The Banshee of Castle Muirn

by Sheila Currie

  Two drovers on ponies and four herd boys controlled the flanks and one more drover and four herd boys at the rear pushed the stragglers forward. The MacDonalds seemed to know their business. Rutherford had some experience of cattle in Wishaw, where his family had a farm.

  “I think it’s time we relieved those beggars of the care and worry of that herd,” said Connington.

  “To serve our high purpose.” Rutherford knew all of Connington’s rhetoric. He wanted the cattle to feed an army of rebels. Rutherford wanted no part of theft and murder, yet he might get a share of cattle to sell for profit—and then he’d be closer to going home.

  “Indeed.”

  They’d had a setback because Shona had proved resistant to Connington’s charms, but not to fever. Bad stock. Ye have to be careful choosing women and cattle. Connington's wisdom.

  He saw the village witch with some fleece under one arm. As she stood watching the cattle leave, her hands shaped the wool into yarn, which she wound onto a wooden spindle dangling above her right ankle. The old hag turned toward him as though she knew what was in his mind, and tugged on the yarn. Rutherford swallowed hard.

  “A nuisance, that auld woman,” said Connington. “It’s superstition. She can’t end yer life by cutting that yarn.”

  “The witch has overlooked us with her evil eye!” Rutherford ducked below the level of the wall. The witch might send out killing rays from her eyes.

  Connington looked down on him, cowering at his feet. “Are ye well, Matthew? If I hadn’t seen ye fight so well against the Catholic Empire, I’d wonder about yer courage. Stand up, man. I’ll protect ye.” He drew his lieutenant to his feet and dusted him off. “She wouldn’t grow a year older where I had influence. I’d make sure she was tried as a witch.”

  “She should be drowned. Or burnt.” After several minutes, Rutherford felt no different. The witch’s evil eye hadn’t touched him, yet he was unsettled still. He remembered her performance at the funeral for Myles Campbell. “She’s a danger tae us. She’ll bring us doon.”

  “We’d best see tae that. We’ll speak tae the MacPharlans. They ken people who have the wisdom tae defeat spells, whatever the auld woman’s power. Gather four men. We’re going tae pay the witch a visit.”

  “Hadn’t ye better first speak tae the MacPharlan?” Rutherford hesitated. “How d’ye ken what tae do with her?”

  Connington gazed at him from under lowered lids and didn’t answer. He was in an indulgent mood, for which Rutherford thanked heaven.

  “We control the village; we control the witch. She doesn’t want any harm tae come tae her neighbours, I’m certain.”

  The villagers were still returning to their houses when Connington and his men marched out of the castle. As he passed through the village, children scattered out of his way despite his determined effort to smile. People went inside or disappeared behind houses. Doors closed before they passed by.

  “The witch has poisoned their minds,” said Connington.

  His right hand on his dirk, Rutherford studied the houses on both sides of the path, expecting an ambush. They walked to the other side of the village to Morag’s house. No one spoke to them.

  When they were a few feet from her door, Morag appeared on the threshold. She drew herself up to her full height, her brindled hair hanging down her back, uncovered and thick as a young woman’s. Rutherford thought her uncouth as ever in a blanket of black and white, wrapped round her like that of an ancient queen.

  “I’ll see Mistress Campbell.” He stepped closer.

  “She has the fever.” She didn’t back away.

  The old woman had power. Connington never showed fear in the face of danger—he must have some occult power himself, but Rutherford had no clue about its nature.

  “Yer Inglishe has improved.”

  “I benefit from the salutary presence of yourself and your men.”

  “We don’t fear ye.”

  “No?” she said.

  Rutherford drew himself up and slammed his sword in its sheath. He doubted he’d scare the old witch.

  Their men, standing by the wall of a house nearby, avoided looking at her.

  “I can’t curse anyone with the evil eye. I have no power to do that at all. Your men may look at me without fear.”

  “Let me pass.” Connington advanced toward her. To his men he said, “Stay here and watch the hag.”

  “You may seek your death,” said Morag, but she stepped aside.

  Rutherford swallowed with difficulty.

  “Come in with me,” said Connington.

  After his eyes adjusted to the dimness inside, Rutherford saw her yellow hair, dishevelled and dirty, and then her face, red and swollen beyond recognition. She moaned without opening her eyes and turned over. Stunned, Rutherford ran into his captain, who had stopped in front of him. Connington studied the sick woman for a few moments and then turned and walked out the door. The old witch went outside with them.

  “Ye’ve done a poor job of nursing her. Ye make sure she recovers. She dies and—” Connington made the sign of cutting a throat with his thumb.

  “And you lose the chance of a rich dowry.”

  “We understand each other.”

  “I understand you.” Morag showed him her back and closed the door on him.

  “That woman needs a lesson in manners,” said Connington.

  Morag met Catriona on a path in the village. “Let’s walk.” Catriona started to march toward the far side of the village. “Take it easy.” Morag tucked Catriona’s arm under her own and patted it. “Remember, you have no cares but the care of the chief's daughter. Her stepmother knows where she is. She’s out of Connington’s hands.”

  “So I believe. Ròs Màiri performed well?”

  “She did her part in helping Shona escape. Though a little of my artistry has ruined her beauty for now.”

  “I hope we haven’t to put up with that man much longer.”

  Morag willed Catriona the strength to carry out her part. “We won’t,” she said. “One way or another—and that’s a prophecy.”

  Catriona looked like she wanted to speak, but was overwhelmed.

  “We must leave,” said Morag. “Nothing else to be done. We’ll go to the caves.”

  “How can we leave just like that?”

  “Put your eyes back in their sockets, my dear, and listen,” said the wise woman. “Bring all the food you can out of the castle. Every time one of our people leaves the castle, have them bring out food.” Morag told her where to take the food, then she reached under her earasaid and pulled out a small linen packet. “Put this in the strangers’ food—a strong tasting dish like spiced meat.”

  “Will it kill them?”

  “You know what I believe.” She and Catriona were of an age, but a chasm remained between them. “You’ve known me for decades.”

  Catriona studied the ground ahead.

  “They’ll have a nice nap and we’ll carry off what we want and leave.”

  “Why don’t you pretend that Shona has walked into the sea, as you planned?”

  “Not a man to accept the evidence of his eyes. Connington would stretch a few backs and wring a few necks to confirm it.” Morag shook her head. “Lies, burnings, evil deeds. That’s what I see in him.”

  Rutherford stretched and yawned on his pallet. Connington, his captain, still lay abed snoring. The lieutenant frowned at the memory of the MacDonalds’ herd heading east. The drovers waved at village people as they passed, but the herd boys who glanced in Connington’s direction looked away quickly. As if he could curse them on the spot like the witch.

  Many a time in the Wars against the Catholic empire even a single cow had been a rare treasure. Rutherford still marvelled at the sight of several hundred fat cows. He had developed a taste for dogs and rats in the wasted lands of conflict—anything to keep body and soul together. Connington said that the fires of purification would burn throughout the island kingdoms, with no kings and no prelates l
eft to rule. Rutherford had no interest in such matters. His focus was food—a hungry man made a poor fighter.

  He could hear people moving about downstairs in the hall, but he didn’t smell any cook fires. He leaped out of bed and gently shook Connington awake.

  “Go look, ye fool!”

  Rutherford hauled on his breeches and belted his sword around his middle.

  A corporal met him in the stairwell. “I can’t find a soul who belongs to the castle. They’re all gone!”

  “Choose ten men to stay in the castle and ten to come with me. I’ll tell the captain.” Rutherford wasn’t sure what his captain would do, but he’d be in a better humour on a full belly. “Assign two men to the kitchen. Make us something hot.”

  “There’s nothing left in the kitchen or storerooms, sir. Nothing—not so much as an onion!”

  “Cursed witch. She has something to do with this.”

  The corporal made a sign with his fingers to avert the evil eye.

  “Come with me.” The two ran back up the stair to Connington’s chamber. He was awake and had already dressed.

  “All the people are gone, sir,” said Rutherford. “Shall we search the village?”

  Connington glared at him. “We’ll have something to eat first.”

  “There’s—”

  His captain finished putting on his coat. “Spit it out, man!”

  “No food left. No servants.”

  Connington grabbed his sword belt and went down to the hall to collect the men who slept there. Rutherford followed as fast as he could and shook the laggards awake. Not a single curse or complaint came from them. They ran out of the hall and down the steps. No one in sight. No sound from the barracks or guardhouse.

  “We’ll search the village.” Connington left ten men in the castle and took another twenty into the village. “Nothing too rough, ye understand. Just enough to make them mind.” There were only sixteen houses in the village. “Four to a house, I think.”

  “It’s very quiet here, too,” said one of his men, more alarmed by the stillness than his captain.

  “Search anyway. Rutherford, with me!” Connington went straight to Morag’s house. He passed houses with closed doors and smokeless roofs. The old witch didn’t come to greet him. He opened the wattle door of her house and peered in. No one. Her cauldron was missing from the central fire. Shona was missing from beside it.

  Rutherford shivered in his wake. The witch had tricked them. “The witch, sir. She’s vanished them a’.” Rutherford turned to go.

  “Ye silly bugger! There’s got to be an explanation.”

  “How?”

  “They left in the night.” Connington spat on the floor. “Probably gied us a potion tae put us tae sleep.”

  “And who’d dae that? The witch wasnae in the castle.”

  “D’ye think ma dear auntie had a hand in it?”

  Rutherford knew that tone of voice. Connington’s aunt might not enjoy a very long life.

  Far in the distance, Castle Muirn brooded grey over the loch in the weak autumn sun. Shona didn’t know when she’d see it again. Mist obscured part of the fortress and the loch, and wisps lay over the road ahead. She trudged after the cattle into the Strath of Urchie, away from the castle and childhood.

  Morag wouldn’t tell her whereabouts, and she hoped that no one else had overheard their strategy. The people of the baile would be safe if Connington couldn’t find the caves and question them. She prayed that Morag’s ruse had worked.

  And that Priscilla had agreed to hide with them.

  Walking was pleasant on a quiet day of autumn with the sun silvering the clouds and glinting on the waterfalls sheeting down from the crags. The herd and herders didn’t move fast at all, but every step took her a distance from Connington. Shona counted herself lucky. She was no longer the daughter of the most powerful man in many a Highland district. She was supposed to be one of the younger herd boys on the way to strange parts. However, she was travelling with a man she trusted and loved, and he had promised to take her to her father. Things were headed in the right direction.

  They walked five or six miles with the scent of pine following them before stopping at a stance, a grassy sward by a river where the cattle grazed and drank water. She hadn’t seen Alasdair all day, but hoped to see him while everyone rested. She saw Ruari speaking to Finlay, the smallest herdboy and the friendliest.

  Finlay joined her. “Ruari has put you in my care. I am to make sure you eat something before we start again and teach you things you should know.”

  “Thank you.” She had the feeling that both Alasdair and Ruari were keeping an eye on her, and it pleased her. She’d spend a few agreeable weeks walking to Edinburgh. With any luck the only thing that would happen would be a bit of rain.

  They walked another few miles. The cattle were obedient and if one wandered it was efficiently brought back to the herd.

  “Come,” said Finlay. “Our turn to bring back a wayward heifer. You’re worried? A heifer isn’t a large cow—she’s young yet.”

  She remembered the cow she had killed. Surely nothing would happen now. She would not use the power because she had not trained sufficiently. She wished she had spent more time with Morag.

  “I’ve dealt with animals before. I can do it. I have a switch.”

  “Keep her from going into the river. She could break a leg if she moves too fast.”

  “Right.”

  Finlay started after the heifer and she ran from him—she was playing!

  Shona waved her switch, but the young cow ignored her existence and ran in front of her into the river, where she slowed and picked her way along.

  “Don’t wave the switch any more. Let her be.” Alasdair! He dismounted and walked into the water, talking quietly to the animal as he went along. He put a withy round her neck while his dog yipped to encourage her to return to the bank.

  “So glad you’re here to help out.”

  “Finlay, tell Ruari we'll walk another two miles or so to Gleann Caol. We’ll stay the night there. Take the heifer with you.”

  “Right!” And away he went taking the heifer by the withy.

  “He’s a good lad. He’ll do right by you.” Alasdair stared at her. “How are you managing?”

  “Just fine. I’m so glad to see you.” She scanned the riverside and saw no one. “Perhaps we could ... greet each other among the yew trees.”

  They wandered over and hid themselves among the wide yew trees whose leaves whispered a quiet welcome to her. We will protect you from your enemies.

  Alasdair’s face showed no signs of astonishment at the message of the trees.

  He has no ears to hear. He has eyes only for you, woman dear.

  So he did. He sang a light tune.

  “A beautiful air about a lass lost in the woods,” she teased.

  “An insignificant air about a beautiful woman here in the woods with me.”

  A gentle rain pattered through the tree tops, but the yews kept them dry.

  “Come to me.” He drew her close and removed her bone pin. The top of her fèileadh fell down about her hips and legs. He ran his hands down her back. “I’ve been wanting to come to you, to touch you, all day.”

  He brushed her ear and neck with his lips. Enough to waken her body. She wanted more. Their lips met, and the kiss was deep and took an earthly lifetime. A kiss—such a wonder.

  But it couldn’t last. He removed her arms from his neck and stepped back from her. “I will savour these moments.”

  She’d remember them too, as she walked behind the herd. “I suppose we must return.” She felt hollow, a husk that could be blown away in the wind.

  “I’ll go first. You wait a moment or two and slip in with the herdboys.” He kissed the top of her head and left her.

  She memorised the place, the yews and the blue periwinkles and purple heather. She would never forget the clean scent of rain-fresh flowers. Then she did as she was told. Gladly—in the hope of many more
such moments.

  By the end of the first day, her belt rubbed her lower ribs, and the rough fabric of the fèileadh scratched her knees. She trudged with three herd boys and one drover behind the cattle. Finlay was the only one to speak to her.

  “You’re pleased with yourself! Are you not tired?”

  “I love it. I love it all.” She would not mention her fatigue or the desire for a better quality of wool.

  “You love it? Among strangers with beasts that frighten you? You have spirit, I must say. Not too many boys like you around.”

  No, not many boys like me at all. Hopefully Finlay would never find out she was a woman.

  And so the days passed. Ambling behind the beasts, stopping for food and water and walking again. But the rains came, the heavy, sheeting rain that made every fèileadh sodden and heavy.

  The drovers stopped the herd at a waterfall. Alasdair and the other drovers held the cattle against the rocks at one side of the waterfall while the herd boys made a pen with heather ropes. Shona stood between two cows to take the chill from her body.

  “We won’t be able to hear anyone coming,” said Donall.

  Alasdair replied, “And no one passing will hear us—no one will smell the cook fires.”

  Hot food. After the rain, hot food was welcome indeed. With food in her belly, her legs might hold her up another day or two.

  “And we put out sentinels in all directions. The usual,” said Ruari. Despite the pelting rain, he took precautions—he must expect trouble because of her. The drovers looked as sodden as the herd boys. “If we’re attacked, throw off your fèileadh for fighting. You can’t wield a weapon, weighted down with wet wool.” Everyone murmured agreement, then helped to finish the heather barriers for the cattle. The herd boys were too young to have gone to war, but they seemed keen to fight. Shona wished them a long life without great bloodshed.

  Shona wished Alasdair would come and speak to her sometime during the evening. Although she wanted to talk, she knew well that they had to be careful. But he kept his distance.