Authors: Caroline Martin
Close to the summit Hector paused, signalling to them to do the same.
‘Wait there,’ he ordered. ‘I’m going on to see which is the best way.’
He was gone only a few minutes, but they seemed like hours to Isobel, supported on the grassy slope to which she clung, with Duncan anxiously watching below. She began to fear the sound of shots, and the realisation that Hector would never come back. And then his head appeared again, just above her.
‘This way,’ he whispered. ‘Follow me—Do exactly as I say.’
They followed him onto a grassy ledge where a spring trickled sideways to form a long silver thread of waterfall to the rock face below. It made its way towards them along a narrow gully, scarcely as broad as Hector’s shoulders, but running nearly three feet into the earth. The trees sheltered it on either side, but they could see that further on it ran out into the open grass and heather of the hilltop.
Ahead of them Hector slid on his belly along the floor of the gully, heedless of the water running beneath him. By the time she followed, the bed of the stream was thick and muddy, but Isobel knew better than to protest. She crept along at Hector’s heels, scratched by protruding stones, quickly slimed with mud and soaked through to the skin. Duncan followed her as silently.
It could not have been very far that they moved in this slow and uncomfortable manner, but it felt like miles. Now and then Hector left them again for a moment to see that the way was clear before they went on, and then the horrible process - a slither rather than a crawl - was resumed.
At last the gully grew shallower, and came to an end beside a knot of wind-blown pines towering overhead. Hector stopped, turned his head briefly, whispered: ‘Into the heather!’ and then pulled himself out of the gully beneath the trees.
Blindly Isobel and Duncan followed. The heather was scarcely growing yet, and gave little cover, but in spite of the fear and discomfort Isobel reflected briefly that a dirty plaid provided ideal dress for concealment among the rough browned stems.
They crawled as before, but dry now, their skin rubbed raw by the harsh heather roots. And now of course there was no gully to hide them, only their ability to move as smoothly and neatly as snakes over the bleak landscape. And Isobel knew that she had no ability of that kind at all, though the Highlanders had been trained to it from birth.
They had gone forward in this way for about a hundred yards when a shot whistled low over their heads.
‘Lie still!’ came Hector’s hoarse command, and they froze, motionless, listening for another shot. But none came, though they heard the distant sound of shouting: question, answer, an order. After a little while Hector whispered ‘Come on!’ and they moved forward again, more cautiously this time.
Isobel kept her head lower than before, and surreptitiously pulled a fold of the plaid over her hair, for fear its golden brightness would betray them. She was aware, horribly, that they were moving steadily nearer to the shouting soldiers.
They had gone only a few yards more when the shots came again, missing them by inches; a volley this time, sending Isobel flat on her face in panic, as if the earth could open and hide her if she clung close enough. And then Hector shouted ‘Run!’
For a second she hesitated, but no more. As Duncan passed her she scrambled to her feet and ran in another hail of shots after Hector’s flying figure. From the corner of her eyes she saw the dark shapes of three soldiers running towards them over the heather, some way off yet.
Ahead was a slight rise, split by another gully, deeper than the first. Hector made straight for it, and they followed, stumbling, moving with all the speed their weary bodies could muster.
Hector reached the gully, flinging himself forward into it - and then in agony Isobel saw a soldier take shape on the slope above and level his musket.
‘Hector!’ she shrieked.
Just in time he saw, and the shot missed, and she saw him leap up the slope after the soldier, his dirk in his hand. She paused, her heart in her mouth, and Duncan seized her arm.
‘Come!’ he urged, and she ran with him. They reached the gully just as the soldier fell and Hector sprang down after them.
Behind them the other three soldiers were coming quickly nearer, though they did not pause to fire. Two more were running to join them from the other direction. The pounding of their feet sounded suddenly loud on the hard earth between the high sides of the gully.
We can’t escape!
Isobel thought in panic. Their pursuers were gaining on them, and she knew her legs would not carry her much further. She felt Hector’s hand on her arm, pulling her with him, and some of his strength reached her, urging her on. A shot rang out, and she heard Duncan give a low cry, but he was running with them still.
Their pursuers were close behind them now; the gap was closing. Just as Isobel knew she must fall to her knees and rest, a soldier flung himself over the final distance and sent Hector flying to the ground. Isobel screamed.
She was thrust aside, helpless as Duncan grappled with another man and Hector rolled over and over in the grip of his assailant, struggling desperately to free himself enough to pull his dirk from his belt. He had it once - then she saw the soldier’s hand close about his wrist and the dirk fall from his grasp. Quick as lightning she seized it, and raised it over the soldier’s back. And as quickly she was grabbed from behind and pulled clear, the dirk thrown into the dust.
But that momentary scuffle gave Hector his chance. For an instant his assailant was distracted, and Hector slid free. He had the dirk in his hand then, and the blade flashed out to meet the soldier’s chest as he sprang towards Hector. He fell and did not rise again.
Shots flew over Isobel’s head, but Hector seized the dead soldier’s musket and returned the fire. Isobel heard the man behind fall with a grunt, and saw Hector turn coolly to shoot Duncan’s attacker. Then he ran to the high ground above the gully, watching as the two last soldiers came running towards them. One more shot and one of them lay still while the other fled.
‘They’ll be back,’ Hector assured them. He was struggling painfully for breath, Isobel noticed, and even in the dusk she could see the perspiration damp on his pale face. As for her, she longed to sink to the ground, but knew she would not be able to rise again if she did.
‘Come!’ panted Hector relentlessly, and set out at a steady loping run whose speed astonished Isobel after all he had been through. Without a word she and Duncan followed his example. Once well into its rhythm, she found, it was easier, in spite of weariness, to keep up the pace.
It was nearly dark when Hector stopped at last. The dim light showed them a knot of trees and some kind of half-ruined stone building, and he led them towards it. ‘We’ll rest here,’ he said.
There was no door, and little left of the roof, but it gave Isobel an overwhelming sense of shelter and security to sink down on the weed-grown earth floor with her back against the wall and her eyes closed. She felt she would never be able to move again, even to raise her hand. She was aware of Duncan and Hector sinking down near her into the same exhausted immobility. For a long time there was complete silence but for their struggling breath.
It was Hector who broke it at last, saying in a slow subdued tone that betrayed his weariness, ‘I shall go back to Ardshee soon, when it grows fully dark.’
Even Duncan exclaimed at that. Isobel found the strength to open her eyes and turn towards Hector, still slumped against the wall at her side.
‘You cannot go back! Not after all that has happened.’
‘It makes no difference at all,’ he returned with weary unconcern. ‘Besides, we need food.’
Food—! With a sudden flash of recollection Isobel remembered the leather pouch fastened securely beneath her plaid. It was still there - she felt it now - and in it lay, along with her money, the barley bread and cheese remaining from that meal eaten in the happy optimism of the dawn. It seemed extraordinary to think that it was still the same day.
‘I’ve got some food,’ she said. ‘Bread and cheese. I’d forgotten until now.’ She saw the eyes of the two men turn on her with an eager light that surprised her. ‘There isn’t much,’ she added cautiously, and bent to pull the now crushed and crumbled food from the pouch. Certainly there was little enough, but at least, as it had been her turn to carry the food, she had Janet’s share as well as her own, so there would be something to keep them going. She was about to divide it into three portions when some instinct made her pause. ‘When did you last eat?’
Hector hesitated before replying, clearly making some elaborate mental calculation.
‘It would be the day before the battle,’ he said slowly at last. ‘We had a biscuit each, I remember. Though one day, too, a woman gave us a bannock - somewhere in Lochaber I think it was - and we have drunk, of course. There is always water.’
Isobel gazed at him in horror. It must be about four days now since the battle. And today at least he had run from the soldiers, and fought them to save her, and fought again just now, and there had been that climb—She marvelled at the strength and endurance of these Highlanders. Then she carefully broke all the bread and cheese into two and gave an equal portion to each of them.
Duncan began to eat at once, mumbling his thanks over the first eager mouthful, but Hector hesitated. ‘You have none for yourself.’
‘I have eaten today,’ she told him. Then she tried not to shame him by watching as slowly and carefully he began to eat.
Afterwards he only said with grave courtesy: ‘I thank you for that, Isobel,’ and went to the broken doorway to look out on the darkening landscape.
Now, Isobel thought, perhaps they could sleep, ready to go on in the morning. It was too dark now for more than to make out her companions as darker shapes in the shadow. Hector stood outlined against the deep blue of the night sky, a motionless black figure.
At last he turned. ‘It is time I went.’
‘But there is no need!’ cried Isobel. ‘You have eaten now—We can go on in the morning.’
‘You forget why I have to go,’ he reminded her. Remembering, and knowing how he blamed her, Isobel could not tell him how ridiculous she thought him. ‘I can see how they are, too, and bring them news, though my heart is heavy at the thought—’
‘Let me go,’ broke in Duncan eagerly. ‘My Catriona is there, and the children—’ He began to rise and then fell back, moaning a little. Isobel remembered suddenly how he had cried out as he ran.
‘I think he may have been hit,’ she said quickly.
They lifted him to the doorway where they could see more clearly. He was already trying to sit up, but a musket ball had grazed his arm and it was clear he had lost a great deal of blood. Isobel tore a strip from her petticoat and bound it tightly about the wound.
‘He needs rest,’ she told Hector, ‘and so do you. I think we should all stay here for the night. It can do no good to go back to Ardshee.’
‘I shall go when I’m rested,’ added Duncan from the floor.
‘I am going now,’ said Hector, totally ignoring their intervention.
They might as well not have spoken, thought Isobel, tight-lipped.
‘Duncan,’ he went on, ‘if I am not back by dawn you must take Mrs MacLean to my uncle Ranald MacDonald in Glencoe. He was too old to be out so it should be safe there, and he will see that my wife returns to her parents—But I shall be back.’
And with that he was gone.
Chapter Sixteen
‘How can he be so foolish!’ There was exasperation in Isobel’s voice as Hector’s black shape was swallowed up in the greater darkness of the mountainside. But it was not mere exasperation that was tearing at her heart. ‘He will walk straight into the soldiers.’
‘I think they will not be watching now,’ Duncan consoled her. ‘Nor will they be expecting him. And he was always skilled at following the deer.’
Which activity brought no possible danger to his life, thought Isobel. But there was a crumb of comfort in Duncan’s words.
She heard him murmur some prayer or charm and settle himself to sleep. She sat for a long time gazing through the broken roof at the few stars that showed through the clouds, trying to make sense of the day in her tired brain. So much had happened, so many terrible things, and yet now she felt only numbed. She recognised that most of all exhaustion robbed her of the power to feel or think. Perhaps it was just as well.
In the end she fell asleep on the hard cold earth and slept soundly for what might have been hours or might only have been minutes. It was still dark when she woke, and it was raining, a fine steady drenching rain without wind, blotting out stars and landscape alike.
She reached over to reassure herself that Duncan was under the intact portion of the roof where the rain could not reach him, and then drew back against the wall at his side. He was deeply asleep, snoring gently, but she herself felt alarmingly wide awake and clear-headed.
The past day seemed now like a bad dream. She could not really believe it had all happened, above all that Hector had turned on her with those terrible eyes and cursed her for his foster-brother’s death. She could not believe that when he returned he would ever look at her like that again, now they had shared a common danger and escaped it together.