The Highwayman's Curse (21 page)

J
ock died just after noon that day. It was a peaceful passing. Jeannie did what must be done, her shoulders hunched, her eyes red, though her face seemed calm. I spent little time in their cottage, preferring to be outside, or with the horses. I let Tam ride on Blackfoot. He was able now to use his arm somewhat better and seemed in little pain, though there was a crookedness to the bone that made me wince to see it.

When I did go inside, to pay my respects, I saw Iona sitting in silence, twisting the edge of a blanket in her thin fingers. She did not even ask for Robert. It seemed as though her mind had gone. What she had suffered was not something she could forget. And where had she gone, when we thought her dead? Had she seen terrible things in her dreams? Away from this world, had she been in another one? Had she seen death? I know only that she was not as she had been. The spirit had gone from her green eyes and, though Jeannie brushed her hair till it shone, she looked lifeless, like a painting of someone from the distant past.

And I? What of my plans for leaving? I would go the next day, I vowed.

Old Maggie I avoided above all. I will speak no more of her now.

Some news came early that evening, before dusk fell on that long day. There was good news and bad. The good was that Douglas Murdoch had been taken by the soldiers the night before, and would be tried the very next day. It was two redcoats who brought this news. By good fortune, Bess was not there. She had taken Iona and Tam to pick herbs and other wild leaves. It was Bess's idea – she thought that by activity and fresh air, Iona might be brought back to the world and to health. I think perhaps Bess felt some sorrow at what had happened to the girl, and wished to make recompense for her earlier words.

And so, when the redcoats arrived, I had no need to worry that she might cause any trouble. They were, I may say, polite, though they looked askance at the poverty of the dwelling and would not drink with us. They had heard rumours of what Douglas Murdoch had done and wished to take a signed deposition as to our evidence. We told them a part of it. Of course, we did not tell them of the passageway beneath the farm, only that we had found Iona tied to a ring in the cave, and had rescued her before the tide cut us off. That much was true. We told them, too, about the murder of the old shepherd.

They turned a blind eye to anything else. They had no wish nor need to know of smuggling, nor of feuding. They wanted to know only what they thought they knew already: that Douglas Murdoch was a villain and a murderous man. To find all aspects of the truth was not their purpose. Perhaps they would earn some reward for bringing a guilty man to trial – I knew not the way of the law in these parts. I only knew that they seemed very eager to believe in his guilt, and questioned us only briefly.

I joined in little of this, except to relate how I had rescued Iona. They seemed to respect my voice, my education, and to believe that I must be someone worth listening to, because I spoke like a gentleman. They wished to know who I was. Thomas said I was a schoolteacher in the nearby school and that I lodged with them and taught their children. He added that I was English but was travelling to see more of the world, that I was soon moving onto other parts of Europe. I thought he said too much, but they seemed not suspicious of me in any way.

And that was it. Satisfied, they left and all kept silence until the hoofbeats disappeared into the quiet evening air.

Then did a cheering and a laughing fill the cottage. As Jock's body lay there at one end, covered by a sheet, the men poured whisky and raised their cups, clashing them together in hearty pleasure.

Did I feel any pleasure? I confess that I did. One might have thought that with my talk of love and forgiveness, I would forgive Douglas Murdoch. But the man deserved punishment for what he had done. It seemed right.

Eye for eye, tooth for tooth? I know not, only that this did feel like justice.

Besides, with Douglas Murdoch out of the way, I hoped that hatred might end and be forgotten. And so, this was good news. And yes, I hoped he would hang. There are men who have hanged for much less.

But there was indeed bad news, too.

Mad Jamie had died. In the turmoil when the men were trying to force Douglas Murdoch from his house, Mad Jamie had tried to help his friend escape – the man who had given him so much information, and who had thus enabled us to save Iona. Both men had died, as Jamie threw a rope to the window of a burning room and the man tried to catch it. So intent were they in their efforts that they failed to see the approaching soldiers. They were the only men who died at the redcoats' hands that night, and perhaps the two who deserved it least.

But none of that did we know until after those two soldiers had left, much later that evening, when some men arrived whom I did not recognize. They were friends of Jock and his family, and they had been at Murdoch's tower. Full of tales they were, once they had paid their respects to Jock's body, tales which grew with each telling. More men arrived during the next few hours, and the noise of their victory rose into the night air, as they celebrated the inglorious downfall of Douglas Murdoch.

N
ext morning, I made ready to leave.

It dawned cold, the sky a turmoil of scudding clouds. It had rained in the night. From inside the cottage I had shared with Bess and the old woman, I looked through the doorway into the yard and slung my bag over my shoulder.

Bess and Calum were walking towards me. I had told Bess I would be leaving today. She had tried, a little, to talk me out of it, but she had not said she would come with me. And I had not asked her. I would ask her one time now, one time only.

They came into the cottage, and Bess took the shawl from her head and shook her black hair free. She smiled at me uncertainly. A smudge of soot was on her cheek. She looked, I may say, beautiful. And she was dressed in woman's attire. Suddenly, I wished she was not. Dressed like that, she seemed as though she must stay. With Calum. And not come with me, for adventure and companionship.

I think I knew then that I had lost her. I could not ask her to come with me, much as I wished to. She had made her choice.

“You will not stay?” she asked. Was she asking me to stay?

“No, I cannot,” I said. “This is not my home.”

“Calum has asked me to stay,” she said. “And Jeannie. And Tam. And I think the others will welcome me too. As they would welcome you, if you wished to stay.” Still I do not think she was asking me to stay. Besides, I did not wish to, not even if they all asked me. It was not my place. It was not where I could be content.

“I am sure you will be happy,” I said. It sounded dull. It felt dull. And I did not believe it but I knew not what else to say. I would have liked to say how I wished we had never come here, how I wished we were still riding the roads at night, doing what we thought was right. I would have liked to say that I would not forget her, ever, nor the things that we had done together.

But I said none of this, and we talked, somewhat awkwardly, about other matters. Bess insisted that I take all the money that we had left – it would last me for a few days. After that, I would need some other source. I would look for work, perhaps. And find a way to university? Anything was possible. We walked, the three of us, to the stable, and Calum gave me some food to take with me for Blackfoot, for which I was grateful.

“Eat and drink wi' us afore ye go,” said Calum now. But I did not wish to. “And I thank ye,” he said. He looked directly at my eyes, not hanging his head as though he could not look at me.

“I could not have let her drown,” I began.

“No, I dinna mean that. O' course, I thank ye for my sister's life, but also I thank ye for coming here. For showing me another way.”

I looked surprised.

He continued. “I did no' think o'er much afore. I was no' brave enough, or strong enough. I thought not of why we act as we do. If I thought at all, 'twas to believe that I should do as we always had. But I dinna think so now. I ken no' how I can change my father's mind, or my uncles', but I will. For they are wrong and ye are right. And dinna fret o'er Iona – I will take care o' her. There'll be no more bloodshed. No blood on my hands, I promise. Ye showed me this.”

I held out my arm to him then and we each gripped the other's shoulders and smiled. There were no words for what I felt. I had thought I was leaving having achieved little, but I was wrong.

It was as I was leading Blackfoot out into the yard that a rider came at haste along the track towards the farm. He brought news – that Douglas Murdoch had been killed – shot while trying to escape his guards. His corpse had been strung from a tree as a warning to others. And the excitement that this announcement caused allowed me to leave that place almost unnoticed.

Blackfoot and I trotted out of the yard. Bess ran after me. She called me to stop and my heart surged. Would she come with me? But no, she took my hand in both hers and looked up at me. “Be safe, Will. And thank you, for friendship and adventure! My father would have been proud of you.” There was a catch in her voice, I think some tears in her eyes. Then she suddenly looked behind me, towards the door to the cottage. A quick smile crossed her face. I looked in that direction. There was Iona, a pale, small figure, leaning against the doorframe. But waving at me, waving and smiling.

In Iona's eyes was life once more, and now, truly, I dared hope that everything would change for her, for all of them. Perhaps not at first, for there were powerful forces at work here, but in time. I believed that indeed Calum could bring about a new way of thinking in his family, helped perhaps by Jeannie, who was, at heart, wise and good. And, I suppose, by Bess, though it would be a long time before I could resign myself to her decision. But there were the beginnings of change here, and I was proud of the part I had played.

I waved back. And so, I was able to leave that place under the eyes of the two people I cared for. Bess and Iona were the only two who watched me as I rode away. Old Maggie and Jeannie were not there – Old Maggie no doubt in some strange and malign place of her own, and Jeannie, who had bade me farewell already, busy with the grim realities of life inside the dwelling. The men were so busy celebrating their victory that they had not noticed me leave the cottage.

However, I did see Calum standing a little apart from them, watching them. Would he be strong enough? I thought he would. Yes, I felt he would. And my heart lifted.

A biting wind nipped at my ears as I rode away to the east. With mixed feelings I went. A sadness that I was leaving Bess, and that I was alone. But a relief to be away from such a place, with its burdens of poverty and lawlessness. A sense, too, that one day they could be free of such burdens.

Fear, I felt, as well. For myself and the future. But excitement and a longing for freedom. One day, I hoped, I would find a way to live a worthwhile life, if that were possible, if I had that choice. But now, I was young, and many paths lay before me.

Blackfoot cantered willingly, and I kicked him faster. Now the sky seemed lighter in the distance as I rode towards it, the wind in my hair, my sword clanking at my side, all my possessions carried in two bags across my horse's withers. The earlier rain had cleared and the air smelled washed and fresh.

I would ride towards a new life.

Perhaps I would even go home one day. For if I had learned anything in these last few days, it was that hatred and anger are never the answer. That old wrongs can never be made right by more wrongs. And that forgiveness is sometimes the only way, however terrible the sin. However great the hatred and however enormous its cause.

And so, I rode away. Alone. But free. And full of hope.

I
n the freshening breeze, my mind cleared, all the ugliness of the last days washing away. For a while, I wished only to ride without stopping, the cold air pressed against my face, my eyes screwed up against the wind, my hair swept back from my forehead. But after a little time, I slowed and then stopped, my chest heaving as I caught my breath.

We were at the top of a ridge, Blackfoot and I. He stamped and shook his head, wishing, perhaps, to continue with me. I twisted some strands of his mane between my fingers and removed some soft willow blossom from his coat.

Taking a long drink from my water bottle, I gazed back to the west. The sky was brightening now, and I marvelled at the rolling colours of the landscape, the heathered slopes, the new patchworks of greens and browns, peppered with ash and rowan, pine, poplar and oak, criss-crossed by stone dykes. A snake of a stream slithered down a hill to my right, and, in the deep distance, further layers of hills stretched as far as I could see, with orange patches where sunlight pierced gaps in the cloud. To my left, the thin strip of seal-grey sea rippled lazily.

It was, indeed, a beautiful land. I would breathe it in one more time, and then I would move on. Blackfoot began to graze at the side of the track. There was no hurry – we would pause here until we were ready to go.

Above us floated an eagle. It hovered over everything, watching, uncaring, before it might choose to pass by. But this one did not pass by. It stayed, hanging in the air, as if watching us, waiting to see us off.

The wind rattled in my ears. With my gaze turned upwards into the dizzying space, I did not at first hear or see the approaching rider. Blackfoot, I think, noticed first. I felt him stirring slightly beneath me, noticed his head come up from his grazing.

A single rider. Approaching from the west, along the road that we had travelled.

Bess! I knew with certainty. I knew from her shape, from the way she and Merlin moved, from the way my heart sang at the sight of her.

She came closer. Her hair flowed behind her as she crouched low along Merlin's neck, moving as one with him. Apart from the loosened hair, she wore her man's clothing once more, I saw, breeches as clean as ever they had been, white lace at her throat, her rapier swinging beside her, as she rode along the twisting road, over the rolling moor.

She came to a clattering halt a few paces from where I sat.

She had ridden hard and fast. Merlin's chest was sodden and foamed with sweat, his eyes wide, his nostrils flaring, his sides heaving as he danced there. It was not like her to use a horse so harshly.

What news had she brought? Good or bad?

Did I wish to know it? I was not part of that world now and if something had happened to any of them – Iona, perhaps – I did not wish to hear. And after hearing it, I would have to say goodbye to Bess once more.

“I wish to come with you,” she said now.

This was some game. This could not be. “But you did not wish to before.”

“You did not ask,” she replied, with a mischievous grin, her eyes dancing.

“I thought you had made up your mind. I thought you would not like to be persuaded.”

“I would not. And if you had tried to persuade me, to make me come against my wishes, I would not be here now.”

“So, because I did not ask you, you come?”

She just smiled more. Bess, unpredictable as ever. Free as an eagle.

“But Calum, what of him?”

“If I ever thought I could spend my life with Calum, I was not thinking aright. I like him. I like him more than you would understand. But it is not enough. What is enough is that the times when I have felt most alive I have been riding with you, after a prize, or escaping from redcoats, or telling stories into the night. Or trying to save young soldier boys or whatever we thought was right. So,” and she paused, smiling at me, her chin jutting a little, “may I come with you? And where are we going?”

We.

But no, it could not be. “There is much for you to do here, Bess. What of Iona, and Old Maggie? And Calum must need you too – and if you like him as you say, you could be happy. And does Jeannie not need your help? Do you not want to stay with them, as they wish you to?”

“No, you were right. It is not our world. And besides, do not fear for them: you did not hear how Calum spoke to Red and Thomas after you had gone. He berated them for how they treated Iona. He said that with Jock gone they must all start afresh. And you should have seen Jeannie's eyes light up! And Iona – you saw her: she will recover. There was a difference in the way they all talked, after Calum spoke like that. And now, I want to come with you. Are you going to make me plead with you?”

I could not look at her. My heart was pounding, my thoughts a whirlwind. And then I did look at her, black-eyed Bess, with her red lips and tumbling hair. And her grandmother's locket, with her father's ring, proudly round her neck, for all to see. Bess was as she was and some things might never change. But I could take that chance.

I knew then that I wanted nothing better than to be with her and that there was no one else on earth whose thoughts met mine as hers did.

I grinned. I could do nothing else, could not say the words.

She smiled. “Where are we going?”

“I know not. Perhaps home. One day. Perhaps nowhere. But first, adventure! And you may come with me – if you can catch me!” And I swung Blackfoot's head round and kicked him to a gallop, not looking to see whether she followed. And as we rode, Bess, Merlin, Blackfoot, and I, along the ribboning road, I knew that whatever happened, whomsoever we met, and wherever we found ourselves, we were truly alive. And that feeling alive, and grasping life with excitement and hope and honour, were what mattered.

Love and friendship against hatred. Forgiveness against anger.

There could be no contest at all.