forced himself to smile. ‘She’s his sister.’
Robbie punched him on the shoulder. ‘You randy old devil! How did you manage to get yourself a girlfriend like that!’
Adam flushed painfully and he felt a shock of annoyance go through him as well as fear. In spite of himself he glanced round. But they were alone in the centre of the huge bowl of the surrounding hills. ‘Don’t be daft. She’s no one. Just someone I met.’ Even as he said it he felt he was betraying her, but Brid and Gartnait and Robbie were worlds apart and he intended to keep them that way. He felt the cold weight of silver on his chest suddenly and shrugged the open neck of his shirt closed, surreptitiously fastening the button. He had no intention of letting Robbie see the pendant round his neck. As soon as he was alone he would remove it.
He stayed alone in the tent that night, but she did not return. Nor the next, and on the Saturday Adam packed up his gear and took it back to the manse.
With something like relief he put her out of his mind. Three times the following week he cycled over to Robbie’s and together they planned what they would do when they got to Edinburgh. It was finally beginning to dawn on Adam that he was actually leaving, and his thoughts turned to Brid less and less often, visiting him only at night in his dreams. Her silver charm was hidden in a box in the bottom of one of his drawers.
His results arrived; his grades were excellent and his place at medical school was confirmed. Numb with shock and excitement he received the news in his father’s study and stood looking down at the letter in his hand.
‘Congratulations, Adam.’ Thomas smiled at him. ‘I am very proud of you.’
Adam was speechless for a moment. He read the letter again. There was no doubt; there it was in black and white.
‘A great step,’ his father went on. ‘You’ll make a fine doctor one day, son.’
‘Thank you, Father.’ At last Adam found his tongue.
In half an hour it hit him with dizzying force. He was on his way. He was going to the city. He was leaving the manse forever. He did not intend to come back, even in the vacations. He was going to be a doctor.
This time he did not give Brid a second’s thought.
Broichan was waiting when Brid returned to the bothy with Gartnait, seated in front of the fire. There was no sign of Gemma.
‘So, you have been trespassing beyond our world. You have lied and cheated and broken your vows!’
‘No!’ Brid faced him, her cheeks flaming. ‘I have betrayed no one!’
‘You have betrayed me. And you have betrayed your gods.’ Broichan had not raised his voice. ‘On your horse. We leave now for the north.’
‘But I’m staying here –’
‘You are staying nowhere!’ Broichan stood up, towering over her. ‘You have betrayed your brother and your mother. You have betrayed the blood that runs in your veins. You have betrayed your calling –’
‘You have no proof of any of this! You are guessing –’
‘I have proof enough. I have watched you in the fire and in the water. I have seen you lying like a drab with the boy son of the Jesus priest.’ He moved towards her and Brid flinched backwards. ‘Collect your bags and come now, or I shall tie you like a slave and drag you behind my horse!’
She had no choice. Trembling, Brid collected her belongings, kissed Gemma, who had been waiting silent and afraid inside the bothy, and climbed onto her pony. Somehow she managed to keep her head high, the colour still strong in her cheeks, as Broichan led the way up onto the track where his servants and his escort were waiting.
The sun had barely moved a hand’s breadth across the sky when the riders crossed over into the next glen and were lost from sight.
Once back at Craig Phádraig, she settled into the routine of the seminary, avoiding Broichan as much as possible, her defiance secret, her anger against him simmering, comforting herself in the lonely evenings with the knowledge that Broichan was jealous of her power and by watching Adam from afar. When he joined Robbie for bicycle rides or hikes in the hills she could see them from the body of a skylark, high above the fields; when he lay at night in bed, dreaming of her, she knew it and crept to the window sill in the body of a village cat, purring with secret delight, and when he swam in the burn up on the hillside, relishing the last of the summer’s heat, she thought herself into the slim brown body of a mountain trout and flicked her tail against his naked thighs.
It was while she was watching Adam in her quiet cell one stormy autumnal night that Broichan walked in and caught her.
‘So, little cat, you have learned to spy on your lover.’ Broichan’s voice was a silky murmur.
Brid jumped with fear. The small room, lit only by the smoky flame of an oil lamp, was full of leaping shadows.
Watching her, Broichan smiled. ‘Such a waste. You have great gifts, my niece. You could have been a priestess, a seer, a bard, who knows, even a queen.’ He folded his arms under his cloak. ‘But you choose to betray me. You cannot be trusted with your talents – you waste them on a village boy and sully your initiation vows. Only one thing can redeem you, little Brid. Your blood shall be given to the gods with your brother’s when the time comes to dedicate the stone, so that your soul can be born again in a fresh guileless body –’
‘No!’ She made to stand up, her face as white as alabaster, but he raised his hand and held it in front of her.
Between his fingers, swinging at the end of a fine gold chain, was the egg-shaped polished red stone, its translucence gleaming in the light of the flame. ‘Don’t move, little Brid. Don’t even blink your eyes. You see, I can enchant you with the magic sleep and hold you here until I need you.’ He laughed softly. ‘Poor little niece. So clever, but not quite clever enough.’ He reached into the depths of his clothes and brought out a long-bladed knife. He held it for a moment in front of her unblinking eyes, letting the light of the flickering flame play on the gleaming blade. Gently he pressed it flat against her cheek. She did not flinch and he chuckled. ‘You will remember nothing of this, little Brid. Nothing at all when you awake. You will obey me and you will stay quietly here, to await your fate.’ Tucking the knife away again he leaned forward and snapped his fingers under her nose.
She jumped and stared at him, blinking. ‘Uncle –’
‘You work too hard, Niece.’ Broichan gave a cruel laugh. ‘Sleep now. I have great plans for you, my dear.’
He walked out of the small room. Behind him the flame on the lamp flickered.
The evening before he was due to go to Edinburgh Adam walked up one last time towards the stone. His trunk was packed and strapped, ready to go, in the hall. Tomorrow the carter would pick it up and take it to the station.
He was feeling a little guilty as he climbed the hillside. Overwhelmed with excitement about the future he had spared practically no thought for Brid and Gartnait at all over the last month. In his knapsack was a chocolate cake. A peace offering and perhaps a farewell.
The stone was in shadow. Panting slightly he stood as he had so often, running his fingers over the intricate designs carved on it. Below him, the hillside fell away into the velvet night. High above, on the west-facing slope, the sunlight still reflected pink onto the blackened heather and the rock. The evening was very still. He could hear no birds. Even the wind in the sparse grasses had died. He slung his bag off his shoulder and dropped it, then he stepped away from the stone. The Z-shaped cut – he thought of it as a lightning bolt, though Gartnait called it the broken spear – threw a hard narrow shadow across the smoothed surface of the granite. Beside it the carved serpent writhed unfinished, the tail only half drawn. It was the only incomplete carving on the stone. Under it the mirror looked as though someone had been scraping at it. The lichen had been rubbed away. He frowned. That was strange. As far as he knew he was the only person in the whole world, apart from Brid and