15. Witch Hunt
An uneasy peace brooded over the whole of Perth the next day. Not only the citizens but also their Gaelic conquerors tended to feel slightly abused, and they spent the morning glooming at one another. By noon the high Celtic spirits had risen again in the conquerors, and a spirit of mischief took over. They released prisoners from stocks and jails (most of them guilty of such crimes as failing to attend kirk), and some of the Irish MacDonalds began preaching back at the dour, hell-spouting Calvinist preachers.
But this palled too, and presently a group of young and adventurous Highlanders decided just to go out and have a wee look round the neighboring countryside. Archie and Ranald came hunting Alex and Ian, who were delighted. Lachlan firmly attached himself to the party, with strict orders from Maeve not to be letting Mac ’ic Ian do anything to start his cut bleeding afresh.
At this point Kelpie announced that she would just go too. Ranald looked at her dubiously, but Archie laughed. “And why ever not?” he demanded. “The women do full share of work, what with cooking and nursing, and should have a bit of fun when they can. Will you come too, Maeve?”
Maeve hesitated, glared at Kelpie, and declined. And the party, some dozen or fifteen altogether, set off.
“Is Kelpie your true name?” demanded Archie as they started west across the sweep of moor. He grinned at her engagingly. “It wouldn’t be every day a body could have a kelpie as mascot. Tell me,” he asked, “have I seen you turn a soft eye upon Ian? Could you not be giving him a wee love potion?”
Kelpie smiled enigmatically and declined to answer. But she turned the idea over in her mind.
It was a lovely day, this second of September. The birches were beginning to yellow and the bracken to turn rusty underneath. Rowan trees flaunted clumps of brilliant red-orange berries in the sun; and only now and again did a cloud shadow glide silently over the rosy-heathered swelling ground, patching it with somber purple. Kelpie tied her plaidie around her waist, for she would not be needing it until the chill of evening.
They walked on, with the long, tireless Highland stride, chattering and laughing with the upsurge of spirits that was a normal reaction from the fear and triumph of yesterday.
“And did you get your dozen men, Alex?” inquired the fair-haired Ranald. “I saw you once cutting down an armored musketeer twice your size, and glad I was to be fighting with and not against you.”