Page 15 of The Changeling

I had been kept busy all day, helping stuff the goose with plums and making gravy with the deglazed juices, elderberry jelly and honey. A lad kept a sharp eye out, in case Pastor Malison came to inspect our ovens. Christmas was frowned on by Pastor Knox and the other Reformist preachers, there being no biblical command to celebrate the birth of Christ. The burning of a Yule log, the hanging of garlands of holly and ivy, and the roasting of a goose were seen as particularly pagan. Anyone caught celebrating in such a way was made to stand on the high repentance stool in the kirk, one of its legs cut short so that it was hard to keep one’s balance, while Pastor Malison harangued them from the pulpit.

The sound of laughter and music rose from the great hall. Soon we were called in to eat, for the laird of Inchbrakie and his family dined together with the servants in the old way. A long table ran the entire length of the great hall, with cushioned seats and pewter plates for the laird and his family, and wooden pews and trenchers for the rest of us. A thick gnarled birch trunk burned on the hearth, the figure of an old, hunched woman drawn upon it with charcoal from the charred remains of the previous year’s fire. She represented the blue-faced hag of winter. As the log slowly burned away over the night, she would burn away too, and allow life and warmth to return to the land.

Great platters of roast mutton and venison were carried around, and Lady Marjorie – who could not bear the sight of bloody meat – was served a delicate lark pie which I had made for her, my fingers being the smallest and most dexterous. Bowls of cabbage cooked with chestnuts and cream were passed up and down the table, and big jugs of mulled cider and ale.

After we had eaten our fill, the children went outside to play, while the adults danced or dealt out hands of cards. The huge old yew in the garden was hung with lanterns, and children ran about it, laughing and trying to catch each other. Sorcha went at once to join them, but I was worn out after hours on my feet, and had no desire to be the one always caught first. I sat on the tree’s twisted roots, playing cat’s cradle with some old string, and pretending I did not secretly wish to play with the others.

Rory began to climb the yew, challenging the other boys to see if they could climb higher than him. Robbie was quick to join him, laughing, and the other children soon followed, the girls tying their skirts to their belts. Rory reached a fork high in the tree and straddled it, calling down mockingly to the other children, who were all stuck at various lower branches. He saw me, sitting alone, and called, ‘Hey, wee dafty, what’s wrong with you? Too afraid to climb?’

‘I’m afeart of naught!’

‘Och aye, for sure. As if a wee crookit thing like you could climb a big tree like this.’

‘I could climb to the very top if I wanted to,’ I retorted.

‘Go on then. Prove it.’

‘What will you give me if I do?’

He shrugged. ‘Aught you want. Because there’s no way you can do it.’

‘I can and I will!’ I scrambled to my feet. ‘And when I do, you have to let me ride your horse.’

Rory just laughed. ‘As if you could even get up on his back!’

‘So you agree? If I climb to the very top, I get to ride your horse? And no’ just on a leading rein, like your sisters. I get to gallop him as far as I like.’

‘Och aye, why not?’

‘Rory,’ Robbie began.

His brother turned to him and shouted, ‘Shut up, Robbie. She’s not going to be able to do it, so it’s not a problem.’

‘But she’s only a wee thing – she might fall and hurt herself.’

‘You can catch her then,’ Rory said. ‘Since you care so much.’

‘It’s a deal then.’ I limped to the base of the tree, leaned my stick against it, kilted up my skirt, and hauled myself onto the first massive bough.

‘Caiti, dinna do it,’ Sorcha protested. ‘He’s just being mean. Ignore him.’

‘I want to ride his horse,’ I answered and kept on climbing. It was horribly hard. My leather soles kept slipping on the damp bark. After a while I sat on a bough, took off my boots and hurled them down. After that it was easier, as I could use my toes to grip the fissures in the trunk. I might be small, but I was driven by determination and rage. I reached the bough where Robbie sat. He reached out a hand to me. ‘Caiti, do not listen to him. You’d be killed if you fell.’

‘I’m no’ going to fall.’

The higher I climbed, the darker it got, and the harder it was to see handholds. I went very slowly, for the muscles in my arms and legs were trembling. At last I reached the very top, wrapping my arms about the trunk. ‘I’m at the very top!’ I shouted exultantly. ‘I’m so high I can see Edinburgh!’

‘Liar!’ Rory shouted back. ‘Edinburgh is miles away – there’s no way you could see it.’

‘How do you ken, pigface? You’re too big and fat to get all the way up here.’

‘Caiti, come down, please!’ Sorcha begged.

‘I’m coming down. You’d better go and get your horse ready for me. I’ll be galloping home tonight.’

‘You must not gallop him in the dark,’ Rory protested. ‘He’ll put a hoof in a hole and hurt himself.’

I set my jaw, not wanting to give in an inch, but knew Rory was right. ‘Then I want to ride him first thing in the morning!’