The Betrayal of Maggie Blair - By Elizabeth Laird Page 0,6

byre slowly swung open. Then Tam stumbled out. He was covered in wisps of straw, and clots of dried dung were stuck to his hair. Granny burst into a cackle of laughter.

"Old fool! Too blootered to find your way home, were you? You never slept the night in the byre with the cow?"

Tam mumbled something then turned away, fumbling with his breeks to relieve himself. He was doing it too close to the house for my liking.

I went inside quickly. I was afraid that other feelings for Tam would push their way in and spoil the love I felt for him. I didn't want to see weakness and silliness and the blur of drink in his eyes. I didn't want to feel pity or contempt.

The fire was nearly out, and it took a while to coax it back to life. The floor needed sweeping, Blackie needed milking, and the porridge had to be cooked. Granny, who had shooed Tam away from our door with a shake of her broom as if he was a stray dog, kept me at it all morning.

The lane running along the head of Scalpsie Bay goes directly past our cottage, and anyone coming or going to the Macbean farm has to pass right by us. It annoyed Mr. Macbean, as I knew well, to see the good land of our small field and kail yard, which took a bite out of his big farm. He was envious of the stream running so close to the cottage, and the treasures of the beach being ours for the first taking. He'd long wanted to gobble our place up and take it into his own holding.

Later that morning he rode by with a sack of oatmeal as payment for Granny's services, and his eyes wandered possessively past me toward the cottage. I flushed with annoyance at the sneer in his voice when he spoke. "When was it you last put fresh turf on your roof? You must be flooded through those holes every time it rains."

"It's dry enough," I said stiffly.

He pretended to look sympathetic.

"It's too much for you though, this place, isn't it, Maggie? An old woman and a young girl! I wonder you don't give it up and move somewhere more fitting. Elspeth could find a place in Rothesay, couldn't she? And you could go to be a serving girl like our Annie."

I had to bite my lip to stop my anger bursting out, but I wasn't like Granny. I could always hold it in. I stared back at him coolly and said, "I hope the baby's well and Mrs. Macbean. Have you chosen a name for him? When is the christening to be?"

He looked embarrassed.

"The christening will be soon enough. We'll see. He's to be named Ebenezer."

He mounted his horse and rode off.

"Ebenezer!" snorted Granny, who had come out of the cottage in time to see Mr. Macbean disappear over the rise toward Rothesay. "What kind of fool name is that? Not that the child will bear it for long. The mark of death is on him."

Chapter 3

The gossips of Scalpsie Bay had been right. The whale stank as it rotted. Foulness hung in the air, and even the seagulls, which had feasted on the flesh at first, would not tear at the carcass anymore.

The other news was that a new minister had come to the church at Kingarth. His name was Mr. Robertson.

"A busybody, by the look of him," Granny said sourly, watching the man's lean, black-coated figure stride energetically up the lane toward Macbean's. "He'll be after us to go to the kirk every week, so he can insult us from his pulpit. They're all the same. Crows in black suits."

I watched for the minister coming back so that I could take a peep at him. There were hardly ever strangers in Scalpsie Bay, and a new face was always a wonder. I hid behind the hedge and looked through a gap. Just as he came into view, a swan flew overhead. The minister took off his round, broad-brimmed black hat and looked up at it, letting me get a good view of him.

Mr. Robertson was a young man, lean and pale. His hair fell in thin fair wisps to his shoulders. His skin was pink, not reddened or tanned by the wind and sun, as everyone else's was in Scalpsie Bay. He looked clean all over. There were no smears on his face or hands, and no specks on the black cloth