Journey to Enchantment (27 page)

“I expect she's up to the roof. You take sugar, I think?”

“Aye. Two, if ye please. Your aunt is looking at her stars, I fancy? She's been fretting over them, I know. Is she … very often right wi' her predictions? She told me there was—was blood near us.”

Prudence's hand shook a little as she handed Elizabeth the teacup. “She is sometimes fairly near the mark, but she tends to get the details muddled. Let us hope she has done so this time.” Elizabeth made no response, her eyes fixed rather blankly upon her cup, and Prudence waited, then asked gently, “Are you quite sure you will not have him?”

Elizabeth sighed. “No. I'll not have him. But—oh, I wish I wasnae sae fashed fer the laddie.”

They both started as the door burst open. Her wisps flying and her mantilla at half-mast, Hortense darted into the room, scanned the occupants, gasped out something about “… shooting!” and was out again at unprecedented speed with Señorita leaping after her, making mad swipes at various trailing scarves.

The two girls exchanged a shocked glance and followed.

Hortense had already flung open the dining room door. “Come quick!” she exhorted, her voice loud and clear. “It's shooting!”

The gentlemen all stood at once. Delacourt dropped one hand to the great pocket of his coat wherein reposed a small but efficient pistol. “Who is, ma'am?” he asked sharply.

“Star!” she gasped, one hand to her heaving bosom.

“By Jupiter!” Sir Matthew hurried to take her arm and beam down at her. “A shooting star, is it? Lead the way, ma'am.”

“It will be gone by now,” said James MacTavish. “They're only visible for a second or two, at most.”

“No, no,” argued Hortense, retrieving a scarf, only to find Señorita attached to the other end. “I've been watching it for at least three minutes. Oh, do please get her off, someone! It winks and winks. Most—”

“Does it, by God,” muttered Delacourt under his breath, and was at the terrace doors in three swift strides and flinging them open.

Prudence ran to join him. His keen eyes flashed to the northeast, but the trees were in the way, and with a frustrated exclamation, he sprinted back into the parlour and across to the hall, the rest trailing after him and Hortense wailing pleas that he have a care. He was up the stairs, two at a time. Prudence abandoned decorum and ran also, managing to stay close behind him. “My sewing room,” she cried breathlessly. He plunged into the small chamber and threw open the casement, Prudence coming up with him to peer where he peered as the others crowded in.

Señorita shot past, sprang onto the window sill, and walked daintily along it, her upheld tail drifting under Delacourt's nose. He lowered the obstruction, then cried, “There!”

They all saw the tiny, winking light.

“That's no star,” said Mr. MacKie.

MacTavish asked, “Can you make it out, Geoff?”

“A moment, sir. Two. That means riders. Five.… They're coming from Inverness.” He frowned as the light ceased. “Dammit! Cole must have been asleep not to warn me! Ah, here we go.…” They all counted softly. “Six!” Delacourt spun around. “Sir, I must leave! We all must leave!”

Hortense gave a frightened squeak.

MacTavish demanded, “What does six mean?”

“Death! And that means they've rumbled me, belike. Which would also mean you stand at risk, unless you can convince 'em you didn't know about me, which I think unlikely!” He gripped Prudence by the arms. “Stay for nothing save your cloak, ma'am. Hurry! Mrs. Hortense—Elizabeth—run! There's not a second to lose!”

Pale with fright, the ladies fled.

MacTavish asked tautly, “What should we do?”

“If Sir Matthew and Mr. MacKie will help, get your ladies to the Monster, sir. Your best hope will be to take them to the other side of the loch. If you head in the direction of the light we saw, you'll find men waiting for you.”

They all started into the hall.

Sir Matthew asked worriedly, “And what o' yourself, lad?”

MacTavish gave a gasp of horror. “The cypher! My God! What aboot the cypher?”

“I have it. I shall ride west and try to come up with Lockerbie or Thad.” He ran into his room and snatched for a cloak, his pistols, and a sword-belt, which he proceeded to buckle about his middle. MacTavish joined him as he was sprinting for the door again, and he said tersely, “If I'm taken, I'll destroy the cypher, somehow. You'll have to get word to Lady Ericson.”

Running to keep pace with him, MacTavish groaned, “You'll no have a chance! If Jacobites see you they'll likely take you for a Sassenach and your life won't be worth—”

“If they're Highlanders, sir, I'm as safe as in St. Paul's. If they know me. And many do. Go on, man! I don't know what happened to Cole, but we've no way of guessing how long that light was warning before—”

There came a sudden commotion from below. A shot fractured the stillness of the night, and shouts and much trampling about followed.

“Out with the lights!” cried Delacourt, racing to the hall. “Prudence? Where in the deuce are you?” She was already at his side, and slipped her hand into his. “Good. Now stay close to your father,” he ordered.

The front doors burst open as they crossed the hall and a mass of struggling figures surged inside. Prudence had a brief impression of shouts and cursing; of her father, running, with Carrie Cairn close at his side; and of Sir Matthew Garry flailing a pistol butt at a burly man in a frieze coat. Then the last candle was extinguished and the uproar was all about her.

A dark figure loomed up. A man roared, “Surrender, or—” She was swept aside and heard the thud of a heavy blow. The dark shape vanished, but more came. Another shot sounded deafeningly. Someone howled. All around her were struggling forms. Also around her was a firm, guiding arm. Shrinking against it, she gave a startled cry as a man caromed into them, sending her sprawling. Hard blows; cursing; a hand groping for her, dragging her up; Delacourt's voice, panting, “Run, dammit! Your papa's out. Run!”

She ran.

She was in a blustery darkness, bedlam behind her, confusion before. A deep voice shouted, “Don't let him get clear! Shoot at anything that moves!” She thought, ‘Heaven help us all!' and dropped to her knees. Crawling, she heard a yell, and a dark shape zoomed past and went down with a thump. Running feet. Delacourt, hissing, “Prue? Where the deuce are you?”

“Here!” She stood, reaching out. “How did you know?”

“I could smell your perfume. This way!”

He took her hand and they sprinted for the trees.

“Hey!” came a bellow from the rear. “Halt, in the name of the King, or I fire!”

“Christ!” muttered Delacourt, and whipped Prudence ahead of him.

She heard the blast of the shot, followed by an odd little buzzing sound. Then they were in the trees. Dimly, she saw the gleam of water, bowed figures, and a great bulk that would be the Monster.

“Jolly good,” panted Delacourt. “Go on, m'dear. God speed!” And he wheeled and disappeared into the night.

Prudence hesitated. There came a shattering of glass from the house, and a window burst outwards. She ran for the shore and heard MacKie urge, puffing hard, “In wi' ye … Mrs. Hortense. Miss Clandon—quick now!”

Echoing from inside the Monster, Sir Matthew called, “Come on! Come
on!
I'll row wi' ye, Duncan. Mac—you be guide. Did Prudence go with Delacourt? Aye, so I thought. Sit ye doon, Hortense, ye're rockin' our wee boat. Losh, but there's nae much more room.
Come on,
Duncan!”

Prudence ran up. “Mr. MacKie!” she gasped, but in that moment Duncan MacKie gave a mighty shove. The Monster, caught in an eddy, swung out onto the loch, MacKie barely managing to drag himself in through the sagging tail.

Prudence cried, “Mr. Mac—” but then heavy footsteps were running towards her. She made a dash for a clump of shrubs and tripped over a shovel one of the gardeners had left stuck in the ground. The footsteps thumped past. A man shouted, “Stop! Come back, or I'll shoot!”

She thought, ‘Wretched villain! Ye'll no shoot my papa or my aunt!' Snatching up the shovel, she swung it high, and ran forward. The man was very big and in a remote way she noted that he wore a most unusual coat of variegated coloured leathers. With both hands he aimed a blunderbuss that must surely blow a great hole in the heavily laden Monster. Enraged by such infamy, Prudence brought her shovel whizzing down. The shock of the blow made her wrists tingle, and the man went down without a sound. Horrified, she dropped the shovel and stared down at him. His legs flopped feebly. With a gasp of relief she looked up again. The Monster was well out on the loch, the arms flailing at a great rate. There was no possible way for her to catch them, and Delacourt was undoubtedly gone also. She turned and ran frantically for the stables.

Even as she approached, a horse galloped straight for her. She could not see the rider but, taking a chance, screamed,
“Geoffrey!”

Her cry was crowned by a fierce uproar from the house, but the horse saw her waving arms and shied. The man crouched low on his back steadied the animal, and Prudence called again. In a flash Delacourt had dismounted. “Prue?” he cried.

“Yes. The others are away!”

“Here!” His arms were around her. She was swept into the saddle and, taking the reins he handed her, she cried, “What about you?”

For answer he said tersely, “Head southwest down General Wade's Road.”

“But—”

He slapped the horse on the rump, and the frightened animal took the bit between its teeth and bolted.

It was some moments before Prudence could do anything more than hang on and strive not to be tossed from the saddle. The wind had blown clouds over the waning moon, and the night was very dark so that she could not at first see which horse she rode. That it was a much taller animal than she was accustomed to, she knew, and gradually it was borne in upon her that she must be up on Robbie's great half-broken Braw Blue. Her frantic attempts to check his headlong flight were ignored as though she had been the merest gnat clinging to his back. Her every fear was not for herself but for Delacourt, and she pulled on the reins, shouted, and even uttered a few of her brother's wicked oaths, to no avail. Braw Blue continued to thunder along the dimly seen road. It seemed hours later, and Prudence had given up all hope of slowing the brute, when he decided to slacken his pace. She felt bruised and battered from the effort of sitting with her knee hooked over the pommel of the man's saddle; her hair had been blown about, and she was breathless from the buffets of the wind, but she gave a tentative tug at the reins and Braw Blue pranced to a halt and stood tossing his great head about as though proud of his behaviour.

Remembering some of his less appealing habits, Prudence slipped from the saddle, staggered, and gripped the reins warily. Braw Blue put up his ears and regarded her with placid meekness. He hardly seemed to be blowing. She told him a few home truths, and turned her attention to the road.

She could not see very far, but all was still with no sign of pursuit. She led the horse to some shrubs, tethered him, and walked back, her cloak blowing. Surely Delacourt had escaped? Surely his chivalry in helping her had not brought about his own capture? She closed her eyes and offered up a small prayer for his safety.

The road was still deserted when she looked at it again. The wind was growing colder. She wrapped her cloak tighter about her, sat down on the turf, and waited. Was it only an hour ago that she had been sitting in their graceful withdrawing room? How quickly her relatively ordered world had been plunged into chaos. One thing, with any luck her family and friends would cross the loch safely and be protected by Delacourt's men. She thought then of the cypher. If he had been taken and they found it on him, he would be doomed; as would many others if the cypher was broken by the soldiers. But she knew somehow that he would have found a way to destroy it. She thought with a pang, ‘Even if they destroyed him!' and bowed her head, hopelessness rising up to overwhelm her.

Braw Blue stamped a hoof as he grazed; a stamp distantly echoed by other hooves. With a leap of the heart, Prudence stood. The hoofbeats grew louder; she could detect a moving shadow against the night, and then a horse and rider raced up the slope to halt beside her.

“Geoffrey?” she cried.

“Thank God!” he gasped, and came down from the saddle in a rush to lie in the road at her feet.

She gave a little cry of terror, but had the presence of mind to grab the trailing reins before she attended to the fallen man. His mount was Flaxen, one of her father's fastest horses, and she led the cream-coloured animal to tether it beside Braw Blue. She searched the saddlebags but found only an oilskin cloak. Turning her attention to the big stallion she gingerly investigated his saddlebags and was overjoyed to discover a flask and a brace of pistols. Taking the former she ran back to kneel beside Delacourt.

He lay on one side, as he had fallen. For a terrible moment, she thought he was dead, but leaning down she could feel him breathing. She pushed him on to his back, threw open his cloak, and peered with desperate anxiety for the telltale stain of blood. She could see none, and shifting her position, she managed to pull his head and shoulders onto her lap. She uncorked the flask, took a little sip of the potent brandy herself, then tried to coax some between his lips. She was unsuccessful; the brandy trickled from the edges of his mouth and he showed no sign of regaining consciousness. Praying that this was just another of his swoons, she corked the flask again and set it aside. What would she do if someone should come? Delacourt was thin and worn from his long illness, but he was a tall man and too heavy by far for her to drag over to the shelter of the bushes. She was wondering if she could tie something around him and secure it to Flaxen's saddle so as to pull him to safety when she felt his head stir.