“Nowhere. Pa’s at the smokehouse, by the way, if you were looking for him.” She turned to walk up the street.
“Wait—”
“Sorry, Mairi. I’m busy.”
Mairi caught up with her and spoke in hushed tones. “I hope you’re not going to Nannie Hattock’s.”
“Why?” Kaetha stopped. “Do you know where she is?”
“No.” Mairi looked confused. “But you should know you can’t go there to learn healing anymore. It’s not safe.” She knew that Mairi spoke the truth but there was something about the way she said it that made Kaetha want to disagree with her. “Have you heard—?”
“Aye, I’ve heard. So we’re to simply let people suffer?”
“Let them seek help from the monk physicians.”
Kaetha rolled her eyes. “That’s like leaving a baby in the care of a bull.”
“Be that as it may, it’s better than you getting yourself into trouble.” Mairi held her arm to stop her walking off again. “You don’t know how a mob can get if they believe someone’s done something that deserves hanging.”
“You think magic deserves hanging?” she said, shrugging Mairi’s hand away.
“I know you don’t have real magic, Kaetha. I understand that healing is different but now, after the decree, others will treat them both as the same thing.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Well of course real magic deserves punishment.” She sighed, closing her eyes as if in pain. “We can’t let people use that kind of power.”
“I see.” Kaetha felt as though there was an invisible wall between the two of them and Mairi was unknowingly handing her the stones to make it bigger.
“I’ll go with you if you’re going to Nannie’s,” said Mairi.
“Don’t worry yourself, I wasn’t going there anyway.” Kaetha turned into an alleyway. “I’m going to find Brother Gillespie.”
“What for?”
“I just thought it would be a really good time to discuss good and evil,” she said, knowing her sarcastic tone would not be lost on Mairi.
She heard nothing but her own footfalls, glad that Mairi hadn’t followed her. Though, as she emerged from the alleyway onto the common and turned left towards the monastery grounds, she heard the soft crunch of gravelly earth behind her.
Turning, she saw the edge of a red cloak disappear behind a fence. She thought of Murdo’s clansmen – they wore that colour. Her stomach had turned to ice as she continued walking. Was she about to ‘disappear’ as Nannie had seemed to do? She couldn’t turn back to go home without running into him. She had to go on. The only other people she could make out were a long distance away. Too far to call for help. The path bordering the common was straight and long and, after a while, she summoned the courage to look behind her again. A man was following her – a big, tall, bearded man with the hint of a scar on his cheek. She quickened her pace. From the swifter beat behind her, she could tell that he’d increased his speed. She ran.
A gate linked the walls of the monastery kitchens and refectory and, thanking the heavens that it was unlocked, she slipped through. All was quiet in the monastery precincts. Damn, she thought, wondering where there would be people, where she would be safe. She dashed towards the bishop’s palace. Bishop Alpin, with a thirst for prestige, was having his palace extended but if she’d hoped the builders were at work here, she was disappointed. No builders carrying heavy, iron tools to deter her pursuer and all she had was the small knife in her belt which wasn’t useful for much more than gutting fish.
She ran, weaving around the carts, wheelbarrows, stones and timbers, slipping on the muddy ground which sank towards the building where the foundations were being worked on. She looked back. The man’s great size became more apparent as he gained on her, puffing and sweating as he thundered closer. She saw the corner of the kirk building. The monks were bound to be at prayer. She sprinted, desperate to make it there where she’d be safe.
Pain gripped her arm and, with a jolt she was pulled back, thudding into the wall of muscle that was Murdo’s clansman.
“Chieftain has plans for you,” he growled. “And perhaps I have a few of my own.” She felt his hot breath and a hand slid across her thigh. She struggled. With her free hand, she grabbed her knife, slashing at the hand on her thigh, not caring that she cut herself too. Then she went for his other hand. In that heartbeat of his shock, she darted free. I can’t outrun him, she thought, but I can climb.
Hoping it would buy time, that someone would come and help her, she skidded across the damp, upturned earth and reached the wooden scaffolding attached to the ancient stone wall of the building. It was built for people much taller than herself but she had climbed trees since the age of five and was soon stretching, grasping, hauling herself up, finding her footing, swift as a cat.
When she could climb no further, she picked up a large, loose stone and prepared to defend herself, expecting to hear the thud of boots on timber. It was too quiet. She peered down. The man wasn’t on the scaffolding. Clinging onto the framework of wood, she leant out. When she saw him, her breath caught in her throat. The man was lying sprawled in the mud. She stared at him, waiting for a sign of movement. There was none.
Brother Gillespie approached and, upon seeing the man, ran towards him. Kaetha slunk back against the building, realising she still held the huge stone in her hands.
“What are you doing up there, lass? Come down,” he called.
Kaetha descended, only realising then how much her arm hurt where the man had grabbed it. She
