The Prodigal Son (49 page)

Ian turned towards the house, Alex dithered; she had to find the girls.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

“Soon, I… well, I need some more nettles.”

“I’ll come with you.” Ian held out his hand for the basket.

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Alex said.

He shook his head. “I’ll come, aye?” Great; absolutely marvellous. Those protective genes so prominent in his father had made it down to the next generation unscathed. From the way Ian’s mouth set into a line, she knew there was no point in arguing, and anyway, what did it matter if he saw the girls – he’d never tell.

“Da said you’ll be staying with the Leslies when we ride down to Providence,” Ian said.

Alex made a face. She was fond of both Thomas and Peter Leslie – although she should probably revise her opinion of Peter given what those girls had told her – but Mary Leslie had the intellect of a dormouse and as to Elizabeth…

“Aye,” Ian said, following the train of her thoughts. “She is a bit much at times.”

“Very much so,” Alex agreed, thinking that Elizabeth Leslie must be an awful cross to carry for a man as mild-tempered as Peter.

A high wail had Alex almost jumping out of her skin.

“What was that?” She stooped to pick up the nettles she’d scattered all over the ground.

“I don’t know,” Ian frowned.

Yet another shriek, and now there was no doubt – this was a human voice, raised in fear and pain. The girls! Oh my God, and now they were being eaten alive by a bear, or were surrounded by wolves, or… Alex flew down the slope, making for the terrified sounds. Another voice; low, male. Someone laughed, harness jangled and Alex faltered. Could it be one of the Leslie brothers?

“No, please! No…” The sound was cut short.

Ian’s hand closed on Alex’ arm, bringing her to a halt. They crouched behind a screen of bushes, silent spectators to what was happening in the small clearing. Three men, unrecognisable in broad brimmed hats, and then there were the two girls, one of them fighting like a hellcat, while the other was gagged and hogtied, squirming like a caterpillar where she’d been thrown across a horse. To the side stood yet another man, eyes trained on the surrounding woods and musket held at the ready. Alex did a double take; she knew this man from somewhere. Thinning hair, a long narrow face with a rather prominent mouth, and dark eyes sunk into deep hollows. Yes; she had definitely seen him before, but when? Where?

“We must do something,” she hissed, “those poor girls!” She made as if to stand but was arrested by Ian’s hold on her hand.

“Nay,” he whispered, “there’s nothing we can do – not the two of us against them.”

However much she hated admitting it, Ian was right.

In the clearing the screaming girl was slapped – repeatedly. The last slap was so hard her head snapped back. The man who hit her laughed, watching as his companions wrenched her hands behind her back and tied them, before sauntering over to the sentry, saying something in a low voice. He took off his hat, releasing black hair to fall like overlong bangs over one side of his face. A handsome man, his face a collection of sharp planes and angles, complemented by a square chin and a chiselled mouth. A cruel face, Alex decided – or maybe that had more to do with what she’d just witnessed him do to the poor girl. His eyes wandered over the closest bushes and Alex shrank together, thinking she had never before seen eyes so disconcerting. Irises so light so as to look almost white, the pupils like black, miniature well shafts. For some reason Alex knotted her hands together and held her breath – anything to make sure he wouldn’t discover her.

The man took a step or two to the side, unlaced himself and pissed, talking with his companions over his shoulder. It was evident he was the leader, the sentry nodding at whatever it was he was saying. Alex caught the word Virginia a couple of times and focused her attention on the sentry. Why did he seem so familiar, all the way from his obsequious grin to how he stood, slightly pigeon-toed? There was a flurry of movement, the men sat up, and then they were gone, horses whipped into a canter as they set off towards the south.