While Kate requisitioned a table and its attendant chairs, Charlie strolled to the bar. The eyes of every man in the room followed her, most disapproving, either of her very short hair or her presence in their world. The man who had smiled at us when we entered the Inn watched musingly, stroking his military moustache. His companions did not mute their comments.

  'Good God, they've let women in here.'

  'Don't they know this is a climbing inn?'

  'They must be in the wrong place, surely.'

  'It's bad enough granting them the vote without having to share the bar with them.'

  Sudden blindness seemed to strike the barman when Charlie pinged the little brass bell for his attention.

  'I say! Custom!' Charlie shouted until the barman shambled up as if reluctant to take her money. He stared at Charlie as she ordered a bottle of the house wine.

  'We don't have wine,' he said.

  'What do you stock?' Charlie kept her tone reasonable.

  'Whisky.'

  'Excuse me, ladies.' Kate pushed herself up from her seat at our table and sauntered to Charlie's side. 'The inn serves wine for meals,' she said. 'I am sure you could pop through and find some for your customers.' She presented the barman with her best smile. 'We'll wait here until you return.' Her voice hardened a fraction. 'Off you go now, Alan.'

  The barman's face darkened as the noise in the bar quietened into a tense hush. 'I did not tell you my name.'

  'You are Alan Finlay; you are 26 years old. You were a steward in the Royal Navy in the late war and took this position in June 1920.' Kate pointed to the back of the bar. 'The door there leads to the kitchen and the stairs down to the storeroom are on the left. I presume that's where the hotel holds the wine.'

  Alan looked shaken. 'How do you know that?'

  'My family owns this hotel,' Kate said. 'Off you go.' She turned away to talk to Charlie. The voice of authority had spoken.

  I saw Mary's face darken. 'What's the matter, Mary?'

  'Oh, nothing.' Mary's smile was forced. 'Nothing at all.'

  The taller, saturnine man who came in Alan's place was apparently the manager. 'I did not know you had honoured us with your presence, your Ladyship.'

  'That title belongs to my mother,' Kate said. 'I use the title The Honourable Miss Gordon.'

  'Of course.' The manager gave a little bow and held out a hand. 'I am Maurice Nott. I do so apologise for my barman's inefficiency. Of course, we have wine, and it will be on the house.' His accent was southern English.

  'Thank you, Mr Nott.' Kate accepted the complimentary wine with the ease of long habit.

  'Of course, if I had realised that it was you, I would have served you in person.' Nott gave an obsequious smile that immediately repulsed me. 'Would you permit me to offer my apologies and honour the hotel by accepting my offer of providing free lunches tomorrow?'

  Kate remained polite and aloof. 'Thank you, but we are going off to the hills tomorrow.'

  'Then I shall arrange for a full packed lunch for all your party, Miss Gordon.'

  'That will be acceptable,' Kate said. 'There are six of us, and we intend to be at least three days.'

  Nott bowed again. 'I assure you will enjoy our packed lunches. We grow our own vegetables and grain here and have, I believe, the only rye bread made in Scotland.'

  'Thank you.' Kate remained cool. 'One of my party has a fondness for marmalade.'

  I smiled over at Kate, surprised that she knew my particular tastes.

  'I shall ensure that one packed lunch contains marmalade sandwiches.'

  'Thank you. Dundee marmalade if you have it, and if you could send over a couple of bottles of the house red, that would suit,' Kate said, 'and a couple of bottles of claret.' She returned to our table without a smile. Kate was used to having people jump to obey her.

  'Are you ladies sightseeing?' The man who had smiled limped across to talk to us. About forty years old, with weather-battered features and a strong chin, he seated himself beside us and waved a dismissive hand toward the men in the lounge. 'Don't concern yourselves with them; they are just not used to seeing women in here.'

  'We're the Edinburgh Ladies Mountaineer Club,' Kate told him. 'I am Kathleen Gordon.'

  'Ah,' the man nodded. 'I am Graham Mackenzie. How do you do?' He shook hands with us one-by-one.

  'Christine Brown.' Quiet Christine did not raise her eyes.

  'Mary Ablach.' Direct and to the point, Mary held Mackenzie's gaze.

  'Brenda Smith.' I found his handshake pleasantly firm.

  'Brenda Smith.' Mackenzie gave me a level look. 'You're no stranger here.'

  'I am,' I said. 'I've never been here in my life before.'

  'No?' Mackenzie frowned. 'I'm certain I've seen you before.' He shrugged. 'You must have a twin sister.' His smile was apologetic as I wished that I did have a twin sister.

  'Lorna Menzies.' Lorna opened her mouth as if to speak further and then closed it again.

  'I am Charlie Gunn, Graham.' Charlie gripped Mackenzie's hand.

  'Are you Major Graham Mackenzie who won the Military Cross at Passchendaele?' Lorna asked.

  When Major Mackenzie nodded agreement without any further elaboration, my respect for him increased.

  'You lost your left leg rescuing two of your wounded men,' Lorna said.

  Mackenzie still did not pursue his heroism. 'Edinburgh Ladies Mountaineering Club?' He said, 'it must be the season for active ladies. Catriona, my wife, is sailing around the British Isles even as we speak.' His blue eyes twinkled. 'She should be hereabouts in a week.' I understood that he was informing us of his marital state to reassure us his intentions were innocent. 'We don't get many lady climbers in here. In fact, I think you are the only ladies we have ever had. Are you after a Munro?'

  Sir Hugh Munro had died only two years previously. He was the most famous of Scottish mountaineers, having catalogued and climbed all the Scottish hills over 3000 feet. In respect, all Scottish hills over that height were known as Munros.

  'Not this time,' Kate said. 'We're off on an expedition to conquer the most interesting hill in north-west Scotland.'

  Mackenzie looked immediately interested. 'Tip top! Whither bound? Suilven? Canisp? Stac Polly?' He rattled off a list of the most famous local peaks.

  'Each of these is well worth climbing,' Kate answered for us all. 'But we have a different hill in mind.'

  'Ah, Ben More Assynt then,' Mackenzie nodded. 'A tremendous hill.'

  'No,' Kate said. 'Not Ben More either.'

  'Oh?' Mackenzie raised his bushy eyebrows. He sipped at his whisky, looking eager. 'Where then, if I am not too nosey?'

  'An Cailleach,' Kate told him.

  'An Cailleach? The hill known as the dark mountain?' Mackenzie's smile quickly faded. 'You understand that nobody has ever climbed that hill. It's not even a Munro.'

  'We know,' Charlie said. 'It's only 2,995 feet high, and we don't know for sure that nobody has ever climbed it. There have been attempts.'

  Mackenzie sipped at his whisky. 'As far as I know, Miss Gunn, every attempt failed, either through bad weather or some other reason. The last attempt was in '14.'

  'The Mahoney expedition,' Charlie had her notebook and pencil ready.

  'Exactly. Three men set off to conquer An Cailleach, and nothing was ever heard from them again. With the Great War starting, the news of their disappearance faded from the newspapers, and now they are forgotten.'

  'They are not quite forgotten,' Charlie said. 'We remember them.' She glanced at Kate before she continued. 'Perhaps you could tell us what you know of the Mahoney expedition, Major Mackenzie?'

  'I don't know much,' Mackenzie admitted. 'I was with the Cameron Highlanders at the time, waiting for the balloon to go up. Most of the local men were. I was one of the lucky ones; I came back.'

  'What could you tell us, Major Mackenzie?' Charlie leaned forward in her chair. 'Any little snippet of information could be helpful.'

  Mackenzie signalled for another whisky. 'There were three men in the party,' he said, 'Mike Mahoney was an experienced Irish climber. He learned his trade in Ireland and climbed all over the Alps so a wee Scottish ben should have been nothing more than an afternoon jaunt for him. Maybe he was too casual.'

  'Do you think they fell?' I asked.

  'They must have,' Mackenzie said. The Ceathramh Garbh, the Rough Quarter is a bad place for a fall, with no roads, no shepherds or even shooting parties. There's nothing out there except rock and bog, nearly perennial mist and the wind.'

  'Tell me all you can, please,' Charlie asked.

  Mackenzie smiled. 'Now don't go scaring yourselves, ladies, I'm sure you'll be fine. Mahoney had two companions whose names I have forgotten. They stayed here, at this inn, overnight some time at the end of July 1914, crossed over to the peninsula on which the dark mountain, An Cailleach, sits and were never seen again.'

  'Has anybody tried to look for them?' Charlie had been scribbling notes in her small leather covered pad.

  'Most of the local men were in the war, either in the Army or at sea,' Mackenzie said. 'The few that returned had other things on their minds, anyway by that time it was far too late.'

  'Have there not been other climbing parties since the war?' Charlie asked.

  Mackenzie shook his head. 'Not for An Cailleach. It's not popular with anybody and not worth the trouble to climb.'

  'Why is that?'

  Mackenzie nodded his thanks as the barman refilled his glass. 'It's an ugly lump of a hill with a bad reputation. The Mahoney party was only the latest of many attempts that were either beaten back by bad weather or had an accident. The eastern and southeastern face has bogland and mist while the western face is cliff rising sheer from the sea.' Mackenzie lifted his hand as an elderly man entered the room. 'Here's Duncan Og, young Duncan, he knows about the hill more than I do.'

  Duncan Og looked about ninety with deep lines seaming his brown face and only the bright twinkle in his eyes revealing the spirit that still lay within. 'Oh, there are plenty stories about An Cailleach,' he confirmed. 'It's a hill better avoided than attempted and I don't know why you young ladies want to go there at all. I could tell you about broken legs and broken heads on that black hill, going back fifty years.'

  'Has anybody ever climbed it?' Kate asked. 'I heard it was unconquered.'

  'It is a virgin summit,' Duncan Og confirmed. 'Nobody has got to the top and nobody ever shall.'

  'We'll be first,' Charlie said. 'An all-woman team will conquer Scotland's last unclimbed hill.'

  It was then that I saw her. In a room where our climbing club was the only female presence, I saw another woman. I did not know who she was, or when she had entered. I only knew that she was standing in the midst of the men watching me.

  'You may well conquer An Cailleach,' Duncan Og was drinking whisky from what looked to be a half pint tumbler. 'Or you may not. An Cailleach has her own rules and chooses who she allows onto her flanks.'

  'Her own rules?' Charlie hooked her claws on the sexuality of the word. 'An Cailleach is a mountain, a lump of rock. It is neither a he nor a she.'

  Duncan Og smiled from beyond his glass. 'An Cailleach is more than a lump of rock, Miss Gunn. All mountains have a distinct personality. Some are friendly, and welcome visitors, others are unfriendly and do not wish to be disturbed. These are the hills you must treat with respect and ask their permission before you tread on them. An Cailleach is one of these hills, and she is undoubtedly a woman.'

  'Why?' Charlie's voice cracked like a pistol. 'Are you saying An Cailleach is unfriendly so must be a woman?'

  Duncan Og's smile did not falter. His eyes were diamond-bright as he examined Charlie. I wondered what sort of man he had been in his prime and thought of the old Highland warriors and mercenaries. 'I am not saying that at all, Miss Gunn. Now listen while I tell you the story of An Cailleach.'

  I saw Kate fidget in her chair and guessed that she was about to chase this elderly man away. 'Yes, please Mr Og,' I intervened. 'I do like to hear a good story.' That other woman was gone. I had not seen her move, and nobody had commented on her presence. I wondered if I had imagined seeing her. She had been vaguely familiar, although from where I could not say.

  Duncan Og glanced meaningfully at his glass and Mackenzie signalled the barman to have it refilled. 'Have you heard of the Badenoch witches?'

  Rather than admit that I had, I solemnly shook my head. Encouraged, Duncan Og sipped at his recharged glass and continued.

  'Away back when the world was young, Lord Walter Comyn was a wicked bad man. He owned the lands of Badenoch and had the power of pit and gallows over all the men and women who lived there. One autumn he had the idea that all the young women of Ruthven should be stark naked at the harvest.'

  I looked over to Charlie, hiding my smile at her expected frown of disapproval. She shook her head, writing furiously in her notebook.

  'I take it he paid for his lust,' I said.

  Duncan Og chuckled. 'Oh, he paid all right. Naturally, the mothers of the young women were angry at Lord Walter's choice of entertainment.'

  'I should say so,' Charlie said.

  'If Lord Walter had known his tenants better, he would have known that the mothers of two of the girls were witches, who did not like their daughters to display their charms for a man, powerful landowner or not. The two mothers turned themselves into eagles and waited for Lord Walter. As he came to the ford over the River Tromie in Badenoch, they swooped on him, knocked him off his horse at Leum na Feinne, and ate him while he was still alive.'

  Charlie nodded approval. 'Good. That's what the old lecher deserved.'

  'Now,' Duncan Og chuckled and lifted a finger from his glass. 'The story of the Badenoch witches is well known. What happened afterwards is not known at all.'

  I followed what was evidently a cue. 'What happened afterwards?'

  Duncan Og took his time, as master storytellers do. 'The witches knew that killing Lord Walter would invoke revenge. They had to hide somewhere, so while one witch returned home to Badenoch, the other flew up here. Both became mountains and both were called An Cailleach.' Duncan Og leaned back in his seat.

  We were all watching him, trying to reconcile our modern world with this ancient tale of witchcraft and folklore.

  'Tell them what An Cailleach means,' Mary had been listening intently. 'And don't pretend it's Dark Mountain, that's just a nickname.'

  'An Cailleach is Gaelic for the old woman or the hag,' Duncan Og was smiling over the lip of his glass. 'You may already know that a hag is another word for a witch.' His smile faded, and for a second I saw darkness in his bright old eyes. 'I'd advise you to ask An Cailleach's permission before you try to climb her. When I gave the Mahoney party that same advice, they laughed, and they have not been seen since.'

  I heard Kate's sudden intake of breath, and for some reason, a shiver ran through me. Anybody who ventures onto the Scottish hills must be aware of the danger. The weather can change from summer to winter in a heartbeat and a slope that is dry and safe one minute could be a rushing torrent before one can blink. Yet I knew that Duncan Og was not warning us about the weather. That wise, wrinkled old man knew of more profound and darker dangers than mere gales and storms.

  That other woman was back, invisible in plain sight as she stood among the unaware men. At her side stooped a white-haired man with a benevolent expression on his face and the most kindly eyes. When he gave me a very old-fashioned bow, I nodded back. Kate said something, I grunted my agreement, and when I turned to the old man, he was gone. Tomorrow we were going to An Cailleach. Tomorrow we were going to shake hands with the Hag. Some inner dread told me that we were not going alone.

  Chapter Two

  We gathered outside the Inn at six the next morning with the sun not yet up and a fresh westerly breeze bringing the tang of Atlantic salt. Our voices sounded hollow as we hoisted our rucksacks, stamped our boots on the gravel and tapped our sticks to hear the sound. Kate had one of our two maps and checked us all for equipment as if we were novices on our first trip to the hills.

  'You all have your boots?' She looked downward. 'Well nailed and sturdy I hope? How about you, Christine, let me see.'

  Christine dutifully lifted her boots while Kate inspected the soles and heels.

  'The walker who essays a long hill walk without nailed boots is a fool,' Kate said. 'She doubles her fatigue and is putting herself in danger.' She looked at me and gave a grin that revealed something of her true self behind the swagger. 'I read that in a guidebook once, and I've been waiting to use it ever since.'

  We laughed, although I am not sure why. Kate could do that to us. One moment she was hectoring and badgering, the next she was the finest friend you could ever have, and you knew she would do her very best for everybody.

  'Head coverings, girls!' Kate continued. 'Something woollen and waterproof.'

  We dutifully held up our assortment of hats and caps. I favoured a thick woollen cap comforter that I had bought in a pawn shop in Edinburgh's Royal Mile. Khaki and warm, I supposed that some soldier had worn it in the trenches and pawned it when he returned from the fighting to find himself unemployed and unwanted. Kipling has the rights of it with his: 'special train for Atkins' in wartime and 'chuck him out, the brute' as soon as the guns fall silent. That goes for Jock, Paddy and Taff as well of course and no doubt Johnny Gurkha and the splendid Indian soldiers. Well, at least I had benefitted from the government's cynical disregard for the men who had fought for its existence.

  'Sweaters?' Kate poked at us. 'You know that I recommend Shetland wool.'

 

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