‘So, Brid, your power is growing.’ Broichan was standing behind her on the summit of a small hill overlooking the great loch out of which poured the River Ness. He had been watching her from behind an outcrop of rock, listening to the ringing incantation, watching the thrusting, bellying cloud split at her direction overhead and stream away to the north and to the south, leaving the black rocks of the hill bathed in golden sunshine.
With a start Brid lost her concentration and the clouds veered back on course. There was a sizzle of lightning, a sharp crack of thunder. Broichan laughed. ‘I still out-magic you, Niece, never forget it!’
‘But you don’t out-magic Columcille, I hear.’ Brid threw her head back and laughed. She was energised by the storm, strong, invincible. ‘He banished the beast you put in the loch to destroy him. The whole court has heard how he brought you close to death as a punishment for your treatment of one of your slavegirls and only saved you with his magic healing stone when you gave her up to him!’ It was starting to rain. She raised her face and welcomed the feeling of ice-cold needles on her skin, missing as she did so the fury of her uncle’s expression.
‘You dare to speak to me of Columcille!’
‘I dare!’ She almost spat at him. ‘You have taught me well, Uncle. My power is indeed growing!’ And soon, when I have learned enough I shall go home to A-dam. She veiled her thoughts carefully from her uncle, with a little smile. She had seen Adam in her dreams and in her scrying ball of crystal and she knew that she had him in her snare. He would wait for her, forever if need be.
‘Poor little cat. So confident. So foolish.’ Broichan’s voice was soft and velvety. Its menace brought her to her senses abruptly. ‘Don’t ever cheat on me, little Brid.’ He held out his hand to her and against her will she found herself drawn to him. ‘If you do, I shall feel obliged to give you a demonstration of my powers.’ He smiled. ‘Your brother, I think. My gatekeeper. His job is nearly done –’
‘You wouldn’t harm him!’ Brid hissed at him.
‘Indeed I would. My powers are unstoppable, as Columcille will discover when I recall the monster I put there to devour him.’ Broichan smiled again. ‘Beware, little cat. Stay obedient. Stay careful.’
He glanced up at the storm as he released her and turned away, leaving her standing where she was, her long white tunic and woollen cloak drenched to her skin. As he disappeared from sight the sky shuddered under a new bolt of lightning which hurtled past her and buried itself in the boiling, hissing waters of the loch.
The summer holidays came at last. Adam grew tanned and sturdy and once again, tentatively, he began to be friends with Mikey and Euan in the village.
He had been to kick a ball on the field behind the kirkyard with the boys after his supper and was walking back, late, up the street as the luminous dusk hung over the hills. In the distance on the west-facing side of the mountain he could see the sunlight still glowing on the dark cliffs, turning them the colour of pink damask. Where he was the shadows were dark. It was the sad time of day; the time that always filled him with melancholy. Kicking at the stones on the path he made his way reluctantly in at the gate and was brought up short by a hiss from behind him.
‘A-dam! Here! I wait for you.’ The piercing whisper made his heart leap with excitement. He stared round, confused. ‘Brid?’
‘Here. Here.’
He could see her now, crouching behind the stone wall in the shelter of a clump of rhododendron bushes. ‘I wait for you at Gartnait’s stone and you not come.’ She was taller than last year, her hair braided, her figure fuller. She was dressed in a tunic as she always was, but this one was richer, embroidered, reaching down to her ankles, and her slim arms were adorned with gold bangles. ‘Come.’ She put her finger to her lips and smiled. It was the same impish grin that he remembered, though the face was more mature, the eyes less light-hearted.
With a glance at the forbidding blank windows of the manse he ducked behind the bushes out of sight and crouched beside her in the darkness under the glossy leaves.
She pressed her lips against his cheek. ‘Hello, A-dam.’
‘Hello, you.’ He hesitated, embarrassed as he felt her hands pressing against his chest.
‘Is your father there?’ She was whispering and he could feel her hair tickling his face.
‘I don’t know.’ There were no lights on in the house that he could see.
She had found his hand. Grabbing it she pulled him to his feet and they stood together, peering out across the grass. ‘Come.’ She gave a small tug at his wrist.
The gate could be seen from his father’s study. He glanced again at the dark square windows and his courage failed him. ‘This way,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll go over the back.’
They ducked hand 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