Bruar's Rest

mind about leaving, but wondered how the old woman would respond. ‘Probably pleased to see the back of me, after that episode with the muskries, I don’t doubt.’ How long she sat there in her quiet spot she’d no idea, but soon the sound of a stranger’s voice made her go and find out who had come among them. As she went into the site she saw a tall, chestnut horse tethered to a fence post. A handsome, slender woman was talking to Lucy’s mother. Megan sat down beside Mother Foy, and Ruth and Anna joined them. ‘It’s Mrs Newton. She wanted to pay her respects, and she needs to speak with you, Megan,’ the old woman told her, then whispered, ‘I knew those rumours would bring her here. She knows you were the last to see Lucy.’
    ‘But why me? I can’t help her. I never set eyes on her man. Surely you all knew him?’
    ‘Yes, that we did. But who told the muskries about Lucy being murdered? You did, and I bet they went up to Burnstall Hall and mentioned to her what the gowpie said.’
    Megan turned and said to her host, who was sucking away on her familiar broken-stemmed pipe, ‘Mother Foy, I am forever in your debt, but in the morning I will leave. My man is somewhere and I can’t wait until next year to find him.’
    ‘You are frightened by the murders and the bare knuckling; to be truthful, girlie, I am too. But while you were away down by the pool we had a talk.’ She gathered Ruth and Anna into a circle. ‘I am taking to the road meself. There’s further down the way a nice bit of land known to gypsies as “the gorse field”. Now there comes a time when a gypsy head has to stand down. My time has come. The girls here will tell you I’ve been getting a mite pained in this ’ere chest.’
    ‘That you have Mother, that you have,’ said Ruth. Anna added, ‘She wants you to look after her, Megan.’
    ‘I was getting round to that,’ the old woman scolded the two girls and said, ‘I’m going to speak to Megan.’ They both nodded.
    Megan stayed quiet, then asked, ‘Is the group breaking up? Because Lucy told me that Mr Newton was arranging things with his lawyer. The quarry will be free to live in, so there is no need to concern yourselves over that.’
    Ruth spoke next, ‘His widow has already told us we can stay, so that’s not the problem; it’s Bull Buckley! He’s caused so much worry that we are all splitting up to avoid him bringing his fights and whatever else to darken our doors. We leave tomorrow after resting Lucy. Now, you better go and speak with the widow, see what she wants.’
    Megan, who once again found her tie with the gypsies twisting and turning, threw a glance at her old friend. She’d been a source of kindness and wisdom. What harm could be done by spending a quiet winter seeing to her needs?
    ‘Alright, I’ll look after you for the winter. We’ll set off tomorrow. Now I’d better see what the lady wants.’
    She saw Mrs Newton chatting quietly with Lucy’s mother, and so not wishing to interfere in the shared mourning of the two women who’d recently lost so much, she walked down toward the chestnut mare and stroked her nose. ‘You’re a beauty, aren’t you?’ she whispered.
    When as a child her father took her up on the hills to bring down the deer, she loved leading and riding the garrons, sturdy, thick-set little hill ponies. Although seldom with horses since, she always felt close to them, the few times she was. Doctor Mackenzie’s horse was old and short-tempered, yet never like that with Megan; she could do what she liked with that animal. Gazing into the black and brown eyes of this regal beast brought floods of emotions, and for the second time that day her heart ached for Scotland. ‘Will I ever be there again?’ she thought.
    ‘Hello, are you the gowpie your friends have told me not to listen to?’ It was the grieving lady.
    ‘I’m no gowpie, but they want me to keep quiet about a certain man, so don’t waste your time, because I’m doing just that.’
    ‘You seem to have a way with my horse,’ the lady said, changing the subject and watching her animal nudge Megan’s face.
    ‘She’s beautiful, you must give her plenty attention, with the shine of her coat. Fed well too, by the feel of these flanks.’ She stroked the horse and it nudged her even more.
    ‘All credit goes to Sam, my stable hand; he’s a delightful boy and a natural with horses. Walk with me a little and tell me about the part of Scotland you come from. My