old rags—patched, faded, and torn—had been part of him for so long that they had seemed like a second skin. My uncle's clothes were far too big for him. They hung loosely on his skinny frame, the coat tails dangling below his knees, the sleeves falling down over his hands. I wasn't sure that I liked the new Tam. He looked even more frail and pathetic than before.
He was so entranced, though, with his new clothes that I couldn't help smiling. He gazed down at himself, awestruck, fingering the strong woolen weave of the shabby brown coat between his clawlike fingers.
"There's an old bonnet of your father's too," said Aunt Blair, who seemed to be enjoying the chance to dress even such an unpromising figure as Tam.
But when Ritchie fetched it, Tam looked at the clean blue bonnet with dismay.
"You're very kind, mistress." He was clasping his disgusting old headgear tightly to his chest. "But my old one, you know—like a friend—I wouldn't feel quite right in another. Keep it for your man when he comes home."
Aunt Blair's smile faded.
"When he comes home," she repeated bleakly. "Aye, God willing."
I had been gathering together my few possessions and had tied them in my old bundle. Martha had been following me about, trying to hold my hand whenever it was free.
"You're not really going away, are you, Maggie?" she said, her chin wobbling.
I bent down and hugged her.
"Yes, sweetheart, but I'll come back, and maybe when I do, I'll have your daddy with me."
Big tears rolled down her cheeks, and then, in her usual way when she was distressed, she ran off to hide.
We were ready at last. We stood at the door, and I took a deep breath as I looked down the track that led away from Ladymuir, on into the valley below, then away up and over the hills.
"Here," said Ritchie, who had reappeared from the parlor. "Take this."
He put two silver pieces into my hand.
"What, Ritchie? You can't!"
"It's the rest of the laird's money. For my father, and for you, if you really need it." He hesitated, then his face flushed red. "I hate you going off like this. It's a man's work you're doing. It ought to be me!"
"You can't, Ritchie. You have to run the farm and look after your mother."
"I know. But it's a bitter thing to have to stay. I—I haven't said this to you, Maggie, but you know how much I admirey ou and—and—"
I didn't want to hear any more. I hitched my bundle up onto my shoulder and said quickly, "Thank you for everything. You're a good cousin and friend, and I'll do my best for your father."
Aunt Blair put her arms around me and hugged me with what felt like real affection.
"God go with you, Maggie dear, and may his angels watch over you. We'll pray for you and your mission without ceasing."
And then we were away, and I was hurrying after Tam, who had retrieved his pipes from the barn and was scampering down the track at his usual amazing speed. After a while I turned to look back and saw them still standing there—Aunt Blair with Andrew in her arms, waving his little hand, and Nanny jumping up and down at her side. Ritchie had come a little way down the track after us and was standing by the rowan tree, with his hand resting against the trunk as if he needed the support. But Martha hadn't reappeared, and I knew she was hiding in the bed we had shared for so long, curled up in a tight little ball, crying.
Chapter 26
It's no more than sixty or seventy miles from Kilmacolm to Edinburgh, so Ritchie told me, and if we'd been able to travel along the highway, with plenty of food to keep us strong and energetic, the journey would have taken three days at the most. But the whole country was in the grip of terror. There was a kind of madness in the air. The soldiers' bright uniforms stood out against the soft greens and browns of the May countryside in splashes of scarlet. They trotted on their jingling horses in bands of six or seven down the muddy lanes. They sang and swore and brawled in the village inns and appeared suddenly out of the remotest farmhouses, where they'd been planted to live with covenanting families, to harass them and eat up their supplies as punishment for refusing to swear the oath to the king.
I'd told