Alex nodded, and drew a shaky hand across her mouth. Blood, she saw, looking down at her streaked hand.
Matthew rode in a few hours later, flew up the stairs and barged into their bedchamber.
“I’ll do that,” he said to Sarah, who was standing with a basin of hot water, just about to wash Alex’ back again. With a curtsey Sarah left the room, and Alex managed a greeting that was ignored, Matthew’s hands busy uncovering her skin.
“Dearest Lord in heaven,” he groaned, and from the sound of his voice Alex could imagine the state of her back.
“It isn’t that bad,” she said.
“He’s drawn blood, misbegotten whoreson that he is!”
She could almost see the anger leaking out in puffs of steam from him.
“How many?” He traced the welts with gentle fingers, making her flinch.
“Twenty, but he stopped at twelve or something.”
“Why?”
Alex didn’t reply, biting back on an exclamation when he washed one of the deeper gashes. She contorted as well as she could to see the damage for herself.
“Bloody hell! Someone should do this to him, the son of a bitch.”
Matthew grunted an agreement, concentrating on bandaging her.
“It will heal, right?” she said.
He pulled the shift up, turned her round to tie the drawstring, and kissed her on the nose.
“Of course it will,” he said, helping her to lie down on her side. “So why?” he repeated, stroking her face.
“One of the soldiers took my bread and it made me mad.” She broke off, fearing that he’d tell her this was her fault for not curbing her tongue, but he sat silent. “It sort of bubbled out, all the anger at them for charging through my home, fingering my food stuffs, drinking my beer…” Alex sighed and sat up, wincing when the skin stretched across the welts. “I sometimes forget that this is a time where the little people have no voice, where the representatives of the crown can do as they please and there’s no venue of recourse. In my time I could sue the damned lieutenant for undue violence and he’d be sent down for years.” She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “Here all I can do is shut up and bear it. And I’m not that good at shutting up, am I?”
“Nay, my heart, that you’re not.” He rarely used endearments and Alex looked at him in surprise, meeting eyes that were soft and golden in the candlelight. “You know you are; my life, my heart.”
“Yes, I do,” she smiled, “just like you are mine.”
He watched her like an overprotective hawk over the coming days, a hot, throbbing heat rising through his gullet every time he saw her wince or stop midway through a movement. The wee lieutenant was going to pay, he promised himself, and even more for the fear he saw in her eyes whenever something moved down the lane.
“I’m going for a walk,” she said one day. “Want to come?” She gave him a little smile. “I… well, I don’t like going about on my own, and it’s such a nice day, isn’t it?”
Matthew nodded and took her hand, swinging it back and forth. Early February and spring was already more than a promise. Tight buds swelled daily, and under their feet the nodding heads of snowdrops stuck perkily through last year’s dead leaves. Soon the whole slope would be carpeted in windflowers, converting the present russet into drifts of white and green. Alex kicked at the leaves, sending them flying in sprays of brown and red, and kicked them again, hands raised as it to catch them when they fluttered back towards the ground. She bent and snapped off a snowdrop.
“Here,” she said and curtsied, making him smile and bow.
“Do you think the Williams are alright?” Alex asked when they came out of the woods to stand facing the undulating moss.
“Alright? I don’t think they’re alright – but hopefully they’re still alive.” Matthew stared off towards the north. “He’s branded an outlaw and all his worldly goods are forfeit, taken as payment of the levied fine.” He had seen them leave; together with Tom Brown and some other local farmers he’d ridden deep into the moss and beyond to see them on their way.
To watch Davy Williams take farewell of his farm was one of the most heartrending things Matthew had ever had to witness, the man stooping to caress every stone, every plank of wood. For six generations his family had held on to the farm and now it was lost to them, forever. Mrs Williams hadn’t said a word. She had hoisted stunned children to sit behind the riders, hefted tight bundles into waiting hands and then sat up behind Matthew. She’d hid her face against his back and sat like that all the way, refusing to watch as her world disappeared behind her.
“Sandy is branded an outlaw as well,” he told her after some moments. “And in his case it isn’t only his worldly goods but also his life that is forfeit.”
“Have you seen him recently?”
He smiled at her casual tone. As long as he didn’t put his family at risk by harbouring Sandy at Hillview, Alex was attempting to maintain a neutral approach to his continued support for the Covenanter cause.
“Aye I have. There’s a cave where he occasionally stays, and I’ve spoken to him there.” And a damp horrid place it was, especially as Sandy didn’t dare to light a fire in case the smoke would attract unwanted attention.
“How is his cough?”
“Bad.” He slipped his arm round her waist. “I want him to baptise the wean.” He could see she was about to protest, her brows knitting together into a faint frown, but he held her eyes until she looked away.
“In the summer, on the fell somewhere,” was all she said.
Matthew drew her even closer. He wondered if she noticed that change in herself as much as he did, but decided not to tell her that he very much liked the fact that she – at times, at least – was a most obedient wife, allowing him to lead so that she could follow.
Matthew was cautiously pleased when Captain Leslie appeared a few days later, ostensibly to inquire as to Alex’ health, and after several minutes of careful overtures Matthew relaxed in his company. After all, Captain Leslie was once a Commonwealth soldier like himself, called to ride south with General Monck in the autumn of 1659 after the collapse of parliamentary government.
They spent some hours reminiscing the battles of the Civil War, with Matthew recalling in far too much detail the massacre in the aftermath of Philiphaugh.
“I was just a lad, fifteen, and I thought war was about glory and bravery, only to find it was about fear and mud and blood – so much blood. And then they turned their swords on the innocent Irish and all I could do was watch as women and children were put to the sword. On the orders of your namesake.”
“No more than that,” Captain Leslie said. “And wasn’t it a Graham that was defeated there?”
“Aye, James Graham, the Marquis of Montrose – not family.” They shared a silent smile, sizing each other up. Last time they met, Thomas Leslie had been the commander of the small garrison in Cumnock and had in fact had Matthew hauled into custody due to his purported royalist leanings. But since that inauspicious start there had been other meetings, an odd shared tankard of beer before Leslie rode off down south, and a tentative liking had sprung up between them.
“Is it difficult?” Matthew asked, stretching to pour another tot of whisky into Leslie’s pewter cup.
“Is what difficult?” Leslie sat back, sniffing with pleasure at the liquor.
“Serving the king and balancing it with your convictions,” Matthew said, genuinely curious. Captain Leslie sat back, brows furrowed. He threw a look in the direction of Alex, sitting as close as she could to the candle with a shirt she was mending, and studied the cup in his hand, twisting it round and round.
“It’s untenable, but I have a family to protect and support.” Leslie tapped a forefinger against the table and exhaled loudly. “The principles and ideals we fought for are dead, they lie ground to dust under the feet of his returning majesty, the king, my master.” He bowed ironically, making Alex laugh. “And increasingly it becomes more difficult to
stand outside the accepted church. My children are vilified, my wife is shunned by the other women in our little village and yet she bears it all in silence, for my sake. My commanding officers regard me with mistrust and the younger men sigh when they are asked to serve with me. But so far I’ve not done anything wrong, and having been part of General Monck’s closer circle still helps – but not for much longer, I fear.”
“So what will you do?” Alex asked, making Leslie turn towards her.
“Do?”
“You say yourself that this won’t work for much longer, right?”
Matthew smiled into his cup; Leslie was somewhat taken aback by Alex’ frankness.
“My brother left six years ago,” Leslie said. “For the Colony of Maryland. He writes that it’s a fair land, rich and bountiful and of climes similar to ours – at least where he is, in the high country. I’m thinking of following in his footsteps.” He held out his cup for a refill and gulped it down. “But once I leave I can never return, and that thought freezes my heart.” He shook himself, like a large dog coming in from the rain and smiled at his host. “My brother says freedom lies to the west. It certainly doesn’t lie here.”
“He’s right, you know,” Alex told Matthew later that night. Captain Leslie had been convinced to stay the night and his loud snores penetrated both walls and doors.
“Right about what?” Matthew yawned.
“About freedom lying to the west. Maryland, Virginia and Massachusetts will be the cornerstones of the first nation ever to be ruled by free men. No king, just an elected body of men.” She gingerly laid down on her back and looked at him. “Not for another century or so, but still.”
Matthew yawned again and snuggled up to her, pillowing his head on her shoulder.
“Are you saying we should go there?”
“What would I possibly know? I’m just the wife, right? Such decisions are best left to the men.”
He laughed at her sarcasm. “I asked you. Do you think we should go?”
“Not unless we absolutely have to. It isn’t exactly an easy life to colonise a new country, is it?”
Matthew propped himself up and looked at her. “I belong here.”
“I know you do, and so do I. But things change, and it might make sense to be prepared for that.”
Matthew shook his head. “This is my home. We stay.”
Chapter 12
“Go to Edinburgh? Now?” Alex gave Matthew a sceptical look. “In the middle of the spring planting?”
“Aye, there are things I must see to, urgently, and I need Simon’s help.”
“Why?” Alex could only think of one truly urgent matter. “Is it Luke? Has he made claims on Hillview on behalf of Ian?” That would explain why Matthew had looked so grim of late.
“No, no,” Matthew said. “Nowt like that.”
Alex gave him an assessing look. He didn’t seem to be lying, but something had him looking tense – and mulish. She sighed. At times this man of hers had a tendency to resemble one of those crags that littered his homeland.
“And what about me?”
Matthew gave her a bewildered look. “What about you? You stay at home. You can’t be riding about in your state, can you?”
“I gather that, I was rather referring to the fact that it leaves me somewhat alone, unprotected.”
“Oh that,” Matthew said. “Well, Captain Leslie has promised to ensure you’re kept safe.”
Alex became even more suspicious; very well planned, all this.
“I’ll be back within a week or so, and you’ll run the lads ragged. The barley fields must be turned and planted and the oat fields as well, and you must…”
“Go,” she said. “Either we manage or we don’t, but let’s not forget who decided he had urgent legal matters to attend to all of a sudden.”
He kissed her before settling himself on Ham. “And you,” he said to Mark, “you’re responsible for your mama. If she misbehaves you must spank her.”
He laughed all the way up the lane. At the top he held in his horse and raised his hat in salute. Moments later he was gone.
Alex sighed, making mental lists of everything that had to be done. The accounts, the planting, the laundry…
“Bloody man, I bet he just felt like a break from all this.” Sometimes she did as well; there were days when the sheer drudgery of this existence made her want to scream. Never a day that could be spent lazing about in bed, no fast food options, no dry cleaners, no hairdressers… She went into a long daydream involving manicures and pedicures and hours flipping through back issues of Hello! while someone else washed and cut her hair. Rachel’s insistent tugging brought her abruptly back to the here and now.
“Sarah’s crying, she fell in the kitchen.”
Great, this meant she’d have to do it all herself. In her present mood she almost suspected Sarah of falling on purpose, but given that the young woman was white with pain, Alex discarded that notion. Once Sarah’s arm was bandaged Alex set off towards the kitchen garden, trailed by her three children. She made a face at the as yet unturned beds; this was going to take ages!
“Mama?” Mark hesitated at the bedroom door. Matthew was strict on this being his and Alex’ private space, and only rarely were the children invited in. To begin with, Alex had considered this harsh, but in a life so lacking in privacy she had come to understand and agree with Matthew’s view, relishing the moment each evening when she could retire to be with him, only with him.
“Yes?” Alex beckoned him inside and continued with what she was doing, rubbing her hands with oil. Definitely necessary after her efforts in the garden.
“What happened to Da’s back?”
She slowed her hands, twisting her fingers together. “What do you mean?” Matthew was sensitive about his broken skin, and the only time his children saw him naked was in summer, when the whole family would wash and swim in the little eddy pool. As the children had always seen him looking the way he did, they had never commented or even expressed curiosity about what might have happened to him. Until now.
“I saw…” Mark bit his lip. “When we were in Cumnock there was a man there.” It all came out in a rush, how there’d been a man in the pillory and how his back had been bared so that everyone should see he had once been flogged, a sure sign, according to the loud soldier standing by the pillory, of having committed a gruesome crime.
“Da’s been flogged, hasn’t he?” Mark said in a small voice. “I’ve seen his back when we go swimming in the summer, but I never knew why it looked the way it did. Not until I saw the man in Cumnock.”
“So now you’re wondering what gruesome crime your father has committed.”
Mark inclined his head in unhappy agreement.
“It’s really your da’s place to tell you this, and you should ask him to tell you the whole story. All I can tell you is that your father was convicted of a crime he hadn’t committed and was sent to gaol for it. And being Matthew Graham, he didn’t like that much, especially as he was innocent, so he was angry and loud and fought with the guards. They beat him, several times.” She kissed her son and stood up. “So yes; your father has been flogged, but he’s never committed a crime. Appearances aren’t always what they seem, and it’s a foolish man who judges people based on that alone. Remember that, honey. Now; back to bed, young man, okay?”
“Okay,” Mark smiled up at her before hugging her around her expanding middle. “Goodnight, baby brother,” he said, kissing the bump.
“Brother? Be careful, it might be a sister, you know.”
Mark shook his head. “Da says it’s a lad.”
“Oh, and he would know?” Alex muttered, smiling at her son’s bemused expression that indicated that of course Da knew – he knew everything.
Not much further away from home than a few miles, Matthew shared the food Alex had packed for him with Sandy.
“I just have to,” Matthew shrugged.
“It’s wrong,” Sandy said, “and it’s a
huge risk, Matthew.”
“I know.” Matthew sat back against the damp wall of the little cave and stretched out his legs before him. “He’s a nasty piece of works, and to whip a woman – pregnant at that – no, he needs a lesson.”
“Hmm,” Sandy voiced. “So how?”
“He’s very predictable in his habits, and on Sundays, after evensong, Lieutenant Gower visits one of the working lasses – the redhead.”
“Jennifer,” Sandy nodded.
“You know her?” Matthew threw him a cautious look. Well, mayhap not to wonder at, even a minister must at times fall prey to the calls of the flesh.
Sandy raised his brows. “Not carnally, but aye, I know Jennifer – she’s my third cousin on my mother’s side.” He scratched at his hair, giving Matthew a sidelong look. “Will she be at risk?”
Matthew shook his head. No, he planned on abducting the officer in the small close leading to Jennifer’s room. A dark and smelly place it was, shunned by anyone not having a specific errand there.
“And if someone sees you? It’s not as if you’re inconspicuous.” Sandy’s eyes travelled over Matthew.
“I’ll be in disguise.” With a flourish, Matthew produced a most amazing creation.
“What in God’s name is that?” Sandy said.
“A hairpiece.” Matthew grinned and settled something made mostly of hen’s feathers on his head. “With a hat on top and in the dark it looks verily like hair, don’t you think?”
“Nay, that it does not. But neither does it look like you.”
Matthew shifted on his feet. More than an hour sitting hidden in the cooper’s yard had his legs cramping. It was dark, thank the Lord, dark and overcast, a chilly drizzle keeping all but the most tenacious indoors. He’d heard the church bells a while ago, and he was beginning to worry that Gower might decide to forego sweet Jennifer, opting instead for mulled wine and pie down at the Merkat Cross Inn. He muttered a curse, adjusting his hat to keep as much of his face dry as possible. There. Bold as brass came the lieutenant, a swagger to his step as he turned into the close. He carried a lantern in his right hand, making Matthew snicker. Fool; did he perchance hope to pull his sword with his left hand, should he need it?
The Prodigal Son Page 12