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into its flames and muttering every now and then to herself. “I curse their heid an’ all the hairs…” she would say. If she meant not us, it was not clear whom she meant. I only know I did not like her words, or her voice, or anything about her.
    Jeannie lay on the bed beside her grandson, leaning on one elbow, and stroked his hair as he muttered in his drunken sleep.
    She looked over at me once, and at Bess. “I thank ye again. The both o’ ye. I ken no’ how ye came to be here, but I thank God that ye were, for Tam’s sake. ’Tis a sad day, but Old John was ready for the next world. And there’s nothing that weeping can heal.” She threw a look towards the old woman. “See Old Maggie, she doesna even grieve for her man. She understands nothing. She lives only in the past, and nothing from today makes a difference to her. Blessed she is.”
    â€œWhat of her cursing, her anger at us?” I asked.
    â€œShe speaks not o’ ye. She curses the men who killt her father and mother for their faith, and who deformed her face as ye see it. Seven years old Maggie was when the King’s men tied her mother to a stake and drowned her in the rising tide, along wi’ another woman. They shot her father as he prayed. And then they took a burning sword and burnt her face. A wee child – would ye believe it! No’ even English they were, nor even Catholic – just soldiers who would do all their masters tellt them.”
    â€œWhy? What had they done?”
    â€œThey would no’ sign an oath o’ duty to the King. Their duty was to God above all others but the King would no’ have that. Our forefathers had a Covenant wi’ God and they called themselves Covenanters. Brave they were, though much good it did them. Now, we have other ways o’ fighting agin a King’s government.” She nodded towards where the men sat. “Ye’ll see soon enough. And if ye take my advice, ye’ll do what they tell ye. Ye are either wi’ us or ye are agin us. And they will put ye in the cave if they think they canna trust ye.”
    Bess had been silent during this time and I knew not if she listened. But now she spoke. I saw her hand go to her throat, where she touched the locket beneath her shirt.
    â€œSeven years old? And she has carried her anger so long?”
    â€œAye, and more than eighty years old she is. But ’tis a kind o’ madness has taken her mind. She can no’ say what she had to eat this morning, but she can tell ye what her mother wore as the tide drowned her.”
    â€œAll in white, an’ never weeping,” said Old Maggie now, staring somewhere into the rafters, her thin lips quivering. “An’ the soldiers shouting, ‘Repent!’ but she wouldna. No’ my mother. Brave she was, braver than any. Curst we are now. Curst that we were no’ pure enough.”
    â€œNo, Maggie, we’re no’ curst.” Jeannie spoke with a weary patience, as though she had heard this many times.
    â€œNo’ ye!” the old woman snapped. “No’ ye. Ye are no’ o’ my blood!” And she began to rock again, muttering, “Curst we are.”
    Bess moved to sit nearer to the old woman. She stretched her fingers to touch her hand. The woman started, looking suddenly at Bess, seeming a little frightened.
    But Jeannie was speaking now. “Dinna fret yourself, Maggie. Ye’re no’ curst. And ye ken I dinna like ye to speak like that in front o’ Iona and wee Tam.”
    Now Old Maggie blazed, her eyes bright and her body leaning forward, her bony finger pointing at Iona. “Curst she is too, like all the women o’ my line.” Suddenly, she stopped and her face became like a child’s, the back of her hands rubbing her eyes. “I am going tae sleep.”
    Iona stood up and left the dwelling quickly.
    Jeannie called to the men, “Billy, help me get