Hue and Cry by Shirley McKay

old clothes of Tibbie’s. Katrin brings us herbs and brambles in return, perhaps some butter if the ewes have milk to spare. She’s proud. I bought her ribbons from the market once.’
    ‘You’re saying that you passed the night with her?’ Nicholas said shrewdly.
    ‘We’re handfast,’ the boy flushed, ‘so she does not count it wrong. I intend to wed her. Only no one knows. The Strachans think I mean to marry Tibbie, but I won’t.’ His tone was petulant. ‘Tibbie’s just a child. On Saturday I walked out to the fields and made my tryst with Katrin. We met in the lane after dark. My master trusts me to lock up the shop, but instead I leave it open, take him up the keys and slip out to the farm till dawn. In the morning he comes down through the house with the keys and asks me to open up again. You see, he never knows it has been left unlocked.’
    ‘Then anyone might enter from the street?’
    ‘Aye, and someone did. I knew it when we came back from the fair on market day. I feared they’d stolen Master Strachan’s cloth and it would all come out, but it was worse than that. For there was Alexander lying killed. I couldn’t touch him then. How could I? It’s my fault. I’m to blame for his death. They call it art and part slaughter, the coroner says, as sure as if I’d done it myself. But, sir, I didn’t kill him. I would never wish him dead. I wasn’t there.’
    Nicholas considered this. ‘If what you say is true, it is not art and part. You were derelict in duty, to be sure. And your master may discharge you from your bonds. Yet you cannot be committed for the slaughter, if you did not mean to let the killer in.’
    ‘Then you believe me, sir?’ the boy asked tearfully.
    ‘You give a plausible account. And Katrin will confirm it, I suppose?’
    Tom slumped further to the ground. ‘I fear that I’m a dead man, sir.’
    ‘You don’t think she will back you?’
    ‘I will tell them it’s a lie. I’ll not see them shave her head and set her on the cutty stool for all the folks to gawp. She wouldn’tunderstand, she thinks we’re wed. She hasn’t been brought up to fear the kirk.’
    ‘Well then, Tom, she need not fear, if you’re prepared to take her part. But you know you ought to marry her?’
    ‘Aye. And so I will. But do you think the likes of George Dyer will leave it at that?’
    ‘Who is George Dyer?’ Nicholas asked cautiously. ‘What is this to do with him?’
    ‘A most officious elder of the kirk,’ the boy said miserably. ‘He’s always watching us.’
    ‘Then do you think he knew of this affair?’
    Tom shook his head. ‘I cannot think he did, else the wrath of Hell were already wrought upon us. We have ay been careful. For certain, he would like to know. And when he does, he’ll have us both before the kirk for the sin of fornication. The session will demand it, handfast or not, for there’s none to defend us. I’ll never make a burgess now; we’re nothing in the town. I care little for myself, but I won’t see Katrin shamed.’
    Nicholas nodded. ‘Aye, I understand. Have courage now. I hear the turnkey’s footsteps on the stair. But I’ll come back tonight. I will speak to the girl – patience, for I will not fright her. And if she will confirm your tale, then something may be done to help you both.’
    ‘Why, sir, would you help us?’ The boy gazed at him doubtfully, a faint light of hope through the tears.
    Nicholas said softly, ‘For Alexander’s sake.’
    The long walk to the cottage sapped his strength, for Nicholas was worn and hungry, and the poison in his thigh began to spread. The drover’s daughter brought him oatmeal and a bowl of broth, thickly blackened with brambles and prune. He drank it gratefully. She was birdlike, slighter than Tibbie, light on her feet with grey solemn eyes. She opened them wide as he tried to explain about Tom. ‘To be sure he was here. I’m his wife. For why should he not be?’
    She listened gravely as he told