The Highwayman's Curse Read Online Free PDF Page B

redcoats!”
    â€œThe redcoats have won.” Her voice was flat, with neither fire nor ice.
    â€œNo!”
    â€œThey burnt everything. Everything is gone.”
    And then I understood what had destroyed her spirit. I was silent. The redcoats had burnt her cottage down, the cottage where she had lived alone among her father’s things. They had done it, we knew, because they believed – rightly – that we had tried to protect Henry Parish. No doubt they had hoped to find us there; no doubt they would have killed us. So, in their fury at our absence, they had destroyed her home and almost everything she owned.
    A little over two weeks ago this had happened, yet only now, because hope seemed impossible to hold onto, had she finally succumbed.
    It was my fault. If we had not gone to rob my father, and if my father had been a better man… But no, I knew she had wanted him to pay as much as I had wished it. It was Bess’s spirit, too, that had brought such things to pass. And now that spirit was broken.
    Before I could think of what to say, a noise came from outside. We turned towards the door. Footsteps, and voices. The door was hefted open and daylight streamed in. Two men were silhouetted in the opening. They strode towards us. Without words, they untied our bonds and lifted us roughly to our feet.
    Bess did not resist. As for me, dizziness swarmed over me like wasps and I retched and stumbled. Pain shot up my leg as one man kicked me below my knee. I wished to fight but I could not, not with my hands still bound behind me and my head throbbing. But I vowed to keep my wits about me and do what could be done to save us. There must be a way, and I would find it.
    The two scraggy lurchers, brindled in colour, sniffed around our feet.
    As we were pushed together across the yard, I whispered to Bess, “Do not give up hope. God is on our side.” She looked at me and smiled, the small smile I had come to know so well. It seemed to say, “Little you know.” This time it seemed entirely devoid of hope.
    Well, I would show her. There had been a time when Bess knew more than I, but we were equals now, and I could lead as well as she.

Chapter Eight
    W e were pushed roughly through a low doorway into a place of heat and stench and activity. My eyes darted here and there, taking in now one small detail and then another. Speech seemed impossible, the words sticking to the roof of my mouth. I was like the young boy, Tam, in my helplessness. And perhaps more afraid. For I knew more than he of what men can do. Or mayhap I did not – for young Tam had likely seen the old man’s throat cut.
    And there was the child, lying on a thin pallet, with his eyes closed. The woman held his hand and stroked his hair. Little good would that do him. He whimpered every now and then in weakness and pain. Had he a fever? If he had and if I should return a few days later, I think I would not see him alive. But then, perchance he might say the same of me.
    The two dogs went to the fire, where they curled up together.
    A single room made up this large dwelling. A fire blazed at one end of the cottage, a chimney hood above it with a large pot hanging from the crook. The red-haired girl stirred the contents of the pot. She looked not at me, though I could see her eyes swollen from crying. She stirred and stirred, as though stirring was all she could or wished to do.
    A large box-bed filled one corner, the heavy curtains almost closed. On the other side of the fire sat an old woman, in a chair shaped like an up-ended coracle, the back and sides of woven basketwork, enclosing her. Her arms were wrapped round herself. She did not shift her gaze towards us as we entered, seeming in some faraway place of her own.
    Wooden shutters blocked the light from the two small windows and, apart from some tallow candles leaning drunkenly and spluttering as their wax spilled, the dwelling was lit only by the fire and the sunshine