 CHAPTER XIII. THE HECK SCENE OF ALEKS. The immediate effect of Montrose's arrival was that of a most powerful magic charm. It could have not been more telling had he come with a full army at his back instead of just one man, his cousin Patrick. The king-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 Stuart of Ahtal. 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 lock, 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 in 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 ringing someone's neck, or perhaps casting a new kind of spell. A bulky gordon palady 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 set deep 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 Argyle, but there were rumours that the enemy commander, Lord Elko, was in Perth with an army of seven thousand, and looking with considerable interest toward Blair at all. And we, with only two thousand men, commanded Alex cheerfully. Oh, I 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 match-locks, 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 battle-axes, not to mention the scheme-do, he added, reaching down to tap the weed-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 Maccakeen, 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. Her self eats enough, whatever, but will never be doing any cooking. "'You are not liking my cooking,' observed Kelpie complacently. It was no accident that one meal she had produced at Alex's insistence had been perfectly awful. "'Aye, 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 gay 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. Ah! 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 ring dies widened with the picture of a poor wee bairn pining away with hunger. Lachlan snorted. "'Ah! 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 smokey blue haze 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 impentantly 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, clay-like quality. There she sat for some time, screened by broom and hybrachan, 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 a human at all. But perhaps the intent was the main thing. If only she could get a 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 melding 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 wrists slightly, but somehow Kelpie failed to feel much satisfaction. She was quite sure that she'd 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 greater power. Lord Graham of Montrose had a great power too. Kelpie found herself more and more interested in him. The look of him was not that of a strong leader at all. Slight he was, with gentle dark gray eyes, and a quiet and courteous air that hardly seemed to belong in any army at all, much less at the head of one. Now Antrim looked like a leader indeed, massive red giant that he was, with a great roar of a voice. Yet there was no doubt that Montrose was the heart and soul of the army. Everyone, even Antrim, listened to him with respect, amounting almost to worship, and everyone said he had a genius for warfare. Was it magic? Quite likely, Kelpie thought. She took to watching and listening whenever he was among the men, but she never saw him make any magic signs, and his words were about such things as honor and loyalty, and why he was fighting for the king. Ian had said Montrose wanted no power for himself, but only for the right to be done, but Ian was gullible. Skeptical, Kelpie kept her ears open. Loyalty is a great thing, Montrose remarked one day, sitting at ease in a misty drizzle, killed at Highlanders all around him. They listened with eagerness and respect, but Kelpie, at the edge of the group, narrowed her eyes mistrustfully. Loyalty to your clan and your king, to an ideal, to a friend, to a thing you believe, he went on. This is integrity, and it is loyalty also to yourself. Kelpie frowned. It was only loyalty to one self that paid. She had found that out. Montrose was like Ian then, too generous and trusting. They would both suffer for it, no doubt, unless they learned to care only for their own welfare. You see, said Montrose, King Charles is a steward, and so we have a double loyalty to him, as our king, and as a steward and a Highlander. The English Parliament and the Scottish Covenant wish to rule the king and all of us as well. I think I need not tell you that. There was a growl from the group. I, MacAleon Moore would be King Campbell with the help of the Covenanters. A plague on the lot of them. And so urged Montrose, we must put aside lesser loyalties and quarrels amongst our own clans and stand together. I shouted them in, but Kelpie privately thought that Montrose's magic would fail at this point. Whoever knew a Highlander to give up his clan feuds for anything at all, except a greater clan feud? She did learn one thing about Montrose. He used different words with different kinds of people, just as she herself did, in a way. She was eavesdropping one evening as he sat by his campfire with Antrim and Patrick Graham of Inchbreakie, and its words to them were less simple and certain than those to the untaught clansmen. No, he said. I do not fight for what people call the divine right of kings. I don't believe there is such a thing, Alistair. A king must be subject to the laws of God, nature, and the country that he rules. But as long as he stays within those laws, then he should be the ruler. And if he doesn't, it was Patrick Graham, called Blackpate. The youthful face looked troubled in the firelight. Its true King Charles hasn't always obeyed the rules, murmured Montrose. That is why I supported the Covenan at first. But then I saw the greater danger we courted. If a group of subjects takes over the king's power, they may become a far worse tyrant than every king could be. And that is what happened. You see yourselves how the Covenant oppresses the people. And I think those who are fighting for the parliament in this war may find that they have used their own blood and their own fortunes to buy vultures and tigers to rule over them. To tell you the truth, my friends, I don't know the right way to handle a king who abuses his power. But I do know that this is the wrong way. Perhaps there should be some limit set to the amount of power that one man or group can have. Kelpie chewed her lip thoughtfully. Ah, now! And there was a good idea. She could think of several such whose power should be limited to nothing at all. She would begin with Argyle and the Covenant, and go on to the lowlander and Mina and Boggle. But how would one set about arranging this? In her preoccupation, Kelpie forgot that she was hiding and carelessly shifted her position so that a twig cracked. A small twig it was, and most folk would never have noticed, but these men were well-schooled in danger. Three heads turned as one, and an instant later, Antrim's huge hand was plucking her from her hiding-place as he would a puppy. Hey! he chortled, holding her up in the orange light of the fire, and looking her over with interest. Here's a fine dangerous enemy in our midst. Ah, indeed I am not! protested Kelpie as well as she could. She tucked in her lip and looked pathetically at Montrose. Do not be letting him hurt me, your lordship! she begged in English. It is only a poor wee harmless. Let her down, Alastor, suggested Montrose gently, and perhaps she can tell us what she was doing there. Spying for Argyle, perhaps, suggested Patrick narrowly, looking at her gray dress. Kelpie's indignation was genuine. That nat-rack! she sputtered earnestly and went on to curse him vigorously. He's a drunken tinny kuska, and a red-haired devil with a black heart in him. Montrose, who knew little Gaelic, looked interested. What was that? he inquired, and Antrim chuckled. She called him a serpent and an evil-minded monster, he translated. And I'm thinking she meant it, too. Well, then, why were you skulking there, lass? Once again Kelpie found semi-truth to be the most effective answer. Oh, she whispered, ducking her head shyly. I was wanting to see himself, and to be hearing him talk, for the singing tongue in his mouth. From beneath Lord Lid she observed their faces were amused and tolerant. Well, and so you've heard him, said Antrim, not unkindly. Away with you then, and don't be doing it again. Next time you might just be getting a claymore instead of a question. Kelpie left meekly enough, relieved to get off so easily. But none of her questions was really answered. She had wanted to learn the source of Montrose's power, and whether or no it was for magic, and if and how she could learn it. For although it was just possible that Montrose could destroy his archenemy, Argyle, which would be a fine thing indeed, Kelpie felt that Mina and Boggle and the Lowlander were another matter, and up to her. For sooner or later she was almost sure to run into them again, and when that day came she was going to need a great deal of magic power indeed. CHAPTER XIV At last word went round that the army was to move, but not as Kelpie expected, away from the danger of Perth and Lord Elko's great army. Quite the contrary, they were, it seemed, going to take Perth. This impractical caution fought within Kelpie. A fine, daft, gallant and suicidal idea seemed to her. If she had any sense in the head of her, she would take her leave now and head for safety. But she decided instead to go along but to stay with the women and children well behind the lines, once the fighting started, and then take to the hills when the battle was lost. The small, poorly equipped army gathered itself together and started south to the sound of pipes playing valiantly. They had gotten no farther than the hail of Boo Candy when they ran into one of the enemy forces which had been surrounding them all the time. A full five hundred bowmen it must be, and Kelpie looked round hastily for something to hide under. But she had reckoned without Montrose. He and Antrim rode to meet the two leaders of the bowmen, and they talked. And some time during the talking Montrose cast his spell, for presently the two forces spread out over the purple masses of blooming heather and ate together, the leaders still talking over wine and food. And then one of the enemy leaders sprang to his feet, and Kelpie could hear his words clearly. �You're wrong� he shouted. �Tis not two thousand men ye have, but two thousand and five hundred, for we'll never be fighting against Montrose.� Kelpie shook her head wonderingly. �Why on earth did Montrose fight at all, if he could do this? Or did Argyle and others have some kind of counter-magic?� Kelpie began to feel newly discouraged about her own prospects for magical powers, with so much competition about. The newly expanded army moved on again, undisturbed by the news that, in addition to a seven thousand infantry, Lord Elko had some eight hundred cavalry and nine pieces of heavy artillery. The Highlanders, like Kelpie, put their faith in the magic of Montrose. With him to lead them, no force on earth could beat them. They spent the night on the Moor of Foulis, and early in the morning were away down the small glen and on to Tippermere. There stood the walled town of Perth, some three miles away, and between stood the Covenant army, spread wide, waiting to catch Montrose's impudent small army between its fierce jaws. Kelpie looked at it with awe, and some of her assurance left her. Surely now, Montrose was stretching his powers too far. Lord Elko would be wiping them out as easily as Antrim might knock down herself. Here they stood, six deep. Every man protected by a corselet and an iron headpiece, and the most of them armed with muskets, against one-third the number of Highlanders, who wore only ragged kilts and raw-hide brogons and had claymores and bows and arrows, or no weapons at all. It was a sad contrast. The citizens of Perth seemed to regard the coming battle as a fine new kind of Sabbath sport, for they had turned out in great numbers to watch the fun. Kelpie shoved through the palpitating crowd of women and children, now well behind the army, until she reached a spot on high ground which gave her both a good view and a quick escape route for when she needed it. And she expected to need it. She hoped that Ian might escape the slaughter somehow, but she was going to be quite sure that she did. Ian, who had an even better view in his spot in the front row of the battle-line, was not feeling very optimistic himself. He looked with resignation over the flaunting blue banners of the Covenant ranks bearing the motto, for Christ's crown and Covenant, and then back to the one brave royal banner, the three golden leopards on a red background, floating above the Highland drabble. The breeze rippled its folds and shivered across the purple moors. It seemed too fine a day for men to die. Alex turned from chaffing his cousins among the small band of Capoc McDonald's and looked at Ian. There was a touch of pallor beneath the sunburn of his angular face, but his eyes were bright. "'And are you frightened, Ian?' he asked, with a crooked grin. "'As ever was,' retorted Ian forthrightly, and Alex chuckled. "'And I, too,' he agreed. "'My cousin Archie has just been saying it's only a fool does not fear danger, in which case I'm a wise man indeed.' Ian looked around him. Most of the ordinary Klansmen seemed not much worried. There was an almost supernatural faith in Montrose that he would bring victory at any odds. And Antrim, the magnificent Colchito, strode down the line with confidence in every inch of him. His legs were pillars beneath the McDonald's Kilty War, and they were matched by the size of his shoulders. "'I think he isn't afraid,' observed Ian. "'Alex nodded agreement. Montrose is worried, though,' he murmured. "'You can see it behind his eyes. What is happening now?' For one of Montrose's officers was going toward Lord Elko, waving a white flag of truce. "'Here's Rannold,' said Archie. He'll know.' Rannold learns everything. If Archie was frightened, one would never know it. His black eye sparkled wickedly from under his thick black hair, and he turned eagerly to make room for another Kippock cousin. "'What is it, Rannold, of Ick?' "'An envoy of courtesy,' reported Rannold, shaking his fair head wonderingly. "'Montrose is sent to ask, is it against their principles to fight on the Sabbath, and would they rather wait for to-morrow? Only Montrose would think to make such a gesture. Archie, who seemed to have a low opinion of covenant principles, shook his head disapprovingly. Alex opened his mouth for a jesting remark, and forgot to close it again. For incredibly, outrageously, the envoy was taken prisoner. He was seized, bound, hustled off through the covenant ranks. Incredulous anger rippled through the Highland Army. Ian stood aghast. He couldn't,' he whispered. He couldn't violate a flag of truce. And for once even the more cynical Alex shared Ian's feelings. Oddly, Kelpie's face came to Alex at that moment. Her narrow, slant-eyed, impudent face would be wondering what was so awful about violating a white flag. Was it any worse than killing a man in battle? And the envoy wasn't even dead. Yet, anyway. To his disgust, Alex found himself, in his own mind, trying to explain it to her. Dile, he muttered, and turned his attention to the matters at hand. It was quite possible that Lord Elko had done himself an ill service, for a flame of Celtic rage had engulfed the Highland Army. Alex found that he had shifted forward an inch or two without knowing it, and the rest of the army with him. Those without weapons had picked up stones. For a moment it seemed that they would all break into a wild charge, but Montrose achieved the minor miracle of holding them back. "'Wait!' said his outflung arm. Wait!' boomed Antrim. "'Be patient a wee while, men of my heart, and we soon will be giving them cold steel for it.' And they waited, only inching forward a toe at a time, as the Covenant Army moved closer, until not a hundred paces separated them. A long wait it seemed, long enough for all the army to hear Lord Elko's answer to the message of the unfortunate envoy. The Lord's day, he had said, is fit for the Lord's work of exterminating the barbarous Irish and Highlanders. When we charge, muttered Archie, who had been in battles before, keep just one thing in mind. Choose your enemy and kill him, and then a second man if you can." "'Very well so,' agreed Alex mildly. "'And what will I do with my third man?' He was pleased that his voice had just the nonchalance he wanted for it. Ian's was equally cool. Just be leaving him to me,' he said. "'I'll have had my three by then.' Another inch forward, and the Covenanters closer yet, and still no signal to charge. And now came the Covenant battle cry for the day. "'Jesus, and no quarter,' they yelled, and Ian shuddered at the blasphemy. And then suddenly came a shrill, wild scurril from the gaunt woman at the back of the battle. A voice lifted and pealed savagely. Wolves of the north, let the fangs bite. And the signal was given. And as they rushed forward, Ian's voice answered with his own clan battle cry. "'Sons of the dogs, come hither, come hither, and ye shall have flesh.' "'God and St. Andrew,' answered the Kepic McDonalds, and the air was thick with the wailing menace of pipes and clan cries, until the pipers abandoned their pipes for the claymores, and the slogans became scattered and mixed with mere yells. Neither Alex nor Ian remembered the rest clearly. Only a wall of armed men ahead, then the smashing, tearing impact of battle. There was Archie's fighting laughter, and the blazing red beard of Antrim. Someone yelling, a Gordon, a Gordon, the whole of the fight. And then there was no wall of armored men, but only fleeing backs. And the charge went on and on, until they were at the gates of Perth. When Kelpie reached Perth some time later, and a messy three miles it was, too, littered with covenant casualties, she fully expected to find it being thoroughly sacked and looted, and to be in time to pick up a few sweet things herself. It was just for this she had managed to get slightly ahead of the rest of the women and children. But there was unexpected quiet and order. Kelpie paused inside the gate, frowning. A few citizens peered fearfully from windows, waiting for the worst, but the worst did not seem to be happening. Instead, Highlander stood about, glaring at the frightened heads and at a shouting preacher on the near corner, and looking disgruntled. He shall rain snares upon the sinners, screamed the preacher, and fire and brimstones, storms of wind shall be the portion of their cup. Kelpie joined a group of ragged Highlanders who were standing there listening. Now, will he remember their inequity and visit their sins? The preacher was suggesting, hopefully, I will consume them by the sword, and by the famine, and by the pestilence. I will pour their wickedness upon them. Is it ourselves he means? asked Kelpie of the nearest Highlander. He nodded, looked disgusted. And we not even allowed to feed his words back to him, he growled. And, he added regretfully, I am thinking that the fine coat of him would be fitting me, whatever. But why? Why not be silencing him and taking it? demanded Kelpie. He shrugged, making aggressive. Montrose, it seemed, had ordered no sacking, no looting, no harm to the citizens. Several Highlanders turned from the preacher, who was now informing them that they were to be cast forth from the land, and chimed in. An unheard of thing that. And they half-starved and in rags, and counting on food, clothing, and a fine wee bit of loot from these overfed, psalm singing heathen hypocrites. And what was Montrose about then, to be depriving them of their just reward? And yet, not a man suggested disobeying. The preacher, a gaunt, long-faced man in a fine black coat, was working himself up into a fine passion of covenant or Christianity. They shall die grievous deaths, he announced. They shall not be lamented. Neither shall they be buried. They shall be as dung upon the face of the earth. "'Is it his own friends he's speaking of?' came Alex's mocking voice. "'Tis a fine burial-serve as you're preaching, my friend. But shouldn't you be helping to dig the graves first?' The preacher stopped, clared, and began to launch forth with more Bible verses. But the Highlanders had got the idea. Now, then, one of them called, shortling, to be no harm to the bonny man if we just see to it that he helps bury his friends now, would it? Come away out now, and be useful!' And in a moment the preacher was being propelled firmly out of the gate, protesting loudly that young muckle-red shanks were ganged to murder him. Alex and Ian, Archie and Ronald were left, grinning after them. Kelpie spared them no more than a glance and then returned to her grievance. No muting, and she had been wanting a nice silver bell and perhaps a silken purse. Disgustingly Ian and Alex agreed with Montrose. "'Tis a barbaric practice, sacking cities,' said Ian, with quiet intensity. Why should soldiers war on civilians, especially women and barons? If there were more leaders with the principles of Montrose, war would be less evil than it is. There's no use in one army stopping, and the other's going on doing it,' argued Kelpie. "'Someone must be stopping first,' Alex pointed out. How odd he kept trying to explain principles to this little witch, who could no more understand them than could his cousin Ceasley's Wee and Wicked Yellow Kitten. If Montrose shows mercy, perhaps the Covenanters will do the same.' Kelpie sneered audibly, and Archie made a rude noise. Alex shrugged. "'To be more practical,' he pointed out. Perhaps Montrose is hoping that these towns near his own home may be turned to our side if we treat them well. I think he would do so anyway,' insisted Ian. "'Tis a point of integrity, Kelpie.' Kelpie looked blank and Alex laughed. "'Do not be trying to explain integrity to her, Ian,' he pleaded. Begin first on a creature with more capacity, like Ceasley's Little Kitten, for example, and then, though, perhaps after that you might be working up to a Kelpie.' At the mention of Ceasley, Ian saw in his mind a heart-shaped, mischievous face in a halo of tawny hair, and then he put it away from him, for Alex had said fifty times that he was going to marry his cousin one day, and if his foster brother wanted Ceasley, then she was not for Ian to think of. So he thought instead of Kelpie, who was tossing her black head scornfully. "'Well, whatever integrity is,' she announced, this is daft. "'For,' she predicted with gloomy relish, all the towns around will be thinking they may do as they please, with no fear of punishment. Just wait you now. They'll be shouting more loudly and burning more witches than ever before.' Surprisingly Alex nodded. It was Ian who was about to argue, but at this moment Lachlan and Maeve arrived, shouting that at last they had found Machikeyan, and would he be coming away this minute to have his sore wound tended?' Ian laughed, faintly embarrassed, and began to protest. And Kelpie, with a pang of concern, noticed for the first time that his palady was wrapped oddly about his left arm, and that a stain of red was creeping along the sleeve beneath it. "'Ey,' she cried. "'It may be only a wee bit cut, as you say, Ian, but yawn orange top,' she glared at Maeve. "'Has not the sense to be tending it for you, and it will surely mortify if you let her. "'I,' she announced firmly, will bind it myself, with red mold and cobwebs on the cut, and a wee charm or two over it, and it will heal overnight, for I know about such matters.' Maeve promptly screamed at the wicked little witch, could poison Machikeyan only over her dead body. Kelpie retorted that it was a fine idea, that last. Rannell said that he had known mold and cobwebs to work very well. Archie's black eye sparkled with amusement, and it fell upon Alex to arbitrate. Firmly, with the masterful air that Kelpie usually resented hotly, he declared in favour of her bread mold but against her charms. He pacified Maeve by allowing her to supervise and to put the sign of the cross upon Ian's arm. And because both Maeve and Kelpie were genuinely concerned over Ian's welfare, a truce of sorts was declared, for the moment. CHAPTER XIV An uneasy peace brooded over the whole of Perth the next day. Not only the citizens but also their Gaelic conquerors tended to feel slightly abused, and they spent the morning glooming at one another. By noon the high Celtic spirits had risen again in the conquerors, and a spirit of mischief took over. They released prisoners from stalks and jails, most of them guilty of such crimes as failing to attend Kirk, and some of the Irish McDonald's began preaching back at the Dower, hellspouting Calvinist preachers. But this palled too, and presently a group of young and adventurous Highlanders decided just to go out and have a wee look around the neighbouring countryside. Archie and Ronald came hunting Alex and Ian, who were delighted. Lachlan firmly attached himself to the party, with strict orders from Maeve not to be letting MacAkeen do anything to start as cut bleeding afresh. At this point Kelpie announced that she would just go too. Ronald looked at her dubiously, but Archie laughed. And why ever not, he demanded. The women do full share of work with cooking and nursing, and should have a bit of fun when they can. Will you come too, Maeve? Maeve hesitated, glared at Kelpie and declined. And the party, some dozen or fifteen altogether, set off. Is Kelpie your true name? demanded Archie as they started west across the sweep of Moor. He grinned at her engagingly. It wouldn't be every day a body could have a Kelpie as mascot. Tell me, he asked, have I seen you turn a soft eye upon Ian? Could you not be giving him a wee love potion? Kelpie smiled enigmatically and declined to answer. But she turned the idea over in her mind. It was a lovely day, this second of September. The birches were beginning to yellow and the bracken to turn rusty underneath. Rowan trees flaunted clumps of brilliant red-orange berries in the sun, and only now and again did a cloud-shadow glide silently over the rosy-heathered swelling ground, patching it with somber purple. Kelpie tied her belady around her waist, for she would not be needing it until a chill of evening. They walked on, with a long, tireless, highland stride, chattering and laughing with the upsurge of spirits that was a normal reaction from the fear and triumph of yesterday. And did you get your dozen men, Alex? inquired the fair-haired ranneled. I saw you once cutting down an armoured musketeer twice your size, and glad I was to be fighting with and not against you. Alex's red brows slanted upward. Hey! he said. I was so frightened I just held out my sword, and it seems the enemy was obliging enough to run into it. Twas Ian was the bra-fighter, and none the better in Scotland. It was he saved me more than once. Only so that you could be saving me, Alex of Ick retorted Ian, and Lachlan saving both of us, he added. Besides, it was I so scared I could only think to run away. And since you were headed for Perth already, the only thing to do was just cut your way through the face of the enemy, finished Archie with bland seriousness. Ian nodded gravely. That was the way of it. I was too frightened to think of turning around. And so they went on, with the same old bantering Kelpie had heard so often at Glenfern, and each of them claiming to have been more frightened than any of the rest. Kelpie listened with an odd feeling of contentment. This brotherhood, this easy straight face teasing which was an unspoken love between friends, was a warm and joyous thing to hear, for all that it was dangerous to have it. There was wistfulness in her heart as she walked silently among the cheerful group, and a shadow on her face. Presently they came to a river and a small grey town on the near side. I doubt they'll love us there, predicted a tall lad in Duncan Kilt, but perhaps their good lowland sense of business will make them willing to sell us a pint or two of ale, or even a good irishpa, if there is such a thing outside of the Highlands. It was a popular suggestion, and the long Highland strides became even longer, so that Kelpie, though she denied it, had to stretch her own to keep up. As they drew near the cluster of stone houses with a somber square kerk in the centre, she frowned a little. A dour, gloomy place it was. Not that it looked any different, really, from the other towns, but there was a bad feel to it. None of the others seemed to notice, but Kelpie's bones were wary. There seemed to be very few people about. Perhaps most of them had seen the Highlanders coming and gone inside. The few folks they did meet cast looks of hate at the Kilted Barbarians, which the Barbarians, securing the safety of numbers and reputation, found rather amusing. An innkeeper sourly sold them ale, with black looks thrown in for good measure. "'Ach! Wouldn't he like to poison it just?' said Alex in Gaelic, as Kelpie refused the ale, Ian offered her. It might not actually be poisoned, but it could have an evil spell on it all the same. She said so. If your spells haven't worked, I doubt any one's could,' astonished her. "'For you've tried hard enough, haven't you?' Kelpie glowered from under her thick lashes. Had he seen her then, all that while, at Blaire-A-Tall? Or was it just his evil way of always knowing what she was thinking? She had begun to feel a trifle more friendly since learning that he had saved Ian yesterday, instead of cutting him down. But once again Alex was taking the offensive. He said known what she was about at Blaire-A-Tall, and it had amused him, in a way. Once he was sure her spells were impotent. But just now, for some reason, all her hatred for him was rankling, and he was in the mood to goad her a bit for her irritating ways, although he was not at all sure why she got under his skin so easily. So he deliberately treated her to his most satirical grin. And didn't your hex work at all, poor lass? He inquired sympathetically. Kelpie started to hiss at him, but Ian was looking at her oddly. He would not take it kindly that she had tried to hex his foster brother, even though it was himself she was trying to protect. And she wanted to keep Ian's good will. Her lip grouped. "'Always and always you will be thinking evil of me,' Alex McDonald," she lamented. "'You will be trying to make everyone hate me, and never giving me the chance at all to be better, no matter how hard I try.' The other lads were listening to all this with great interest, and they now regarded Alex with severity, and Kelpie with sympathy. But it was Ian's sympathies she wanted, and God.' "'Tis true enough, Alex,' he said accusingly. "'You've ever thought the worst of the poor lass, and her only sin is in being what she was taught to be. How could she ever change with you condemning her in advance?' A rare blaze of rage swept over Alex. "'Dial! Tis fool you are, Ian!' And suddenly he was quarreling. It was incredible, with his foster brother, dear than kin, and over a young rogue of a gypsy lass not worth a hair on Ian's head. And yet the quarrel went on and on. Kelpie had never seen them angry at each other before, and she was frightened. It was the town had done it. The town was filled with hate and malice, and had put a spell on them all. And she, who would be pleased at seeing Ian turn from Alex, found that she couldn't enjoy it. She couldn't even bear to listen. She slipped out of the tavern with their angry words drifting after her. The streets were no longer empty. A crowd was streaming out of the four-square meeting-house and along toward the town square, and it was the sort of crowd she knew all too well. Their faces held a savage and blood-thirsty fanaticism, and this was not a mob looking for a victim, but one which had found one. It was someone, no doubt, who had committed the sin of breaking the sabbath or dancing, or perhaps chancing to glance at a neighbor's cow before it fell ill. Ah! It was a witch trial they had been having. Not knowing it was a real witch or not, nor would it matter, for to be accused was to be condemned. Burn them, the crowd growled as a search passed the tavern. Kelpie should have ducked back inside, but her curiosity was too great. And despite her vow to be hard-hearted there was a flicker in her of pity. The victims were coming now, being roughly hustled toward the square. The crowd swept Kelpie along, not noticing one more gray gown among so many others. Kelpie squeezed through a gap between a stout man and a bony woman, and as it closed behind her she found herself almost pushed against the victims, her eyes staring straight into theirs, and their eyes were as filled with hatred as those of the crowd. Mina unboggled. Panic gripped her heart. Frantically she tried to back up, to melt back into the crowd. But there was no gap now, only a wall of townsmen at her back, and it was too late. Mina's shrill screech cut the other sounds. There she is, the Kelpie who led us into witchcraft. In the gray dress, there, look at the ring-dies of her. She'll be putting the evil eye on y'all, croak-boggled venomously. Sick fear and revulsion were in Kelpie as her quick eyes swept around vainly for an avenue of escape. They were not accusing her to save themselves, which would have been logical but in sheer malice. That she might have done the same didn't occur to her, for there was no time for thinking. The crowd was responding with a new roar, seeking more blood, turning to find its new victim. Kelpie looked instinctively for a scapegoat, another gray dress to point out. But again, too late. Hands grabbed her. She wretched free with a twist, only to be grabbed by more hands, caught beyond hope of escape. Alex! screamed Kelpie. Ian, help! And she lifted her voice in the Cameron War rant, hoping that the familiar words might reach Ian. Clannanon can, tick of a sew. A blow on the head cut it short, and she thought with bitterness that it could not matter. How could they hear her so far away and over the crowd, and when they were themselves quarreling in the tavern, and herself being carried farther away every minute? You'll not be taking a witch's word, she cried out. I am of the Kirk, and I've been servant to Argyle himself. One or two of the nearest people hesitated doubtfully, for Argyle was a name too conjure with. But Mina dashed Kelpie's faint chants. Aye, she shrieked, to be getting a bit of this hair for a hex. Look at her eyes just! She was doomed then. Sons of the dogs, she yelled once more, with a despairing voice and heart. And then she was being shoved along with Mina and Boggle. Clannanon can, tick of a sew. Sofie oil. It was Ian's voice. A wedge began to cut itself into the crowd from behind, a bright blade gleaming, and Ian's wild face at the back of the sword. And then another voice, that of Alex. Ian, it roared, and another wedge appeared behind the first. And now figures in MacDonald and Duncan Bonnets cut a swath. More swords gleamed, voices roared happily with the joy of battle. But Alex was coming after Ian, and a black rage on his face, and his voice bellowing Ian's name. He was still angry then, and the more so because Ian was trying to save her. Kelpie's feet were set against the cobblestones of the street, her body twisted to see behind. And now the hold on her was loosening as the witch-burners began to take alarm. But oh! would Ian be in time? Would Alex stop him? Ian had nearly reached her, the crowd, mostly unarmed, swirled and shoved in disorganized fury. They turned from their victims now, and two or three dirks were flashed. The McDonald's were gleefully wreaking havoc somewhere behind, but Alex had caught up with Ian now, and his face was fearful to look on. Ian's back was to Alex, his attention on dealing with those dirks still separating him from Kelpie. Kelpie could not see his hands, for the shoulders and heads in the way, but his face was grim, intent. Hold on, Kelpie, he shouted. Ian roared Alex again, and his sword rose. Rose and then fell with a furious slash, and Ian was down, and his dark head had vanished in the crowd. It was just as she had seen it in the lock. For an instant Kelpie felt nothing at all but a terrible cold emptiness, and then grief was in her very bones, and a small cry of anguish on her lips. She made a move toward the swarming, fighting spot where Ian had vanished. There was one brief glimpse of Alex, raging like one gone mad, and then the McDonald's were there, making a havoc that sent townspeople screaming for safety. And somewhere, being trampled beneath, was the body of Ian, and perhaps she could reach him and help. And then she hesitated. Alex would be wanting to kill her too. And now was her chance to be away and safe from him. And after all, what good could she be to Ian? For either he was dead and passed help, or if not, there were the McDonald's to care for him, and Maeve back at Perth. Kelpie hesitated a moment longer, then she reverted to old habits and saved herself. She slipped like a hunted wildcat through the crowd, which now had other things on its mind than stopping her. She was out of it, around a corner, through the narrow streets in a swift streak of grey. The clamor grew muffled and scattered. She tore across the stone bridge and the moor and along a glen and over a hill. She ran until she could no longer breathe, and then crawled into a thick patch of broom and lay gasping and sobbing. She must not think. She could not bear to think. Alex had really done it, then. The thing inside her had never really believed he would, and that was the thing now keening in black anguish that he could have done it. And Ian, was he dead then? Dead trying to save herself, who had then fled without a backward look. But it was only sense to have saved herself. It was what Ian had been trying to do, to save her. And wouldn't he have wished it? Why should it be the weight of a stone on her? Ian would have wished it, she told herself. And then she rolled over on her face and was violently sick. How long had she been walking and to where? It was just away from the town she had been going, and she was now far away, for she had spent more than one night in the heather. And yet she could not get away from the beating blackness in her mind. Kelpie sank down in the drenched heather and discovered with vague surprise that rain was pouring steadily from a dreary sky. She looked wearily around and saw nothing but hills and heath closed in mist. She was as wet as a water-horse, and when had she last eaten? What was she to do now, and where was she going? She didn't care much. It would be nice to just lie down and not be waking at all. But some inner vitality would never let her do that. She sighed. She must be finding food then and learning where she was. For all she knew she might be back in Campbell country, and that thought roused her just a little. She dragged herself to her feet and tramped on again. The glen ended in a long lock, so large that both ends were out of sight around the curves of the hills. Kelpie sat down again and thought, slowly, because she could not seem to think very well. There were not so many locks of this size. She did not think she could have gone so far as lock Ramak, and this seemed too long for lock Erin, and not wide enough for lock Lomond. It must be that it was locked Tay, and if this were so, then she might well be in Campbell country. If only the sun would come out! If only there was some place she could go and rest and hide away from the world and her thoughts. And then she remembered the braze of Balquitter and too kindly and lonely old folk who had said, haste ye back. At this point Kelpie's instinct and gypsy training took over. Without stopping to wonder was she right or no, she turned to the left and trudged along the southern bank of the lock. She found berries and roots to eat. She lay down in the wet heather and slept, her Palladie around her, when she could go no farther. And then she awoke and went on. To the end of the lock she went, and down a glen, and around a mountain. And late on a drizzly afternoon, old Alsoon McNabb heard a faint scratch at her door and opened it to find her own Palladie back, wrapped around a morsel of wretched humanity that for once was not shamming in the least. CHAPTER XVI It was pleasant to be cared for, pleasant and strange. Kelpie lay for several days on the pile of springy heather which served for her bed. At first she just slept and awoke to eat and sleep again. But then she began lying awake, her eyes on the smoky fire, or on the mortarless stone walls that leaned a little inward against the black rafters and thatched roof. Alsoon was always busy, cooking or sweeping the earthen floor with a bessem broom or weaving or knitting, one eye always on her patient. And why should they take her in and care for her so, when they had nothing to gain by it? Glenfern had done the same thing. No, best not to think of Glenfern, for that was too painful. She must learn to wall off those memories from her feelings so that they would become like a witch-spot on the body, a spot that could feel no pain even though a pin was stuck into the head. Kelpie had no witch-spots, though Mina did. But then, Kelpie was not a witch. And what was more, she never would be, however hard she might try. The knowledge crept upon her stealthily, while she was still too weak and drained to resist it. She had no power at all. None of her spells had ever worked. And Mina had lied about teaching her the evil eye. It came to her with bitter clarity that the evil eye was a thing one must be born with. It could never be learned. All Kelpie had was the second sight, and many Highlanders had that. She received the knowledge with a strange kind of indifference. Later, when she wasn't so tired, she would no doubt feel a savage sense of loss. But she could not think about it now. Not yet. Altsun was bringing her some broth now and crooning to her wee dark love to drink it and sleep. Altsun must have tramped far over the hills to find a deer to make it. And they knew very well that she could never pay for it at all. And they would be hurt even if she offered payment. Highland hospitality was a warm, strong thing with rules to it. It made a grace between host and guest, and a bond not to harm each other. This is why Alex had been so angry at the way she left Glenfern. And so hurt. And, and Ian. She wrenched her mind from the thought of Ian, drank her broth, and drifted back to sleep. When she was on her feet again, Kelpie was strangely content just to stay where she was. It seemed to her that her life had been violently wrenched apart, and she hardly knew how to begin putting it back together again. She needed time to think. Kelpie had always found the world full and interesting, however cruel. She played a game. She avoided the cruelty when she could, and bore it if she must, and fought back when she had the chance. She adapted herself to each new situation that came along, and quite enjoyed on the whole the glimpses of various new worlds that the last few months had offered. But now she seemed to be cast out of every world she knew, for she could never go back to Glenfern, or to Mina and Boggle, even if she would, or to Campbell Country. Worse, she did not even know what she wanted, now that the power of witchcraft was denied her. The old gypsy life no longer seemed attractive. New ideas had been planted in her mind, and she found herself groping restlessly for something she could not name. To keep her mind and hands busy, she began to help Al Soon and Callum with the various chores, and took an unexpected pleasure in them. For once, Wall seemed not to trap, but a warm, safe shelter from the early frost and biting wind outside, and from the world in general. And so the autumn passed, and it was the dark of the year, with only a few brief hours of daylight and long gray dusks. In that remote Glen they heard little of the outside world. It wasn't until she had been there for two months that a neighbor from over the hill came that way in search of stray cattle, and stopped in to pass on the news that his brother had heard from someone's cousin who had been away into a town. Montrose had taken his army north to Aberdeen, and this time had led his men sack the city. It was because they had shot a wee drummer-boy, explained the neighbor. The lad was just along with the envoy, asking them would they like to send their women and barons to safety. And Graham was so angry at it that he took the town and turned his army loose on it, but they say he was sorry after. And then, it seemed, the old game of tag had started again, with Argyle painting after Montrose all the way from Bogogate to Batonok, Tunnel to Strathbughi, devastating lands as he went, and slaughtering people if he even suspected them of royalist sympathies. When Kelpia woke the next morning, she saw the white light of the first knoll coming through the cracks in the shutters, and her first, unbidden thought was, did Ian lie somewhere beneath that blanket? Had Alex been punished for killing him? Where was Montrose now and what was happening in Scotland? It was the beginning of a new restlessness and a growing desire to learn whether Ian was dead, and perhaps even to take vengeance herself on Alex, if no one else had done it already. Even without magic powers, she reflected with narrowed eyes. She could still use her wee, skiing dew. The dark, smoky shealing became too cramped for such thoughts, and in spite of the cold, Kelpia took to making long walks over the braze and around the foot of Ben Moore. Al soon looked at her wisely. If she guessed that the confusing thoughts were disturbing the young wife, she said nothing but merely finished whatever task Kelpia might have left undone when the restlessness was upon her. Ah! and you'll be away again one day, predicted old Cowam mildly one crisp afternoon, when Kelpia paused at the sheep-pen where he was working. Tis the wanderlust you have in your feet, but are you not also wanting somewhere to call home? Kelpia had never thought of the matter. She did so now. What was a home? For Ian it had been Glenfern, where his heart stayed wherever the rest of him might be. But for Kelpia Glenfern was not just a place, it was a feeling and it was people. It was wee Mari's bonny face and confiding smile, and the twins crowding close, bright-eyed, to demand more stories, and Aina's quick sympathy and laughter beside the lock. It was teasing and love and trust among them all, and her own heart given recklessly against her better judgment. No, home was not a place but a feeling, a deceitful feeling, she remembered bitterly. She had endangered wee Mari by her very affection, and Ian had trusted too much. And Kelpia thought again that if Glenfern had not settled the score with Alex, she herself might do it one day. She thought of Meena and Boggle, too, and hoped fiercely that they had not escaped. There was more heavy snow the next week, and now this was nearly the longest time she had ever spent in one place, except for Glenfern, and Glenfern had been much more lively. She longed more and more for excitement, for adventure, eye, even for danger, for these were the spice of life. And so she stiffened with anticipation on the morning that wee Angus McNabb came racing over the hill toward the sheiling hut. Imported news was in his every movement. Ah, column, have you seen it? he demanded in a shrill shout. Montrose himself it is, and his army, just yawn over the braze on the edge of Campbellland. It is said they will be going to Harry McKellion more in his own castle. Kelpia had been standing over near the sheep-pin, very still, watching the small lad come. A two large kilt flapped about his knobbly knees, and himself and his long shadow and his twisting track were all dark against the white of the snow. To her left was the black of the sheiling hut, smoke rising vaguely against the pearl-blue of sky, and column standing by the door. Everything seemed to stop in time for just an instant, while something inside Kelpia woke, stretched, looked around, and made a decision. She didn't ask herself any questions then, but turned in her tracks and walked back to the hut, where Calum and Alson were greeting the lad and asking for more details. And where are they, she demanded. Angus waved a skinny arm toward the north, yawned near Loctay. The clan has called out and will be joining there. I wish I could be going. Sudden reasonless elation filled Kelpia. She wrapped her plaiting more firmly about her shoulders and looked at Calum and Alson. I'm away, she announced. Ah, no hearts, darling, protested Alson, not into Campbelllands and in midwinter. Bide with us a wee while longer, until spring. I'm away, repeated Kelpia a little sharply, as she realized that once again she was in danger of giving her heart. And what harm from cold or Campbell's when the army and all the women and barons are along? I cannot bide longer, for my feet have the urge in them. And she tossed her dark head like a young Highland pony, so that the thick braids, well-tended by Alson, leaped over her shoulders and beat against her waist, as if impatient. Alson sighed. Well, then, and you must go if you must. But come away first, my light, and I'll be giving you food to take along. Dried venison there is, and fresh bannocks, and oat-cakes. Here are the new skin-brogons that Calum has finished for you. H.G. back quite love, she added at last as Kelpia took the food and put on the shoes instead looking at her. I, said Kelpia, and her heart was torn. The McNabs gave and asked no return but to be able to give more. You've been kind and I'm not deserving it, she murmured, and then clinched her fists and walked quickly out of the low doorway, lest she be caught up in folly again. Halfway up the hill she paused, staring back at the long, low shelling hut, and then waved at the two old people standing there. Tears stung her eyelids for a moment, and impulsively she cracked her forefinger, calling down a blessing upon them. Five minutes later she had shaken off her sadness. She lifted her head and breathed the air of new adventure. The hills had been calling this long while, calling through the spell of black depression that was on her. But the spell was broken now, and she was answering the call. At the top of the hill she was seized by fresh exuberance. Curving her arms upward like a stag's antlers, she broke into the light, wild leaps of a dance that the Highland men did around the campfire, or at friendly gatherings, and then left aloud at her own impertinence. She alas, to be doing a man's dance and doing it well, too. The dance took on a distinctly mocking and impudent quality. From the top of the next hill she looked down on Montrose's army, which had made camp by the lock. From the mouth of the glen the McNabs were arriving, great kilts swinging about their bare, strong knees, and the top halves of the kilts wrapped around massive shoulders. Kelp I surveyed the scene for a moment before going down, counting tartans. McDonald's were still most plentiful, with Gordon's, McPherson's, Stewart's, but she saw no Cameron tartans. She also saw no children, and only a small scattering of women. Where were they all then? Frowning a little she went down over the snowy hillside to the camp. Wist, lass, and what it is that you're wanting. It was a bearded Irish McDonald. The time for sweethearts farewells is past, and we off to raid and harry the campels in their lair. The beard split in a grin of vengeful glee. It is I that am coming with you, announced Kelp I cheekily. Where are all the women and barons? He stared back. Back at Blair Castle, the most of them, safe in Stewart country. It is only a few of the strongest, and they with no children that we have brought. It is no adventure for you, lassie. Be away back home. I am strong and with no barons, argued Kelp I, and I'm frightened to travel alone. She looked helpless and pleading. I have no home, and I'd like well to raid the campels. Can I not be coming? He grinned sympathetically. Ah, well, we have a bloody enough work to do, and mine even use an extra nurse once or twice. Go find Morick Moore, then, who is head of the women. Kelp I recognized Morick Moore as soon as she saw her. The tall, gaunt woman she had noticed at Blair a tall, who well deserved the title of great morag. Ragged woolen skirts were killed it up over a bright red petticoat, showing ankles as sturdy as a man's. The worn Gordon Plady fall back from her head, and her face was more alive than it had been at Blair a tall, but as fierce as ever. When Kelp I found her, she was berating a red-faced McGregor at least two inches shorter than she, who clearly had no fight left in him. And don't be crossing my path again until I feel forgiving, or I'll box the other ear. She finished briskly, then turned to look at Kelp I. Gypsy, she said, crossing brawny arms on her breast. Indeed and no, protested Kelp I with great promptness. Only a poor lost lass, and away from home. Morick Moore laughed loudly. Gypsy, she repeated, pointing a long finger. Kelp I regarded her warily, and trimmed her tail. The Gypsies were stealing me when I was a bairn, she conceded, not expecting to be believed. I, then, agreed Morick Moore surprisingly, because of the ring-dies of you, I think. You'll have the second sight. Are you a witch? Are you? countered Kelp I, remembering with a bang that she herself was not and never could be. Morick shrugged wide shoulders. I have a healing power. But I'm not belonging to any coven of daft folk who hold black mass and dance their silly feet off at midnight. My power is in what I'm doing, not what I'm saying. Her line-face drew down fiercely. I'll be helping to put the curse of deeds on the Campbells this week. They passed my happy wee home in Gordon Country and left behind a blackened stone. And I arriving back from over the hill to find the thatch still smoldering, and my man dead, and my son beside him, and the lad not yet ten. I have thirsted for Campbell blood ever since, and I shall drink deep. She stopped, staring into the white distance with eyes that were of burning stone. Kelp I reflected that she would not like to have this woman for an enemy. Best to go canny. I was prisoner of McCallion Moore, she volunteered. He would have burned me, but I escaped. Ach, then, you are another who hates him. More ex eyes return from unpleasant places. Stay along with me, then, Gypsy lass. We'll see revenge together, and no man, nor devil, will harm you willstime near. And Kelp I believed her. THE ROAD TO ENVERERY They had slept on the border of Campbell Country, after feeding on Campbell cattle collected by some twenty or thirty Highlanders. Their tightly woven woollen plaids had helped to keep out the cold, and so had the fire scattered along the glen. But Kelp I was glad enough of the red wool hose that Alsoon had knitted for her, and of the warm bulk of Morag beside her. Now they were heading up Strathfuel, and the warm-hearted comradeship of the Highlanders became a savage expectation, for here at last was the great enemy ahead. Montrose might talk all he liked of getting to the border to aid the King in England, but a score or two must be settled first. Montrose had had to compromise, otherwise too many of his army would have just slipped away home, taking with them as many stolen cattle as possible. Now an advance party had gone ahead of the main army to find cattle before the owners could be warned and drive them off to hide in the hills. And Morag Mor, with a dark and unpleasant grin, had attached herself in Kelp I to them. The men, knowing of her murdered husband and child, let her join them, with a grim gesture too about the fate of any Campbells unlucky enough to run into her. They rounded a curve in the river, and there before them was a long, low-shelling hut with two children playing out in front and a handful of cattle scattered up the hill behind. Morag saw the hut first and was off toward it with a flash of red petticoat. Kelp I wished suddenly that she had stayed with the rest of the women, but she hurtled after Morag simply because it didn't occur to her to do anything else. Now the men had seen it too, and a menacing yell rose from thirty throats as some of them raced around after the cattle, and the rest, mostly Irish McDonalds, followed Morag and Kelp I toward the hut. Even as she was running, the thing inside Kelp I felt sick at what was to come. Campbells they were, certainly, but what fault had the barons committed? Montrose would be angry, surely, with the scruples about making war on the innocent. Now the children had seen them and were running toward the house, screaming with terror. An ashen-faced woman gathered them to her, and then paused in the doorway, uncertain whether to run inside or away into the hills. Kelp I could almost taste the fear in her. Then Kelp I's foot hit something soft and yielding. She tripped and flew headfirst into a patch of wet snow. There was a wail of pain and the cry of a small child. Kelp I raised her head from the snow in time to see Morag stop, whirl, and race back toward Kelp I in the child. Was she going to begin her revenge by killing the bairn? Is it hurt that you are, roared Morag, as she was not speaking to Kelp I? She picked up the crying child and stood. Her gone face twisted with the conflict of feelings going on in her. Then she turned to Kelp I, with the Irish McDonald's only a few yards from them. Come on, she ordered, and raced with the child toward the hut and the cowering woman. Bewildered, Kelp I scrambled up and followed, just barely ahead of the men. Morag thrust the baby into its mother's arms, whirled, and drew her skin due. You will not be touching them, whatever, she bellowed, at the astonished giant who led the pack. Back, or I'll scour you, rab McDonald. Am I not a woman and mother myself? A plague on men and war. Back, I say. She was terrifying. Her avenging fury turned to defense of her prey. It was altogether too much for the Highlanders. They stood and stared, a full dozen of them in a semi-circle before her. Fine brave soldiers ye are, jeered Morag. Are ye no afraid to be attacking such dangerous foes? Here's the wee bear, now. Will one of you not challenge him to fair combat? They shuffled their feet, quite taken aback. The madness that Morag herself had kindled in them trickled out, to be replaced by the Highland sense of the ridiculous. One of them chuckled, and then several others began to roar with laughter. And this is your own vengeance, Morag Mor, they hooted. I will be remembering this the next time you are clouding me on the ear and send for a bearne to protect me, added the giant called Rab. Morag Mor seemed not to care about the teasing. She stood guard over the grateful little family while the cattle were caught and while the rest of the army arrived on the scene. And, with the backing of Montrose, she defied those who wanted to burn the house. I can do no more for ye, she told the Campbell woman when the army and its captured cattle had started on once again. You have your bearne's and your home, although your Campbell army left me neither, nor husband. I intended to do the same to you, but I could not, for I saw myself in you, and it came to me that a woman's place is to give life, not to take it. It comes to me, too, that men are a census lot with their useless killing, and perhaps we mother should be raising our sons to different ideas. And then she turned abruptly and headed in long strides back to the Highland army, not waiting for the stammered words of thanks. Kelpite trailed along at her heels, saying nothing but thinking a good deal. And so it went, along to Tendrum and up Glenorchee. Morek more vehemently defended every woman and child they found, against the threats and wild arguments of the Highland soldiers. It didn't take Kelpite long to discover that all this was a great act put on by the Highlanders for Morek's benefit, and it was a surprise to her that a woman as shrewd as Morek didn't know it too. But she never guessed. I know you are for the bra liar you are, remarked Kelpite sossily to rab one morning over their beef and oatmeal breakfast. You will be teasing her every time, and you as soft-hearted as herself. As ever was, agreed rab, rolling a dark eye at her. But do not be telling Morek whatever, for it is not just teasing. With the grief of her she is needing something to fight, but she is happier to be fighting us to save barons than in the other way around. Although the campaign through Campbell Territory was less blood thirsty than Kelpite had expected, still it was not pretty. Men of fighting age found little mercy, few cattle escaped the voracious appetite of the army, and more than a few barns and thatched roofs went up in smoke behind it. Blazing fires and roasted meat were good at night, after long and cold marches. Since there were so few women to do the cooking, the men helped too, with goodwill and bantering. Kelpite poked at a haunch of beef one chill but clear evening, thinking to herself that they were going a long way around to Argyle at Inverary, in a huge triangle to north and west. Surely by now Argyle would have received word of this invasion. Kelpite wondered what he would be doing about it. The obvious thing would be to come away after them, and she looked apprehensively toward the purple-black hills that surrounded the orange firelight. Is there food for a starving? Why, it is the water-witch. Kelpite turned to face Argy McDonald, whose black eyes were sparkling with curiosity. They stared at each other. And where did you vanish to that day, he demanded. A braw lot of trouble and grief you caused. If you've the power to vanish into thin air, you might have been doing it before Ian Cameron was cut down trying to save you. Kelpite winced. Was he killed entirely? She asked, her heart pounding for fear of the answer. No, no, not entirely. But a nasty wound it was. Still he survived it, although he had to go back to Glenfern and no more fighting for the time. Kelpite saw again in her mind the savage downward sweep of Alex's broadsword and had to push aside the tumult of feelings that it brought. But Ian was not dead. Alex had not killed him. And Alex McDonald, she demanded balefully. He's away, said Argy, and it was clear that he was going to say no more. But then he was Alex's cousin and not likely to want to speak of it. At least Kelpite knew now that Alex had not been hanged, and she thought again that she might be the one to avenge Ian someday. For she doubted that, even now, Ian himself would raise a hand against Alex. She looked right through Argy. Her slanted blue eyes held no very pleasant expression. The meat was done now and being divided. Argy pulled his skin due from his stalking, vanished briefly into the crowd of hungry men, and emerged with a smoking hunk for Kelpite in one hand and one for himself in the other. She bit into the meat hungrily and then looked up to find the deep black eyes still fixed on her, and a question in them. That day he began, with an uncertain note in his voice, were you sending a call in the mind to Alex before you gave the Cameron rant with your voice? Kelpite looked as blank as she felled. I don't understand you, whatever, she said warily. Why, he began and frowned a little. There we were in the tavern, with Alex and Ian in a fury at each other, and none of us even hearing the sounds outside. It was a broad quarrel, with Ian gone white with anger in him, and Alex the color of Rowenberry. And then Alex was stopping in mid-word, with an intent, listening look on the face of him, and looking around. And it was because of his silence that an instant later we were hearing the Cameron rant, and Ian shouting, to his Kelpite in trouble. Kelpite shook her head blankly, and what then, was all she said. Archie shrugged. Why, then, Ian forgot the quarrel and was away out the door, and Alex after him withdrawn sword, and the rest of us collected our wits and followed, not knowing if Alex's black fury was still for Ian, or for the witch-hunters. His face was a fearful thing to see, and I'm hoping I never meet the like in battle, for it would be the end of me. But you know the rest better than I. How was it, Kelpite, that Alex heard you even through the quarrel, and before the rest of us? I don't know, said Kelpite absently, her mind on another question altogether. For the thing she had suspected was clear. It was herself had helped bring about the scene in the lock, and hatred of her had caused Alex to strike down his foster brother. It was the only possible explanation, and there was a sore hurt in the thought of it. How could Alex have hated her that much, who had never seemed to hate her at all, but only scorn her? Her short upper lip curled. Ach, he would pay for it just. Even though Kelpite could no longer hope for witchcraft to help her, he would pay for it. Archie looked at her uneasily. There was a look about her not quite canny, and it was occurring to him that folk called after water witches, who could communicate without the voice, might not be a broad choice for companionship, so he brought her another hunk of meat, to avoid offending her, and melted hastily into the crowd of soldiers. The army passed the very spot near Lak'ah, where Kelpite had first seen Janet Campbell that June day six months ago, and then they were heading at last toward Inverary, through the steep wilds of Glen Eyrie, where she and Janet had gone. And what had been happening to Janet all this time, she wondered. Not that she really cared. She tried to tell herself, except that Janet was a harmless soul, and not deserving to be harmed by either Mikaelian Moor or his enemies. There was no detour to the top of the hill this time. Straight down the Glen the army came, pipe shrieking in ominous triumph. It was a bra sound indeed, a wild song that set the blood running with joyful madness, or the blood of Montrose's army, at any rate. Kelpite wondered briefly how it sounded to the ears in Inverary. Along the river they marched, half running now, and erupted into the valley, the town of Inverary seeming to cower ahead on its point of land, and the castle so familiar to Kelpite, to the left. Moor-Akmore was with the men heading for the village, loudly daring them to lay a finger on woman or child, her voice rising as they insisted, grinning that this time every wee babe would be slaughtered just. For once this game had no interest for Kelpite, and she headed straight for the castle. If Mikaelian Moor was captured, she wanted to be there to gloat. Everywhere there was clear evidence of surprise and panic. The town and castle, unaware of the approaching invasion, had been celebrating the Christmas season, in their sober Puritan way of course, with longer and more frequent sermons. Kelpite's lip curled with scorn, for a chief so feckless as not to know what was happening in his own country, or else so sure of his invulnerability that he took no precautions. Ah! she could hardly wait to see him taken prisoner. Her small white teeth fairly glittered in her smile. She had just reached the castle wall when a shout of dismay and fury broke out. Kelpite rushed to a high knoll where she could see. Men were pointing to the small bay. A fishing-bolt was hastily heading out into the lock. Tis himself running away, and Kelpite hardly needed a second glance to confirm it. Her keen eyes picked out two red heads, the short bulk of Lady Argyle, the patch of Cameron tartan that was Ewen. Sss! said Kelpite in savage regret. The pipes lifted a wild wail of derision. Oh! the great Argyle! someone yelled. Brave General Campbell! What! will you be away off, Macalion Moor, and just us come to visit? Montrose wasted no time fuming over what couldn't be helped, although he must have been bitterly disappointed. The capture of Argyle this day might have changed history, although he had not the second sight to tell him how much. Even Kelpite did not know, for the crystal had not yet showed her the scene to come later, when Montrose himself calmly mounted the scaffold. His face was calm now as he gave orders to set about taking the castle abandoned by its owner. It wasn't as difficult as it might have been. One couldn't expect inspired defense from the men who had been left behind while their leader fled. And once Montrose's men were in full possession, Kelpite entered the castle through those massive gates she had passed through before, but this time with an arrogant sway to her slim body. She wasted no time with the fine white bread and wine that had been discovered, nor even with the miserable figure of Mrs. McKellar huddled on a chair in the hall. She knew where she was going, and she wanted to be the first one there. Argyle's apartments were deserted. She walked mostly through the massive open doors, on into the inner chamber. There was a fine large cairn-grown brooch on the table, mounted in silver, bigger than her fist. Fine that! she looked around. What else? A thought struck her. The next chamber must be that of Lady Argyle. In she went, and in a moment was kneeling beside a chest of fine gowns. A pity there were none of bright colors. Kelpite always wanted a gown of flame-red velvet, but of course such a thing would never be found in a covenant household. Still, there was one of moss green, and the softest, finest wool she had ever seen, and not so very much too big, provided she belted it tightly about the waist. And she laughed with joy. Here was the fine silver belt she had always wanted. Next she pulled out a lovely cloak the color of Juniper, and she must have it, although it was lined with Campbell tartan, and a silken purse, a linen handkerchief, and several baubles. She tried on a pair of square-toed leather shoes with silver buckles, but they hurt her feet sorely, so she kicked them off and went back into Argyle's room for a silver snuff-box she had seen there. And as she stood, green gown bunched about her waist under untidy thick braids, un-combed since leaving Altsun, the cairn gorm in one hand and the snuff-box in the other, the outer door opened. For an instant memory played tricks on her, and she thought it was Mikaelian Moore finding her there with the hairs in her hand, and blind panic was on her. Then it cleared as a voice spoke. Hey, boom-dantrum! And who have we here? "'Tis the eavesdropping last from last summer,' answered Montrose, standing still, taking in every detail. Kelpie looked back at him fearlessly. He was amused, she could tell, and besides, did not his crouples prevent him from harming women or children, even enemy ones, and she no enemy. "'I see you've wasted no time,' he observed mildly. "'How is it you're here ahead, even of your army commander?' I was knowing the way and wanting to be first,' exclaimed Kelpie heartlessly. She waved her loot at him with great pride in her cleverness. He looked at it and at her. The corners of his mouth moved slightly. That would be Argyle's cairn gorm, I suppose. She nodded, regarding it happily. Then something occurred to her, and she glanced up at him dubiously from under her thick lashes. Perhaps it might be wise to sacrifice material gain, if necessary, for policy. "'Were you wanting it yourself?' she asked reluctantly. "'I will give it to you, if you like.' "'There's another nearly as good in yon box,' she added, and this wee bit heavy for Alas to be wearing. Montrose laughed. "'No, I don't want Argyle's brooch,' he answered her to her relief. Then he looked at her seriously. "'I don't suppose it's ever occurred to you,' he suggested. "'That stealing could be a bad thing?' "'Oh, I!' exclaimed Kelpie earnestly. "'You must be very canny at it, my lord, and lucky too. For it is a bad thing indeed and indeed to be caught. "'But McCallion moors away in his wee bolt, and no danger now.' "'This time it was Antrim who boomed with laughter, and Kelpie looked at him resentfully. Clearly he'd had no experience at getting caught, or he would never be laughing at such a serious matter. "'I didn't mean quite that, although I'm sure it must be true,' explained Montrose gently, and the corners of his mouth were jiggling again. "'I mean, did you ever think that it might be wrong to steal, whether you were caught at it or no?' "'Oh, no,' said Kelpie, wide-eyed. "'But then, perhaps it's different for you,' she added kindly. "'Been a chief and lord in all. You'll be able to get things without stealing them, and I doubt you were ever hungry, whatever.' Montrose sighed. "'I,' he agreed, seeming sad for some reason. "'It is different for me. You'd best run along now, though.' And he turned to look after her as she left the room. Kelpie went back to the other wing, picked up an item or two from Mrs. McKellar's room, and then stood still for a minute, frowning at nothing at all. Why did people persist in making her think about new and uncomfortable ideas? A few months ago she would have been genuinely puzzled by the notion that it might be wrong to steal, even though a body was not caught at it. But now, even though she had pretended not to know what Montrose meant, the idea wasn't really as startling as it would once have been. It was the sort of thing the folks at Glenfern might have said, or you and Cameron, or even Alson and Callum. It undoubtedly had to do with the integrity thing Alex and Ian talked of, and all of them wanting her to apply it to herself. Why should she? Mina and Boggle had taught her that anything was right if one got away with it, but then, Boggle and Mina were evil, and perhaps everything they said was wrong. Kelpie sighed. On the other hand, Alex talked about those ideas, and he was evil too. So what was the last to think at all? She wandered down to the main hall. Which was still a chaos of triumphant men. But she was so engrossed in her problem of right and wrong that she quite forgot to taunt the dejected and weeping Mrs. McKellar. In any case, it no longer seemed necessary. After all, the housekeeper had been loyal to her chief, and it is the only safe thing to do, but would it not be safer now for her to side with the royalist victors? Kelpie frowned at the red-eyed and unlovely figure of Mrs. McKellar, for in it there was something undefeated and almost gallant. No, Mrs. McKellar would never change sides, but would stay loyal to McKellion more, even though he was not worthy of it. Why, did she fear that he would come back? Or was this something like not stealing, that a body did even against his own interest? Was that what integrity was? But what good was it? As far as Kelpie could see, it was more likely to be a nuisance than an asset. She wandered over to one of the deep-set windows and stared out, unseen, her whole attention focused on her thoughts. The folk at Glenfern, like Mrs. McKellar, would remain loyal for always to a person or ideal. This was part of the thing about them which she had sensed from the first, the daftness, the difference. True they would be, whether or not it was profitable or safe, I, though it cost them their lives, all but Alex, and it was this, perhaps, that had shocked her so. For Alex surely would never change sides but would be true to an ideal, and how was it, then, that he could betray a friend? She leaned her forehead against one of the thick diamond-shaped panes, dimming it even more with her breath, and remembered that Montrose had talked of such things back at Blaire at all. But neither he nor anyone else had ever explained to Kelpie why this way of acting was desirable. Was it possible that there was some strange kind of happiness in it? Did they have things in sight which would make them uncomfortable if they acted otherwise? Kelpie stopped trying to understand, for she found that there was an argument going on within her. The thing inside her was saying that this was a fine and proud way to be, but her common sense told her that it was not at all practical, and had she not vowed to think of herself first, last, and always. And surely, if it was a choice between her own safety and any other thing, and she forced the thought of we mari from her mind, surely it would be only sensible to look out for herself as ever was. END OF CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER XVIII OF THE WHICH OF THE GLANCE BY SALLY WATSON This Libra box recording is in the public domain. THE BLACK SALE Kelpie awoke from a dream in which she was trudging along beside a lock against blinding rain. She blinked a little as she remembered that she was back at Inverlochie Castle, the same place she and Mina and Boggle had spent the first night after leaving Glenfern. She shivered a little, partly at the memory of Mina and Boggle, and partly from the cold. Hugging the stolen cloak and her old plaitie about her, she hurried down the tower stairs and out to the central court, where Morag Moore and the other women were preparing breakfast. Slug a bed, Morag greeted her, and Kelpie grinned cheekily, knowing all about Morag's pretended fierceness by now. There were more men than ever to feed, since the Glencoe McDonalds in the stewards of Apen had joined, and Kelpie was glad that they were in friendly Cameron country, where it was safe to build fires, and they could have hot porridge. She had got hardly tired of a diet of oatmeal mixed with cold water. She looked thoughtfully up at Bennevas, which looked larger and more lowering under its quilt of snow than in the green and tawny blanket of summer, and realized suddenly that she had had enough of army life. Rab paused by the fire to sniff the oatmeal hungrily, and announced that he thought he would just go out and live some cattle for breakfast. He checked Morag Moore under the chin, as he said it, and received a sound cloud on the ear as a reward. "'Ouch!' he exclaimed, making a great show of nursing his ear. "'You will ever be bullying me, Morag Avic, and I, a poor helpless man at your mercy!' Kelpie giggled, and Morag shook her fist at the other ear. "'This is the day we go to ask Lockheel and the Camerons to join us, and you would be lifting their cattle? A maiden!' Rab began explaining that they didn't really need the Camerons at all. But Kelpie stopped listening, for she was thinking that this would be a good time indeed to leave the army. She had had enough of battles. Just a few miles up the great Glen was the pass that led to Glenfern. Would she be welcome there? Surely Ian would remember that she had warned him against Alex, and would so forgive her for running away and leaving him struck down and half-dead. Would he and his father join Montrose, she wondered? Or would Lockheel dare to race his clan? She turned to Morag Moore, who had sent Rab protesting out to the river for more water, and was now vigorously stirring the porridge. Lockheel would be daft to call out his clan, she suggested. With his grandson in Campbell lands, he could not dare. Morag thought about it for a while, hurling face still and expressionless. There was a wise woman in our village long ago, she said at last, who used to say to me, Always dare to do what is right, and I am thinking Lockheel will say the same. Would you understand that, Kelpie? No, said Kelpie forcefully and scowled. You and Cameron himself had used those same words. So here again were those ideas that she did not want to think about. She set her small face into a hard mask and dropped the subject. I am thinking I have had my fill of armies and battles. She announced. I will stay behind when you go up the Great Glen, and perhaps go to stay with friends here in Lockaber. Well then, and a blessing on you, said Morag. May you find a home for your bones and your spirit, though I think you will never stay in one place for long. I am thinking I'll go back to Gordon country myself soon. No doubt there are orphans left by the Campbells who would be needing a mother. Kelpie followed the army as far as Lockheel's home at Torcastle, curious to see whether or not Lockheel would raise his clan. He did. The traditional cross was made of two sturdy sticks bound firmly together, and according to the ancient ceremony the ends were set aflame, extinguished in goat's blood, then lighted once more. One of Lockheel's men held the cross proudly high and set off at a trot that carried him deeper into Cameron Territory. The torch would be passed from runner to runner until the whole area had received the message of war. The army stayed at Torcastle for two days, while Camerons came flocking to the call of their chief. If any had misgivings about Argyle's possible revenge on them, they did not show it, nor did Lockheel, that stern old man who held his head so high. Kelpie did not wait to see the Glenfern Camerons arrive, for she had sudden misgivings about seeing Ian again. Instead, she went back to the tower room at Inverlochie Castle in a very thoughtful frame of mind. For several days she stayed at the castle, enjoying her solitude and getting her food from homes nearby with surprising ease. For the very people who had once regarded her with a deep suspicion were now delighted to give food and hospitality to the wistful lass who had been a prisoner of Argyle, who had been helped by Ewan Campbell himself, and who had even got away with Lady Argyle's fine cloak. Food, scanty though it might be, with the men away in the army, was shared, and there was not a home where she was not urged to bite awhile. But she shook her black head. Ah, no, she said. She was away at the Glen, but she would take her leave marveling at such open-heartedness to a stranger, even one who had not yet stolen anything. After thinking about it, Kelpie decided not to take anything at all. Somehow the good will seem more valuable than anything she might steal. Then the mild winter turned into sudden bitter cold. The night went hurled blasts of snow against the tower walls, crept up the winding stairs, and wind outside like the Banshee. It was so cold that Kelpie thought she might put away misgivings and go to Glenfern after all. Surely Lady Glenfern would not refuse her shelter in this cold. She was heading back to Inverlochie in the early dusk when she decided this. Her stomach was comfortably full of hot broth and scones from a generous young Cameron wife. She was a trifle sleepy, and it would be good indeed to sleep to-morrow night or the next in the comfort of Glenfern, under the same roof with Wee Marie. It was fortunate that Kelpie's senses remained alert, even when her mind was on other things. Even so, she had nearly walked up to the castle gate before she realized that something was wrong, and she never knew exactly what it was that warned her. But suddenly she stopped, alive to the sharp feel of danger. Her small figure darkened taut against the faintly luminous patches of snow. An instant later she simply was not there, and the Campbell soldier who came running out of the gate, under the impression that he had seen something, shook his head and cursed the weather. Kelpie lay in the snow where she had thrown herself behind a small hillock, not daring to raise her head but listening as if her life depended on it. Which it did. Soon there was no doubt. Enverlocky Castle was being occupied, by McHaley and Moore and his army. With sickness May she pieced things together. Someone called for Campbell a valkenbrick. Then there was a harsh and authoritative lowland voice, and by crouching behind a thick clump of juniper and twisting her head cautiously, Kelpie could just make out a galley with black sails silhouetted against the gray waters of the lock. Oh, there was no doubt whatever. The Campbell had gathered his courage and his army, and had come after Montrose. End of Chapter 18