‘I stand it because such occasions are fertile hunting grounds for a reprobate such as myself. Lots of women, all dressed in their finery, eager to be admired out of their morals and their skirts, and me the man to do it. And why fix on this lass, Callum? You are not such a bad prospect, and there’s been many a local lass set her cap at you, yet you shun them all.’
‘I don’t know. There is something about Tara’s face beyond beauty that compels me. Her eyes met mine on that road, and there was such sadness in them, such loneliness that I felt the urge to run to her defence. I cannot explain it.’
‘Well, you are in a bind, for being English is hardly a virtue, is it, and her uncle thinks us nought but dirty heathens?’
‘Heathens. Aye.’ Callum frowned. ‘But maybe we could change that.’
‘How do we do that, and why bother anyway?’ said Bryce. ‘What do we care what the arrogant English fool thinks of us? Callum, you cannot seriously be thinking of pursuing that lass?’
Callum frowned into his ale, then beamed.
‘Callum, what is that look on your face?’ said Bryce. ‘I don’t like it, for it spells trouble.’
Chapter Four
Waves surged up Brecknish beach, sending foam sweeping over the sand. A storm was brewing, and the sea was a grey-green monster, gnawing at the harbour and sending the fishing boats bobbing like corks in a puddle. It matched Callum’s angry mood, having been dragged from his warm bed to come along on an errand with Bryce. He huddled into his plaid, feeling like the worst fool that ever lived for the plan he was considering. It was sheer folly, for he could not trail in Tara Hennaut’s wake like some dog panting to be noticed.
Bryce hurried along the seafront towards him, his blonde hair flattened to his head with salt spray. ‘My business is done. All is arranged.’
‘Why do we have to meet here? ‘Tis a little out of the way and cold as the grave.’
‘I had business with a ship’s captain. I had to negotiate transportation for some wool to the south.’
‘Why can your father not send his merchandise south by road?’ said Callum.
‘Ah, so we come to the nub of the matter. There are brigands on the road south, stealing from travellers and merchants alike.’ He wiped a hand across a red nose, and his words were slurred from cold lips. ‘The Erskines and the McEwans have been hit of late, and badly too.’
‘Then we must hunt down these criminals and bring them to justice,’ said Callum.
‘Oh, the English at Fort George are tasked with that matter, but they are impotent, as usual. And there is something different about this lot. They are not broken men taking a chance to fend off starvation. Someone is guiding their hand. I am sure of it, and that someone is clever and organised. They seem to know what is being transported and when. I came here today to ask around, but no one will admit to knowing anything.’
‘Bryce, are these men recognised? Do we know any of these villains?’
‘No. They are outlanders, devils come from the north. They swoop down and demand goods at musket point and are not averse to roughing up anyone who stands in their way, my friend. Then they disappear into the woods and glens like phantoms. I am fearful that someone will soon lose their life to these fiends. The magistrate’s men caught one of their number of late and demanded he name his conspirators, but he would not, even on pain of death. He said if he talked, his family would suffer, or he would have his tongue cut out. The wretch said his master had the power of ‘coffin and gallows’ over him.’
‘And what became of this villain who would not talk?’ said Callum.
‘They hung him at Moy to set an example. Yet, even as they placed the noose about his neck, still, the man would not give a name to save his immortal soul. He danced on the end of that rope for a good while, until someone had pity and pulled on his legs, the poor wretch. Imagine how bad his master must be for the man to choose such a fate instead of turning traitor. Anyway, my father will not risk his wool on the road, so I must come and arrange transport by ship to the markets south.’
‘That is a needless expense that will cut into his profit,’ said Callum.
‘Aye, but what are we to do until these bastards are caught?’
Callum stared out at the ocean’s fury. ‘There have always been reivers hereabouts, men who extort money for so-called protection, Bryce. It is a steady living to some, at least until the law catches up with them.’
‘Aye, but not like these, Callum. It must be a big gang, led by the Devil himself, I fear, and he is getting bolder.’ Bryce clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Let us head home and find a warm hearth.’
‘Speaking of the Devil, Bryce. I need a favour.’
‘Aye, what do you want of me?’
‘You won’t like it,’ said Callum.
‘I never do,’ Bryce replied, burrowing into his plaid.
***
Glebe Kirk sat atop a piece of high ground overlooking the River Ness and had probably been built with the intention of bringing it closer to heaven. Unfortunately, its patrons were also closer to heaven in that they might all catch their death of pneumonia from the wind that whistled up the Firth of Forth and over the frigid waters of the river. It whined in under doorways and shutters, rendering the practice of Sunday worship an icy and martyring experience.