Chapter Thirteen
Crazy Lizzy’s hut was made of rock, mud, twigs, and straw.
It was a strange, round, windowless building with only the doorway for light.
The old lady kept a fire in her hearth at all times.
Some days it would be of peat, the smoky scent of it filling the air; other days, her fire would be of wood, acrid and hot.
Lizzy claimed that her different fires served a purpose.
Portia had assumed the choice had more to do with what was at hand and Lizzy’s eccentricities.
However, after Harry’s talk of spells and reincarnations and curses, Portia feared she was ready to give anything Lizzy said more credit than what it deserved.
Portia knew from having been there that the walls inside the house were stacked with shelves and shelves of herbs. There was a humble table in the middle of the room and Lizzy’s pallet on the floor to the side of the hearth.
As she entered the clearing surrounding the hut, she saw Lizzy sitting on a chair outside the door, eating a meal of cooked turnips.
The crone’s face split into a toothless smile of greeting.
She was as round as she was high and wore a mob cap over her frizzy gray hair.
Her cheeks were chubby and her eyes reminded Portia of two brown buttons.
But she was also old and wrinkled, with a huge mole close to her left eye that gave her a sinister look.
She wore the castoffs given to her by members of the kirk. Most times, considering her size, the skirts were too long, but she wouldn’t hem them. She’d wear them as they were, even if she continually tripped over them.
“I was hoping to see ye today, lass,” Lizzy said in her thick brogue. She’d stood. “Would ye like a cup of mint tea?” She started for the door.
“I don’t think I have time, Lizzy, but thank you,” Portia said, aware that Harry was following. She held the basket out to her. “The bread is yesterday’s but still fresh.”
“I shall enjoy it,” Lizzy said.
“Good. Well, then, I’ll be on my way.”
“Why are ye so anxious to run off? Let me show ye my newest doll.” Lizzy made dolls of scraps of materials and dried fruit and whatever she could find. The bodies were twigs she fastened together. They were truly very clever and Lizzy had gifted Portia with several.
“I wish I could, but I am needed at home.” Portia took a step in the direction of Camber Hall, until a thought struck her. “Lizzy, by any chance did you see a small cat around here?”
“Oh, I see many cats. I don’t like them. They make me sneeze.”
“This would be an unusual one. She’s white like a ghost and her ears are deformed. They fold over so her head is shaped like an owl’s.”
“I’ve not seen a cat like that.”
So Owl had not come in this direction.
“Lizzy, why do people think you are a witch?” The question just popped out of Portia. She’d assumed all the whispers about Lizzy in the valley came from the superstitious and ill-informed.
But after her conversation with Harry, she was no longer convinced of what she thought.
She had expected Lizzy to deny the charge or to be offended. Instead, the woman cackled with delight. “They think that,” she agreed.
“Is it true?”
Lizzy’s smile grew larger. “What do ye think, lass?” It was almost as if she was daring Portia to say she was.
“I don’t know. Do you have special powers?”
Placing a knowing finger by the side of her nose, Lizzy said, “Why should I tell ye?”
“Because we are friends,” Portia said, a bit annoyed. “I bring you food.”
“Ye do, ye do.” Lizzy patted the basket.
“Then answer my question, please. Are you a witch?”
“There was a man who came through these parts who asked the same thing,” Lizzy said. “An Englishman. A Chattan. He wants one particular witch.”
“But there is no such thing as witches, is there?” Portia pressed.
Lizzy reached up and scratched her head beneath her mob cap and pulled her skirt up over her belly before saying, “I don’t know of any.”
“Then why do they say you are a witch?” Portia repeated.
The crone took three steps toward her. Lizzy smelled of the herbs she treasured and the deepest part of the forest. “I have the gift of sight,” she whispered.
“Sight? Such as you can tell the future?”
“I dinna like it,” Lizzy said, placing a finger of each hand together as if creating the sign of a cross. “I try to not do it, but sometimes it comes upon me. I hear the voices. Terrible voices.”
“What do they say?” Portia asked.
Lizzy ignored her question. Instead, she said, “Rose of Loch Awe had the gift of sight. Hers was greater than mine and she was younger. I just see the edge of the future. Just a wee bit and not much more. Makes me useless. Makes me . . . afraid.”
Portia felt the blood drain from her face. “Rose of Loch Awe? Rose of the Macnachtan?”
“Aye, one and the same. It’s a story told to me by my mother.
Rose’s clan and mine were once the same.
My mother told me not to be afraid of my gift.
A wise woman knows how to use it. But the others”—she nodded her head toward the woods as if speaking of those in the valley—“they don’t understand.
They are afraid of me. When I told Nan Bellamy that her baby would be born dead, they were angry with me, even though he was. They thought I’d caused his death.”
“It is not a good thing to say,” Portia murmured.
“It is what I saw.”
“Have you seen other things?”
“Oh, many.” Lizzy walked over to where she’d set her bowl of turnips on the ground.
“I saw when the old reverend’s horse would die.
I could tell that Jaimsie Macdonald would drown in the loch.
I warned his mother not to let him out of her door.
She laughed at me. No one wants to hear sad news. None of them paid me any heed.”
“Has anyone listened to you?”
Lizzy’s face lit up. “Ye know Robbie, the laird’s gardener?
I told him to stay off a boat crossing Loch Shiel ten years ago on All Hallows’ Day.
He listened. The boat sank.” She pointed her finger down to the earth and gave a low whistle to illustrate her point.
“Four good men died. Robbie lived.” She leaned toward Portia as if having a great secret when she said, “We can all change our fate.”
“And did Rose know her fate?” Portia asked softly.
Lizzy shrugged. “Who knows? No one can see everything. Not perfectly.”
But what if Rose had?
“Do you know anything about reincarnation?” she asked Lizzy.
“Wot?” Lizzy cocked an ear as if not hearing her.
“Reincarnation,” Portia repeated. “Coming to life after you are dead, in a new body.”
Lizzy dropped the turnip bowl and the basket and whirled in a circle before coming to a stop and forming another cross in front of her. “That’s blasphemy. Keep yer blasphemy away.”
“I’m sorry, Lizzy,” Portia hurried to say. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Why are ye asking these questions?” Lizzy wondered, craning her neck and tilting her head. She was growing agitated. People had warned Portia that Lizzy could be set off.
“I was curious,” Portia said. “Nothing more.”
Lizzy jerked away, her brows coming together, her shoulders hunching. “There are things of which we should not speak, lass. Dark arts. I’m not of the dark arts. My herbs are of the earth.”
But Portia had come too far to back away now. “Fenella knew dark arts, didn’t she?”
“I don’t know Fenella. I don’t know Fenella,” Lizzy began repeating the words over and over, her voice low as if she spoke to herself.
At that moment, Harry rode into the clearing. Portia had meant to be gone by the time he arrived.
Crazy Lizzy looked up at him and then jerked her head toward Portia, then back to him. “Nooooo,” she keened in a low voice as she sank to her knees.
“Lizzy, what is it?” Portia demanded, hurrying to the small woman’s side.
A hand gripped Portia’s arm like a vise. Lizzy’s nails were long and dirty. She held tight as she said to Portia, “You shall be the death of him.”
It was a benediction that sent a chill to Portia’s heart.
“His death. You will be his death,” Lizzy repeated.
Harry had dismounted and come over to them, leaving Ajax to stand. He heard what Lizzy said. “Why?” he asked, kneeling beside her.
Lizzy started to speak, and then her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she collapsed. Portia held on to her. “She’s swooned,” Portia said in surprise.
“Here, let me have her,” Harry said. He carried Lizzy into the hut, where he laid her on her pallet.
Having picked up the bowl and the basket where Lizzy had dropped them, Portia set them on the table.
She found some strips of material that she made into a compress.
She doused it with cool water and rested it against Lizzy’s brow.
Her hands shook as she worked. Lizzy’s outburst had been unnerving. It had been frightening.
Harry seemed calm. “What was going on between you?” he asked. He was wandering around the hut, investigating the rows of herbs on the shelves. He had to stoop because the ceiling was low. The air was smoky and oppressive from the peat on the fire. He coughed.
Before Portia could answer, Lizzy moaned and opened her eyes. “Hello, Miss Maclean,” she said as if greeting Portia for the first time. “Good to see you today.”
“It’s good to see you,” Portia said, uneasy. She glanced at Harry. He took a step forward so he would be in the woman’s line of vision.
“Hello, Lizzy.”
She smiled up to him as well, her earlier distress gone. “How did you come in here?” she asked the two of them.
“You invited us,” Portia said.
“I forgot,” Lizzy answered with her toothless grin. “Did I have a spell?”
“I believe so,” Portia answered.
“I’m all right now,” Lizzy assured her, and started to sit up to prove the truth of her words.
Portia came to her feet as well, taking the hand Harry offered.
“Ye are a couple, aren’t ye now?” Lizzy said. She chuckled. “There will be an uproar in the valley about this. There are those who don’t want ye together.”
“Who?” Harry asked.
Lizzy became sly. “I’m not to be telling. I know better.”