what her father had said, how much he’d revealed of his part in Duncan’s death, but whatever had been said there was a welcome spark about Grace now and she followed Malcolm continually with her eyes. Pleased at this rise in her mother’s spirits and keen to nurture and share in it, Morven felt compelled to comply with her wishes. She’d bathed the emaciated body and made a sweet-smelling preparation, then rubbed it into her feeble limbs. But the lines of her own body were set with tension, knowing there was still much to do – all the dairying work – before she could slip away.

  It was Alec that came to her rescue.

  ‘I could do the work at the shieling fer ye.’ He'd given her a tentative smile. ‘If there was mebbe someplace else ye needed to be. I ken if ’twere me had the chance to … to put things right.’ He swallowed and looked away. ‘I ken ye’d do the same fer me.’

  She scarcely knew what to say. Sarah had plainly done what was asked, and Alec now knew the truth. Alec, her da, and likely the others as well. But knowing the truth about Jamie meant Alec must now know of Sarah’s lies and schemes and that it had always been Jamie she’d truly wanted. She sensed her brother was more hurt than he wished her to know, and, not wishing to heighten his suffering, she made no mention of Sarah but gripped his hands, and he nodded and urged her to go.

  Druimbeag land was beautiful – she’d forgotten how beautiful. The newly unfurling bracken fronds she remembered from her visit in early May were now grown to giant proportions, tinged over with the gold of fading summer, and beneath the dappling trees her footfalls were cushioned by a thick layer of pine needles, the scent of resin filling the air. Yet the flourishing of the land only revealed more poignantly the crumbling of the ruined crofthouse. All that remained were the bare bones of a home, bleached and picked over by the scavenging passage of time.

  The rickety door she remembered from that visit was gone altogether now, and the gap it left yawned wide. But as she drew closer, she saw that the door did still hang there all askew, only it had been forced wide open. Her hands began to tremble, and she clenched them together and stooped to pass beneath the rotting doorframe.

  Inside it was dark, the air thick with the pungency of decay. It caught in her throat, and she swallowed, tasting it. A faint sound came from her left. The nerves at her temples began to fire and her breath dried on her tongue. Very slowly, she turned her head. He was kneeling before the rooftr
ee, his head bent in prayer. He’d not heard her, for although his face was thrown into shadow, she saw the earnest movement of his lips and his eyes were closed, a tremor running through his body. Struck by the gravity of the stooped figure, she could do nothing to prevent the sob that slipped from her lips.

  Jamie’s reaction was explosive. He sprang to his feet with a low growl, and before she could draw another breath, the sharp glint of a blade flashed in his hand. His eyes widened and he took a startled step back.

  ‘Morven!’ Still uncomprehending, his eyes flicked past her to the gaping doorway as if he expected others to follow her into the ruined crofthouse.

  ‘I’m alone, Jamie.’

  His eyes flicked back to her and he blinked, drinking her in as though she were perhaps some form of apparition likely to vanish again at any moment. He took a step toward her, then seemed to remember himself and sheathed the dirk.

  ‘Forgive me. Ye did startle me. I feared ye were …’ He thought better of divulging who he’d imagined her to be and shook his head, still not quite believing his eyes.

  ‘How did ye ken I was here? Is it … has something happened? Has Rowena –?’

  ‘I didna ken ye were here. I only hoped ye’d be. But I …’ She faltered, letting her gaze drop, unable to bear the intensity of his. ‘Was afraid I’d be too late.’

  He looked uncomprehendingly at her.

  ‘That you’d be gone and I’d nae get the chance to … to say what I came here to say. To put things right atween us.’

  He shivered, and she noticed his sark was soaked through and he looked almost ill, his dark eyes feverish and fierce. The urge to touch him overwhelmed her, and she quashed it with difficulty.

  ‘I've long wished to speak with you too. I’ve wished to explain my behaviour … my part in that vile business at yer father’s bothy.’

  Her heart began to beat in the back of her throat, making it hard to speak, and he was staring, his gaze fixed intently on her face, and that wasna helping. She took a ragged breath. ‘There’s no need for explanations. I do know the truth now. I ken it all, and I'm heart-sorry for the sore words I've spoken.’ The sting of tears began behind her eyes, and her throat tightened as she struggled to keep them at bay. ‘I'm sorry I didna have the faith in ye that ye so well deserved.’

  He frowned and seemed to wrestle with himself, the silence stretching between them for so long she thought the sound of her heart hammering against her breastbone must have somehow smothered her words, when he made a dismissive gesture and looked down at his hands.

  ‘Rowena has spoken with ye, then?’

  ‘No, ’twas Sarah told me the truth.’ Seeing his stricken expression, she added, ‘And I believe it took a deal of courage fer her to do so. Can ye ever forgive me, Jamie?’ She waited, her heart lodged high in her throat.

  His frown deepened. ‘There’s naught to forgive. You thought me a scoundrel and told me as much; I expected nothing less. And anyway, ye weren't so far from the truth. I swore to protect my kinfolk, and in that I failed, as I failed in protecting you.’ A muscle in his jaw flexed. ‘I believe it’s me should be beggin’ your forgiveness, d’ye not think?’

  ‘How can ye say that?’ She gawped at him for a moment, floundering for words. ‘What you did took nerve and daring. To sign up wi’ the Black Gauger knowing full well what the man did, what he is – the verra divil himself. How many here would choose to keep company wi’ the likes o’ him? Aye, and risk the man’s wrath should he find them out, and the blackening of their name among the glen smugglers. And all fer what? Fer kinfolk they’d known but a season?’ Her voice had risen and now thickened with emotion. ‘None in this glen. D’ye nae see, Jamie? It hardly matters that ye failed – ye did at least try.’ But it did matter, she knew it mattered a great deal.

  ‘And what happened at the bothy was no more your doing than ’twas mine. I see that now. Ye would never lead the gauger there, ’twas …’ She shook her head, searching for some explanation.

  ‘Yer wee brother. Though he didna know it. We watched Donald from the ridge, saw him climb up ower the lip of the gorge wi’ a bundle slung upon his back. I knew at once ye must be there, I knew it in my heart, and yet when the devil went to take a closer look, I did nothing. I dithered while he beat ye, I …’ He turned and slammed his fist into the rough timber of the rooftree. ‘I faltered while he tried to force himself upon ye!’

  He raised his hands, one torn and bloody about the knuckles, and gripped the trunk of the tree before letting his head fall onto his forearms. ‘If that's nae failing ye, then I dinna ken what is.’

  She stared at him. His lungs were heaving, she saw the swift rise and fall along the length of his back. She’d not thought on him blaming himself for that. She’d been too shocked to think much beyond the shame of the attack, but he quivered with the force of his anger. Tentatively, she reached out and touched his shoulder.

  ‘Jamie.’ The word came strangled and guttural. ‘Jamie,’ she tried again, and then the tears came along with a lump the size of a cairn in her throat. She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against the wet linen of his sark, feeling the warmth of his skin, salty and damp.

  ‘Jamie, Jamie,’ she mourned. She was crying now and trembling as much as he. He turned, and lifting her chin with his fingers, brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, cupping her face within the earthy warmth of his hands. Their eyes met, his still dark and intense, but softening as he looked at her, his touch gentle.

  ‘Dinna weep. Nae fer me.’

  She smiled apologetically as a helpless sob escaped, breaking the tension between them. Then his arms were around her, strong and protective, and she was immersed in everything that was him. His breath was warm against her neck with a metallic tang to it, of blood perhaps, or hard toil, and she breathed again the scent of him; earthy and male. His hands were on her back, soothing and stroking, gentle yet she sensed the power in them. He groaned and pressed her closer, and she clung fiercely to him, moulding herself to his body as though she’d never release him, for she never wished to. Her tension left her, her sobs dying on her tongue.

  ‘God, ye’re beautiful,’ he murmured into her neck.

  ‘Lord, Jamie.’ Still holding him, and with the rapid thump of his heart against her cheek, she whispered, ‘Gaol de mo chridhe.’ Love of my heart.

  With a strangled groan, he crushed her to him. ‘And mine. Ye are my heart.’ Loosening his hold, he searched for her mouth, his lips cold but his mouth eager and hot. His kiss was a raw release of long-pent emotion, his hands cradling her head, and she returned it with an ardour equal to his, the joy of it coursing through her veins. Shivers of delight rippled through her body, spawning melting sensations and a growing heat. Then he released her and tenderly drew up her hands to plant more kisses in the palms of her hands.

  ‘Tha gaol agam ort,’ she said softly. She hadn’t known it until the words were said, but she knew in her heart now she spoke the truth. ‘I dinna care what ye say, Jamie Innes. I do love ye.’

  He tensed at her words, the wrestling of his emotions reflected in his eyes. ‘Ye mustna say that.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Ye dinna ken how long I’ve yearned to hear ye say those words, but ye must never say them. Mustna think them.’ His throat convulsed. ‘Ye must forget me, Morven, fer I’ll only bring ye misery.’

  There was a note in his voice she’d not heard before, a bereft tone that stirred unease in the pit of her stomach. She drew back. ‘Sarah said ye meant to leave the glen?’

  He nodded. Very gently he folded her fingers and pushed them back at her. ‘One way or another I’ll be gone from here in a week.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘Dinna look at me that way! Ye can scarce hate me more than I do hate myself.’

  ‘I dinna hate ye.’

  ‘No, ye’d not do that, I know it, but I must make ye understand. Last night I gave McBeath my challenge. We are to settle the matter of my aunt's eviction or her
marriage,’ he spat the word out angrily. ‘Wi’ swords in six days’ time. It’s nae so much a matter of honour to me, but one of justice. I canna let this happen, and I’ve no other earthly way to stop it. Maybe ye’ll mind the day I swore I’d allow no more of my kin to be forced from this glen?’

  She nodded, her heart in her throat.

  ‘I intend to honour that vow. Should I win the day, and pray God I do, I’ll be a wanted man. Ye see that, aye? I’ll have to flee from here, or, as a murderer, be hanged fer my crime.’

  Stricken, she reared back, groping for support from the rotting doorframe.

  ***

  ‘Lord protect ye!’ cried Grace, her hands flying to her face. She’d whitened as Jamie told of his forthcoming duel, and now, with Alec's assistance, groped her way to a chair at the fireside. She sat down beside him, blinking and wringing her hands.

  Morven watched her with a sense of hopeless recognition. She knew well that stricken look – likely she wore it herself. And well she might, fer what notion had McBeath of justice or honour? A dirk atween the shoulder blades was the true price of the man, and that’s what he’d understand. She shivered as a chill stole over her. Only, what chance did that give Jamie for a fair fight?

  Her gaze returned to him. He fidgeted, stiff and upright beside her father, a dram pushed into his hands, plainly aware of the consternation he was causing yet weathering it with quiet resolve. He was set firm on this reckoning, he’d been quite clear on that, and nothing she’d said had shaken him from that course, though she’d tried her damnedest.

  She could remember nothing of the trek back to the ferryboat but only become aware of her surroundings again once she was sat on the damp plank opposite Jamie, hunched and reeling from his words. He’d gripped her hands and gently forced her chin up, so he could look into her face, then winced at what he saw.