The Betrayal of Maggie Blair

Chapter 15

I slept so deeply that night that it took a prod from Peter Boag's stick to wake me. The sun had been up for hours, and I saw that I had slept long after the other two had risen. Peter was holding a bowl of porridge out to me and smiling from ear to ear.

"Little miracle worker, you are," he said. "I knew it. You needn't have pretended. I wouldn't have let on. Here's your penny. You've more than earned it."

I must have looked like a halfwit, staring up at him, bemused and still half asleep.

"My earache," he said. "It's gone. Look!"

He bent his head, and I saw a trickle of thick yellow pus dribbling from his ear.

"The evil humor's coming out, you see? You've purged it."

"No!" I lurched to my feet and grabbed at my plaid, which had fallen away so that too much of me was open to view. "I never did anything! I don't know—"

"Oh, lassie, don't bother. Your secret's safe. I told you, I'll not tell anyone, and I mean it."

He thrust the penny into my reluctant hand and had turned away before I could stop him.

Well, I thought, as I tied it into my father's shirttail and took up the spoon to eat my breakfast, a penny is a penny when all's said and done, and after all I did say the charm right through before I went to sleep.

I should have felt glad, I suppose, that Peter Boag's ear no longer hurt him, but in fact I was dismayed. I wanted no strange powers, good or evil. I wanted only to be ordinary, a plain girl, living safe and respectable in a proper family. And a wife one day. And a mother.

***

We were lucky, on those long, slow days of the drove, because the weather was kind to us. A few sharp showers came tumbling out of sullen clouds that swept as fast as racing horses across the hilltops. But most of the time the sun shone, turning the lochs as blue as cut-out pieces from the sky and making the heather on the hillsides glow in purple splendor.

I was soon used to splashing through the streams and even wading across fast-flowing rivers, but I was glad that I never had to swim in deep water again. The farther we moved from the Isle of Bute, the less I feared discovery. I was not afraid to be recognized as we were rowed by ferrymen across the lochs and greater rivers, looking back at the cows who bobbed along after the boat, their noses stretched up out of the water. I was grateful, from the bottom of my heart, that I wasn't struggling along with them.

We seemed to have been on the drove for months, and I had become used to the pace and rhythm of it, but in fact only a week had gone by when Mr. Lithgow said, "Well, Maggie, we'll be in Dumbarton tomorrow, and you'll have to make your own way from there."

I'd known it was coming, of course, but still my heart sank at the thought. Mr. Lithgow must have been watching my face, because he said, "No need to look like that. It's just a wee sail across the Clyde from Dumbarton, and no more than ten miles south to Ladymuir. You can walk it in a morning easily."

I knew Granny would have thought me feeble, but I couldn't help saying, "How will I find my way, Mr. Lithgow? And what if I'm stopped for being a vagabond?"

"I've thought of that." He lifted his spare knitting needle to poke through his matted beard and scratch at his chin. "You'll show them your buckle, and you'll tell the ferryman and anyone else who asks that you're the drover Archie Lithgow's young cousin, and you're taking a message down to Mr. Blair about the cattle he wants to sell. You've taken color in your cheeks and legs this past week. You look more like a boy now than any girl I've ever seen. There'll be no need to hide and fear questions along the way. The ferryman will point you on the path to Kilmacolm, and once you're there at the crossroads, you'll ask the way to Lochwinnoch. Ladymuir's along that way. You'll find it easily enough."

"Have you been there yourself, Mr. Lithgow?"

"I have. Many years ago. With your father."

It was the first time he'd told me of it. Questions bubbled up inside me. I had to pause and choose them carefully. I knew Mr. Lithgow wouldn't like to be asked too many.

"Did you ever meet my uncle Blair?" I said at last. "What kind of a man is he?"

He chewed at his mustache as he tried to think of an answer.

"He's a tall-enough fellow."

I waited hopefully.

"A good farmer, I'm told. A respectable man. An elder of the church."

"Oh."

This was daunting news. What would an elder of the church think of me, a condemned witch, running around the country dressed as a boy?

"He's a man of the Covenant, so I've heard. A very staunch one."

"A what?"

"A Covenanter."

I'd never heard the word before. I didn't like to show my ignorance but luckily he went on.

"You'll not have heard much about the Covenanters, Maggie?"

"No."

"You will soon. The whole countryside in these parts and down around Kilmacolm is buzzing with the struggle."

"What struggle?"

He scratched at his ear this time, as if he didn't know where to begin.

"You'll have heard of the king, Charles Stuart?"

I nodded warily, though I hardly ever had.

"He sits in England with the crown on his head and thinks he can tell us up here what's right and what's wrong. What business is it of his to tell us here in Scotland how to say our prayers?"

He sounded bitter.

"Are you a Covenanter, then, Mr. Lithgow?"

"Me? I can't read or write. A drover like me goes around the country here and there. Who's going to ask me what I think about how the church should be governed and whether the king's bishops should be the men to do it? No one's asked me to sign the Covenant and call myself a Covenanter. There's right on their side, I suppose. The king wants his own way, but if it isn't God's way, then he shouldn't have it."

"What's the king's way?" I asked, even more confused. "What's God's way?"

But Mr. Lithgow had come to the end of his patience with my questions, and as he always did when he wanted a conversation to end, he whistled to the dogs to round up imaginary stragglers.

***

We came into Dumbarton late that afternoon. I could hear the noise of the place a good mile before we reached the town, which lay on the shores of the Clyde. There was a din of shouting men and lowing cattle, the clatter of hooves on wooden ramps, and all the hammering and banging of tradespeople at work. There must have been thirty or forty houses in Dumbarton, and more than a thousand people congregated in the open there. I had never seen such a big town or thought that so many people could be gathered together in one place. I felt nervous and stayed as close to Mr. Lithgow as I could.

We had spent the night at a drovers' stance only a mile or so from the town, so it was still early in the day. I could tell by the frown drawing Mr. Lithgow's bushy brows together that he was preoccupied with the business ahead. As he led his cattle into the sales area, his eyes darted about, looking critically at the state of other herds and comparing them to his own.

Down on the shore, wide, flat-bottomed boats were drawn up out of the current of the swift-flowing estuary. Cows were being driven up the ramps onto the boats, bellowing with nerves. The corners of Mr. Lithgow's eyes crinkled in a quick smile of recognition as he stared at the boatmen.

"Here, Peter, watch the herd," he said suddenly, and hurried down to talk to one of the men who was standing by the mast of his boat, untying the reefs of the sail. The boat was already laden with cattle, and the other boatmen were ready at the oars.

Mr. Lithgow turned and beckoned to me.

"That's you away, then," said Peter Boag.

I was already hurrying toward the boat and didn't take in what he meant.

"Mr. Gillies is ready to take you across, Ma—Danny," Mr. Lithgow said. "Hurry and fetch your bundle."

I raced back to Peter Boag. He had already taken my things off Samson's back, and he put the bundle in my arms.

"Good luck. You're a one, you are. I'll come and find you if the other ear goes."

I was so shaken by the suddenness of this parting that I didn't know what to say. I looked around to see that the boat was already pulling away from the shore. I sprinted back to it and had to run through the shallows, splashing wildly, before I could scramble on board. The wind had caught at the sail, and the oarsmen were already at work.

I looked back at Mr. Lithgow. There had been no time to say goodbye to him or to thank him for his part in saving my life. He hadn't even looked on to wave but was walking back to his cows.

I'm just a bit of finished business to him, I thought. He's done with me now.

A dreadful loneliness swept over me. For the first time, I was truly alone. Granny had given me, in her own strange way, into Tam's care, and he had passed me to Mr. Lithgow. There was no one I could turn to now. In the days of the drove, I had grown used to the quiet, thoughtful men and the slowly moving cows. I hadn't had to think of what road to take or what to eat or where to rest at night. But now, as I looked out at the mile-wide sweep of the mighty Clyde, I knew that everything was up to me.

Kilmacolm, I said to myself, my knuckles whitening as I gripped the wooden side of the boat. Ladymuir. Uncle Blair.

The words were like one of Granny's spells, full of mystery and magic. They held all my hopes.

***

It was already well after midday when I stepped ashore on the far side. The crossing had taken a long time, with contrary winds, and I was afraid that I wouldn't find my way to Ladymuir until after everyone was in bed.

I fumbled for my shirttail and untied the penny, but when I offered it to Mr. Gillies, he shook his head.

"Keep your penny, lad. Archie Lithgow paid me. He told me to put you on the track for Kilmacolm. You've to take the path east along the bank here, to that small stand of trees you can see in the distance. Turn along the path there and follow it up and over the hill. It winds around a bit, but follow on and you'll come to Kilmacolm. You'll see it below you in the hollow. The crossroads is beyond the kirk. Turn south, down to the right. You'll see the peak of Misty Law up ahead. I don't know the farm you're looking for, but that's the way to Lochwinnoch."

He was off at once, calling to one of the boat lads to tie up more securely before disembarking the cattle. There was no reason for me to linger, and I took a deep breath and started walking fast along the water's edge toward the rowan trees, warmed by the thought of Mr. Lithgow's care for me, even after we had parted. I should have known better than to expect fine words from him at parting. I should have known that wouldn't be his way.