Corrag. Susan Fletcher
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Название: Corrag

Автор: Susan Fletcher

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Историческая литература

Серия:

isbn: 9780007358618

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ to survive it.

       Hardy?

      Aye. Savage. No laws – or not the laws that Lowland folk live by. They have their own language. Their own faith. He sipped from his broth. He found a bone in it, plucked it out, looked at it. Then he put it in the fire, said they are hated.

       By who?

       Lowland hates Highland like horses hate flies. You’ll see that, soon enough.

       Why?

      He shrugged. For being lawless. For having their Catholic ways. They say the Highland parts weigh this nation down…That the clans are barbarous. They scrap amongst themselves, is what I hear – and there are many known rogues up there. Even I know of them – me! Down here! The MacDonalds, mostly.

       Who?

       A clan with as many branches as a tree has. The Glencoe ones are spoken of plenty – their flashing blades…Thieving.

      I did a stitch. I thought of how little I knew of the world. Of how far away my old life was, with its holly, and frogs in marshes. It seemed a good life, briefly – that Thorneyburnbank one. I had known it, and its people. I’d not met a person who spoke a language of their own. This life, now, seemed harder. More shadows to pass by.

      I was quiet for a time. Then I whispered what of us? Of people like me? What does witch mean here? They hang them or drown them in pools, where I’m from. Or they try them by a judge, and do not kill them – but they are called witch for forever, then, and have stones thrown at them all their lives.

      He watched me. How he looked at me made me wonder if he’d ever had a child at all – for it was the kind of gentle look a parent gives. It was partly sad. Maybe he wished I might have more than this – more than witch, and sewing jerkins in a wood. He rubbed his plum-red patch with the heel of his hand. There were fevers in my youth, I’ll say that. Witch-hunting times – as there were in the south. They burnt a woman in Fife and in the market square they trod on a wetness that must have been her. Her body. Maybe he saw my face, for he said very quickly that was east. That was out in fishing villages, where it’s been worst. So don’t go east.

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