MacFarlane's Ridge (39 page)

Rob stared down at him. “Does he no’ have anything better to do?”

“He said the same thing. But then I told him that you might have some valuable information that you could offer him, and so he reconsidered.”

Frowning, Rob said nothing.

“Don’t you want to know what it is?” asked Wayne Sinclair eagerly. He was like a child who knew a secret, simply itching to tell everyone about it.

“Not particularly, no.”

“Yes, you do. You should, anyway. It concerns your family,” Sinclair sang softly.

Robert remained silent. He wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- give the bastard any more satisfaction by asking questions.

Sinclair rolled his eyes and leaned back. “Glass of wine?” he offered.

“No, thank you.”

“For God’s sake, MacFarlane!” he exploded. “I am trying to be civil to you, as difficult as it is. Here’s what will happen tomorrow. You will stand before Brigadier General Simon Fraser, and you will be charged with piracy for your activities aboard the Lady Meg.” He arose from the desk and circled around Rob.

“You will also,” he continued in a low voice, “be charged with conspiracy and treason, thanks to your association with a ring of spies.”

Rob blinked. “Spies? Ye’ve let your imagination run wild, wee little man,” he growled, staring ahead, not willing to look at Sinclair just yet.

“No, I don’t think so, Robert. Your brother-in-law is a member of Washington’s intelligence force. So is his wife, my darling Wanda Mabry.” Sinclair whispered into Robert’s ear, “You’re going to turn evidence over on both of them, damning them as spies and traitors to the Crown.”

“Angus and Wanda are patriots. The Crown has no hold here in the Colonies, ye ignorant fool,” Robert spat.

Sinclair’s fist crashed down on the back of his neck. “Why won’t you fight back, Robert? You said you’d kill me the first chance you got, and now you won’t even fight back.”

Rob grimaced, and smiled lopsidedly over his shoulder. “Give me time, Sinclair. Just give me time.”

Wayne moved back to the desk, and pulled a sheaf of papers from a pile. “Do you know what these are?”

“I suppose you’re about to tell me.”

“Orders to arrest try and execute a ring of spies.” Sinclair grinned at him. “All of them being persons near and dear to you, I’m afraid.” He read from the list tonelessly. “Ian MacFarlane and his wife, Mollie Duncan MacFarlane. Their son, Hamish MacFarlane.”

“He’s a wee child,” Rob snorted.

Sinclair shook his head. “That may be, but he did stand to profit from the exploits of the Lady Meg against British cargo ships. That makes him an accessory, same as Jamie Fleming Duncan, who is also named here. Also,” he continued, “one Thomas Kerr and his wife, Sally.” He glanced up.

“Leave them alone.”

“Can’t do that. Unless, of course, you would like to sign an affidavit swearing to the illicit activities of Wanda and Angus,” Sinclair suggested softly. “What, nothing to say to that? If you give me Wanda and her husband, I’d be happy to tear up this order before your very eyes.”

“What’s to stop you from going after them once I’ve been hanged?” Rob asked thickly.

Sinclair’s eyes widened. “Why, you have my word. As an honorable gentleman.”

Rob laughed. “Ye dinna know the first thing about honor, Sinclair. It’s not something you would even begin to understand.”

“Oh, on the contrary, I know a great deal about it, more than you can even imagine.” He examined his fingernails casually. “Did Cameron ever tell you why I wanted Mollie’s journals? Did she even know?”

Rob stared at him. “She said ye told her they’d have some historical value.”

“I lied. I wanted those journals because after little Miss Sarah MacFarlane came through the Faerie’s Gate, I knew it was a way for me to get back here.” He noted Rob’s look of surprise. “You heard me correctly. I did say get back here.”

He sighed. “Let me tell you a story, Robert. My father was an English nobleman, but he never bothered to marry my mother. Already had a wife, or some such rot. My mother, being a practical woman, saw to it that my father paid for his indiscretion by purchasing a commission in the Royal Army for me. I did rather well in the army, to tell you the truth, and then there was a bit of a scandal.”

“Aye, the dead whore?” asked Rob, remembering Charlie Banastre’s story.

Sinclair grinned. “The dead whore indeed. A bit hard to cover that one up, so my father managed to use his influence to get me shipped off somewhere that I could be inconspicuous. Scotland, to be precise.”

“Ye’d stick out like a sore thumb in the Highlands,” snorted Rob.

“Be that as it may, I found myself one afternoon wandering about the moors,” Sinclair mused thoughtfully. “There was a pile of stones on a hillside, a cairn, the local yokels called it. I slipped into the cairn, and do you know what happened to me?”

Rob waited patiently.

“Well, I don’t bloody well know either, but when I opened my eyes again I was in a hospital in Glasgow, and it was the year 1983,” he sneered. “At first I thought I’d gone mad.”

You went mad at some point
, thought Rob.
Like as not, the stones had naught to do with it.

“Then I realized what a wonderful opportunity I’d been given.” He held his arms out expansively. “I moved to the United States, borrowed the name Wayne Sinclair out of an obituary column, established myself as a dealer of antiquities, and life was good. And then,” he finished, “then your Sarah turned up in Cameron Clark’s garage.”

Rob nodded. “And ye thought that if she could go through, there was a way for you to do it as well, if ye could find the right place.”

“If I could find the right place, yes,” repeated Sinclair, looking pleased. “And I did, didn’t I? Wanda tried to convince me that the Faeries’ Gate was a one-way ride, but once I had followed Cam through… well, I’m smarter than Wanda gave me credit for,” he beamed. “I really did plan to take Mollie back with me, you know. Could’ve made a fortune from her. But then, after the bitch Wanda shot me, I decided my life would be more interesting if I came back to military service, since I know how things turn out and all.” He smiled broadly.

Rob stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he said, “I’ll not give ye Angus, or his wife.”

Wayne Sinclair shrugged. “So be it. When my men and I go to MacFarlane’s Ridge, you realize there will be no quarter given.”

There was silence. At last, Rob said, “If I know Mollie, I suppose none will be asked. Are we finished here?”

Sinclair’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “Not in the least. Tumblesby!” he called. “I have a job for you and Stave!”

The band of Mohawks led their four prisoners up to the gates of Fort Wyndham at dawn. Cam didn’t care that she was tired and filthy. She knew Rob was here somewhere within these walls.

Wanda, who hadn’t spoken to her at all since their argument about the Shawnee, leaned over and nudged her.

“My contact here will be able to help us,” she whispered. “I just have to find a way to get word to him.”

“Good,” said Cam without moving her lips, noticing that Kills Bears was watching her intently. “Will he help us get Rob out as well?”

“He should. With any luck, we’ll be back on the road before night falls, headed back to Virginia,” Wanda murmured.

“That would be nice.”

Kills Bears came over and shouted at her, which he seemed to do on a fairly regular basis, and she looked pleadingly towards Running Stream for a translation.

“He would like you to stop talking. We are sending Plenty Rabbits in to let the soldiers know you are here. He will trade you for guns,” the girl said.

Cam waited impatiently for Plenty Rabbits to return, all the time thinking about Robert. I know he’s here. I can feel it…

Finally, Plenty Rabbits returned, carrying eight long rifles, and accompanied by a half dozen dragoons. He said something to Kills Bears, who then turned and shouted at Peyton Basham and Ambrose Meador.

Running Stream spoke. “He says you men are to be taken to the prison wing of the fort. There you will await trial, and then you will be hanged.” She turned to Cam and Wanda. “The commander of the fort is ill. You will go to the one of the other officers, and he will speak with you.”

Cam and Wanda looked at each other.

Running Stream hugged them spontaneously, and bid them farewell as the Mohawks melted away into the forest. Four of the dragoons dragged Basham and Meador through the gate, and the other two just stared at Wanda and Cam.

“We didn’t know there was white women comin’ in,” said one of them apologetically.

Wanda gazed down at him. “And where, pray tell, do you intend to put us?” she asked loftily.

He shrugged. “Guess we’ll figure that out later on. Move along, now.”

Their hands were untied, and they were escorted through the compound. Cam shivered when she saw the gallows looming over them on its platform. Unbidden, Charles Dickens sprang to mind. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

“Very sinister,” she murmured.

Wanda nodded. “No kidding. I hope we’re not too late.”

As they passed a stone building, Cam noted the bars in the windows. The prison wing! She stared at it for a long time, hoping for a glimpse of something, anything, through the bars.

There were no signs of life.

Frustrated, she craned her neck for a better view, and the young soldier snapped at her. “You can stop lookin’ over there. Nothing but a gaggle of pirates and traitors, the lot of ‘em.”

The other dragoon eyed her intently and scratched his trousers. “They’re all to hang for their treason, you can be sure o’ that.”

Cam shuddered. She didn’t like this one a bit. She got the distinct impression he could see right through her dress, reminding her, for a split second, of the late Gavin O’Toole. “Thank you for the information,” she said haughtily. “I am certain, though, that they are at least given the privilege of a fair trial before they are sentenced to hang.”

He snickered. “They get a trial, though I wouldn’t go so far as to say a fair one. Listen, miss, don’t you concern yourself wi’ none of that. You need anything around here, Augustus Stave is happy to help you out,” he smiled.

“I don’t think we’ll be needing your assistance, Mr. Stave,” said Wanda. “If you would please just take us the commander’s office…”

“Commander’s got the dysentery. You won’t be seeing him.” Stave’s eyes lit up. “Got a big Brigadier General passing through, though. You might meet him, if you want to sit and watch the trial this afternoon.”

“Trial?” murmured Cam.

“Right. One of them privateers who got too big for his britches,” Stave leered. “Doubt he’ll have a lot to say in his own defense, though. He ran into a spot of trouble last night.”

The other soldier guided them through a pair of wide wooden doors and down a long corridor. Stave followed behind Cam, too close, she thought. She and Wanda soon found themselves in a small office.

“The lieutenant will be here in a moment to question you,” Stave grinned, and disappeared.

Cam heard the click of the door locking behind them.

“Well,” said Wanda. “Here we are. At least we’re alive.”

“For now,” agreed Cam. “What do we do now?”

Wanda sat. “I don’t know. My feet are killing me and I’m hungry. Whenever this lieutenant gets here, I’ll see if I can find out how to locate my contact.”

“This mysterious contact of yours – do you think he’ll help us? He’d be taking a huge risk,” Cam pointed out.

Wanda shrugged. “All of the information I’ve received from him has been very reliable.” She smiled. “All we have to do is find my fellow, Clarendon.”

Cam started visibly at the name.

“What?” asked Wanda, noting the expression of horror on Cam’s face.

“Did you say Clarendon?”

Wanda nodded. “Yeah, Lieutenant William Clarendon. Cam, what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Cam grabbed Wanda by the shoulders. “Wanda, there’s something wrong here. Clarendon is the one who testified – testifies – in the trial against Alexander MacFarland!”

Wanda shook her head. “That can’t be right, no.”

“
Yes!” shrieked Cam. “I saw it!
A witness for the Crown, Lieutenant Wm. Clarendon, testified that the defendant, Alexander MacFarland, was indeed a traitor to the crown and was involved in a ring of spies and rebels, and should be treated accordingly,
” she hissed, quoting from memory. “You saw that document too! How could you have forgotten?”

“I don’t know,” groaned Wanda, as she leaped to her feet. “It’s a trap,” she whispered, realization dawning. “I can’t believe I was so stupid…. we have to get out of here.”

Cam raced to the window, and tried to fling it open. “It won’t budge.”

“Break it,” suggested Wanda helpfully.

Cam looked around frantically for something heavy enough to smash the window, and her eyes settled on a pewter tea set on the sideboard. “The teapot!” she ordered.