Highland Ballad Part 14

"Will you tell me one thing first?" she asked. "Forgive me, Michael, but after all I've been through, as you will soon hear..... It would put my mind very much at rest, if you would tell me....." Her face betrayed a deep, lingering fear of the Night. "Who, if not yourself, lies in the grave beneath your stone?"

"It is you who must forgive me. I should have told you sooner." He

took her hand, and held it firmly. "It is no wraith who stands before you, and no one has raised me from the dead.

"I can't be certain, but I believe it to be a man of my regiment. He was about the same height and build as myself, with roughly similar features. Poor beggar. The only name I ever heard him called was Jack.

He was one of the younger lads, and shivering so dreadfully on the morning of the Battle ---from cold and fear alike---that I gave him my coat, his being tattered, and far too light to serve. It's hard to believe to look at me now, wrapped up as for a winter storm, and pacing like an animal just to warm myself. But I was never cold in those days, as you'll recall." He gave a bitter laugh, then shook his head, as if to drive away the feeling.

"Looking back, I guess I was luckier than some. A ball grazed my head very early in the fighting, and I knew nothing more, until I found myself being dragged away by two English infantry..... What is it, Mary? What have I said to upset you?"

"They dragged you to a grove of dark trees! You were dazed and pale, but still they pulled at you fiercely, as if to throw you to the ground and run you through."

"How on earth did you know that?"

"I saw it in my dream! I thought I was witnessing your death. Oh, Michael, I've been so afraid!" It was some time before he could calm her enough to give voice to his own bewilderment.

"It's all right, now. It's over. But the strange truth is....." He hesitated, not wanting to upset her further. "I thought it was the end for me as well, though they only took me to stand with the other prisoners. That day, and especially those first moments when I regained consciousness, have woven themselves in and out of my nightmares ever since. I don't understand. How could you have known?"

Surprisingly, it was the widow Scott who shed light on this first part of the mystery. "I've heard it said that twins, or merely siblings who have been close since childhood, can be miles apart, after a separations of years, and suddenly know when the other is ill or in danger. The two of you, growing up as brother and sister, were every bit as close. And in some ways you shared a bond that was closer still, because you were in love.

"I once heard you, Mary, cry out 'Wolf!' in your sleep, only to learn the next day that Michael had had a terrible dream, in which he was being torn apart by wolves. I thought it unnatural, and an ill omen, at the time. Now I do not. There is obviously a deep spiritual link between you, such as I felt at times with my own husband. It is not for us to question G.o.d's gifts," she concluded, "but only to use them as well and honestly as we can."

"That is why I came when I did," the man confirmed. "I knew that you were hurting and afraid. Somehow I knew."

"But the man in your grave," Mary persisted. "You gave another man your coat. . .I remember they would not let me see the body. But surely that was not enough, of itself, to mistake him for you."

"I'm afraid I must take the blame for that," said the woman sadly.

"The body, when it was brought to me for identification, was so mangled by grapeshot. . .the face nothing but a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp. . .that I'm ashamed to say I lost my self-control. Knowing that Michael's papers had been found on him, I went into such a swoon of grief.....

Our poor countrymen who brought him could only a.s.sume that he was, in fact, my son. The coffin was brought and sealed, and the next day we buried him, along with all my hopes.

"I was trying to protect you, Mary, and was far too devastated to think clearly, or to search for further proofs. His hair and features, what could still be seen of them, were enough to complete the illusion. I suppose that in after times some doubt of it crept back to me. But as the months turned into years, and brought no word, I despaired. The only defense I can make, is that the pain of not knowing was greater still..... I could not ask myself, or those around me, to bear it any longer."

There was silence. And then, without prompting, the young woman knew that the time had come to tell her tale. The spirits of the Night, and the shadows of Fear, must not be allowed to dwell inside her, but must be held forth in the hard light of day. She was afraid, and many times in the telling felt the pain of it too great to bear. But as Michael had done in the hearing of a wise man of the sea, so Mary now poured out the cup of her grief, not asking for pity, or answers, but only speaking the words that would not lie still.

And when she had finished, Michael was there beside her, and her own flesh still lived. Her eyes, which had misted and looked into places dark and unfathomable, focused again on that which was real: stone, fire, and flesh. And in this return to daylight senses she no longer felt an all-conquering fear of the strange evens through which she had pa.s.sed, but only a restless curiosity, and reborn questioning of the sinister forces which had then seemed so strong and undeniable.

"Can you tell me, Michael, what these things portend? Do you believe in the powers that my mother worshipped and feared?"

"No, love. I do not believe in that kind of magic, nor have I any use for miracles, outside the one great miracle of Life. Still less do I believe in demons and sorcery now, for having heard your tale. It only shows me, more clearly than ever, the power of superst.i.tion to deceive. Would you like me to show you the key to the mystery, the weak link which shatters the entire chain of seeming?"

"Yes," she replied. "More than anything."

"The answer is simple," he said. "It is music: a magic that is real, disproving a magic that is not."

"I don't understand."

"Bagpipes, Mary. Bagpipes. Twice you heard them, and twice after saw the 'spirits' which gave credence to all else, the foundation on which the whole illusion was built. Here is what must have happened.

"The first spirit I can answer for plainly, for it was myself. James and I had at last crossed the high road, and returned to land we could think of as our own. He had been given the pipes by a crippled soldier, one of our own, who took us in along the way. And now James would be silent no longer. He insisted that we return as proud veterans, and not skulking thieves. So as we parted ways at the last, and when he deemed me safely hidden by the rise that shields the cottage, he began to play, and marched off in defiant glory.

"Shortly afterward I found you in tears, lying across a grave that bore my name. It broke my heart to leave you there, even with the spoken promise---you did not imagine it---that I would come back to you. But I was determined to bring no danger upon you, or upon this house, until the pursuit had cooled, and the chance of discovery grown less. Looking back, it was a cruel mistake. But I was obsessed. I was going to escape, and bring no danger upon you. I hope you can understand, and forgive me."

"Of course," said his mother, for both of them.

"Thank you," he said quietly. Mary nodded gently, and asked him to continue.

"All right.... And yet again, by the Standing Stone, you heard bagpipes. Did they play Scotland the Brave?"

"Yes," she answered, understanding at last.

"It is the only song James knew, or ever wanted to learn. It was he you saw: pale with affliction, kilted as a sign of defiance, as he could not be by day. He must have been half dead by then.....

"For he, too, was determined to bring no harm upon his family. Like myself he would not go to them, though he was too proud, and too far gone, to conceal himself as I did. I could not convince him to follow me to the hiding place, and I could not force him. I believe now that he must have spent those last nights in wandering and delirium, waiting for the chance to perform his final deed. But unstable as his mind had become, the heart beneath remained intact. And there were moments of perfect lucidity, as when he looked up from the ravine, and saw you.

"He fled from your mother not in fear, but to protect her, and yourself." He released a deep breath. "The Stone, and the words of the spell, were impotent but for the power you gave them. The mind creates worlds of its own, every bit as tangible, and every bit as dangerous, as the physical reality we all share. Give up your common sense, your right to question, and you become a helpless lamb among the wolves of this world."

"Yes," said Mary. "Now it all seems so clear. The trunk filled with charms, the talismans to drive away your spirit, the spell my mother believes she cast over Stephen Purceville: all but the fabric of illusion, given substance by the wholly independent actions of men. I, too, have no more need of such miracles."

"But," said Michael firmly. "Though the shadows of evil fade in the light of day, the evil itself does not. The Purcevilles, both young and old, are still very much to be feared."

Nineteen

As if in answer to his words, the thunder of hoofbeats came suddenly to their ears, approaching unexpectedly (for the British fortress lay in the opposite direction) from the west. The widow Scott, who had felt the danger growing as the day wore on, was the first to react.

She was up and out of her chair, and pulling back on the carpet before her son had a chance to stand clear.

"Michael, quickly!" And she forced her trembling hands to find the latch, and pull open the trap door.

"Michael, quickly!" And she forced her trembling hands to find the latch, and pull open the trap door.

Michael moved toward the opening, then turned to say a last word to his betrothed. But by chance his eyes lighted on her portrait, and for the first time he saw the bullet-hole at her throat. In horror he thought of Stephen Purceville, and in a flash read between the lines of what the women had (and had not) told him. And even as his mother tried to urge him down the steps, he reached out and took his lover by the wrist.

"Mary, too! Until we're sure!" She nodded gratefully, not wanting to be parted from him, and the two descended.

"Remember my words," the widow whispered through the crack, before sealing them in darkness. "You must be willing to sacrifice me. No arguments!"

She closed the trap and pulled the rug to, even as the snorting of hard-driven animals mingled with men's voices and the sounds of dismounting. Heavy boots rattled the front steps, followed by a thumping fist upon the door.

"Open," came a heavy voice. "In the name of the King, and on peril of your life. Open!"

Anne Scott looked quickly about her for any tell-tale signs of company. There were none, and gratefully she recalled the other precautions she had taken: both bedrooms had been straightened, the dishes cleaned and put away. But for Mary's cloak, which she could pa.s.s as her own, the two still wore all the clothing they had brought.