The Posy Ring Episode 92

1589

In June, word came to Eilean Garbh that a number of Spaniards who had taken refuge in various parts of Scotland were to be mustered in Edinburgh and transported home to Spain, via France, from the port of Leith.

They had escaped the killing that had ended their ill-starred enterprise only through the good offices of those Scots who were far from well disposed towards the English Queen. This was by no means all of them, and depending upon where they had washed ashore, their position as foreign enemies was still precarious.

Besides, some of them were men of means in their own country, and money might be paid for the release of people who were now seen, to some extent, as hostages. How far do you go to accommodate the stranger? So said some of the clan chiefs, although others disagreed and said that you went as far as necessary, especially where enemies of the English throne were concerned.

Elizabeth had agreed to a request to grant the ships safe passage, although even those who were less than friendly to the Spaniards saw little reason to trust her word where Scotland was concerned. But it might be a risk worth taking for those who wanted only to win home again. This news was brought to the island by McAllister, who had been told to relay it to “all those who had some knowledge of the Spaniards”, since their whereabouts had been kept a secret by those who had sheltered them.

McNeill summoned Mateo and Francisco to his bedchamber where they could speak in private and told them of these developments.

“I’m minded to let you go or stay as you choose,” he said. “You’ve been no trouble to me. Quite the contrary. You’ve both worked hard, each man in his own way. I’m aware that there are some who are suspicious of you, but they’ll change, in time. They’ll accept you and if they won’t they’ll have me to answer to.

“If you decide that you want to stay, I propose to rent you some land here. There’s decent-enough land in the south that nobody is cultivating. I’m thinking especially of a place called Dun Sithe, above the seashore near the high cliffs at the south end. It’s not far from Knockbaird, which is the place dedicated to our poets. A bard and his family still live there, although he does little enough in the way of poetry these days and little enough in the way of tilling either.

“Perhaps the days of heroic deeds are all over. But Dun Sithe has been neglected these many years past. The name means the fort of the fairies, the good people. Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

“I think so,” said Mateo. “Beathag explained that they are somewhere between angels and men. They were cast out of heaven. And they are perilous beings.”

“They are perilous beings if you offend them. Or so folk believe. Which explains why the people are hesitant to plough and sow down there. And those who do plough find the ground full of elf shot, wee arrowheads and the like, and so they are afraid. But there is nothing that cold iron will not drive away. And I hear that you are a good man with a cas chrom, Mateo.” He grinned suddenly. “In more ways than one.”

So he had heard. Did nothing happen on this island that he didn’t, sooner or later, hear about? God help them if that was the case.

Mateo smiled uncertainly. “I am. And I could stay and make a life for myself here. But all the same, and grateful as I am for all that you have done for us, I am minded to go. What about you, Paco?”

Francisco seemed very surprised. “I thought you would surely want to stay,” he said, colouring up. “For myself, I’m very thankful for all your hospitality and your generosity, sir. But if there is a chance, however remote, of finding our way home again, then I should like to take it.”

“Should you now?” said McNeill. He seemed disappointed, but quick to disguise it. “I had hoped that at least one of you would want to stay.”

“Are you sure, Paco?” asked Mateo. He had been certain that Francisco would stay on the island. He would have stayed himself, if he had been able to bear the thought of Eilean Garbh without Lilias. He wondered if, yet again, Paco was being carried along against his will.

“Yes, Mateo,” said Francisco very firmly. “Cousin, even if you were not going to attempt the voyage, I would. I miss my home. I’ve never stopped missing my home. I’m grateful for all you’ve done, sir” – this to McNeill – “but I should dearly like to see my own island again.”

“Ah well, who am I to force you into a course of action that is against your better judgement?” McNeill sighed. “My lassies will be disappointed.

“But when Lilias is married and away from here, later in the summer, perhaps Ishbel can go along with her for a while and the experience of new sights and sounds will be enough to cheer them both. My elder son will soon be coming home and searching for a wife of his own. Perhaps a whole crop of grandchildren will raise my spirits.”

“I hope so, sir.”

“You’ll sail with McAllister, initially. There are one or two more of you from nearby islands. A scant handful. Our people can keep secrets when there is need, you see. When you come to the mainland, you’ll be met, and you should follow the drove roads across to Leith. It’s a long journey, but this is the best time of year for it. And you’ll be travelling light.”

When they were in their own room again, Francisco gazed at his cousin in some perplexity. “I don’t understand!” he said. “I was sure that you would wish to stay here.”

“Why would you think that?” “Lilias,” he said simply. “You love her and she loves you. I know that you two have been meeting in secret. There have been times when I have smelled the very scent of her on you, at night. Don’t lie to me, of all people.”

“But she is to marry another man. Her father wishes it. Her brother wishes it. The plans are made. There’s nothing to be done.”

Francisco shook his head. “Nothing is certain until it happens. You’ve taught me that, cousin.”

I’m minded to let you go or stay as you choose,” he said. “You’ve been no trouble to me. Quite the contrary

The Posy Ring, first in the series The Annals of Flowerfield, is written by Catherine Czerkawska and published by Saraband. It is priced at £8.99.