Page 79 of The Changeling

My skin crept. Carlin slunk close to me, her plumy tail tucked so far beneath her legs it could not be seen.

‘What happened here?’ I asked a woman drawing water from the communal well.

Her eyes darted from side to side, then she said in a low voice, ‘Mistress MacKie was taken as a witch. Accused of disturbing the minister’s sleep with lustful dreams.’ She rolled her eyes, then hastily dropped her gaze.

‘Is she … was she hurt?’

‘She’s dead.’ One of the woman’s hands twitched, as if she had meant to cross herself, but thought better of it. She said rapidly in a low voice, ‘Be careful, lassie, it’s no’ safe here, a bonny wee thing like you on your own. The Regent has ordered any witches to be rooted out and burned, and there’s hardly a village in Fife that has no’ seen some poor woman dragged from her home and accused. Usually, it’s some poor old biddy, but sometimes it’s a woman the men lust after. They keep her locked up, and visit her at all times of day and night, and do things to her …’

She swallowed convulsively, and again her eyes made that nervous darting motion. ‘Get you home, lock your door, and whatever you do, dinna be seen asking questions or making a fuss.’

‘I thank you,’ I said and went rapidly on my way, keeping my head down.

In a village below a grim stone fortress, another cottage had been burned and there were the remains of a great fire in the village square. I could tell by the trampled physic garden and the old willow tree with a scarred trunk that the owner had been a herbalist and healer. I felt sick to my stomach, and very afraid. I left the track and followed meandering trails into the steep wild hills, rolling myself in my plaid to sleep in the woods when the sun at last sank away into darkness.

I could not sleep, haunted by the thought of the poor murdered women and disturbed by the eerie, high-pitched screaming of a vixen. I put my arms about Carlin’s neck, buried my face in her ruff, and managed to doze at last.

The next day I walked fast, my head down, not pausing to forage for food and beg for work. I crossed the Kinkell Bridge over the swift-running waters of the River Earn, and passed into fields and meadows that were familiar to me. I dreaded meeting anyone I knew, and avoided the road which led through Inchbrakie lands, winding my way through the woods instead.

The Knock rose on the horizon, a dark presence in the bright summer landscape. It cast a shadow towards me. I chanted my charm of protection, and strode past, swinging my stick. I passed into its shade, and came out the other side into sunshine again, letting loose a breath I had not realised I was holding. The soft green meadows, the blooming hedgerows, and the familiar shape of the lavender-blue highlands beyond were balm to my bruised spirits.

At last, a stone cottage with a heather thatched roof and two tall chimneys. I opened the gate and walked under the hawthorn tree, festooned with bright rags from a thousand wishes. For the first time in my life, I knocked on the front door. Nan came through from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She saw me, and her wrinkled old face broke into a beaming smile. She opened her arms, and I ran into them. We hugged wordlessly for a long time.

‘You’re safe?’ I asked. ‘And Mam and Sorcha too? No-one has come in search of me?’

‘We are all well,’ she answered. ‘Though we’ve heard word of the Regent’s witch-hunts. It’s a terrible time we live in. The queen escaped? She’s out of harm’s way?’

‘She’s fled to England. I dinna think she’ll be safe there.’

Nan shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Such a crying shame. You’re worn to the bone, hinny. Come, sit down, take the weight off your feet. Are you hungry?’

‘As a wolf,’ I answered.

She brought me some bannocks and cheese and honey, and took down a bottle of metheglin and poured us both a measure. It brought me new strength, and I ate ravenously, while Carlin crouched at my feet, devouring a bowl of meat scraps.

‘Did the queen no’ feed you?’ Nan enquired.

‘She was as hungry and footsore by the end as any of us,’ I answered soberly.

‘The poor lassie,’ Nan said. ‘It’s a shame, what they did to her. May they burn in hell.’

I thought of my last Seeing. ‘Justice will be served,’ I said with certainty.

Nan looked at me with sharpened interest. ‘You’ve grown up, hinny. You’re no’ a lass anymore.’

‘Nay,’ I said. ‘The lass I was is gone.’

‘You’ve still got a loving heart and a bright, strong spirit,’ she comforted me. ‘Dinna forget that.’

I smiled at her.

Nan bustled about, feeding the fire, bringing a basket of vegetables to peel and chop. ‘I need to get supper ready – happen you can give me a hand?’

‘I’d love to.’ I got out my cooking utensils and lined them up neatly on the table. Nan smiled to see the little iron pot she had given me, and Mam’s knife, and Sorcha’s long-handled wooden spoon. ‘You still have them? After all this time?’

‘I use them every single day.’

She gave me a hug. ‘It is good to have you home, hinny.’