The Puzzle Ring (38 page)

He sent a town crier around the streets of Edinburgh, loudly proclaiming his innocence, and put up posters offering to fight in single combat with anyone who doubted his word. Although many people muttered behind their hands, no one dared to challenge him.

Although Fortingall was only a tiny hamlet consisting of a few thatched cottages clustered around a church and a huge old yew tree, it was as concerned with the doings in the capital as any other town. Hannah and Scarlett normally rode to the village on market day, when people from the furthest reaches of the glen come to buy and sell supplies, and exchange news. Hannah could never pass the ancient yew tree without
thinking of Donovan with a sharp pang, remembering the day he had told her it was even older than the pyramids.

In late April the market was humming like a beehive attacked by a bear. No one made any pretence of buying and selling. They all stood in small, agitated clumps, talking and arguing.

Scarlett seized an old woman by the sleeve and asked what was wrong.

‘It's the queen!' the old woman cried, her eyes red from weeping. ‘That devil Bothwell has seized her! He's got her locked up in Dunbar Castle. They've been ringing the alarm bell in Edinburgh and getting together some men to rescue her, but what of our poor queen in the meantime?'

‘Hah!' another younger woman said angrily. ‘They say Queen Mary went with him willingly enough.'

‘Only to avoid any harm coming to her men,' the old woman protested.

‘I'd say she knew of the plot from the start,' the young one scoffed. ‘She and that Bothwell have been thick as thieves for months.'

‘It's not true. Bothwell is her sheriff, a lord sworn to protect her. How could she suspect him of wanting to murder her husband and steal her away?'

‘Well, she rode forty miles with him and didn't once call for help,' the young woman pointed out. ‘You'd think she'd have screamed for help if she didn't want to be stolen.'

The old woman mopped her eyes with a rough handkerchief. ‘She would've been frightened . . . Oh, what will happen to her now?'

‘She'll have to marry him, that's what,' a stern young man said. ‘She can't spend the night alone with him, without a chaperone, and not marry him.'

‘I'd say that's what she wanted all along,' the young woman replied cynically.

‘But isn't he already married?' Hannah asked.

‘Wives are easy enough to get rid of when there's a crown to be won,' the young woman said.

‘I tell you what, though,' the old woman said as she turned back to her honey pots, ‘there'll be bloodshed if Bothwell thinks he can clamber onto the throne over the body of that poor murdered boy.'

There was bloodshed, Hannah remembered. A battle that Queen Mary lost. She was taken prisoner, and although she eventually escaped, it was only to find herself kept prisoner by Queen Elizabeth, her cousin, who eventually cut off her head. Hannah's stomach cramped in fear.

We have to get home
, she thought.
I'll rescue Donovan and my father, and get back the hag-stone, and find the last loop of the puzzle ring. Then we can go home
. . .

Hannah refused to admit that she might fail in her tasks and be stuck in the sixteenth century for the rest of her life. She could not even let the seed of the thought waft across her mind, in case it took root there and flourished, and sapped all her resolve.

‘Let's head back,' she muttered to Scarlett.

‘But we haven't bought anything yet! And imagine little Princess Morgana's face if we come back empty-handed. She'll throw a right royal tantrum.'

‘I don't think anyone would like us to sing today. Everyone's too upset.'

‘But there's fresh bread for sale! And honey and cabbages and blackberries. Linnet could make us bramble crumble again. And look, Hannah!' She pointed to where a butcher
had hung a row of freshly slaughtered carcasses from a tree, flies buzzing above the puddles of congealing blood. ‘Lamb! Oh, I've been dreaming of roast lamb for months. Please, Hannah. Please.'

‘I don't think we should . . .'

‘They'll be glad of something to distract them.' Scarlett jumped up on a stile and called out, ‘Such long faces you've got! Who'd like a wee song to brighten the day?'

A few people shrugged and gathered round, and Scarlett tapped her tambourine against her hip and mouthed ‘“Greensleeves”' to Hannah. Reluctantly Hannah climbed up next to her, and they launched into the song.

A few small coins had been dropped into Hannah's tam o'shanter and she had begun to relax when she saw a young woman standing at the edge of the crowd, staring at her. Wearing a ragged shawl wrapped close about her head and shoulders, the young woman was as thin as a stick and as white as whey. Recognition came—it was Edie, the young woman that had let them sleep in her goat shed while Hannah was sick—and so she smiled and lifted a hand in greeting.

Her left hand.

Even as Hannah remembered and guiltily dropped her hand, Edie started forward. ‘It's her!' she cried. ‘The witch-girl. She touched me with her devil's hand and scarred my little boy. Look what she did! Look!'

Edie flung back the shawl to show a small baby nestled in the crook of her arm. An ugly purple-red stain spread over the baby's head, covering almost half of his face. A murmur rose from the crowd.

‘She did it! It's her fault. She came and slept in my goat shed. Her friend gathered the flowers of the elder tree, and
they drank it together! She's a witch! She touched me with her devil's hand and look what happened.'

‘Don't be silly!' Scarlett cried. ‘Of course she's not a witch.'

‘Where do they live, these lassies?' a man asked, frowning.

‘They come down from the fairy hill on their horse,' someone cried. ‘I've seen them come out of the woods.'

‘Look at them! They're as wild as any fairy bairn.'

Scarlett and Hannah glanced at each other. It was true they were ragged and filthy. Although they washed in the river most days, they had no soap, and their hair was matted with knots, for they had lost or broken their combs long ago. Their feet were bare, for their boots had worn through the soles, and their aprons were badly stained from carrying berries and herbs.

‘Please, we're not fairy children,' Hannah cried. ‘I had nothing to do with the poor baby's birthmark.'

No one listened. Cries and accusations rang out from all sides. Edie shouted and wept and pointed accusingly at Hannah. The baby screamed. The port wine stain turned a deep purple as his skin reddened. Men jostled closer, saying the girls should be seized and taken up before the magistrate. Hannah was pushed roughly, and flung out her left hand to save herself. At the sight, the crowd grew ugly.

‘Come on! Let's get out of here!' Scarlett tried to push her way through the crowd, but someone seized her arm. At once she kicked him hard behind his knee. He fell with a grunt. Another man grabbed hold of her, but Scarlett twisted free and kicked him hard in the stomach. He bent over, winded. For a moment, the crowd just stood, goggling in surprise, and Scarlett seized Hannah's hand and raced to where the
water-horse stood. His head was up, his nostrils flaring red, his ears laid back against his skull. Scarlett leapt onto his back, and hauled Hannah up after her. A quick slash of Hannah's dagger sliced the rope free. The water-horse reared, trumpeting a challenge and showing his sharp fangs. A woman screamed and flung herself away from his clawed hooves.

Galloping madly through the street, knocking over barrels and carts, trampling fruit under hoof, sending people racing out of his way, the water-horse cut a swathe of destruction through the village. People raced after them, shaking their fists and shouting. The girls could only cling to the water-horse's mane and give him his head.

He followed the River Lyon, heading west along the glen. Tall mountains towered high on either side, still streaked with snow despite the warm spring weather. Behind them came the sound of pursuing hoof beats. Hannah glanced back and saw a few grim-looking men on horseback, spurring their mounts on.

‘Stop the witch-girls!' someone shouted. ‘Stop them!'

A man ran into a cottage and came out with a longbow. Scarlett cursed under her breath, and leant forward, trying to seize the trailing rope so she could turn the horse's head. The stallion turned and plunged into the river. Hannah's breath caught in her throat. She was sure he would transform back into his serpentine water shape and drown them both. The power of the iron held strong, however. The stallion swam strongly across the fast-running river, and came out galloping on the far side.

Into the forest and up the hill he went, stones scattering under his hooves, and wound his way along a narrow path
between rolling hills. Scarlett and Hannah could only cling on tightly. At last the horse slowed to a walk. Hannah could not see or hear anyone behind them, and so she heaved a great sigh and looked around them.

Purple-brown mountains soared into the sky, their lower flanks dark with forest. Directly ahead was a hill shaped like a perfect isosceles triangle. Two tall grey stones reared up before it, like a pinnacle that had been cleaved in two by a giant sword. Hannah stared and could not speak. She tugged at Scarlett's sleeve and pointed.

‘The praying hands,' Scarlett breathed.

Hannah nodded. She slid down from the water-horse's back, rubbing his damp neck in thanks, and slowly climbed the hill. Her emotions surged so strongly in her that her throat felt thick and her eyes hot. She came to the base of the split stone and laid her hand upon it. The rock was warm beneath her fingers.

She had to climb the rock, grazing her knees and her hands, wedging her body into the split so she could brace herself on either side. At the very top of the left-hand side she saw a glint of gold. The ring was caught in a crack in the rock. Hannah was only just able to reach for it. She slid it onto her finger, feeling happy and confident for the first time in weeks, and slowly climbed back down to where Scarlett and the water-horse were waiting for her. Hannah was smiling so wide her cheeks hurt, and Scarlett was jumping up and down with joy.

‘That's all three loops now,' Scarlett said, as they slowly rode north again, looking for a way back through the hills to Schiehallion.

‘And we found it without the hag-stone,' Hannah said.
‘When I lost it . . . I thought every chance of finding the last loop was gone.'

‘The water-horse led us to it,' Scarlett said, bending to stroke the weary stallion's neck.

‘It's a fairy horse and that was a fairy site,' Hannah said. ‘I wonder . . .'

‘What?'

‘My father said, in his notebook, that there are lines . . . roads . . . connecting places of power. I wonder if the horse was travelling one of those roads.'

‘Could be, I guess.'

They rode on in silence for a long while, until the sun had set and the stars were sprawled out across the sky.

‘You know,' Scarlett said, ‘I really hated you when you first came to Fairknowe.'

‘Yeah. How come?'

‘It's stupid.' Scarlett was silent for a while. ‘You know, there was always this big mystery about you. The little Rose heir, whose father disappeared and whose mother took you away soon after. People often used to wonder what had really happened.'

Hannah listened quietly.

‘I . . . oh, this is really stupid. I used to pretend that
I
was the missing Rose heir. That Lady Wintersloe was my great-grandmother, and that was why she took such interest in me.' Scarlett heaved a big sigh. ‘I wanted to think I was really adopted, because
my
family was so
ordinary
. So when you came and I had to stop pretending . . . I really hated you.'

‘I'm sorry,' Hannah said.

‘Oh, it's not your fault. So then . . . when you told us about Eglantyne being rescued and maybe having had her baby . . .
well, I wanted to think that it was me. That it would make me special somehow. But you know what?'

‘What?' Hannah spoke softly.

‘I can't wait to get home to my ordinary life and my ordinary family. I'm never going to wish I'm someone else again!'

Hannah smelt the smoke of the witch-hunters' torches before she saw the bobbing red lights. The men of Fortingall were searching the lower slopes of Schiehallion, the gusting flames snapping in the wind like forked banners.

The water-horse paused on the ridge of the hill, ears laid back against his skull. ‘Quietly now,' Scarlett whispered, nudging the horse forward. He stepped delicately down the stony slope. In the darkness he was almost invisible, and the two girls drew their plaids close about their faces and tucked their hands out of sight, so the white gleam would not betray them.

They came close to the witch-hunters, close enough to hear their shouts and curses, and for the smoke of the flames to sting their eyes. The men did not see the girls upon the horse, however, or hear a single clink of hoof against stone. Smoothly and silently, the water-horse led them past the gang of witch-hunters and down to the stony banks of the
river. He entered the water without a splash, and began to swim swiftly downstream. Hannah was sure she could hear the rhythmic beat of flippers, and every muscle tensed with fear. But the water-horse did not plunge below the water, or seek to roll and drag them under. The iron bound about his head kept him under their control, and so the two girls were able to slip right past the searchers, even when the reflection of their flaming torches rippled right across the water to touch their faces with heat.