The Highwayman's Curse by Nicola Morgan Page A

thinking. She needed me now.
    It was I who had brought her to this place. I had been wrong.
    â€œYes,” I said, loudly, desperately, “I have a way with sick creatures. I can do all that your bonesetter might do. I can mend your child’s arm and I know I can save him.” Heat rushed to my face as I considered what I was saying, the promise I was making – if I failed to keep it, what would they do to me then?
    But I could only buy some time.
    And all the while I watched Red, his finger under Bess’s chin, tilting it up, leering at her. She did not turn away. I worried what she might do. Once before, I had seen her held in a man’s sway like this and on that occasion she had spat in her captor’s face. No good had it done her or us, though I had not blamed her and I would not blame her now. Though again it would do no good.
    But what difference would it make? Little enough.
    â€œI have need o’ a wife,” said Red. “But I have no need o’ the wife’s lad.” He did not glance at me as he said this, only walked round Bess, looking at every part of her as she stood there, the muscles in her face tight and still.
    Thomas laughed. “Ye are o’er old for a wife.”
    â€œMebbe, but I would look after her better than ye did your own wife!” retorted Red. Thomas leapt towards him, but was held back by Jock. Mouldy pushed me and Bess once more towards the trapdoor. Another man was there – who I think was Billy, the gentle-seeming giant of a man with a worried soft face. “Poor Billy,” Jock had called him. I think he was somewhat simple, with little understanding behind those odd-shaped eyes. But he was strong, that much was obvious. He looked from one man to another, awaiting instructions.
    Now I could hear the rhythmic crashing of waves in the far distance, the hollow moaning of the wind as it whirled through whatever tunnels must twist their way between this place and the ocean. I shivered, clamping my teeth together so that no one would see my fear.
    Now Jeannie spoke. “Are ye all eejits? Are ye no’ thinking? Jock? Are ye having one o’ your sore heads again? We could use these two, and the Lord kens – if the lad can save our Tam, then why should we throw him to the tides?”
    Jock scowled. “Woman, I’m no’ needing your words o’ advice. When there’s thinking to be done, leave it to me.” He passed his hand across his brow. “Aye, my head’s sore, but no’ so sore that I canna think for myself.” He paused, as though coming to his own decisions. “Aye, the lad can try his hand wi’ Tam – for there’s no’ any other hope. The lass, well, she is wee and thin and could be o’ use. Think on it, Thomas – if Tam canna go down to the cave then we’ll need one that can.” I did not know what he talked of, but it seemed as though there was hope for us yet.
    If I could save the boy. If not…
    Red took hold of Bess’s arm, but Jock stopped him. “Red, ye’ll no’ have the lass. She’s o’er young for ye.”
    Thomas laughed, loudly, in agreement with his father. With a whisky-sodden roar, Red drew back his arm as if to hit him, and would have done so had his father not held his arm up to block the blow. Jock stood with some difficulty, swaying somewhat and screwing up his eyes against the pain in his head, but staring at his son angrily.
    There was conflict here. A father who seemed to suffer from some ailment, who seemed to be losing his strength, and two sons who fought each other. Another son, the quieter one with the obedience to God – I did not know his spirit as yet. But I knew that Red was a dangerous man. He reminded me in no small way of my brother. A fiery temper and volatile eyes, a bitter bile, and hating most of all to be held in check.
    The look in Red’s eyes was dangerous. Whisky inflamed any reason he