The Betrayal of Maggie Blair - By Elizabeth Laird Page 0,1

its leather hinge, the smell of peat smoke, and the soft tail of Sheba the cat brushing against my dangling hand.

They dropped me down on the pile of straw in the corner that I used as a bed, and a moment later Granny had shooed them out of the cottage. I was quite back in my wits by then, and I started to sit up.

"Stay there," commanded Granny.

She was standing over me, frowning as she stared at me. Her mouth was pulled down hard at the corners, and the stiff black hairs on her chin were quivering. They were sharp, those bristles, but not as sharp as the bristles in her soul.

"Now then, Maggie. What was all that for? Why did you faint? What did you see?"

"Nothing, Granny. The whale..."

She shook her head impatiently.

"Never mind the whale. While you were away, in the faint. Was there a vision?"

"No. I just—everything was black. Before that I thought I saw—"

"What? What did you see? Do I have to pull it out of you?"

"The sky looked strange, and there was the whale— it scared me—and I thought that Jesus was coming. Down from the sky. I thought it was the Last Day."

She stared at me a moment longer. There wasn't much light in the cottage, only a square of brightness that came through the open door and a faint glow from the peat burning in the middle of the room, but I could see her eyes glittering.

"The whale's an omen. It means no good. It didn't speak to you?"

"No! It was dead. I thought the Lord Jesus was coming, that's all."

"Hmph." She turned away and pulled on the chain that hung from the rafter, holding the cauldron in place over the fire. "That's nothing but kirk talk. You're a disappointment to me, Maggie. Your mother had it, the gift of far-seeing, but you've nothing more in your head than what's been put there by the minister. You're your father all over again, stubborn and blind and selfish. My Mary gave you nothing of herself at all. If I hadn't delivered you into this world with my own hands, I'd have thought you were changed at birth."

Granny knew where to plunge her dagger and twist it for good measure. There was no point in answering her. I bit my lip, stood up, and shook the straws off the rough wool of my skirt.

"Shall I milk Blackie now?"

"After you've touched a dead whale? You'll pass on the bad luck and dry her milk up for good. You're more trouble than you're worth, Maggie. Always were, always will be."

"I didn't touch the whale. I only..."

She raised a hand and I ducked.

"Get away up the hill and cut a sack of peat. The stack's low already, or had you been too full of yourself to notice?"

Cutting peat and lugging it home was the hardest work of all, and usually I hated it, but today, in spite of the rain that was now sweeping in from the sea, I was glad to get out of the cottage and run away to the glen. I usually went the long way, up the firm path that went around and about before it reached the peat cuttings, but today I plunged straight on through the bog, trampling furiously through the mass of reeds and flags and the treacherous bright grass that hid the pools of water, not hearing the suck of the mud as I pulled my feet out, not feeling the wetness that seeped up the bottom of my gown, not even noticing the scratches from the prickly gorse as it tore at my arms.

"An evil old woman. They were right down there. That's what you are." Away from Granny, I felt brave enough to answer back. "I am like my mam. I've her hair, and her eyes, and her smile, so Tam says."

Most people called old Tam a rogue, a thief, a lying, drunken rascal, living in his tumbledown shack like a pig in a sty. But he was none of those things to me. He'd known my mother, and I knew he'd never lie about her to me.

I don't remember my mother. She was Granny's only child, and she died of a fever when I was a very little girl. I just about remember my father. He was a big man, not given to talking much. He was a rover by nature, Tam said. He came to the Isle of Bute from the mainland to fetch the Laird