On the Edge of Darkness. Barbara Erskine

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СКАЧАТЬ in hand into the shadows beneath the apple trees and ran round the house towards the regimented rows of potatoes and onions. Skirting the beds of vegetables, Adam led her to the pile of cut logs stacked against the wall, and out of sight of every window in the house save that of the empty kitchen he pulled her up to scramble over the loose stones and jump down onto the soft springy grass at the edge of the lane.

      By the time they had reached the steep climb through the wood beside the burn they were both out of breath and laughing.

      ‘Quickly, quickly, my mother will have food.’ Brid’s hair was slipping from its braids. Far above them the stone was still in sunlight. It was strange to stand in the shadowed valley and see the distant illumination like a spotlight. Adam stopped, looking up, and he shivered. ‘I hate it when the glen gets dark before the mountain. I always want to be up there, where I can see the setting sun.’

      ‘We go up.’ She looked at him closely, her head to one side. ‘You are growing big, A-dam.’

      ‘So are you,’ he retaliated. They both smiled and suddenly she had turned and set off ahead of him at the run. He was after her in a flash and had caught up with her before she had gone a dozen yards. They were in a small mossy dell, sheltered by a stand of silver birch. Somewhere out of sight Adam could hear the trickle of water from a hidden burn.

      It was she who pushed against him, nuzzling his neck with her lips, she who, fumbling with his buttons, undid his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, she who fondled and stroked his chest till he lost his breath in the back of his throat and was galvanised at last to reach for her body through the embroidered gown. With a throaty laugh she undid the girdle at her waist and with a small wriggle let the garment fall to her feet, leaving her naked in his arms, dragging at the belt which fastened his shorts.

      This time they took longer, savouring one another’s bodies, touching each other with gentle exploratory fingers which only gradually grew more urgent until at last Adam pushed her back and threw himself upon her, feeling his whole being expending itself between her lithe, compliant thighs.

      When it was over they lay in sleepy contentment for a while. Then she slid from beneath him and climbing to her feet picked bits of moss and fern from her body, completely unembarrassed as she walked across the clearing to the stream which she found running through the rocks. Cupping the water in her palms she washed herself, then she turned. ‘Now you, A-dam.’

      Spent, he lay back on the grass. ‘Not yet. I want to rest.’

      ‘Now, A-dam.’ He remembered the stern tone, but not in time. The double palm-load of icy water caught him full in the face.

      He only caught up with her as they reached the stone. Laughing, he imprisoned her against it, a hand on either side of her shoulders, not letting her wriggle away. ‘A kiss for a forfeit.’

      ‘No, A-dam. Not here.’ Suddenly she was afraid.

      It was his turn to be stern. ‘A kiss, Brid, or I won’t let you go.’

      ‘No, A-dam.’ She tried again to wriggle free. ‘Not here. We will be seen.’ She was angry. Her eyes narrowed and he was astonished at the sudden change in her expression.

      ‘Seen?’ He did not release her. ‘By Gartnait?’

      ‘By the god.’ She looked defiant.

      ‘Oh, Brid.’ Irritated, he released her and stepped back. ‘You think there are gods everywhere. I’ve told you it isn’t true. There is only one true God.’

      ‘I know.’ Stepping away from the stone she dusted herself off furiously. ‘So you say. The Jesus god.’ The Jesus god was powerful. His servant Columcille had several times now outwitted Broichan, to Broichan’s fury. But then Broichan’s strength had rallied … She put her uncle hastily out of her mind. There must be no possibility of him probing her thoughts and discovering Adam there. Broichan had brought her south himself, to visit her mother whilst he went on to Abernethy. There would be several long blissful days before he returned, days she intended to spend with Adam.

      ‘Jesus won’t care if we kiss here, anyway. Crosses are idolatrous.’ Adam had shoved his hands into his pockets. His face was burning suddenly. He was remembering the kirk and his father’s grey haggard face above him in the pulpit, the burning eyes boring down into his. He shivered as Brid reached for his hand.

      The bothy was deserted. Brid did not seem worried by Gemma’s absence. Quite the contrary, as it gave them more time together. Sitting down by the fire Adam waited while she brought him some heather ale, then he pulled her down beside him. ‘So, tell me about your studies.’

      She shook her head. ‘That is not allowed.’

      ‘Why?’ He stared at her wide-eyed.

      ‘Because it is secret. I am not permitted to say.’

      ‘That’s silly.’ He leaned forward and picking up a stick poked the fire with it. A tongue of flame shot from between the peats. Standing on a stone beside it was one of Gemma’s iron cooking pots. The familiar succulent smell of venison stew seeped from beneath the lid. ‘Where is your mother?’ He changed the subject abruptly.

      Brid shrugged. ‘She will come.’ She glanced over her shoulder and frowned. ‘She and Gartnait are near.’

      Following her gaze Adam stared into the old pine trees. The red-barked trunks caught the evening light and glowed with a warm intensity, but behind them the shadows were cool and dark. He could see nothing in the heart of the wood.

      Brid had risen to her feet. She was staring anxiously, her hands clasping and unclasping on the folds of her skirt. ‘Something is wrong.’

      Adam was watching her, catching something of her anxiety. ‘Should we hide?’

      She shook her head, concentrating, and he fell silent.

      ‘My uncle,’ she whispered suddenly. ‘He is here in my head. There is blood! Someone is hurt. Gartnait!’ She had gone very white.

      He did not ask her how she knew. Nervously he moved behind her. ‘What do we do?’ he asked under his breath.

      ‘Wait.’ She raised her hand, gesturing him back, then she spun to face him.

      ‘This way!’ she cried. She was already running towards the trees.

      They found Gartnait lying beneath one of the old pines, his head cradled on his mother’s lap. His face was like chalk and his eyes were closed. The shoulder of his tunic was soaked in blood.

      Gemma looked up. ‘Brid?’ The one word was a desperate plea.

      Brid was already on her knees by her brother, her hands flying over his body, barely touching him as though feeling for his wounds.

      ‘How is he?’ Adam knelt beside her. He smiled uncertainly at Gemma and shyly reached over to pat her hand.

      ‘A-dam. Good boy.’ Gemma’s face was tired, but she managed to return the smile.

      ‘What happened?’

      She shook her head. ‘The tree break. Gartnait should know not to be there.’ She gestured at the fallen branch with its rotten shredded broken end and near it the axe Gartnait must have been wielding СКАЧАТЬ