The Devil You Don't

Whatever reaction he was expecting, I'm certain I do the opposite.

I burst into tears.

Ugly, wracking sobs tear out of my chest, the full force of everything that's happened this morning finally coming to bear on me. My eyes burn, and great streams of tears roll down my face.

Dougal puts a tentative, and very awkward hand on my shoulder, "Dhia, lass, I never thought ye'd take it like this, I. . . I didnae. . . Christ, why are ye so. . ."

I push his hand away, not harshly, only to alleviate the awkwardness, which is a very big last straw for me at the moment. . .

"You idiot," I say, my voice so full of conflicting emotions, it sounds more like a compliment than a curse, "It means I don't have to explain. I don't. . . don't have to go back there. I don't have to live it again. And again and again and again. My god. Thank you."

I take a few deep, shuddering breaths, and manage to get myself back into some semblance of control.

His lip gives a dubious twist, "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

I give a very flat, very mirthless laugh, "Hah. No. But I'm not going to shout at you over it. For the moment."

"Good. Because there's one in the Rover too."

I snap my eyes to his, "What? For how long?"

"Since the Burns supper. I didnae want tae break our agreement, lass, but I had tae know. I had tae. There are lives at stake."

"Yes," I agree with a nod, "There are."

He hefts the mic wire, "That's why I put this on ye this mornin'. The one in the Rover wasnae givin' much. Ye an' Jamie are so. . ." he chuckles shortly, "Innocent."

"Glad you noticed."

"Aye. A'tennyrate, I had no idea this morning would work out sae well for me. Tae say what ye said tae Thomas, and take a beatin' from Randall. . . weel. I ken ye're nae traitor, now, nor spy. But I still don' know who ye are. Didn't know. That's why I brought ye here." He gestures around.

"What is this place?"

"It's called the Devil's Spring. They say the water comes from Hell itself, an' if ye drink it an' tell a lie, the water'll burn out ov yer belly like brimstone, an' go back tae where it first came, showin' ye the path ye mus' tread inta Hell."

I stare at him while he says all this, fascinated by the light of true fervour in his eyes. He doesn't often look like this – not even in the middle of giving big official speeches.

"You believe that," I say.

It isn't a question. He answers anyway.

"Yes."

I cross my arms, "Then take a drink."

He meets my eyes for a minute, then nods, shortly.

"Aye, that's fair."

He scoops up a palm-full of water, and drinks it.

"Were this wire and the one in the Rover the only ones?"

"Yes."

"Were they only there since Burns night and this morning?"

"Yes."

"How many people were listening?"

"Just me, lass. Ye versus me. That was our agreement. I stuck tae that part, a'least."

"And now you. . . really think I'm a fairy?"

"No. I ken yer an Auld One. The Fairy Queen. The Pale Lady. Where Spring an' Winter meet."

There is awe in his voice. In a day of strangeness, this is perhaps the strangest thing yet.

"But, I. . ." a memory flips in my brain, and I completely change course, "You know what I think about Sandringham!"

"What ye've told wee Jamie, aye, but. . ."

I clutch at his wrists, "You have to get control of the money away from him!"

"Control of the. . ."

"The money you've been collecting for the Culloden operation. He's got control of it, yes? He's the one hiding it. That's why Ned was there, right? To go over the books or make a deposit or something?" This interpretation of things had only occurred to me two days ago, and I haven't mentioned it to Jamie yet. . . "You have to get the money away from Sandringham. Just do that, at least. I don't care how, just do it. As soon as possible."

Shock and wonder mingle in his eyes, "Lass, how d'ye ken-"

"You have just told me you believe I am a literal supernatural creature, Dougal. Just for once, trust me, okay?"

His eyes rove over my face, long and searchingly.

"Aye, lass. Alright."

I sigh with relief, and lean back against the stones, exhaustion creeping over me again.

"Ye ken two of those lives at stake are yers and wee Jamie's, aye? An' no' from any random Peace Agent or Watch action – from Black Jack himself. He'll want both your heids now – an' more."

I look up at the cold, grey sky.

"Aye. I ken."

"That's why I lodged an official complaint against him – in your name – wi' your ID."

"What? When? How? Why? And what good does it do?"

He chuckles, "Nae'un notices a Scot in a pub when he's drinkin'. One ale an' I'm near invisible. I saw Randall down there, waitin' his cue, but he didnae see me."

"But. . . he told me he saw you."

"Aye. He was lyin'. He knew he ought tae have seen me, so he said he did. But he didn't."

"Okay. . ."

"I messaged Ned the minute after ye told Thomas yer testimony against us wouldnae signify in court. He drew up a complaint, attached yer ID, and had it all submitted, tidy an' official, by the time Randal was tellin' ye his friendly wee rape stories."

I shiver in disgust at the memory.

"Now as tae why. . ."

"Yes?"

"Peace agents need tae look good tae be doin' what they are tae us. Oh, they're right bastards, but they keep tae the letter of their own rules when anyone is watchin'."

"Okay, but I still don't see. . ."

"One of their rules is that any complaint must be addressed in the complainant's own home county."

I blink.

"Ooh. That means. . ."

He nods, "Randall must go to Oxfordshire. At once. That gives us a few days breathin' space, an' time tae act."

My mind musters once more, racing to find some solution. . . "But what can we do? I can try staying on clanlands, but I'm an English foreign national, and it's legal to remove me. I even think it's legal for Peace Agents to go onto clanlands when in pursuit of someone there illegally, isn't it?"

He nods.

"I've submitted my petition for Scottish citizenship, but it's illegal for that to be completed until after the Transitional Period. All exceptions given to official Clan Guests are open to interpretation – as we've seen. So what is there to do, Dougal?"

Run. I can run. I have to run. There's nothing else to do. . .

"There's only one loophole. Ye havetae marry a Scot."

My mind screeches to a halt.

"Marry?"

"Better tae marry than tae burn, lass."

"But. . . but. . . who?"

I only realize after I've said it that this is a patently idiotic question.

I am so, so tired. . .

But Dougal only grins, "Weel, there's several bachelors an' widowers among us. There's Rupert, a'course. Angus too. And Alain, Murtagh, Ned. . . three or four other men. An' myself. Ye c'n take yer pick. I doubt any of us would say no."

He gives me a sidelong leer, but it is tinged with good nature, and not nearly as predatory as it might be, "But after ye've picked Jamie, I'll have Ned draw up a contract, and we'll have ourselves a wee weddin'. We have a couple of days in the next town – jus' enough time. An' it's in clanland territory too. Wi' Jack out ov the way, ye'el be safe as houses."

"And. . . after that?"

"We dinnae go off the clanlands for weeks – except for Inverness. We won't take ye inta town wi' us, that's all."

"Oh. Okay. . ."

"An' ye c'n go back tae Leoch early."

Why. . . why is he being so nice?

I can't help but suspect there's something else behind this, that he has some ulterior motive, but I am far, far too tired to think. . .

"Would you mind explaining the situation to Jamie? I need a nap. And some food. And a drink. Two drinks. Or three."

He smirks, "Aye, I will."

"And tell him we'll discuss it. Nothing official until we talk."

"Oh, a'course, nae question ov that."

He offers me his arm. I take it, in genuine fear that if I don't, I'll fall over on the way back to the car.

On the slow walk back up the path, I notice a large niche in the rocks that I didn't see on the way down. There are a few patches of snow here and there on the stones, and a great deal of moss and lichen, but the main feature of the spot is a large carving on the back wall of it. A octagonal sunburst circle with a curling, coiling labyrinth in the center of it, and a cross extending from the bottom. It suggests a very strange flower, or maybe an insane eyeball. . .

I stop and point, "What is that?"

He looks up, uninterested, "It's called the Devil's Eye," he shrugs, "It's the symbol of the place."

"But. . . it looks like a more complicated version of the symbol for Venus."

He gives a broad, mischievous grin, "Oh. Aye. Didnae ye ken? The Devil is a woman."