my stomach are sticking together."
Chapter 11
We were out of the tolbooth only just in time. The tavern door opened as we reached the bottom of the steps, and people began lurching out into the half light of the May night.
"Oh, look at that now. Oh, we're in trouble!" Tam said, and I could see he was about to panic and have us both caught.
Act. Don't be feeble!
I heard Granny say in my head, so I gave Tam a shove in the back and said, "Go on. Join them. I'll be all right. Just act drunk like the rest of them."
He didn't need telling. The fresh air had turned the whiskey in him, and he was half out of his head, anyway. Obediently, he staggered off to join the crowd.
I slipped around the corner into a dark back lane, and then I began to run, the ground flying away beneath my feet. Like an animal freed from a trap, I went the only way I knewâhome, to Scalpsie Bay.
I halted at last and bent over, gasping for breath, nursing a stitch in my side. I was desperately hungry and tired to my bones, but fear is a marvelous spur. It was past ten o'clock now, and the short darkness of May had fallen at last. I'd have six or seven hours till the sun rose again. There was no sound of pursuitâno shouts or running feet or pounding horses' hooves.
I set off again at a fast walk, listening out for any strange sounds. Once, a barking dog nearby made me jump half out of my skin, and I realized I was close to the farm at Kerrycrusach, but no door opened. I stole past on tiptoe, and the dog soon quieted down.
There was no moon that night, but a faint grayness still lingered on the western horizon, and when I came at last to the old cottage, I could see enough to find the door and open it. I sensed at once that Blackie had gone. Her byre was silent and empty. She would have been in pain at being left so long without milking, but I'd hoped foolishly to find her here. I'd been longing for a deep drink of warm, frothy milk.
Those thieving Macbeans will have taken her,
I thought, and rage nearly choked me. I felt Granny inside me at that moment.
"Sheba!" I whispered. "Are you there?"
But there was no answering meow, and no warm black shape came out of the darkness to greet me.
I knew I couldn't stay in the cottage. To be there at all was dangerous, even in the middle of the night. One of our neighbors might easily come, under cover of darkness, to help himself to whatever he could find. I needed to get going quickly.
The ashes on the hearth were cold, of course, so there was no glow from the fire to see by. I had to feel my way around with my hands.
To my amazement, the oatmeal barrel was still half full. The feel of the soft grain under my fingers cheered me like a kind word. There were even the oatcakes that I'd made the other morning (a lifetime ago) still sitting on the table.
Granny's curse at the hearth,
I thought, smiling to myself in the dark.
It's keeping them away. She knew it would.
I grabbed the oatcakes and crammed them into my mouth, then went to the pitcher and took a deep draft of water. My hand brushed against the jug beside it, and I heard the slosh of liquid. Milk! I had poured some into it from Blackie's bucket. I raised the jug to my lips and drank the milk down in a long, satisfying gulp.
The food worked on me better than any enchantment could have done. It gave me courage and cleared my head. I sat at the table, looked out through the doorway into the starry night, and thought.
Where can I go? What can I do?
The Isle of Bute is less than one day's ride long from tip to tip, and three hours of walking across the middle. Every man and woman on it would know in the morning that I'd escaped, and they'd all be after me. There was no one who would want to help me, except for Tam, but he'd done what he could. And even though I loved him, I knew he was too foolish to be relied on.
I have to get to the mainland,
I told myself.
I have to get across the water.
There were boats of all kind that came and went from
Chapter 11
We were out of the tolbooth only just in time. The tavern door opened as we reached the bottom of the steps, and people began lurching out into the half light of the May night.
"Oh, look at that now. Oh, we're in trouble!" Tam said, and I could see he was about to panic and have us both caught.
Act. Don't be feeble!
I heard Granny say in my head, so I gave Tam a shove in the back and said, "Go on. Join them. I'll be all right. Just act drunk like the rest of them."
He didn't need telling. The fresh air had turned the whiskey in him, and he was half out of his head, anyway. Obediently, he staggered off to join the crowd.
I slipped around the corner into a dark back lane, and then I began to run, the ground flying away beneath my feet. Like an animal freed from a trap, I went the only way I knewâhome, to Scalpsie Bay.
I halted at last and bent over, gasping for breath, nursing a stitch in my side. I was desperately hungry and tired to my bones, but fear is a marvelous spur. It was past ten o'clock now, and the short darkness of May had fallen at last. I'd have six or seven hours till the sun rose again. There was no sound of pursuitâno shouts or running feet or pounding horses' hooves.
I set off again at a fast walk, listening out for any strange sounds. Once, a barking dog nearby made me jump half out of my skin, and I realized I was close to the farm at Kerrycrusach, but no door opened. I stole past on tiptoe, and the dog soon quieted down.
There was no moon that night, but a faint grayness still lingered on the western horizon, and when I came at last to the old cottage, I could see enough to find the door and open it. I sensed at once that Blackie had gone. Her byre was silent and empty. She would have been in pain at being left so long without milking, but I'd hoped foolishly to find her here. I'd been longing for a deep drink of warm, frothy milk.
Those thieving Macbeans will have taken her,
I thought, and rage nearly choked me. I felt Granny inside me at that moment.
"Sheba!" I whispered. "Are you there?"
But there was no answering meow, and no warm black shape came out of the darkness to greet me.
I knew I couldn't stay in the cottage. To be there at all was dangerous, even in the middle of the night. One of our neighbors might easily come, under cover of darkness, to help himself to whatever he could find. I needed to get going quickly.
The ashes on the hearth were cold, of course, so there was no glow from the fire to see by. I had to feel my way around with my hands.
To my amazement, the oatmeal barrel was still half full. The feel of the soft grain under my fingers cheered me like a kind word. There were even the oatcakes that I'd made the other morning (a lifetime ago) still sitting on the table.
Granny's curse at the hearth,
I thought, smiling to myself in the dark.
It's keeping them away. She knew it would.
I grabbed the oatcakes and crammed them into my mouth, then went to the pitcher and took a deep draft of water. My hand brushed against the jug beside it, and I heard the slosh of liquid. Milk! I had poured some into it from Blackie's bucket. I raised the jug to my lips and drank the milk down in a long, satisfying gulp.
The food worked on me better than any enchantment could have done. It gave me courage and cleared my head. I sat at the table, looked out through the doorway into the starry night, and thought.
Where can I go? What can I do?
The Isle of Bute is less than one day's ride long from tip to tip, and three hours of walking across the middle. Every man and woman on it would know in the morning that I'd escaped, and they'd all be after me. There was no one who would want to help me, except for Tam, but he'd done what he could. And even though I loved him, I knew he was too foolish to be relied on.
I have to get to the mainland,
I told myself.
I have to get across the water.
There were boats of all kind that came and went from
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