Time and Tide by Shirley McKay Page B

arts.’
    â€˜Though I do not fear their magic, I do not doubt its power to harm those that believe it,’ answered Hew. ‘If I am cursed, and told that I must die, that it is my believing it that kills me in the end. And for that reason, we must keep all hint of witchcraft secret from the town.’
    Doctor Locke agreed. ‘I shall make report, and send it to the coroner, that now is our new sheriff, Andrew Wood. Tis likely we shall hear from him, for he is most assiduous.’
    â€˜Then he serves as contrast to our old one,’ remarked Hew.
    â€˜So it must be hoped. I met him only once, and cannot say I took to him. No matter, these are desperate times, and want a will of iron to make the measures straight. I have the feeling,’ Giles reported gloomily, ‘that we shall know him well before this year is out. For now, I have a little pot, in which this scrap of finger may safely be disposed, and keep its secrets closed. I hear the morning lecture bell, and have not had my breakfast yet. Will you come and join me, in a buttered egg?’
    â€˜Not for all the world,’ said Hew emphatically.
    They parted at the turret door, where Hew turned sharply back and through the college gates, George Buchanan’s grammar in his hand. He caught the trail of students snaking to the hall.
    â€˜Which one of you,’ he called, ‘is George Buchanan?’
    A thin and pale-faced stripling stepped up with a sigh. ‘I am George Buchanan, sir,’ he answered wretchedly, as though the very question were a burden to be borne, which Hew supposed it was. The boy bore no resemblance to the scholar.
    â€˜I have your
Rudimentia Grammatices
. Your sister left it for you,’ Hew explained.
    The student answered, ‘Oh!’ and blushed a livid puce, from the purple of his thropple to the pink tips of his ears. A reprimand, Hew sensed, was preferable to this. In kindness, he should turn away, andlet the matter drop. Despite himself, he asked, ‘Is your sister your tutrix, then, George?’
    The boy blinked in surprise. ‘Is she my what, sir?’
    â€˜Are you her ward?’ Hew glossed.
    â€˜I have no tutor, sir, for I am come of age.’
    â€˜Of course you are,’ Hew countered quickly. ‘I only meant to ask, where is it that you live? Are you come here from her house?’
    â€˜I come here from my father, sir. I do not bide with Clare. I stayed with her a night. Tis only that her house is somewhat close to here, my father’s at Linlithgow, somewhat far away, and that is where I live – that is where I lived,’ George corrected poignantly, ‘since now I must live here.’
    Hew felt a prick of guilt.
    â€˜Why do you ask it, sir? Have I done something wrong?’
    The boys behind them nudged and winked.
    Hew sighed, ‘Not at all.’
    â€˜I will be late, sir, for the lecture, and the regent will be vexed.’ George took the book and stuffed it in his breeks, with a furtive backward glance towards his waiting friends.
    â€˜Your sister came in kindness. You need not feel ashamed,’ admonished Hew.
    George coloured once again. ‘I am not ashamed of Clare. But for it is a
bairn’s
book,’ he blurted out, in Scots.
    â€˜It is a Latin grammar book, and it will serve you well. And God help him who laughs at it,’ Hew threw out to the crowd, ‘and does not know his verbs. Now, what must you say to me?
    â€˜Benigne, magister . . . domine . . . professor, sir,’ George responded awkwardly.
    â€˜Bene. Vive valeque,’ Hew dismissed him with a nod. He watched him scuttle off, gaunt ghost of a child, following the rest into the lecture room. It had not been his intention to humiliate the boy. Why had he forced him to the inquisition? What matter, who his father was, or if he lived with Clare?
Clare Buchanan
, Hew reflected, trying out the name. Despite his twitch of conscience, he found it brought a