Brid! He grinned with pleasure. I thought I wouldnt see you again! He had been terrified for her after he had fled from her village, his memory of the tall, angry man and the gleaming knife-blade haunting his worse nightmares.
A-dam, shortbread? She sat down beside him and, reaching for his knapsack, rummaged through it hopefully. It contained his bird book and field glasses, the notebook and an apple.
He shrugged. No shortbread. Sorry.
No shortbread. Sorry, she repeated.
Have the apple. He picked it out and handed it to her.
She looked at it doubtfully.
Surely you know an apple! He shook his head in despair and taking it back from her took a huge bite to demonstrate.
She laughed and nodded and taking it back from him followed suit, displaying her small white teeth. Like him she had grown taller in the intervening months.
Apple good. She nodded.
Brid, why was that man so angry when I came to your village? Who was he? He was trying to mime the question.
She looked at him and for a moment he thought she understood. The quick intelligence in her eyes, the sudden tension of her shoulders betrayed her, but she shook her head and smiled. Apple good, she repeated.
Frustrated, he shrugged. Then he had an idea. Im going to teach you some more English, he announced suddenly. Then we can talk properly.
His lessons went on all through the summer. Adam, his knapsack laden with shortbread, or scones or chocolate cake immediately popular with Brid met her on the long evenings and at weekends and then in the vacation. Most of the time they stayed on the southern slopes of the hillside, making no attempt to go to her village. He had pushed Brid on the subject of the mans identity, but she had changed the subject with a shrug. One thing was clear however: whoever he was, she was very afraid of him. A couple of times they visited the cottage where her mother lived, just for the summer, he discovered, so Gartnait could be near the carving, for carving the slab seemed to be his full-time occupation. In the winter it appeared he had a workshop and men to help him but there was something special about this carving, something special about this stone, so that he had to work on it in situ. Sometimes they would sit and watch him for hours and he too would join in the language lessons while he worked, his chisels, hammers, punches and polishing stones laid out neatly in a row beside him.
Brid was a very fast learner and talkative and it was not long before she had overcome the frustrations of not being able to communicate with her companion. Adam for his part had already found out from his lamentable marks in Latin and French at school that languages were not amongst his strengths. His tongue tied itself in knots around the words she tried to teach him and he could remember few of them though he loved the way she laughed till she cried when he tried. Her fluency though made it easy for her to avoid his questions when she wanted to, and eventually he gave up asking about her village and her people. Gypsies, he supposed, must be naturally secretive, and with that conclusion he had to be content.
Jeannie Barron, discovering that chocolate cake was one of the ways to make Adam happy, made them more often and the two young people grew brown together in the sun as they picnicked and paddled in the burns through the hot spell. Adam made no effort to see the boys who had once been his friends. He no longer knew or cared if they avoided him. He seldom saw his father, who himself stayed out late more often. If he had known that Thomas was spending more and more time in agonised prayer, locked alone in the kirk, he might have felt a glimmer of sympathy, he might have sensed his fathers turmoil and loneliness and confusion, but he did not allow himself to think about his father at all. There were only three adults now in his life whom he trusted: Donald Ferguson, one of his science masters at school, Jeannie Barron, and Brids mother, Gemma.
A-dam, today we go see eagles. Brid adored his bird book. She pored over the pages and told him the names of many of the birds in her own tongue names he could never remember. To his surprise she couldnt write, so he had added that skill to his lessons, reassuring her when she fumbled with pencils, praising her when they found to the surprise of both of them that she could draw.
The eagles had an eyrie high on the side of Ben Dearg. To reach it they had to walk for a couple of hours, scrambling over increasingly steep rock and heather before stopping and sliding down the first of the deep corries that ran from east to west across the high moor. Halfway along, near the foot of the rockface, a torrent of brown burn water cascaded over a cliff some twenty feet or so into a circular pool before racing on down the mountainside. As they came to the edge of the cliff, several deer looked up startled and stared at them for a moment before bounding away out of sight.
Adam smiled at her. She was wearing as she always did a simple tunic, this one dyed in soft blues and greens, tied at the waist with a leather girdle in which she wore a serviceable knife. On her feet she wore sandals, not buckled like his but fastened round the ankles with long ribbon-like thongs. Her long hair she had fastened back with a silver clip. We gave them a fright.
She nodded. She had reached the pool first and she stopped and waited for him. Adam fell to his knees and bent over the water, splashing it over his hot face. We could swim here. He grinned at her. Its deep. Look.
She looked at him doubtfully and then at the dark water. Swimming not allowed here.
Why not? You paddle in the burn. Its not that deep. Ill show you.
Before she could stop him he had pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his shorts. Dressed only in his underpants, he leaped into the brown water.
It was much deeper than he expected and ice cold. He swam a few strokes under water, reached the vertical rock wall on the far side, ducked into a turn and rose to the surface gasping.
A-dam! Brid was kneeling on the rock at the edge of the pool. She was looking furious now. She held out her hands to him. Come out. You must not swim.
Why not? He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and struck out across the pool towards her. He was there in four strokes. Hey, whats wrong?
She was pulling at his arm. Get out! Get out! Get out quickly! She stamped her foot.
What is it, Brid? Whats wrong? He levered himself out beside her. Youre not afraid, surely?
A-dam! The lady in the pool. You have not paid her! Brid was whispering angrily.
The lady? He stared at her. What are you talking about?
The lady. She lives in the pool. She looks after it.
Adam looked puzzled for a moment, then light dawned. Like the cailleach, you mean? The old witch. A spirit. Brid! You dont believe that? Thats wicked. Thats against the Bible. He was shocked.
She shook her head, not understanding him. Going to the knapsack which was lying on the ground in the shade of a rock, she rummaged in it until she found the greaseproof-wrapped cake. Opening the paper she drew her knife and carefully cut the wedge of cake into three. For A-dam. For Brid. And for the Lady. She pointed to each slice in turn. Picking up the third piece she walked with it to the edge of the pool and climbed carefully out onto the rocks, which were slippery with spray, until she was as close as possible to the waterfall. Crumbling the cake between her fingers, slowly she dropped it piece by piece beneath the cascade, chanting some words under her breath as she did so.
When she had finished she stood still for a moment, staring round anxiously as though waiting to see if her offering had been accepted.
Brid! Adam was appalled.
She silenced him with an abrupt gesture, still scanning the water, then she pointed. He saw a small shadow flash past and it was gone.
That was a trout, he said indignantly.
She shook her head. Then in another lightning change of mood she clapped her hands and laughed. Trout messenger of the Lady! she cried. She skipped back onto the bank. The Lady is pleased. Now we swim. She sat down and began to unlace her sandals.
Beneath her tunic Brid was naked. She stood for a second on the rock, her body a pale contrast to her tanned arms and legs, then she leaped into the water with a splash and a delighted shriek.
Adam stood still. He caught his breath. He had seen the baby sisters of his friends sometimes without their clothes when their mothers bathed them before the fire, and he had always averted his eyes, particularly avoiding looking at the shockingly naked slit between their legs. He was still seriously intending to be a doctor, but he had never seen an older girl or a woman without clothes before, and now he had seen for a short moment when she stood untroubled on the rock this slim girl, young woman; seen her small firm breasts, the dark fuzz of hair between her legs, the provocative curve of hip and buttock before she leaped into the water.
He had never before considered how old Brid was. About his own age, he assumed, but she was his friend, his pal. He had never thought of her for a single moment as being like the giggling girls in Pittenross or Dunkeld, but his body, to his extreme embarrassment, was reacting by itself.
He stood where he was, mortified, the water dripping in pools around his feet as Brid flung back her hair, which had come free of its clip, treading water near him. Come, A-dam, she called. Come in. Nice.
He smiled uncertainly, his eyes on her breasts as the water cascaded over her shoulders. Dark strands of hair plastered her back and clung to her pale skin.
Come. She had realised suddenly the effect she was having on him and her smile became provocative. She ran her fingers over her body, resting them for a moment on the pert nipples before sweeping them down over her hips. A-dam. Come. Her voice had deepened. It held command. He hesitated for only a moment longer.
The cold water brought him sharply to his senses. Spluttering, he struck out for the far side of the pool, dodged round her and ducked under the waterfall itself. The noise was deafening. He was totally enveloped in the icy torrent, encircled by it, deafened by it, stunned by it. He trod water immediately under the fall and raised his face, feeling the power of it thundering over him. It was choking him, stifling him, drowning him. Abruptly he lowered his head, ducking out of it, gasping desperately to regain his breath.
Brid swam over to him in alarm. A-dam? Are you all right? She touched his arm, her fingers cold.
He pulled away and felt the firmness of her naked thigh against his underneath the water. He reacted as though he had been burned. With a yell he turned away and flailed towards the side of the pool. Pulling himself up onto the rock he lay there for a moment on his back, trying to catch his breath.
She was right behind him. A-dam? She knelt over him, the water dripping from her breasts. A-dam, what is wrong? Did the water go in you? She had one hand on his shoulder, the other on his belly, gentle, concerned. Poor A-dam. You went under the falling water. Only the Lady goes there. She was cross with you.
He opened his eyes. There is no lady, Brid, he gasped. Saying there is, is evil. Wicked. You will go to hell if you believe such things.
Hell? She was kneeling beside him, looking puzzled now, her long wet hair modestly shrouding her breasts.
Hell. Hades. Inferno. Adam was sounding increasingly desperate. Brid, you have heard of Our Lord? Of Jesus?
Oh, Jesus. She smiled. Columcille talked of Jesus. Broichan does not like that. Brude, the king, he likes Jesus.
The king? Adam was frowning at this torrent of strange names. The sun was in his eyes now as he lay back on the baking rock, Brid a black silhouette above him. You mean King George?
King Brude, she said firmly. The Lady punish you, A-dam. She make water go in you. You must give her a present. Say sorry.
I am not going to say sorry to a heathen spirit! he said hotly. He struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back, surprisingly strong. A-dam, say sorry or she make you die.
She had learned the word die when they had found a stag, its neck broken, at the foot of a cliff. To his surprise she had cried for it, her hands gently caressing the rough red-brown fur on its nose as it expired, its head in her arms. She was anything but gentle now.
She cant make me die. A shiver sent goosepimples over his skin.
She nodded, her face transformed with such fury he felt a tremor of fear run through him. She can. I serve the Lady, I know about her. I will kill you if she asks me to. She is very cross. You went in her special place. You must give her your piece of cake.
Adam stared at her in horror. I will not!
You give her your piece of cake or she will make you die.
Brid! Youre mad! He wondered for a split second as he said it if it were true. She was frightening him. There was a strange uncompromising look in her eyes which he had never seen before. A piece of cake was not going to appease some spirit in the water even if it did exist, which of course it didnt. He tried to sit up again and this time she let him. She rose gracefully to her feet and stood before him. A-dam, please. Give her a present. Her voice had assumed a new, deep resonance. Anything. Give her your watch. She had never seen a watch before and was enchanted by it.
I will not. He tried to smile. Id rather she had the cake.
Then give her cake. She was firm. She folded her arms.
His eyes had strayed to her breasts and he brought them back to her face with difficulty. All right, if it makes you happy, Ill throw away the piece of cake.
Not throw away, A-dam. Give it to the Lady. She was implacable.
Brid
Give it, A-dam, or I will let her kill you. The authority in her voice made him stare at her in awe. From one moment to the next it seemed she had changed from a provocative child-woman to a raging virago, to someone with the authority of one of his teachers at school. Shaking his head, shocked and uncomfortable, he squatted down and meekly reached into his knapsack. He brought out the two remaining slices of cake and taking one he walked across to the pool. She watched in silence as he moved out to the place where she had stood and solemnly broke up the cake and let it fall through his fingers into the water.
There. Satisfied? He felt cheated; he had been looking forward to the cake. And he also felt guilty and afraid. Thanks to Brid he had made a sacrifice to some pagan gypsy god and in so doing endangered his immortal soul. He sat down on the rocks at the edge of the pool and wrapping his arms around his spindly shins he sank his chin on his knees.
She glanced at him. A-dam? The anger had gone from her voice. This time it was soft. Hesitant. A-dam? Why you cross?
Im not cross. He refused to look at her.
The Lady happy now. She eat her cake.