Free The Rogues by Jane Yolen and Robert J. Harris Page A

started to spit, thought better of it, and swiped his sleeve across his mouth. “It’s the same all over, Macallan. My story’s no so original. In Sutherland, Glengarry, or here, no one has a care the poor crofters are being turned out of their homes to make way for flocks of fat English sheep. Instead of being their protectors, their lairds have become their worst enemies. I’ll never again put my fate in anybody’s hands but my own. And if it’s men ye are, no puling, whining old women, ye’ll do the same.”
    I could hear the children sneaking down the right side of the kirk to squeeze in next to their mothers, as if shrinking from a dark shadow that was closing in on us all.
    â€œThat’s a fine course for them that wants a bandit’s life,” said Tam, raising his voice, “but we’re all honest farmers here.”
    Tam is right , I thought. Maybe I’m rushing to judgment .
    Dunbar laughed scornfully. “Aye, like my father. An honest farmer and dead in the winter hills. Dinna be a fool, man. Ye’ll go on being honest while Daniel McRoy and Willie Rood go on robbing ye blind.”
    â€œWhat they’ve done may be hard, but it’s within the law,” said Da.
    â€œAye, so I hear,” said Dunbar, “a law that punishes goats and cows for their transgressions.” He laughed, and it was a short, sharp sound. “Do none of ye honest farmers see what’s going on here?”
    â€œSpeak plain, Dunbar!” shouted a voice.
    The sun suddenly disappeared behind a cloud and the whole kirk grew dark. No one moved to light a lantern, for all were hot blood and anger.
    â€œI’m saying there’s all kinds of thievery,” Dunbar said, “and all kinds of thieves, some more honest than others.” He leaned forward toward the men in the pews. “Do ye think Rood and his men are above rounding up a few cows in the night while ye sleep? Did ye know that they drive yer beasts into the pastures themselves?” There was a sudden silence in the pews. “Or just take them straight to Kindarry to be impounded and say they were found on the hills?”
    Suddenly everyone was talking at once, but low, like the sound I imagined the ocean would make, grumbling in its low bed. And I was swimming in that tide, swimming toward the Rogue. Of course. Now it all made sense. Why hadn’t I seen it ?
    Da took a deep, loud breath and said sternly, “Those are serious charges, Dunbar, and nae man here would dare lay them against his laird without proof.”
    From the angry mutters that had followed Dunbar’s words, I wasn’t so sure that Da was right.
    Dunbar shook his musket at Da. “ His laird ? His laird? Yer talking like it was a hundred years ago, Macallan,” he said, “when ye went to the laird for justice. This laird’s got nae interest in justice now. It’s yer money and yer land he wants, not yer loyalty. He’s got sheep for loyalty as long as there’s grass, and for all he cares, every man and woman here can be drowned in the sea. Dinna ye see it, man, the old ways are being destroyed while ye cower in the kirk and hope the minister willna mind ye meeting here.”
    A new silence descended, and this time the air hung heavy with dark thoughts. Even the children were still.
    Finally Dunbar grinned and lifted up his cluster of whisky jugs. “Now, is anybody thirsty enough to buy?”
    One man tried to step forward, but his wife pulled him back. “No in the kirk, ye daftie,” she whispered, but loud enough so everyone could hear, “or God will strike ye dead.”
    â€œIt’s all right, Fergus,” Dunbar told him with a wink. “I’ll see ye get yer supply at the usual place.” He looked around at the other men. “And the rest of ye as well, if yer too shy to buy here.”
    â€œYer a fine one to talk to us about the laird, Dunbar,” said Da.