a wonderful long tale of truth and fiction mixed. The lonely old woman
eagerly drank it in, with exclamations of indignation and sympathy. When
Callum MacNab, looking like a twisted and weatherworn pine, came in at
dusk, he had to hear it all over again, and by this time Kelpie had
thought up a few more interesting details. She fairly basked in their
attention and tenderness, while the old couple glowed with kindness and
the rare treat of company and news. And so, with one thing and another,
Kelpie spent the night and the next day with them.
12. Meeting at Pitlochry
“’Tis sorry I am to see you away, wee dark love, but you must be
putting more distance between yourself and the Campbells. And you must
be searching for your own true family. To think of it! And you say Mac
Cailein Mor was telling you himself that ’twas from a chief he stole you?”
“And I but a bairn,” agreed Kelpie firmly. Having Callum and Alsoon
believe her tale so readily almost made her believe it herself—and,
after all, might not some of it be true? She tucked the little bundle
of oatmeal and scones into her belt, and hugged the rough warmth of her
new plaidie about her shoulders, pleased that it was the neutral black
and white of the shepherd’s tartan and would not associate her with any
particular clan.
Luck was with her again, she reflected, that she had found these kind and
simple people, willing to give her the food from their mouths and the
clothes from their backs—much simpler, if less exciting, than stealing.
It made her feel odd to be _given_ things this way. Perhaps if all folk
were like these, or like Ian and his family, there would be no need to
steal. Warm with a novel sense of gratitude, she was careful not to take
anything from Callum and Alsoon that they had not given her.
They stood just outside the low doorway in the brightness of the summer
evening. The rain had become mere clouds glowing to the northwest, where
the sun would soon dip briefly below the hills. The old couple regarded
her anxiously, not at all happy to see her set off in the white gloaming.
“Look you, now,” repeated Callum, “you must be going south and east for a
bit, through Drummond and Stewart country, and then north through Murrays
and Menzies, and when you reach Pitlochry, just be finding the home of
my daughter Meg, at the tanning shop next the Tey River, and tell them I
sent you, and they will care for you until you are away again.”
“Aye, then,” murmured Kelpie, anxious to be gone. She had heard these
directions at least twice before, and in any case she knew the country
far better than she dared to let Callum know.
“Haste ye back,” they said, and this Highland phrase was never used
unless truly meant. No one had ever said it to Kelpie before. She caught
her breath, turned her head away, and hurried off.
Traveling, she found, was easier without Mina and Bogle than with them,
in one way. For folks had only to take one look at those two to know
the worst. But Kelpie, as long as she kept her eyes lowered and her lip
tucked demurely in, looked quite innocent, so that, even on the edge of
the thrifty and Kirk-trained Lowlands, people were usually willing to
give her food—and when they didn’t, Kelpie simply helped herself.
Now and then she picked up rumors about what was going on in the
Highlands, particularly concerning Argyll, who was, it appeared, still
away in the west, chasing an elusive Antrim.
As nearly as Kelpie could make out from bits here and there, Argyll
had chased Antrim back to Ardnamurchen, where the latter had left his
ships. But the ships had been spirited away by the English, just as
Lorne had suggested, and since then the two forces had been playing
catch-me-if-you-can all over the Highlands, with Antrim trying to rouse
the clans against Argyll, the clans either afraid or quarreling among
themselves, while Argyll tried to catch Antrim’s small army before it
should become a larger army.
“Aye,” said an old man, chuckling, in a voice not meant to be overheard.
“Argyll will never be fighting a battle against more than half his number
if he can avoid it.”
“Dinna mock him!” whispered another. “Ye’ll no be wanting yon wild
foreign Hielanders crossing the mountains wi’ their wicked screechin’
pipes and attacking us, will ye?”
“Dinna fret, they’ll no come. ’Tis too busy they are wi’ their own
heathen fighting; Papists, the lot o’ them.”
“They might, if Montrose could stir them up tae fight for the King
against the Covenant.”
“They would never do that. He’s a Graham from the East Coast, and those
savages in the West would never stir a foot for any but their own chiefs.
Anyway, they say Montrose is vanished altogether, and no doubt dead.”
They both bent lowering gray brows when they saw the shamelessly
eavesdropping Kelpie. She scurried away hastily, lest they think her a
spy.
She wandered on, begging, stealing, and listening, until she came at last
to Pitlochry.
There seemed a braw lot of people in the narrow streets of the town,
and, surprisingly, many of them seemed to be wearing Gordon or MacDonald
tartans. Whatever were those clans doing here? And those two young men
striding along the street toward her.... “_Dhé!_” said Kelpie, and they
all stopped short.
They stared at one another with mixed feelings. “Why, whatever will ye be
doing here, at all?” demanded Kelpie with astonishment.
Alex recovered his wits first. “Why,” he said with the old mocking grin,
“we were missing you and your bonnie friends so badly that we had to come
away to look for ye.”
“Sssss!” remarked Kelpie, concealing her pleasure at the old bantering
and reminding herself that Alex was a treacherous enemy. Moreover, she
was never again going to permit herself the dangerous luxury of caring
for anyone at all. Having told herself this, she turned to look at Ian
with delight. A braw lad! Did he carry a grudge against her? she wondered
anxiously.
“And are you all right, Kelpie?” he asked kindly. “Mina and Bogle are
treating you well?”
“Sssss,” she said again. “They are wicked _uruisgean_, and I have left
them this long time ago. I did not want to be leaving Glenfern whatever,”
she added hopefully.
Ian looked pleased, but Alex laughed. “Aye, it was a good enough life you
were leading there, after all. But you seem to be doing well enough for
yourself the now. Where were you stealing the gey sober gown and plaidie?”
“I was not stealing them whatever!” Kelpie was outraged more by his
manner than by his words.
“But you would be saying the same thing even if you had,” encouraged Alex
with a straight face.
Kelpie’s lips began to curve upward as she remembered the teasing at the
loch-side at Glenfern. She tried to frown, for it was not right to be
teasing with Alex when they were no longer friends. But she could not
help it. “Of course,” she agreed cheekily and grinned.
“Och, the wicked wee lass!” Alex chuckled. “She’ll never change!”
“No, now, but she has changed!” Ian objected. “She could not laugh at
herself when first she came to Glenfern.”
“Are you sure ’tis herself she’s laughing at?” gibed Alex. “Or is it
ourselves, just, for being ready to forgive her so easily—and after she
was breaking the ancient code of hospitality.”
“It was not my fault!” protested Kelpie. “Mina was threatening to put a
curse on you all if I did not come with them.”
“Och, how tender you are of our welfare!” said Alex derisively. “And
that, I suppose, is why you were so quick to tell her all about how Ian
and I met the King and Montrose in Oxford?”
There was no use trying to explain, for he would never believe her—not
that she cared a groat what Alex MacDonald thought, anyway. Perhaps she
would be able to tell Ian about it some day, with Alex not around. An
idea was growing in her mind. After glowering at Alex, she turned to Ian
and looked up at him meltingly through long lashes. She had never before
set out to beguile a lad, but Janet had put the thought in her head, and
she might as well try now and see could she do it. Some deep instinct
awoke, so that she seemed to know just how to go about it. “And what is
it you are doing so far from Glenfern?” she asked softly.
Was it her fancy that Ian’s smile seemed a wee bit warmer than usual?
“Why,” he said, “we are with Colkitto’s army, up at Blair Atholl, and—”
Kelpie forgot about beguiling him. “Colkitto!” she yelped. “You mean
Antrim?”
“Aye, ’tis what we call him; Alistair MacDonald, Earl of Antrim, who has—”
“Fine I know that!” interrupted Kelpie. “But where will Mac Cailein Mor
be, then? On your tail?” There was alarm in her voice, and both lads
regarded her curiously.
“Na, na,” Ian said soothingly. “He’s away back to his own country,
raising a larger army, no doubt, since some five hundred Gordons have
joined us. Are you afraid of him, Kelpie? And what are you doing here,
and where are you living?”
Kelpie looked wistful. “I am all alone, and nowhere to five.” She sighed
and then smiled up at him brightly. “It is in my mind to come along with
you,” she announced.
Alex laughed. Unprincipled little thing though she was, he did enjoy her
shameless, incorrigible audacity! The workings of her mind fascinated
him, and even though he could see through her so easily, he could never
remain angry for long.
Ian looked thoughtful. “Well, and why not? We’ve nearly as many women and
bairns as we have men, for Colkitto brought the whole of his clan over
with him to take back their land from the Campbells. And Lachlan brought
his wife Maeve along to be cooking and nursing and caring for us, for
she does not trust Lachlan to do it properly. You’d be far safer than
wandering alone. What about it, Alex?”
Alex shrugged and lifted a red eyebrow. “Ou, I’ve no doubt at all that
she can look after herself,” he observed dryly. “But I’ve no objection;
only, Ian _avic_, let us not be trusting her as far as tomorrow, for
there is no loyalty in her.”
The lazy mockery of his voice had a whiplash in it, and Kelpie flinched,
unexpectedly hurt by it. She lashed back, remembering the scene in Loch
nan Eilean.
“You!” she fumed. “You, to be talking of loyalty, who would strike down a
friend from behind!”
Alex gaped. It was the first time she had ever caught him out of
countenance, and it gave her great satisfaction. Ian looked distressed.
“Och, now!” he protested hastily. “Let you both be saving your fighting
for the Covenant armies. Come away back to the camp, now, and we’ll talk
as we go.”
They started back, out of Pitlochry and over the narrow road lined with
tall blooming thistles. The heather, just preparing to bloom, glowed
rustily under the patchy sunlight. Alex strode along frowning, still
smarting and dumfounded over the outrageous flank attack. What could she
have meant by it, the wee witch? She had seemed genuinely indignant,
too. For once she was not acting; Alex had been matching wits with her
long enough to be sure of that. Then what under the great heavens could
he have done to draw such a denunciation, such withering scorn from an
unprincipled gypsy lass who would doubtless betray her own grandmother
for a bit of copper? It made no sense whatever. And although Alex
reminded himself that the opinion of a wee witch could scarcely matter,
he found that it rankled. “_Dhiaoul!_” he muttered under his breath and
knit his brows in annoyance, leaving most of the conversation to Ian.
“And why is it you’re so concerned over Mac Cailein Mor, Kelpie?” Ian
asked. “Have you been studying more politics since you left Glenfern?”
Kelpie hedged. “Is it likely I’d be wanting to run into the head of the
Covenant army, and him death on gypsies and all who do not belong to the
Kirk? No, now”—she shifted the subject—“tell me what has been happening,
and why Colkitto has his army at Blair Atholl.”
“Well, so.” Ian thought for a minute, his sensitive profile clear and
grave against the mauve and russet and olive of the August hills. Kelpie
tilted her own face to look at him as she kept easy pace while Alex
walked, brooding silently, behind.
“Did you know,” began Ian, “that Colkitto brought over his whole clan to
fight for the King against Argyll and the Covenant, and perhaps take back
some of the MacDonald land from the Campbells?”
“Fine, that!” murmured Kelpie, remembering that day at Inverary. “And
Argyll away after him all over the Highlands.”
Ian nodded. “And the English burned Antrim’s ships, so that he must stay
here, will he, nil he. So he has been trying to get the other Highland
clans to join him. He’s not had much luck, for some of the clans fear
the Campbells too much, and some others have decided that they hate the
MacDonalds even more than the Covenant—for the moment, at any rate.
Lochiel doesn’t dare call out our clan yet, with Ewen still in Argyll’s
hands, and—more important—with Argyll’s army so near to Lochaber. Can you
imagine what would be happening to our women and children at Lochaber if
Lochiel took the men away to fight the Covenant?”
Kelpie could imagine, easily. Her blood ran cold at the thought of Wee
Mairi in danger, and she nodded soberly.
“Some of us Camerons have come along anyway, and so have some five
hundred Gordons who are wanting revenge against Argyll,” continued Ian.
“But most on this side of the mountains think we Western Highlanders are
a band of wild savages, like the Red Indians of America. And even Stewart
of Atholl—although he hates Argyll and the Covenant—will have nothing to
do with the Irish MacDonalds. So—” He grinned at Kelpie mischievously.
“We have just borrowed Atholl’s castle from him, and now we sit and
wait.” He sobered again. “I do not know what we will do next. There is a
rumor that Graham of Montrose is still alive, and perhaps he is our hope.
But to tell the truth, things do not look very good, and the Covenant
armies will not sit still forever.”
Kelpie’s lip lifted in sudden anger. “Och, ye will be losing this war,
just!” she predicted despairingly. “For yourselves, and for the folk like
me who want only to be left alone. You cannot get together even to save
your own lives, but must always be quarreling clan against clan, and so
ye will lose!”
Ian looked depressed, but Alex came out of his black reverie with a
laugh. “Listen to her, just!” he taunted. “The lone lass who lives for
herself and no other will be giving us a lesson on cooperation! But even
though you don’t practice what you preach,” he added somberly, “you’re
right.”
A puffy cloud blew over the sun, darkening the bright hills, and the
thistles waved in a sudden sharp breeze.
* * * * *
The small army was spread over the hill and moor near Blair Atholl,
looking somewhat dispirited. Some men were hopefully cleaning their gear,
polishing the huge two-handed claymores and battle axes which struck such
terror into Lowland hearts. Others just sat, or wandered, or gambled,
or talked. Women were busy gossiping, sewing, cooking, arguing; but
one tall, gaunt woman brooded alone. Children ran about playing tag or
hanging about the men. A ragged, motley crowd it was, but fierce-looking
enough, no doubt, to folk on this side of the mountains. Kelpie frowned
suddenly. The whole scene looked familiar.
“We’ve set up our wee camp spot over yon, just near those rowan trees,”
said Ian, pointing to a spot partway up the hill. But before they were
halfway there a flurry of excitement near the edge of the moor turned
into an uproar. Men began shouting, running. A single shot was fired, and
then several more.
“It couldn’t be an attack!” Ian frowned, staring across the moor, “but
what is it?”
“’Tis he!” shouted Alex. “’Tis Graham of Montrose! Look you there!”
“The King’s Lieutenant!” “He’s come!” “My Lord of Montrose!” The words
were being shouted back and forth, and the sound swelled into a thunder
of cheers. Kelpie found herself running with the lads toward the center
of the excitement.
As nearly as she could see through the crowd, the Lord of Montrose seemed
to be a slight young man in groom’s clothing, with brown hair and a bunch
of oats stuck in his bonnet. _Dhé!_ She had seen him before! And now from
the wooded hill a red-bearded giant in the MacDonald tartan—Antrim—rushed
down to clasp the hand of the slight young man, and Kelpie remembered.
She had seen it in the crystal, that first morning at Glenfern.
And so now they had come together, Antrim and Montrose, totally different
and yet fighting for the King’s cause. What would be the outcome?
13. The Hexing of Alex
The immediate effect of Montrose’s arrival was that of a most powerful
magic charm. It could not have been more telling had he come with a full
army at his back instead of just one man, his cousin Patrick. The King’s
standard was raised then and there on the hillside and saluted with a
flourish of trumpets, and cheers, and triumphantly skirling bagpipes.
And some of the clans who had been hovering about waiting to attack
the Irish Highlander Antrim now came to join the King’s Lieutenant,
Montrose—including Stewart of Atholl.
Kelpie decided to stay for a while. Things looked interesting. She was
safer here than wandering alone. Besides, she liked Ian’s company, even
if it meant putting up with Alex. She even thought that she just might
persuade Ian to guard himself against his precious foster brother,
though she had not much hope of this, Ian being so stubbornly trustful.
Besides, since she had “seen” the thing in the loch, it would surely
happen, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
For a while, staying with the army meant simply staying right there where
it was. Nothing much seemed to be happening. Clans—or, more often, bits
of them—drifted in. Kelpie roamed where she liked, usually with the lads
and their watchful _ghillie_, Lachlan, exchanging insults with Alex and
hostile silence with Lachlan and his wife Maeve, who had no use for her
whatever and made no secret of it.
She also spent some of her time gazing speculatively at the tall, gaunt
woman whom she had noticed the first day she arrived. The woman would
stare for hours into space, a black, brooding look on her face, her hands
twisting together as if she were wringing someone’s neck—or perhaps
casting a new kind of spell. A bulky Gordon plaidie covered her broad
shoulders, and, though she was not old, there was the beginning of gray
at her dark temples, and there were strong, grim lines along her mouth.
Her eyes were deep-set and a little alarming, and Kelpie wondered whether
she might be a witch. She looked it. Perhaps she had been tortured by
witch-hunters and had somehow escaped? Kelpie considered approaching
her about learning the Evil Eye, but the woman’s fierceness made her
hesitate. She might get a curse put on herself for her boldness, and she
could do fine without _that_.
The coppery hills began to turn purple with the blooming of the heather.
It rained. No more was heard of Argyll, but there were rumors that the
enemy commander, Lord Elcho, was in Perth with an army of seven thousand
and looking with considerable interest toward Blair Atholl. “And we with
only two thousand men,” commented Alex cheerfully.
“Ou, aye,” agreed Ian with a grin. “But just think of our fine store of
weapons!” Lachlan looked sour, and Kelpie raised a derisive eyebrow.
“Artillery?” mused Alex. “None.”
“Cavalry—three old horses, one of them lame,” chanted Ian.
“Guns—some old-fashioned matchlocks, and all the ammunition we could be
needing to shoot a third of them for one round each.”
“And then,” finished Ian in triumph, “just in case we’re needing them,
there’s a few swords, claymores, and battleaxes—not to mention the _sgian
dhu_” he added, reaching down to tap the wee dirk where it nestled in his
stocking, just on the outside of his right knee.
“And”—Alex chuckled with ironic optimism—“Montrose has been saying that
the enemy has plenty of weapons, and those of us without can just help
ourselves once the fighting has started.”
Kelpie looked at them. There was, she felt, a definite limit to the
things a body should be joking about. She said so. And Lachlan, who felt
personally responsible for the safety of Ian and Alex, for once agreed
with her.
And now came Maeve, whose loyalty was all toward Mac ’ic Ian, heir to
Glenfern (for Master Alex, although a foster son, was not actually a
Cameron at all). Her orange hair gleamed even in the cloud-filtered sun,
and she addressed herself to Ian.
“Food will be ready,” she said and crossed herself as she looked at
Kelpie. As they all started toward the rowan tree they called home, she
added, half under her breath, “Herself eats enough, whatever, but will
never be doing any cooking.”
“You were not liking my cooking,” observed Kelpie complacently. It was
no accident that the one meal she had produced, at Alex’ insistence, had
been perfectly awful.
“_Dhé_, no!” Ian agreed, laughing. “You said she was trying to poison us,
Maeve. You’d not be wanting to try that again, would you?”
“’Tis gey queer,” retorted Maeve, “for a gypsy not to be able to cook
over an open fire.”
Ian looked at Kelpie, his keen mind as usual fighting with his desire
to believe the best of people. Alex began to laugh. “Och!” he exclaimed
ruefully. “And I the one who was never going to be fooled by her again!”
Kelpie saw an opening. “Gypsy taste will be different from yours,” she
announced blandly. “When I was first stolen, it was a dreadful time I had
getting used to gypsy food! It was nearly starving I was, for a while.”
Her blue ringed eyes widened with the picture of a poor wee bairn pining
away with hunger.
Lachlan snorted.
“Ou, the pity of it!” said Alex mournfully, his angular face looking
almost tender. “And you used to royal food, and all. I’ve wondered, just,
whether ’tis yourself was the princess stolen from our King and Queen all
those long years ago when they visited the Highlands.”
For a minute Kelpie was fooled. Her eyes were a smoky blue blaze as
visions of royal grandeur hurtled through her mind. Of course! Why not?
“For shame, Alex,” said Ian reproachfully. “She’s nearly believing it.”
Kelpie jerked out of her dream and hissed venomously at Alex, who
chuckled impenitently and wondered how she would try to get even this
time.
The next day Kelpie went down to the burn, where she had noticed that
the soil had a sticky, claylike quality. There she sat for some time,
screened by broom and high bracken, and slowly shaped a small clay
figure—not that it looked much like Alex, she being no artist. In fact,
she admitted, a body could barely tell that it was supposed to be human
at all. But perhaps the intent was the main thing. If only she could get
hold of a bit of his hair or a fingernail—but Kelpie had had enough of
hair-stealing for a while, particularly red hair. Anyway, Alex was much
too canny. She had never yet managed to steal anything from him without
being caught. No, she would just have to be trying her hex without it.
There were brambles conveniently near. Kelpie picked a long thorn,
regarded her clay figure thoughtfully, and then plunged the thorn deep
into the area where the stomach might be expected to be.
Then she wrapped up the hex figure, went back to the rowan tree, and
began to watch Alex hopefully.
Two days passed, but if he had any pains in his stomach, he concealed
them very well. Kelpie added a second thorn to the figure, this time in
the head, and again waited. By rights, his brains ought to start melting
away, but she must not be doing it right, for Alex’s brains remained as
uncomfortably keen as ever. He didn’t even get a headache.
Kelpie began looking wistfully at the tall, gaunt woman again. If she
_was_ a witch, she could undoubtedly help. And yet—Kelpie noticed that
the men of the army did not treat her at all as a witch. Far from
shunning her, they went out of their way to be kind, to bring her choice
bits of food, to talk to her. Once again Kelpie decided not to risk
trouble. She would manage her own hex, impotent as it seemed to be.
In disgust, she took it out again, plunged thorns all over it, rubbed it
with nettles, burned it, and then watched again. After five days Alex
did twist his wrist slightly, but somehow Kelpie failed to feel much
satisfaction. She was quite sure that she had never put a thorn in the
left wrist. So she gave up trying to hex him. Either she didn’t have the
power at all, or else—which seemed quite possible—Alex had a greater
power.