my head turned away from the boatman. A few minutes later, I was standing with the others on the shore of Cowal, and the boatman, who seemed not to have noticed anything strange about me, was already pushing an oar against the rocks to set himself afloat for the journey back to Rothesay.
I hadn't had a chance until that moment to give any thought to the journey ahead or the men I would be traveling with, but now I felt self-conscious and unsure of what was expected of me. Mr. Lithgow and Peter Boag had quietly loaded their sack of oatmeal along with my bundle onto Samson's back, and they were sending the dogs with shrill whistles of command to fetch back the straying cows.
I watched them, unobserved. They were both stocky, bearded men, their hair shaggy, and they wore their bulky plaids belted around their waists like Highland men. I could see how strongly muscled their legs were and how the soles of their bare feet were as hard as leather. Mr. Lithgow was taller than Peter Boag. He was a great bull of a man. They worked quietly, their voices low, their whistles sure, their movements calm and slow to reassure the cattle. Neither of them looked as if they ever spoke much or gave away their thoughts.
At least the sun was shining. I wrung as much water out of my shirt as I could, hoping it would soon dry off. My dull brown hair, always fine and wispy and now cropped close to my head, was drying already.
Mr. Lithgow spoke to me at last.
"We'll stay here for an hour or so. Give the beasts time to rest and recover."
We sat together, the three of us, on a low stone wall that edged the grazing place, while the cattle, their red backs steaming in the warmth, stood up to their hocks in the boggy green grass. The dogs lay quietly under a nearby tree, their tongues out, watching Mr. Lithgow and waiting for their orders.
At last, after a long silence, Mr. Lithgow cleared his throat.
"So old Tam got you away, then, Maggie. I thought he was nothing but a daft old drunkard, but he turned out cleverer than all those ministers and elders and sheriff's men."
"I'd like to have seen Donnie Brown's face when he woke up in the morning and found you gone," Peter Boag put in, as if he'd been waiting for permission to speak.
A rumble of laughter rose from Mr. Lithgow's chest and erupted in a guffaw.
"From what I heard, old Elspeth put it about that it was the Devil himself who got you out, flying away with you over the rooftops." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter shiver and draw his plaid around himself.
"Did you see him—the Devil?" he asked, leaning forward. "What did he look like?"
I stared at him, shocked.
"No, Mr. Boag. Of course I didn't! I'm not—it was all lies. Everything they said about me and Granny was lies!"
"Well, about you, but I heard that your grandmother, she could—"
"That's enough, Peter, you loon," Mr. Lithgow broke in. "You're as bad as the rest of those superstitious fools. I told you, I knew Elspeth Wylie. Danny Blair was her son-in-law, and he was the best drover in the west of Scotland. A great man. 'If you have to have a mother-in-law, Archie,' he said to me once, 'don't pick one like Elspeth Wylie. She's a cantankerous, sour, bitter old body, with a liking for stirring up mischief wherever she goes. But her heart's in the right place, when it comes down to it.' Danny would have sniffed out anything wrong in her. He was a shrewd man. And this is his daughter, Peter—don't you forget it. His flesh and blood. So mind your tongue before you throw around talk of witches and sorcery and the like."
Peter Boag dropped his eyes, but I could tell he wasn't convinced. Mr. Lithgow frowned as he thought of something else.
"That Annie girl," he said to me. "What made her do such a terrible thing to you both? The lies she told! What made her hate you?"
I told him about Mr. Macbean, and how he'd forced Annie to give evidence and the baby she was expecting. They stared at me, shocked.
"Such wickedness," Mr. Lithgow said at last. "I can hardly believe it. I know Macbean's a mean man, slow to settle his debts, but he's an elder of the kirk! To commit adultery in