Journey to Enchantment (36 page)

MacLeod grunted. “Did ye fancy cruelty spoke only wi' an English accent, mistress? The deeds done by clan tae clan would make St. Peter weep, I reckon. Especially the bloody Campbells—black be their fall!” He went, muttering, to the garron and began to saddle up the sleepy animal.

Prudence slipped cautiously outside. To judge by the position of the sun it was mid-afternoon. There were clouds building above, and a cool wind tossed the tops of the few aspens and pines scattered along the ravine. The bounty hunters and their hapless prisoner were far off, but she stayed in the screening shrubs until they should be out of sight. Just before they turned the last bend, she saw the captive fall. There came the faint sound of a laugh and they spurred their horses so that the boy could not regain his feet and was dragged ruthlessly. Tears of rage and helplessness blurred her eyes as she crept from her hiding place and went to the burn to wash. There was no sign of MacLeod when she returned to the hollow, and she supposed he had gone off to attend to his own needs. The garron was saddled and chewing placidly on the shrubs at the entrance. Prudence put on her cloak, did her best to tidy her hair, and went outside again. She heard a pebble roll behind her and turned about, a smile ready for MacLeod. The smile died. The ravine seemed to tilt and her head spun.

Geoffrey Delacourt, leading Braw Blue, stood staring at her in speechless astonishment, Lockerbie and Cole, equally astounded, behind him.

“Geoffrey!” she cried, and flung herself into his arms. Briefly, those arms tightened about her. She heard him breathe her name, and one hand pressed her head closer against him. Then, she was pulled back.

“What the
devil
are you doing here?” His voice was harsh, his dark brows meeting in a scowl of anger.

Indignant, she wrenched away. “To bring you a message! Though much you—”

“Captain!” MacLeod scrambled down the opposite bank, his broad features alight with joy. “I hoped ye'd come up wi' us!”

Mindful of this man's initial reaction to his master, Lockerbie swung up the musket he carried and held it pointed steadily at MacLeod's middle.

Delacourt pushed the long barrel aside and strode to face MacLeod, his jaw set and grim. “
You
brought her? Damn your eyes—are ye daft? This is no country for a woman, much less a lady of quality!”

MacLeod's head sank. “I know,” he mumbled. “I know, sir. But—whisht, the lady wouldnae have it otherwise, and I
had
tae reach ye, sir.”

Delacourt tossed a glare at Prudence's saintly martyrdom. “Why?”

“Because you are being followed by murdering cutthroats,” Prudence put in. “Do ye not recall what Aunty Mac had to say aboot the man wearing the strange coat?”

He stared at her with stark incredulity. “Great heavens! Do you say that you came all this perilous distance because of that nonsensical—”

“He was in the stables at Lakepoint,” she hurried on. “You'll recollect I told ye I'd seen him?”

“He's after ye the noo, master,” said MacLeod earnestly. “I saw him also, on General Wade's Road. And he was here but a minute syne. He's following ye, sir. And two more o' his like wi' him—all mean as mad dogs.”

“I've Lockerbie and Cole to side me, and I think we are not helpless! I charged you with the care of Miss MacTavish. She was safe in the cavern, and—”

“She wasnae safe, sir,” said MacLeod quietly. “I didnae tell the lady, fer I'd no wish tae add tae her miseries. After ye left, the scouts reported redcoats on the move. Scores of ‘em. All making straight for the wee glen. Angus Fraser had it in his mind we'd been betrayed, and was preparing tae wake the men and see if they couldnae slip away over the top o' the crag.”

Delacourt gave a groan of exasperation. “Madness! One can but hope he did not yield to it! The troopers are likely moving this way because your Prince is believed to have been sighted heading for the Western Sea. I've no doubt the soldiers will pass right by the cavern and never suspect any of our people are there.” He turned a fuming glance on Prudence. “Only look at the poor girl! All mud and tatters and looking as if she's been dragged through a gooseberry bush!”

“Well! Of all the ingrates!” Prudence drew herself up, seething with resentment. “We risked life and limb, struggled straight up mountains and all but fell doon t'other sides! Cut our poor feet to shreds for your sake and all you can say is—”

“Thank you,” he intervened, gripping her shoulders and smiling warmly at her. “Poor little lass. I am an ingrate, indeed! But—my apologies, m'dear—I cannot dawdle about here, else we'll never come up with our quarry.”

“Quarry…? Did ye no hear us warn ye that you're being stalked?”

He glanced at MacLeod. “Lift the lady into my saddle, if you please.” He added, “You're mistaken, ma'am.
We
follow
them,
not t'other way around.”

“Follow—
them?
” she said stupidly, settling her skirts and taking the reins he handed up to her.

“Yes. And a fortunate happenstance that we did, else we'd likely have missed you. Have you a pony, MacLeod? We must hasten.”

“There is not the need to follow them,” said Prudence. “The MacLeod knows this country exceeding well, Captain. He can guide us safely to Loch nan Uamh, never fear.”

“Since you beat us here although we'd left ahead of you, I cannot doubt that.” He set one foot in the stirrup and swung up behind her. “Let's go as quietly as may be. They're half drunk, but I'd as lief they not hear us coming. Cole, do you slip out ahead and act as scout for us.”

Cole nodded and urged his garron past.

“Delacourt,” said Prudence, craning her neck around so as to look up at him, “do ye never listen tae what people try tae tell ye?”

He tightened his arm around her, his dark eyes twinkling into hers in a most disarming way. “Yes, m'dear. But I do not follow those animals for want of a way to Loch nan Uamh.”

“The captain is at his rescuing again, mistress,” said Lockerbie dryly.

Prudence gave a gasp. “
What?
Geoffrey, are ye quite daft? These hills swarm with troopers. You must not risk your life for the sake of that poor boy.”

He slapped the reins against Braw Blue's neck. “I have risked it for your people, ma'am. I will not now leave one of my own to be murdered by those carrion.”

Admiring his courage, and fearing for his safety, she cried, “You would rather they murdered me, I suppose?”

“I had rather you would stay in the little cave. Perhaps that would be best, and we could come back for you—unless we all perish in this attempt.”

He made as if to check the big grey, and Prudence dug her nails into his wrist. “Do not
dare!”
she hissed.

They caught sight of the bounty hunters ten minutes later. The three Scots were riding at an easy trot, quarrelling apparently, for the man called Zeke suddenly leaned over to cuff his companion and earned a furious snarl of curses in response. Their captive staggered along behind, but as the pursuing group drew near, he went down again, and struggled feebly to regain his feet.

Delacourt swore under his breath.

MacLeod murmured softly, “What d'ye wish we should do, sir?”

“We canna shoot, Captain,” warned Lockerbie, eyeing the big Highlander with dislike. “Gunfire will bring redcoats—certain.”

Cole, who had waited for them, said, “They've spotted a farm up ahead, sir. I think they're deciding to stop and try to find food there.”

“Good. Let's tether the cattle and try to get closer.”

Prudence was told severely to stay with the horses, but as the men crept away, she crept after them.

The bounty hunters had dismounted and Zeke was bending over the huddled figure of the trooper. “He's alive,” he growled, “but I doot he'll gie us any jaw fer a bit.”

The one they called Jem walked over to join his crony. “Best tie him.”

Delacourt whispered, “They're all together. We can move now, though we'd do better with a diversion.”

“You shall have one,” said Prudence, and before any of them could stay her, she was running down the path in full view of the bounty hunters.
“Help!”
she screamed. “Oh—help me, please!”

They reacted as one man, crouching, ready for combat, weapons springing to their hands. Zeke levelled a musket unerringly at Prudence.

Her heart quailing, she ran on, stretching forth her hands. “Redcoats came tae our croft,” she gasped. “I'm lost the noo. Will ye no help me?”

They straightened, grins appearing on three savage faces as they took in the youth and beauty of the girl who approached.

Zeke set down his musket. “Where'd ye get that pretty frock, lassie?”

“Come ye here,” invited Jem. “We'll take good care o' ye.”

Chuckling, but his eyes hungry, the pallid man slid his dirk back in its scabbard.

The young redcoat pulled himself to one elbow. “Run, miss,” he croaked weakly. “Run before they—”

Zeke levelled him with a well-placed kick. “Quiet,” he said redundantly. “We know how tae deal wi' Sassenachs, as ye can see, lass. Come here.”

Prudence hesitated and, appearing uncertain, edged back against the cliff and crept along abreast of the three who watched her, gloating. “Ye—ye
are
all good Scots?” she quavered.

“Och, awie! We're awfu' good,” asserted the pallid man, drawing guffaws from his companions.

They began to advance on her. From the corner of her eye she could see Delacourt and the others creeping up. The three bounty hunters were coming closer and, as if suddenly taking fright, she ran past them.

They were after her in a flash, their concerted lunge affording MacLeod, who had climbed to a point above them, the opportunity he needed. The net he had fashioned in response to Delacourt's orders soared out and down. Three would-be rapists found themselves caught in a clinging, strong, and weighted mesh. Their lustful whoops became shouts of rageful bewilderment. These were not simple fighting men, however, but hardened assassins, seasoned by countless desperate forays. Zeke's dirk flashed and the net was ripped apart, his sword seeming to leap into his other hand. His own weapon ready, Delacourt sprang to the attack, while Cole drove a fist into the snarling face of the pallid man, and Lockerbie, slight beside the bulk of the bearded Jem, fought with grim ferocity.

The pallid man staggered, recovered, and drove his club in a savage jab under Cole's ribs. Cole gasped and doubled up, the pallid man's dirk darted, and Cole fell, clutching his arm. The pallid man leapt over him to swell the attack on Delacourt. Hard-pressed, Delacourt's sword sang down Zeke's blade in a glizade that sent the bounty hunter's weapon spinning from his hand, but the pallid man sent the heavy cudgel whistling at his head and he had to jump desperately to avoid it. In the same instant, Zeke flung up his dirk and sprang at Delacourt. The descending cudgel caught him fairly on the shoulder. Screaming profanities, he reeled, the pallid man gawking at him in dismay. Simultaneously, Lockerbie was clubbed down. The triumphant Jem looked up to discover a steel blade flashing at him, a grim face beyond it. He jerked away, but Delacourt lunged to the full length of his arm and Jem howled and fell. Disengaging, Delacourt spun, knowing the pallid man was behind him. The flying cudgel that would have brained him struck home glancingly, and he was down, the glen wheeling crazily.

A Highland war cry roared out, and Stuart MacLeod, charging down the slope, cried, “Ye shouldnae ha' done that, mon!” The pallid man, his dirk upraised to plunge at Delacourt, was seized from behind, swept up, shrieking, and hurled at the advancing Zeke. They went down like ninepins, but Zeke rolled and was up again. Dizzy but persisting, Delacourt took up a rock and smashed it onto Zeke's foot. Zeke hopped and howled. MacLeod unleashed a sledgehammer uppercut. Zeke did three fast and fancy backward toe steps and went down like a falling tree. Jem was quite
hors de combat,
but the pallid man was floundering about feebly. MacLeod silenced him with one chopping blow to the base of the neck.

Trembling, Prudence flew to kneel beside Delacourt. His temple was red and bruising, but he grinned lopsidedly at her. MacLeod came over, and Delacourt held up one hand and was hoisted to his feet. “Is the enemy … secure, for the … time being?” he asked, swaying rather uncertainly.

“Verra secure, sir,” said MacLeod with a chuckle.

Delacourt turned to Prudence. “Thank you, my sturdy Amazon. Would you please see to poor Cole?”

After another anxious scan of his face, she hurried to do what she might for the groom.

Delacourt and MacLeod went to Lockerbie, who was sitting up, holding his head and swearing softly. Aside from a large lump above his ear, he did not seem badly hurt, and assured them he would be able to travel “in two shakes o' a lamb's tail.” Delacourt set MacLeod to truss up the bounty hunters and bind Jem's wound, then, retrieving one of the fallen dirks, turned his attention to the young captive. The boy was sitting up looking considerably the worse for wear, but watching him jubilantly.

“Sir,” he said, as Delacourt dropped to one knee beside him, “I don't know who you are, but—God bless you! I thought I was finished!”

“They have not treated you with loving kindness,” Delacourt observed, sawing through the ropes that bound the boy's hands. “How were they able to detach you from your troop?”

The light went out of the young face. “I—er, well, I was alone, sir. You're English, I think?”

“Yes.” Delacourt unwound the severed rope and introduced himself, omitting his rank, but adding, “We'll not be able to escort you back to your regiment, I fear.” He saw the betraying rush of colour that stained the battered features, and added quietly, “If you mean to rejoin your regiment, that is.”