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WITCH OF THE GLENS
by
SALLY WATSON
Drawings by Barbara Werner
The Viking Press
New York
[Illustration]
Copyright © 1962 by Sally Watson
All rights reserved
First published in 1962 by The Viking Press, Inc.
625 Madison Avenue, New York 22, N. Y.
Published simultaneously in Canada
by The Macmillan Company of Canada Limited
Library of Congress catalog card number: 62-17071
Printed in the U.S.A. by the Vail-Ballou Press, Inc.
To my favorite witch and _uruisg_ Jean and Don and their two small
kelpies Kathy and Mark
Contents
1. The Gypsies 15
2. The Waif 26
3. Glenfern 36
4. The Daft Folk 48
5. Bewitchery 60
6. The Picture in the Loch 73
7. The Return of Mina and Bogle 88
8. A Task for Kelpie 102
9. Inverary Castle 115
10. A Bit of Hair 124
11. Argyll’s Dungeon 135
12. Meeting at Pitlochry 146
13. The Hexing of Alex 159
14. The Battle of Tippermuir 170
15. Witch Hunt 182
16. Morag Mhor 195
17. The Road to Inverary 206
18. The Black Sail 223
19. Footprints in the Snow 229
20. The Campbell Lass 240
21. Vengeance 250
22. The Last Word 261
Gaelic Terms
_Amadain_ (masculine, _amadan_). Fool.
_Briosag._ Witch, sorceress.
_Chlanna nan con, thigibh a sh’s gheibh sibh feoil._ “Sons of
the dogs, come hither, and you shall have flesh” (Cameron war
cry).
_Dhia dhuit._ A greeting (“good day,” literally, “God today”).
_Droch-inntinneach._ Evil-minded.
_Dubh_ (also _dhu_). Black.
_Each uisghe._ Water horse (mythical sea-monster, probably with
some connection to the Loch Ness Monster, which has been seen
frequently for at least 1500 years and to which Saint Columba
of Iona gave a good scolding in 565, as recorded by the Abbot
of Iona).
_Filleadh mór._ The great-plaid, kilt and plaid in one piece.
(The plaid, or plaidie, was worn around the shoulders and
sometimes over the head.)
_Ghillie._ An attendant or follower of a clan chief or
chieftain.
_Kelpie._ A water witch.
_Mallaichte._ Wicked.
_M’eudain._ An endearment.
_Mise-an-dhuit._ An exclamation (literally, “Me today!”).
_Mo chridhe._ An endearment (literally, “My heart”).
_Mo thruigh._ An exclamation (literally, “My sorrow!”).
_Mor_ (or _mhor_). Great, large.
_Nathrach._ Serpent.
_Seach._ Interjection: “Yes?” “Well—” “Truly!” “Really?”
_Sgian dhu._ Black knife: a small dagger usually worn in the
top of the right stocking by men, just below the knee on the
outside, where it is most convenient to reach.
_Slaoightire._ Scoundrel.
_Uruisg_ (plural, _uruisgean_). A hobgoblin; sometimes thought
to be half human, half hobgoblin. A most disagreeable fellow,
in any case.
Pronouncing Gaelic
Gaelic pronunciation is in some ways totally different from English.
For instance, _s_ in front of _i_ or _e_ sounds like _sh_; _th_, _bh_,
_dh_, and _gh_ are sometimes (but not always) silent; _mh_ is usually
pronounced _v_; and _ch_ has a sound not found in English at all, and
made by trying to say _kh_ as far back in the throat as possible.
_Following are the pronunciations for some of the names and words found
in this book_:
dubh—doo
each uisghe—ekh oosh-ga (“oo” as in “look”)
Eithne—Ay-na
Ewen—Yew-en
ghillie—gilly
Hamish—Hay-mish
Ian—Ee-an
Lachlan—Lakh-lan
Loch Leven—Lokh Leeven
Mairi—Mah-ri
mhor—vore
mo chridhe—mo cree
Seumas—Shay-mas (James)
sgian dhu—skean doo
uruisg—oorishk
Historical Note
To avoid confusion I have in this book described clan tartans more or
less as they exist today. This is not strictly accurate. To begin with,
in 1644 clans had not yet adopted specific tartans to be worn by all
their members, and probably none of the tartans were the same, in either
pattern or color, as they are today. In fact, it is very difficult to
know just what they did look like, for all kinds of vegetable dyes were
used, and the remnants of old tartans that we find today are so faded and
changed in color that they seem mostly gray or gray-brown, and it is hard
to tell what colors they once were.
Witch of the Glens
[Illustration: THE PART OF _SCOTLAND_ WHERE KELPIE’S ADVENTURE TOOK
PLACE]
1. The Gypsies
The people of Inverness were deeply annoyed. A number of them stood
in the square and scowled with great hostility at the three tattered
wanderers in their midst—but their anger held a wary quality.
“Tinklers! Gypsies!” they cried accusingly, and the soft, sibilant sound
of the Gaelic was less soft but more sibilant than usual. “_Briosag!_”
(“Witch!”) muttered some with conviction but caution. “Thieves!” they
added, getting to the real heart of the annoyance. And with this fresh
reminder of their grievances they began picking up stones as they
advanced toward the man, woman, and girl.
Anyone who expected to see clan loyalty in this gypsy family would have
been terribly disappointed. The massive bent shoulders and stringy legs
of the man somehow evaporated between two houses, and the final glance
from his pasty dark face was one of hooded derision.
Old Mina Faw didn’t seem at all put out by her man’s desertion. One
might have thought she had expected it. Her scrawny figure seemed to grow
taller as she turned a once-handsome hag face toward the crowd, and her
sunken pale eyes flashed. The crowd hesitated. Everyone knew Old Mina was
a witch, with the most devastating Evil Eye in all Scotland.
But surprisingly Mina chose to pacify them. After all, there weren’t many
towns in the Highlands in this year of 1644, and it was well not to be
alienating those few too deeply. “Och, now!” She wheedled the crowd in
her thin but powerful voice. “Ye wouldn’t be wishing to harm a poor old
woman, now, would ye?”
It wasn’t at all that they weren’t wishing to harm her. But no one wanted
to risk having his hands fall off or his cattle die. They regarded her
dubiously, making up their minds. “Witch!” repeated someone from the
safety of the back. “Thief!” cried several more with fresh indignation,
and they began to move forward again.
“Thief?” echoed Mina indignantly. “Not I! I would only be reading your
palms and telling good fortune for ye. If anyone has been lifting
your belongings, it must be my wicked wee Kelpie, whom I am beating
every night for her sins.” And she pointed accusingly at an undersized
goblin-lass who might have been perhaps fifteen or seventeen years old,
dressed in an outrageous assortment of faded scraps. Long black elf-locks
flapped about her thin face and down her back. Eyes that were not quite
canny peered out like those of an alarmed wee beast—or a witch.
The “wicked wee Kelpie” didn’t stay to dispute the issue. With one
bright, mutinous glance at Mina, she dived through the startled fringe of
the crowd like a young stoat and ran away into the narrow steep lanes of
the town.
The Inverness crowd promptly forgot Mina and took after the lass.
“Thief!” they yelled with new enthusiasm. And whatever was convenient to
pick up, they threw.
It was fortunate that Kelpie was experienced in this sort of thing, for
it was a nasty chase, and she knew all too well what might happen if they
caught her. With cunning amounting to sheer genius she ran and dodged,
doubled back and forth between houses, wriggled over and under and around
obstacles. Now and then her intense small face broke into a pointed
grin of appreciation at her own cleverness—for there was something
exhilarating in outwitting an entire town—but very real fear lurked
behind those uncanny blue eyes. To tell the truth, it was the tide of ill
will surging behind her which oppressed her even more than the stones.
But Kelpie did not realize this, for she was so used to ill will that she
could not remember anything else.
As for Mina’s deplorable behavior, Kelpie was annoyed but not in the
least astonished. Mina had merely followed the law of self-preservation,
the only law Kelpie knew. She herself would do the same thing, given the
chance. It was the only way to stay alive.
“_Briosag!_ Witch!”
Kelpie swerved round a corner and wished that she _were_ a witch. If so,
she wouldn’t be running now but putting a braw spell on them all, causing
their legs to buckle under them and stay that way for three days too, so
that the whole town would be crawling about on hands and knees, just—She
laughed at the picture and took another corner at full speed. Just wait
until she _was_ a witch! Och, no one would chase her then, or beat her,
either....
A red petticoat spread on a gorse bush vanished magically as she flew
past. Why not? If she got away, she was a petticoat richer. If not, what
would it be mattering, a petticoat more, since she already had two stolen
purses, a kerchief, and a fine _sgian dhu_ on her anyhow?
Up hill and down and around, and finally away out of the town, and
presently the stones ceased to bite at her ankles and back, and the yells
were lost behind. Her breath seared her lungs now, and she hurtled down
the hill toward the river which led from Loch Ness to Moray Firth. At
last she threw herself into a cold, wet, but safely thick bank of broom,
bracken, and juniper, where she lay panting and gasping painfully. Mina
and Bogle would be safely away by now and waiting for her down along
the path that was the only road along Loch Ness. Let them wait. She had
earned a rest. She was sore bruised and aching from the stones, and her
bare feet, tough as they were, hurt from the cobbled streets of the town.
Och, she thought pleasantly, if only they would some day be catching and
hanging Mina, and Bogle too—but only, of course, after Kelpie had learned
all the witchcraft that Mina knew, and perhaps more. Oh, to be a more
powerful witch than Mina, and to be putting all kinds of curses on her
until all scores were settled!
Curled up in her nest of bracken, head resting on the scarlet petticoat,
Kelpie drifted into her favorite daydream. _Dhé_, how Mina would plead
for mercy! Her arms and legs would shrivel up, just, and her few
remaining teeth fall out. Kelpie smiled, looking like a starry-eyed
lass dreaming of romance. Then her short upper lip curled and lifted,
revealing a row of small, sharp white teeth, so that she looked more like
a wolf cub dreaming of dinner.
The long northern twilight was beginning to creep into the Great Glen,
for sunlight vanished early in the valley between those high, steep,
massive hills, even in March. She must go on now, or she would be beaten
for delaying. And presently, still sore, she was loping silently down the
path by the loch, where new gorse and bracken grew between patches of old
snow. Two or three miles down she met Bogle and Mina sitting on their
bundles and waiting.
“You have taken your time about getting here,” said Bogle. “And how many
purses were you taking?”
Twilight had deepened into the toneless half-light of gloaming. Light
had slowly drained from the Glen, leaving a world of eerie gray on the
hill above Loch Ness. The loch itself was liquid iron, from which might
easily arise the three black humps and snaky neck of the _each uisghe_,
the water horse who lived there. A meager supper was over, and the only
color left in the world was the small salmon-pink pennant of cloud flying
over the black shoulder of Meall Fuarvounie and reflected in the shining
crystal ball in Mina’s hand.
She spread a shabby bit of stolen black velvet on the springy turf and
set the crystal sphere lovingly in the exact center. “And now you will be
reading the glass with me,” she said.
It was a nightly ritual. Ordinarily Kelpie found it interesting,
exciting, but tonight she was sore and aching and rebellion was in her.
It was foolish, of course, to express such feelings. It was to risk not
only a beating—which, being used to, she did not fear—but an evil spell,
which she did. But she expressed them now and then, all the same.
“May the _uruisg_ be away with you!” she said sweetly and ducked. Mina’s
fist merely caught the top of Kelpie’s tangled head, but her snarl was
more effective.
“Mind me so!” Her voice rasped. “And how do you think to be learning
witchcraft else?”
“I am reading the crystal with you every night,” muttered Kelpie. “But
you’ll never let me be trying alone, and you’ve taught me never so much
as a single wee spell.”
“And listen to her now!” The hateful voice was a croak of derision,
echoed by a snort from the bulky gray shadow that was Bogle. “She cannot
crawl yet and she is wanting to run!” And this time the blow fell on
Kelpie’s high, thin cheekbone before she could think to duck. “Look into
the crystal, _amadain_!”
Kelpie considered further defiance and then decided against it. She
didn’t really feel up to another beating tonight, and she did want to
learn witchcraft. So she permitted Mina’s long gnarled hand to clutch her
own so that Kelpie would be able to see what Mina did. For a seer could
share his sight with another by touching him, and Kelpie, said Mina, was
not yet ready to see alone. Night after night, for as long as she could
remember, Kelpie had looked into the ball with Mina, describing what she
saw, while the old woman questioned and corrected her.
“Now,” said Mina, and Kelpie stared into the luminous ball. First it
clouded, then the center began to glow dully, and then a vague picture
developed. Kelpie’s dark head bent forward on its long neck, and her eyes
grew wide and fixed....
Two young men were riding along a loch-side on fine horses, with a blond
giant behind them on a shaggy Highland pony. Bright tartan _filleadh
mór_—the bulky great-kilts—beat heavily against their thighs and swung
over their shoulders, and their heads were high with the proud confidence
of the well-born.
Kelpie recognized one of them. Young Glenfern, it was, whose father was
a minor chieftain of Clan Cameron, and who had once given her a farthing
and a sudden compassionate smile that lit his grave dark-eyed face like
sunshine. The smile had roused in Kelpie a strange sensation of joy and
resentment combined, and the feeling came back now as she stared. There
was gladness behind the composure of his face as he rode, and his dark
shoulder-length hair lifted in the breeze. And Kelpie, ignorant of the
eternal attraction of lad for lass, frowned at the pleasant pain of her
own feelings. She spared no more than a glance for the other young man in
MacDonald tartan, whose narrow face seemed composed of straight lines,
whose freckles matched the blaze of his red hair, whose expression seemed
to laugh at all the world.
“Who is that?” muttered Mina, peering. “What will they be to us? Do you
know them?”
“No,” lied Kelpie, whose policy was to deceive Mina and Bogle whenever
possible, just on principle.
“I would be seeing something of the King, or the war, or Mac Cailein
Mor,” said Mina fretfully.
Kelpie spared her a narrow, speculative glance. Why was Mina so
interested of late in politics? Of what benefit to her was the blaze
of civil war sweeping through the remote world of England and even
the less remote world of the Lowlands? As far as Kelpie could see, it
affected them not at all—except, of course, that Mac Cailein Mor, Marquis
of Argyll, Chief of Clan Campbell, was head of the Covenant army of
the Lowlands and therefore a merciless hunter of witches. But then Mac
Cailein Mor came into these Western Highlands only now and then, and
merely to wipe out here and there a few of the clans whom he had always
hated. A terrible fierce enemy he was, no doubt, and one deserving the
Evil Eye—but what was he to Mina, at all?
“Is it still the lads riding, then?” Mina persisted. “And who will they
be, whatever?”
Always and always Kelpie must describe every detail, just as if Mina
couldn’t see for herself. Kelpie was irritated. “How should I be
knowing?” she snapped, and a blow on the ear set her head ringing.
“Don’t know! _Amadain!_ What tartan will they be wearing?”
It was too much. Kelpie jerked away, too angry to care about the
consequences. “_Nathrach!_” She spat. “Look for yourself!”
The motionless gray bulk in the shadows now stirred and gave a low,
spiteful chuckle. “She cannot,” Bogle said, wheezing with satisfaction.
“It is sure I am now; her Sight will be going from her. It was for that,
these long years ago, that she must be stealing a wee bairn with the
ringed eyes of the Second Sight, and holding her hand so that she can see
through other eyes what she cannot see for herself—”
There was a scream of fury from old Mina, and a battered saucepan hurtled
through the dusk, hit Bogle’s ragged shoulder, and fell into the heather.
Bogle chuckled with malicious triumph. It wasn’t that he hated Mina
in particular. He was quite impartial, was Bogle; he simply hated all
mankind and greatly enjoyed seeing anyone unhappy. Now he ducked his
head slightly and shook with laughter as the saucepan was followed by an
assortment of sticks, stolen objects, and curses.
Kelpie sat perfectly still. A universe of startling possibilities was
opening to her mind—because, with Mina’s hand no longer touching hers,
the tiny picture in the crystal glowed more sharply, brightly clear than
she had ever seen it.
* * * * *
Wrapped in her tattered plaidie in a nest of last year’s dry bracken, she
lay awake after the long gloaming had deepened to black and stars peeped
out to grow dim again as the unearthly white radiance of the northern
lights—the Dancers—shimmered and pulsed over the western hills. The
wonder of the lights, as Kelpie watched, seemed to match the wonder in
her heart.
Had Bogle told the truth? Mina’s behavior made Kelpie think he had. And
it was certain that the crystal was even clearer for her without Mina’s
touch.
So then, was it also true that she had been stolen? From where? Kelpie
reached back into her memory but could find nothing but the vagrant life
of gypsies—tramping, begging, stealing, telling fortunes and selling
spells and charms in the Highlands, running from witch-hunters in the
Lowlands, sleeping under the sky.
Och, how could she ever be finding out? Only, perhaps, by becoming a
greater witch than Mina and putting the power upon her. And indeed, it
was a great advantage if Mina no longer had the Sight! _Dhé_, but she had
other powers, had Mina, terrible powers of cursing and spells! She was
clever, too, and for all her age she used a stick with great strength.
Kelpie must be canny, she must so. The cold streams of the northern
lights faded, and when they were gone, Kelpie was asleep.
2. The Waif
It was one of those days that couldn’t decide between winter and spring.
A cold, gusty wind whistled thinly through dark pine and barren birch and
chased fat clouds over the sky one by one, causing flurries of hard rain
to alternate with pale and hesitant sunshine.
They had traveled the thirty miles of Loch Ness, stopping at the village
near Urquhart Castle, and again at Kilcummin, where they had nearly been
caught picking the purse of one of the MacDonald chieftains. And now they
were moving south beside the silver ripples of Loch Lochy.
Kelpie was far ahead of Mina and Bogle, moving along high on the hillside
with a prancing motion caused partly by high spirits and partly by the
masses of tough-stemmed heather that covered the slope. She was still
sore from her latest beating, and also hungry. Her life consisted
largely of pain and hunger and cold, and was peopled by enemies to be
feared and hated or fools to be tricked, but Kelpie had discovered
all that long ago and was quite used to the fact and found life very
enjoyable anyway. Certainly it was never dull, and she had a zest for
adventure.
And in spite of everything, the world was beautiful. Kelpie could forgive
it a lot for that. In any case, her day was coming! She had deliberately
described the details in last night’s crystal quite wrongly, and Mina
hadn’t known.
Or had she?
This appalling thought caused Kelpie to miss her usually sure footing and
to step right in the middle of a gorse bush. Neither the travel-hardened
toughness of the bare brown foot nor the deceptive beauty of the silvery
leaves saved her from a good pricking, and Kelpie swore with an ardent
fluency that would have pleased Bogle greatly. Still hopping and cursing,
she saw the movement and color of the three horsemen down the loch much
later than she should have. They were coming along toward her in the path
below and doubtless had well-filled purses which might well be lightened.
She was halfway down the steep slope when suddenly the sun shone brightly
from behind the latest cloud, and Kelpie recognized the scene from the
crystal: young Glenfern and his red-haired companion and the giant blond
_ghillie_ riding behind.
But there was no time to wonder about it. Timing her movements
carefully, Kelpie threw herself headlong down the last steep bank and
sprawled full length in the path, almost under the horses’ feet.
“_Dhé!_” exclaimed Ian Cameron as he and Alex reined the horses so
sharply that they reared for a moment on their hind legs. All he could
see on the ground was a pitifully small and tattered figure, clearly in
great danger of being trampled to death.
Alex MacDonald, from his better position behind, saw something a little
more. As Ian’s horse stepped alarmingly close to Kelpie, one “thin and
helpless” arm moved, neatly and efficiently, the precise six inches
required for safety. Alex’s red eyebrows arched, and an appreciative grin
danced on his face. He relaxed and prepared to enjoy the comedy that was
sure to follow.
The crisis was over in a moment. “Is it all right you are?” demanded Ian
of the wee figure, and the wee figure nodded biting its lip in a fine
imitation of silent courage as it raised itself painfully to an elbow.
For Kelpie had discovered that this sort of act was much more touching
than loud wails and tears. She decided to have a hurt back, this being
hard to disprove, as well as more impressive than other hurts. So she
winced to indicate great pain and looked up with a brave and pathetic
smile.
The lads looked back at her. A scrawny waif it was, tattered and
unbelievably dirty. The tangled dark hair, apparently never touched by
water or comb, fell over the thin face in a way that reminded Ian of
shaggy Highland cattle—except that these eyes were unlike those of any
cattle that ever lived. They were long and black-fringed, set at a slant
in the narrow face, and strangely ringed. Around each black pupil was
a wide circle of smoky blue, then a narrow one of lightish gray, and a
third of deep and vivid blue. Astonishing eyes, almost alarming! Where
had he seen them before?
While Ian stared in wonder and pity, Alex made a few further observations
of his own. He noted the high cheekbones and the pointed chin and the
wicked slant of black brows and the short upper lip—giving rather the
effect, thought Alex, of a wicked elfin creature, or perhaps a witch.
Amused but wary, he sat back and let his foster brother make up his mind.
Ian wouldn’t have been noticing, of course, that the wee _briosag_ threw
herself into the path on purpose. Ian had the way of always believing the
best of everyone.
Ian was aware of the cynical smile behind him. A nasty suspicious mind
Alex had! It was a pity. What else could he be expecting of a poor wild
waif like this? What sort of life must she have had? Then Ian remembered
where he had seen her before: with that wicked old witch Mina. Och, the
poor creature!
“’Tis hurt you are,” he said worriedly, to Kelpie’s relief. She had
feared for a moment that she’d been too subtle altogether.
“Och, only a little,” she whispered, putting on a braw show of dreadful
pain heroically borne.
“Now, do not be overdoing it,” drawled Alex.
Kelpie shot him a look which, had she been a properly qualified witch,
would surely have caused him to break out with every loathsome disease
known to mankind. Unfortunately the only effect of her venomous glare was
that Alex’s smile broadened to an insulting chuckle. Och, what a beast
he was, then, with the bony, freckled, jeering face of him, and the two
jaunty tufts of red hair jutting upward just where horns ought to sprout!
She was about to tell him so, and in great detail, but just in time she
remembered her role and Ian, who was still showing his pity and dismay.
What a misfortune, he thought, that this should happen now, just when he
and Alex were nearly home again after those long months away in Oxford,
where he had been savagely homesick. They were about to get home early,
and with very important news, and now this had to happen, not five miles
from Glenfern.
“What shall we be doing with you at all?” he said. “We cannot just be
leaving her here!” he added fiercely, turning on Lachlan, the blond
_ghillie_, who, looking larger than usual on his short shaggy pony, had
muttered something from behind.
“Give her a copper,” Alex said, laughing, “and see how quickly she’ll
mend!”
Copper indeed! thought Kelpie. It was silver she was wanting. But she
didn’t hide the gleam in her eyes quickly enough.
“I’ll show you,” said Alex. Slowly, tantalizingly, he drew a coin from
his sporran and held it up. It gleamed silver, and Kelpie stared at it
greedily. “See?” Alex chuckled and spun it toward her.
Quick as the flash of bright metal in the air, her brown hand shot out
to catch it in flight—then dropped, and the coin fell noiselessly on the
path. Kelpie sat staring first at it and then at her own shoulder with
dismay that was, for a change, perfectly genuine.
“I—I _am_ hurt!” she said with astonishment and then hastily snatched up
the coin with her good left hand before they should change their minds.
“Not too hurt to be picking up the silver,” observed Alex, but the
gibe lacked his earlier light tone. Ian had already dismounted and
was touching rather gingerly the filthy rags covering the shoulder in
question. The lass frankly stank.
This time Kelpie’s face showed an honest flicker of pain. “I think it
will be sprained, or perhaps out of place,” Ian decided and looked at
Alex.
Alex looked back at him. “Well, so. And where does she live, then? Where
are her people? Perhaps Lachlan could be taking her home.”
Ian shrugged. “I think I’ve seen her with Old Mina and Black Bogle. Is
that so?” he asked Kelpie, who nodded.
Alex raised his eyebrows, not in the least surprised. It was logical that
she should belong to the nastiest witch in Scotland.
“Will they be coming along, then?” Ian inquired, and again Kelpie nodded,
so bewildered by her unexpected hurt and the pain that was now shooting
sharply through her shoulder that she couldn’t really think clearly at
all.
A glum silence settled on them, broken only by furtive and disapproving
mutters from Lachlan. His duty was to be protecting his young masters,
and now here they were consorting with witches, and he not able to
prevent them at all, at all. He crossed himself.
Ian sighed with relief when the bent figures of Mina and Bogle appeared
up the loch-side. They would take care of their lass, and he and Alex
could be away home.
But it wasn’t that easy. Mina, after taking in the situation at a
glance, burst into lamentations and curses that caused the ruddy Lachlan
to go pale. “And is it our poor lass you have harmed, wicked beasts
that you are?” she wailed, while Bogle stood like a massive old tree
in disconcerting silence. “Ocho, ocho, whatever shall we be doing now?
May the Evil Eye fall on all your cattle, and the pox upon yourselves,
_uruisgean_ that you are!”
Ian himself recoiled, not from the curses, but from the evil that was in
this horrible old woman. What a dreadful thing that a young lass should
belong to such as these! It was wicked! And yet, what could he do? What
could anyone do? Unhappily he stood and stroked his horse’s nose while
Alex handled the matter.
Alex did handle it beautifully, with just the right mixture of
indulgence, severity, and money. “’Twas no fault of ours that she fell,
but altogether her own,” he told them. “Still, we are kind-hearted and
willing to give you a bit of silver.” And when Mina would have demanded
more, he fixed her with a stern hazel stare that caused her own pale,
muddy eyes to waver and fall. It was all settled then, and Ian, feeling
depressed, turned to mount his horse.
And then Black Bogle, perhaps feeling that they had been worsted in the
bargaining, reached down and jerked Kelpie roughly to her feet by the
injured arm.
The bit of brutality wrenched a choked cry of anguish from the girl. Ian
whirled around, and Alex was off his horse in a flying leap and seized
Bogle’s arm in a grip that had no gentleness whatever.
“Let go of her, you vile bully!” Alex snarled, red with fury, while Ian
removed the sagging Kelpie from Bogle’s grasp. Lachlan, brandishing a
steel dirk a foot long, loomed ominously behind....
When Kelpie was again able to take an active interest in events, she
heard several voices: a cold, contemptuous one and a dangerously quiet
one, Bogle’s growl and Mina’s whine, with dour grumblings in the
background. More money changed hands, and then Mina bent over Kelpie, a
cunning, complacent look on her face.
“The fine gentlemen will be taking you home with them to fix your hurt,
and we will come to fetch you in the morning,” she said. “You will
be properly grateful—and behave as I’d be wishing you to,” she added
meaningly, and Kelpie nodded. She knew quite well what Mina meant—steal
whatever she could lay hands on.
Then Ian’s concerned face was close to hers as he removed the grimy
once-red sash from about her waist and gently bound the injured arm to
her side. “And who’s knowing what further damage the brute will have
done?” he muttered.
After that she found herself lifted to the fearful height of Alex’s
horse and felt his hard young arm firmly around her. And at a slow walk
they set along toward the fork in the path that led through the hills to
Glenfern.
By the time they reached the top of the pass, Kelpie was feeling much
better. She began to relish the adventure, and she stared with interest
at the scene before her as they paused. Ian’s face was alight with joy,
and Lachlan actually had tears in his eyes. A strange thing that was, she
thought wonderingly, ignorant as she was of the love of the Highlander
for his own hills. Kelpie knew no home but the ground she walked on.
The glen ran westward ahead of them, a long little valley cradled in
hills that were just turning jewel-green with new bracken and showing
dark with juniper and white here and there with birch trunks and unmelted
snow. On the northern slope stood a weathered gray house which seemed
large and grand indeed to Kelpie, and scattered along the glen were
little rye-thatched shieling huts of unmortared stone, nestled into the
hillside as if they had grown there. Farther down the glen was a wee
loch of silver and blue, ringed with white birches and dotted with green
islets.
“Loch nan Eilean—Lake of the Islands,” murmured Ian with his heart in his
voice, and they rode on down the hill and along to the stables.
Alex lifted Kelpie down from the horse, looked at her oddly, and then
with a grin forced open her left hand.
“You little devil!” He laughed. “You’ve picked my pocket!”
3. Glenfern
Kelpie perched gingerly on a fine brocaded chair near the door of the
drawing room and gazed curiously at the scene before her. For house and
glen had, on their arrival, erupted into a perfect frenzy of excitement,
questions, tears, laughter, shouting, teasing, and hugging.
_Dhé!_ And was this the way most families were behaving toward one
another? Kelpie found it baffling and achingly strange, and vaguely
annoying; and on the whole she was glad enough to have been forgotten for
the moment while she recovered her usual cool head.
Talk rose and surged in a mixture of Gaelic and English. Cameron of
Glenfern paced back and forth, the rusty-red and green of his kilt
swinging about strong knees. Lady Glenfern, smiling and anxious at once,
sat in a carved oak chair, her harebell-blue skirts billowing about her
feet. Two small kilted lads pranced with excitement, a bittie lass
clamored to be away up in Ian’s arms, and a bonnie lass in green, perhaps
near Kelpie’s age, clung affectionately to both Ian and Alex at once.
Through the open window Kelpie could see Lachlan standing in a ring of
laughing and chattering clansmen, and it began to dawn on her that this
was no ordinary homecoming. The lads had been away to school in a far-off
place in England and had returned quite unexpectedly with important news.
“We knew that King Charles had fled London and set up his court at
Oxford,” said Glenfern. “And you wrote that Montrose was there, awaiting
permission to come and raise an army in Scotland for the King. Now you
say he’s coming?”
“Aye so,” said Alex cynically, “but a bit late, now that Argyll has got
all the Lowlands and some of the Highlands well under the thumb of the
cursed Covenant! Were you knowing that the Covenant army has crossed the
border into England and will be fighting along with the Parliament army
against the King?”
“_Dhé!_” exclaimed Glenfern in dismay. “Is it too late, then? Why was the
King waiting so long?”
Alex shrugged. “Och, King Charles has a grand talent for not seeing what
he doesn’t like, and for doing the wrong thing altogether or the right
thing too late.”
Ian, whose loyalty was a simple and wholehearted thing, frowned at his
foster brother. “He’s our king and a Stewart,” he reminded him and then
turned to his father. “At any rate, we were thinking we’d best come home
while we still could—and perhaps join Montrose when he arrives.”
None of this meant a great deal to Kelpie, so she began looking around
with greedy wonder at the drawing room. Och, the glowing fine old silver
on the sideboard, the great portraits on the tapestry-hung walls, the
grand, massive carved furniture worn smooth as silk by time and polish,
and the damask draperies at real glass windows! It wasn’t fair that some
people should have so much! They should be sharing it, they should, and
it was up to Kelpie, she felt, to see to the sharing.
A small silver snuff box was lying on a table near her; an instant later,
it wasn’t. Kelpie’s long slanted eyes flickered with satisfaction, but
before she could so much as thrust her loot under her rags, a redheaded
figure bent over her and a sinewy long hand grasped her wrist gently but
with great strength.
“Really, Ian,” observed Alex lazily, “you must be paying more attention
to your guest.”
“Ssssss!” said Kelpie, again wishing she could cast the Evil Eye on him.
But instead the eyes of the entire family were now on her.
“My sorrow!” said Ian ruefully. “I was forgetting!”
“A shame to all of us, and she injured!” declared his mother, standing
up. “’Tis only for the night, you were saying, Ian? Well, so, we will
see to the shoulder—but not in the house, I think,” she added, looking at
Kelpie’s filthy clothes.
“No,” agreed her husband. “Come away out to the wee room in the stable,
which will do nicely, I think.”
And Kelpie, who had expected to be beaten and turned out for her theft,
stared. They were daft, all of them! But presently she forgot their
daftness because of the surprisingly painful business of having her
shoulder tended. She gritted her teeth and cursed vigorously, and after
it was over she was glad enough to lie down on the small cot in the
stable-room and be left alone to sleep.
* * * * *
Kelpie awoke with an oppressive sense of being trapped. Blindly hostile
walls and ceiling surrounded her, shutting out sky and wind. In sudden
panic she would have leaped up and fled to the safety of outside, but
the first movement brought the sharp, forgotten pain of her shoulder.
She gasped slightly, blinked, and noticed a pair of dark eyes regarding
her from a flower face. It was the wee bit of a lassie she had seen in
the big house, who stood watching Kelpie with grave sympathy. She was a
tiny thing, her body slight as it rose from the primrose bulk of her long
skirts, but Kelpie was disconcerted. The gaze seemed to understand too
much.
“Poor lady!” said the mite, shaking her honey-brown head sorrowfully. “Is
it a sore bad hurt, then?”
Kelpie said nothing.
Light danced into the dark eyes. “Wee Mairi will kiss it and make it
well.” Quite undeterred by thoughts of cleanliness, the child leaned
over the cot and dropped a soft kiss on the bandages covering Kelpie’s
shoulder, and then another on her cheek. “Now it will stop hurting, just,
and you can be happy,” she announced. Crooking a small finger in the old
gesture of calling down a blessing from heaven, she turned and trotted
out, leaving a shaken Kelpie behind her.
Nothing like this had ever happened to her before! Children had always
clung to their mothers, frightened of the witch’s lass. No one at all had
ever kissed her and Kelpie, to her dismay, found that her eyes had filled
with tears. Och, this would never do at all! She must be hard and strong,
or else how would she ever survive in the world she knew? She closed her
treacherous eyes and concentrated on subduing the weakness.
The weakness was just about subdued when she became aware of more company
in the room. This time it was a pair of seven or eight-year-old lads with
penetrating blue eyes set in identical tanned faces which were alight
with passionate curiosity.
Kelpie, still shaken and very much on the defensive from her encounter
with Wee Mairi, glared at them with frank hostility. They went on staring
at her with unwavering interest. _Dhé!_ They were nearly as disconcerting
as Wee Mairi—and there were two of them. Kelpie decided to take the
offensive.
“Ssssss!” she hissed, baring her teeth and beetling her thick eyebrows
menacingly. The bright eyes rounded slightly, but with increased
curiosity rather than alarm.
“Were you crying?” asked one boy candidly.
“Are you a witch?” demanded the other.
Kelpie considered. It wasn’t in the least safe to be thought a witch.
It could lead to all sorts of uncomfortable and fatal things. On the
other hand, she had never known real safety in any case, and it would be
pleasant to impress, or even frighten, these complacent lads.
“I am so,” she said with an intimidating scowl. “I can put curses on ye,
or the Evil Eye whatever.”
They were unintimidated. “Show us!” suggested one hopefully.
“Alex was saying you cannot,” challenged the other.
“Och, just you wait!” said Kelpie darkly. “I will be fixing that Alex as
ever was!”
“What will you do to him?” persisted the skeptic with morbid curiosity.
“What is your name?” asked his twin.
“Kelpie!” said she in triumph, and at last she had impressed them. For
every Highland child knew that a Kelpie was a kind of fairy person, a
water witch who wails at night by lochs and rivers for a victim, or cries
for admittance at shuttered windows.
“I don’t believe it,” said the skeptical twin, but he said it
halfheartedly.
“Ronald! Donald!” The green-frocked lass who was Kelpie’s age stood in
the doorway, with a big-boned young woman behind her carrying a tray.
“Och, naughty lads! Ye shouldn’t be bothering in here, and well ye know
it!”
“She’s a witch, and a kelpie too,” reported one of them, unabashed.
“At least she says so, but we haven’t seen her put a spell yet,” added
the other. “When will you be showing us one?”
The young woman nearly dropped her tray as she hastily tried to make the
sign of the cross. Her young mistress looked faintly alarmed but stood
her ground. “Be away, now,” she told the twins. “I’ll take that, Fiona.”
She took the tray from the quaking Fiona and set it on a stool beside
Kelpie’s cot.
“We thought you’d be waking up hungry,” she said and then looked at
Kelpie apologetically, as if ashamed of her own good fortune and pretty
clothes. “My name is Eithne,” she added, pronouncing it “Ay-na,” with
the Highland lilt in her voice. “And the twins must not be saying such
things—about your being a witch, I mean. Are you?” she asked, overcome by
curiosity.
Kelpie already had hand and mouth full of cold venison pie and new-baked
bannocks and had no intention of risking the rest of the food. She shook
her head firmly and put on her most innocent and helpless expression.
“Och, no!” she mumbled truthfully around her bannock. “Not I!”
At this moment a gaunt black cat sidled through the open door, spat at
Fiona, and with a joyful yowl leaped right on top of Kelpie. This was
unfortunate, since black cats were known to have a fondness for witches.
Fiona backed up to the door, crossing herself furiously, and Eithne
looked awed. “_Dhé!_” she whispered. “Dubh has never done that before for
anyone!”
Kelpie looked at Dubh with a mixture of pleasure and irritation. She
liked cats, but this one had timed his appearance poorly.
Dubh looked back at her, great topaz eyes glowing into hers steadily and
inscrutably, and his purring filled the room.
“He is wanting some food,” suggested Kelpie lamely. But Dubh didn’t
show the slightest interest in her meal. Instead, he arranged himself
comfortably on top of her legs.
“Animals are always liking me,” Kelpie went on with better success.
Eithne’s face brightened and cleared. Of course! And if animals liked a
person, it was a sure sign that the person was to be trusted. Eithne,
like her brother, wanted to think the best of everyone, especially
of those whom life seemed to have treated unfairly. Besides, Kelpie
interested her.
Presently she was seated on the edge of the cot, listening to the lurid
tale of Kelpie’s life and even being shown some of the scars and bruises
on the thin shoulders and back. Eithne was hot and shaking with shocked
indignation. It was perfectly dreadful, appalling!
And Kelpie, rising to great tragic heights, played up to the most
sympathetic audience she had ever had. The long ringed eyes fixed on
Eithne’s brown ones were soft and luminous and oh, so innocent.
But the “innocent” eyes reminded Alex of Dubh’s, as he entered the room
and got a good view of both pairs. He hadn’t been easy in his mind about
Eithne’s being in here so long. Ringed eyes like that weren’t canny. The
lass might well be a witch, at that, though likely too young to be very
dangerous. All the same, his foster sister must be protected.
“Come away from her and out of here!” he ordered Eithne brusquely.
He should have known better. She whirled on him, round chin jutting
out indignantly. “And will you be judging her unfairly, like all the
villagers and all?” Eithne demanded. “Don’t deny it, Alex MacDonald!
You’re thinking hard, suspicious things about her this very minute!”
Alex’s sunburned face looked disconcerted at this sudden attack, but
only for an instant. “Oh, aye,” he agreed cheerfully. “I am that. And why
wouldn’t I be, with the many reasons she’s given me already? Has she put
a spell on you, _m’eudail_? Best be away to the house and see if Catriona
can break it.”
Eithne stamped her foot, but it wasn’t easy to find a retort. “You—you
talk like a Covenanter!” she finally flung at him scathingly and flounced
out in a swirl of petticoats, Fiona behind her.
Alex scratched his red head, more confounded by her passion than by her
rather shaky logic. He grinned wryly at Kelpie, who looked back at him in
triumph.
“Poor innocent waif!” he jeered, putting one foot up on the edge of the
cot, where Dubh spat at it. He rested an elbow on his kilted knee and
stared at Kelpie with interest. She stared back through slitted eyes.
“Before you’re up and away again,” he said, casually, “I’ve a wee word
to be saying to you, and it is this. Unlike Ian and Eithne, I’ve a nasty
suspicious mind, I have.” He wagged his head sadly. “And I’ve a picture
in my head of you away off tomorrow bearing every movable thing in the
glen hid in your rags, and we sitting here without so much as a stick of
furniture left to us.”
“Indeed, and I would never be doing such a thing!” cried Kelpie
indignantly. “How could I be carrying it all?”
Alex laughed outright. Kelpie scowled. She had been cursed and beaten
often enough, but she had never before been laughed at, and she didn’t
like it.
Alex stopped laughing and grinned at her. “Well, so, and I’ve a
soft heart in me, so I’ll be doing nothing about such matters as
pocket-picking or a certain snuff box, nor will anyone else, I think.
But”—and he leaned forward a little—“should anything else just happen
to be missing when you leave, then you’ll be finding the hand of every
Cameron and MacDonald, all through the Great Glen and Lochaber from Loch
Leven to Loch Ness, turned against you.”
Kelpie showed sharp white teeth in a defiant laugh. “Are you thinking
I’ve never heard threats before?”
“Aye, I’m sure you have, and most unpleasant ones,” retorted Alex. “But
have you ever had one like this carried out, and two entire clans arrayed
against you, and every _ghillie_ on the watch?”
Kelpie narrowed her eyes. He had her, just! And to have the Great Glen
and Lochaber closed against them would be a sore handicap indeed.
“Sssss!” said Kelpie with deep sincerity.
Alex grinned again. “I’m not done,” he said briskly. “It seems that my
foster sister has given you her friendship. You’re not deserving it, of
course, but for Eithne that’s good enough reason for giving it. Now, I am
fond of Eithne, and if you should be taking advantage of her or hurting
her in any way, I shall see to it that you are punished—even if I must
denounce you as a witch. Do you understand?”
It was a fearful threat, and Kelpie, used to bluster and invective, was
unnerved by his very calm.
“_Nathrach!_” She spat “Remember, witches can curse! Shall I be putting
the Evil Eye on you?” And she widened her slanted eyes until the dark and
light rings were smoldering circles.
Alex laughed again, infuriatingly. “And if you haven’t already put the
Evil Eye on me at least three times today, it must be that you have not
got it at all. For you’ve wanted to, haven’t you? No, I’ll wager you
cannot do it.”
“Mina can,” muttered Kelpie sulkily.
“Now that I’ll believe,” he agreed readily. “But even the Evil Eye
wouldn’t save the two of you from being burned as witches, would it?”
Och, and he was so sure of himself! Kelpie saw suddenly that great
cunning and apparent submission were her best weapons. “And if I am
keeping the bargain?” she hinted, looking at his pocket.
“We’ve no bargain.” Alex corrected her mildly. “I’m no such fool. It’s
just that I’ve been telling you in a friendly way what will happen if
you should be stealing anything or hurting Eithne, that’s all.” And he
sauntered out, his kilt swinging jauntily about his brown knees.
4. The Daft Folk
Kelpie slept heavily for the first part of the night and then awoke to
stare restlessly into the stifling, closed-in darkness. How could a body
tell the hour, shut in like this? She must be out into the free air and
waiting when Mina and Bogle came for her.
She got up and groped her way out into the warm, horse-scented main part
of the stable. Dubh, a blacker shape in the dark, came and wove himself
around her ankles as she felt for the door with her good left hand; her
right shoulder was still too sore to move.
And then she was outside in the cold sweet air of pre-dawn. The hills to
the southeast stood black against a thin ghost of gray in the sky, and
the glen was filled with a toneless purple except for the ropes of pearly
mist strung down the clefts of the hills and over the loch. A tiny burn
and waterfall danced in a white thread at the far end of the glen, and
the wind smelled of the sea.
Kelpie drew in her breath deeply, and the beauty of it made a sore ache
inside her and a daft desire to cry. It was something deep within her,
just, that had these strange feelings now and then, and she must be
careful never to let them out.
It was these daft folk at Glenfern who were making her feel peculiar. She
must be away from them, away from the trapping walls and alien people,
to the freedom of the hills and sky. She slipped like a wraith around to
the back of the stable, where the ground sloped upward, wrapping her bare
ankles in the wetness of rank grass and heather and stinging nettles,
which she had long ago stopped noticing. And at the upper corner a long
skinny arm reached out with the swiftness of a snake, seized Kelpie’s
wrist (fortunately, the uninjured one), and shook her.
“We’ve been waiting for you this long while!” Mina began pulling her up
the hill.
Kelpie came willingly enough. She was almost glad to see Mina’s evil
old face. She knew where she was with Mina. She could hate and be hated
single-mindedly, and always know how Mina would behave. The people at
Glenfern were unpredictable and confusing.