The Scot and I (12 page)

“There’s a wee tot of whiskey here for all of us,” said Dugald, and reaching into the boat, he produced a crock that he hoisted onto one shoulder. “It will chase the cold away afore we brave the perils o’ the Dee.”

“Did someone mention
uisque beatha
?” queried Gavin, his voice quavering.

That small attempt at humor from Gavin had them all smiling.

When Alex offered the crock to the girl, she shook her head. She was intent on examining the blood on Gavin’s trousers. “I’m surprised he could walk this far,” she said without emphasis. “He should see a doctor.”

“The nearest doctor is back at the castle,” said Dugald.

“Not the castle,” said Gavin. “They don’t like me there.”

“What happened to him?” asked the girl.

Worry laced with anger roughened Alex’s voice. “Foster beat him.”

In the same unemphatic voice, the girl said, “There’s bound to be a doctor in Ballater, but that’s about eight miles downstream.” She was looking at Alex, trying to convey her anxiety without letting Gavin know.

Alex inclined his head to indicate that her message was received and understood, then he crouched down with his back to the rock face and took a healthy swig from the crock before passing it to Gavin. His brother couldn’t get far on foot, and even if they could find horses, they would be impossible to control in a gale. He didn’t see what choice they had. They had to go by boat.

He watched as the girl climbed to the top of the rock they were sheltering under. So she was the lookout. Did she never tire? Did she never rest? What drove her like this?

She must be very afraid, not of him and not of Foster, or she would never have returned to Balmoral to save him. Was it her erstwhile suitor she feared most? Or was it Demos?

Was his vision of Demos a hoax? A figment of his imagination?

To Dugald, he said, “So, what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Dugald shook his head. “There is no plan except tae get ye out of the castle. After that, ye’re free tae go where ye want, as are we. There was no storm when we set out.”

“Yes, the storm changes things, doesn’t it? And there’s only one boat.” Alex dropped his voice so that Gavin wouldn’t hear him. “My brother can’t walk out of here, and he needs to see a doctor. We have to go to Ballater. We have friends there who will take us in.”

“What friends?” Gavin piped up, showing that he was wise to his brother’s ways. “Do you mean the Cardnos?”

“Who else will take us in with no questions asked?”

“I suppose,” said Gavin, sounding resigned.

Alex added, “Your cub will be safe there, too, Dugald.”

Dugald turned his head and gave Alex a straight look. “Fine. Then Ballater it is. But if you harm one hair of her head, I’ll break your neck, and that’s a promise.”

The girl came sliding down the rock, startling them all.

“What’s wrong?” Dugald cried.

“Men with lanterns! They’re coming this way.”

That settled the matter.

They scrambled to their feet and made for the boat. Alex helped Gavin into the stern of the boat while Dugald took up the oars. The girl hung back.

“What is it, lass?” Dugald yelled.

“My cairngorm!” Her hand was on her tam. “I’ve lost it. I had it a moment ago. It must be under the rock. Hold on.”

A sudden surge in the river propelled the boat away from the bank.

“Mahri!” yelled Dugald. “Get back here!”

Either she did not hear, or she did not want to hear.

Mouthing a furious oath, Alex leaped over the side and went after her. He caught her by the waist, dragged her to the boat, and threw her in. He had just clambered on board when the current lifted them up and swept them away.

Alex thought that things could not get worse, but he was wrong. Someone nearby shouted, “There they are, on the river.”

“What do we do?” cried the girl.

“We hold on for dear life.”

 

 

Mahri’s relief at evading capture did not last long. She felt as though she had stepped from one nightmare into another. Though the ferocious winds had died down, and the rain had dwindled to showers, the river was in full spate and propelled their little craft through the waves like a shot from a sling. To add to her terror, the thunderstorm they thought the gale had diffused now burst above them, lighting up the valley with streams of fire.

Dugald and Hepburn were hard-pressed to keep the boat steady. Her task was to use her oar like a barge pole to ward off objects that had been swept away in the flood: uprooted trees, kegs of whiskey, household furniture, and saddest of all, farm animals that had failed to reach higher ground. The fear that their pursuers might be close behind them was the least of her worries now.

She didn’t know how long they had been on the river when Gavin pointed up ahead.

“Look!” he shouted. In spite of his wound, he was crouched beside her, bailing water as fast as it came in.

At the next crack of lightning, she saw it: the Ballater Bridge over the Dee. The bridge at Ballater had had a sad history. When the Dee was in flood, trees and other debris from upstream would slam into it with such force that supports would buckle and give way. Even now, it was under construction. It seemed to Mahri that this bridge was always under construction. At the next crack of lightning, she caught her breath. There was a logjam under one of the arches, and their little boat was going to smash into it.

Dugald was shouting orders, telling them to row like mad for the bank. Even Gavin had taken up an oar and was expending the last of his energies to do his bit. Her arms ached, her hands were stinging from splinters, she was soaked to the skin, but the will to survive drove everything from her mind except bringing their boat safely to shore.

She was jarred from her purpose by the sound of men shouting from the bridge.

“Rest your oars!” Dugald’s voice. “Listen!”

When they did as they were bid, their little craft went into a spin. Mahri clung to Gavin, supporting him as the boat began to rock. Everything was moving too fast for her mind to grasp. She couldn’t make out what the men on the bridge were shouting, but the Hepburn and Dugald seemed to understand. They picked up their oars and started rowing like madmen.

“Get down and hold on!” Hepburn’s voice.

She dragged Gavin to the floor and held on for dear life. It felt as though they were going over a waterfall and their little boat had taken flight. She braced for the crash, but their craft skimmed the surface of the water, barely touching it as its momentum carried it forward. When the crash came, it was like hurtling into a wall of straw.

When she finally raised her head, she saw men from the bridge racing down an incline and into the lake they had landed in. Dugald and Hepburn were thumping each other on the back.

“What happened?” she asked faintly.

Gavin struggled up. “It looks,” he said, “as though the good people of Ballater have come to rescue those caught in the flood.”

Hepburn loomed over her, plucked her from the boat, and carried her to shore. Gavin was right. All around, there were lanterns lit, and people, both men and women, with smiling faces, were handing out blankets to the victims of the flood.

The lake, she now saw, was a flooded farmer’s field, and the wall of straw was a haystack, several haystacks, in fact. The waterfall was a channel workmen had carved out to divert part of the river as they built foundations for the new bridge. If the bridge had not been under construction, she had no doubt that they would never have made it.

“We were lucky.” She spoke past the huge lump in her throat. Now that the danger was over, she was beginning to feel all the discomforts she’d suffered in their mad dash to freedom.

Hepburn set her down and steadied her by cupping his hands on her shoulders. A smile curled his lips. “If you weren’t dressed as a boy,” he said, “I would—” He stopped suddenly.

Her heart lurched. “Yes?”

Their eyes locked. Mahri had the oddest feeling that they were in the eye of the storm. All around them, sounds became muted, and people melted into the background. A shiver passed over her, then another, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Why was he looking at her as though he’d never seen her before? Why did she want this moment to go on forever?

“What were you going to say?” she asked tremulously.

His brows snapped together. “Nothing. I’d best see to Gavin.”

Mahri was hardly aware that one of the rescuers had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes followed Hepburn as he waded through the water to their boat, and she wanted to stamp her foot. When she watched him with Gavin and Dugald, her pique gradually melted away. In spite of their differences, they were all good, honorable people. They could have been friends if the circumstances had been different. Even so, they were comrades. At least for a little while, she hoped that they could be comrades.

The glow inside her did not last long. Theirs was not the only boat to find a safe harbor. Several had been pulled out of the water and were lined up beside the haystacks. She began to scan faces, hoping that she wouldn’t see one she recognized.

She jumped when someone touched her arm.

“Who are you looking for?” asked Hepburn. He and Dugald were supporting Gavin between them, and Gavin was protesting that he didn’t want or need any help.

“Whom do you think? We are fugitives from the law, are we not? Policemen? Soldiers?” She gave a helpless shrug. “There’s no lack of people to choose from.”

His hard scrutiny reminded her of the first time she’d encountered him at the queen’s reception. His eyes saw too much.

“We’ll talk later,” he said, “but first things first. Let’s get Gavin to a nice soft bed.”

“I’d rather,” said Gavin testily, “that you got me to a nice big glass of
uisque beatha
. There’s nothing wrong with me that that won’t cure.”

Dugald settled the argument. “Laddie, ye took the words right out of my mouth. After we are warm and dry, you can have as much
uisque beatha
as you like. Thomas, make yerself useful. Pick up our knapsacks and stay close behind us.”

Ballater was on the other side of the river and only accessible by the bridge, but their route took them in the opposite direction. Though Hepburn had told them that the house was close to the village, in their state of exhaustion, the going was slow and made all the more miserable by the steep hills they had to climb. The one mitigating factor was that Hepburn appeared to have eyes that could see in the dark. He kept them all from straying off the road or taking a wrong turn.

By the time they reached the house, Mahri was practically sleeping on her feet. Impressions came and went. She heard a woman’s laughter and Gavin’s gruff response. Someone tried to take the knapsacks from her, and she tried to fight him off. She heard the Hepburn shouting, and she cried out in panic but quieted when he said something soothing in her ear. The last thing she remembered was falling into a soft feather bed, then she slipped into a welcome oblivion.

Colonel Foster couldn’t stop pacing. The bastards had got away. He was surrounded by a cast of incompetents! Somebody was going to pay for this, and it wasn’t going to be him.

In sheer frustration, he threw the glass he had been drinking from into the fireplace, where it smashed gratify ingly into smithereens.

He hoped they drowned like rats. Maybe they’d done him a favor. Hepburn had always been Commander Durward’s blue-eyed boy. If there were a way of rescuing his favorite from the hangman’s noose, Durward would find it.

Perhaps the storm had been a godsend. Durward had been due to arrive on the morrow, but there was no likelihood of that happening now. The flood would keep Balmoral and the upper reaches of the Dee isolated for some time to come.

He was still in charge here, and so he should be. He came from a military family. He was born to command. And by the time Durward got here, he’d have taken care of Alex Hepburn and his no-account brother.

There were two others who had helped them escape. Though the guard hadn’t seen them clearly, he’d heard the voices of a man and a woman. He’d find them, too, and he’d make them sorry they’d ever crossed swords with Bertie Foster.

The thought of the woman gave him pause. Not for one moment did he believe that the Hepburns had gone chasing after her to bring her to justice. If she helped them escape, she was one of them. Let Durward try to save his favorite now.

The thought of Durward and his crew made him sneer, and he stopped pacing. British Intelligence! Secret service agents! Spies! A pox on the lot of them! Some of them had never seen military service. They’d been recruited from universities and gentlemen’s clubs. They were a network of chums!

Well, he’d show Durward and his chums how a soldier handled things.

He went to the door, opened it, and shouted a name. A moment later, a captain in the uniform of the Queen’s Royal Guard entered.