by E R Dillon
On seeing Kyle, Upton got to his feet. “I don’t think Master Brodie even once looked my way.”
“It wouldn’t matter if he did,” Kyle said. “His daughter claims he was here last night, and that’s that.” He led the way around to the front of the house where the horses were tied.
The two of them set out for where Ewan and Gib had found Abigail’s belongings. The place was not difficult to find, since there was only one trail that was safe to follow through the mire.
Kyle dismounted when they reached the holly tree that leaned over the pathway. He poked around the immediate vicinity, but he found nothing more telling than the paw marks of smallish creatures in the soft mud between the stones. The tall grass on either side of the narrow trail showed promise, though, for it was deep enough to conceal Abigail’s bundle if she had dropped it before she was accosted.
When he finished his inspection of the area, he and Upton started back to the garrison. Around them, the birds chipped and flitted from branch to branch. Butterflies drifted languidly in the radiance of the afternoon sun.
They were still a good way from Harefoot Law when something hissed past Kyle’s ear. He reacted instantly, leaning over the gelding’s neck to provide less of a target, while driving his heels into its belly.
Upton followed Kyle’s lead without question, urging Archer’s bay to take flight.
A hundred or so yards down the track, Kyle reined in to look over his shoulder. “Someone loosed an arrow at me back there,” he said in response to the curiosity on Upton’s face.
“Are you sure you were the intended target?” Upton said. “I’m the one who’s English.”
For a long moment, they listened for sounds of pursuit, but all they heard were the cawing of crows in the distance and the incessant chattering of a squirrel high in the treetops.
“Whoever he was, he’s gone now.” Kyle nudged the gelding forward, his expression thoughtful for the remainder of the trek back to Ayr.
As they rode into the outskirts of town, an ominous gray thunderhead rolled in from over the Firth of Clyde. The dazzling sun vanished behind a veil of leaden clouds. A soft breeze coiled about them, carrying with it the foul odor of the tannery.
Kyle sent Upton on to the garrison. He turned into the blacksmith’s yard, only to be greeted by Fergus barking and straining at the end of a chain. He dismounted and was tying the reins to the rail just as Macalister came out from under the porch of his shop.
Macalister signaled to Fergus with his hand. The barking ceased abruptly as the dog obeyed his silent command. “What can I do for ye?” he said by way of salutation. He ran an expert eye over the iron shoes on the gelding’s hooves. “No trouble, I hope.”
“Not at all,” Kyle said. “I need your help, you and that dog of yours. Can you spare me a couple of hours?”
“When?”
“Right now.”
“I reckon so,” Macalister said. He glanced back at the empty porch. “Trade has been a mite slow today.”
“You’ll need to keep the dog on a lead where we’re going.”
“And where is that?”
“Harefoot Law.”
“It’s a little late in the day to go a-visiting.”
“Not for what I have in mind,” Kyle said.
“Can ye tell me what this is about?”
Kyle related the gist of his plan to him.
“It’s risky,” Macalister said, “but it may work. Give me a minute to saddle up.”
****
It was late afternoon by the time they drew within half a mile of Harefoot Law. The hour seemed later, though, because of the heavy clouds darkening the sky.
Kyle slowed the gelding to a walk on the rutted track, which snaked through the trees.
Macalister eased back on the reins for the gray mare to keep pace alongside the gelding.
Fergus trotted behind the horses on a lead rope, sniffing the air and looking this way and that, apparently enjoying the outing.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Kyle said. “How did you come to be at Ogilvy’s on the night of the raid?”
“That wasn’t by chance,” Macalister said. “I had to sleep out there every night for a week before the raiders finally struck.”
“Those scoundrels usually just reave stock,” Kyle said. “What did Ogilvy do for them to burn him out?”
“He had a run-in with Sweeney’s lads at the market after he sold a good bit of wool earlier in the day. They knew his purse was full, but he refused to pay when they tried to extort money from him. They let him off with a warning, but Guthrie, who was there with him, was not so fortunate. They beat him so badly that he took to his bed for a full week. Otherwise, he would have been out there with us that night.”
“Ogilvy is still at risk, then,” Kyle said. “The English will want to make an example of him to discourage others from standing up to them.”
“Ye are right about that,” Macalister said. “Guthrie’s on his feet now, so he can help if there’s trouble.”
They reached the ford across the River Doon and splashed through shallow water to the village on the other side. They rode between the weathered timber houses to the stone chapel at the end of the dirt lane.
The door to the chapel was propped open. Father Ian was in the doorway sweeping the flagstone floor with a straw broom. When the old priest saw Kyle and Macalister out front, he hastened down the steps to meet them, his lined face beaming with delight. “Come in, the both of ye. Ye must be weary from yer journey.”
Kyle politely declined the invitation. He remained astride the gelding, while Macalister climbed down from his mount with the dog’s lead rope in his hand.
A frown clouded the old priest’s countenance as his eyes settled on Fergus sitting on its haunches behind the horses, panting rhythmically. “Ye can come inside,” he said to Macalister, “but that great beast stays where he is.” He looked from Kyle to the dog and back again. “Are ye on a hunt?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Kyle said. He introduced Macalister to the old priest, after which he explained the reason for their visit.
“I don’t like it at all,” Father Ian said. “Someone’s bound to get hurt.”
“Someone already got hurt,” Kyle said. “I need for you to assemble the villagers as they come in from the field. Keep them here until I return. I won’t be long.”
“Where are ye going?” Father Ian said.
“To fetch Brodie and his daughter,” Kyle said. “I especially want them here this evening. Can I count on you to do as I ask?”
“Oh, aye,” the old priest said in mock annoyance. “Go along with ye, so ye can get back before they start whining about missing their supper on a deputy’s whim.”
Kyle spurred the gelding into a canter. He swiftly covered the distance to Brodie’s holding, only to find Esa home by herself. She told him that her father went to work in the field shortly after his visit there with Upton earlier in the day.
On hearing what Kyle intended to do, she readily complied with his request to retrieve a certain article from the bottom of the cupboard. She climbed up onto the gelding behind him with the item tucked under her arm.
They hurried back to the village, taking a short cut at Esa’s suggestion. They rode into the chapel yard to find the villagers clustered in groups of twos and threes, apparently speculating among themselves as to why the deputy wanted to see them.
Kyle halted the gelding and helped Esa to the ground. He slid from the saddle and draped the reins over the rail. Before he escorted her inside, he paused to confer briefly with Macalister.
Father Ian was in the chapel, humming to himself as he trimmed the smoking wick of the tallow candle beside the altar. When Kyle and Esa came through the doorway, he hurried over to them. To his surprise, Esa pressed a folded garment of gray homespun wool into his veined hands.
“I will ask you to bring this outside in a few minutes,” Kyle said.
“I hope
ye know what ye are doing,” Father Ian said, placing the bundle behind the altar. He offered a short prayer for a successful outcome, after which he accompanied them outside to commence the proceedings.
Dusk was closing in around the village, brought on early by dark clouds scudding across the gray sky. A cool wind sprang up unexpectedly, snatching at long skirts and rustling leaves in trees and bushes.
Kyle stood on the chapel steps, tall and imposing in his leather scale armor. His dark red cloak billowed in the wind as he raised his hands for silence. He waited while the buzz of conversation slowly trailed away.
He scanned the faces of the villagers. Brodie stood among them, with Esa beside him. Ewan and Gib were there, too, their blue eyes wide with excitement. He noted with grim satisfaction the presence of Tullick, Alex, and Will, all three of whom lurked on the fringe of the small crowd.
Brodie’s shaggy brown pony, Reggie, stood beyond those gathered, tied to a tree at the edge of the woods beside a pair of mules dozing with bowed heads. The pony, however, appeared bright of eye and quite alert.
A hush fell over the villagers as Kyle began to speak. “If you will keep your places for the next few minutes,” he said in a loud voice, “you will soon be free to go home.” He turned to Father Ian beside him. “Will you get the item that is in your possession?”
The old priest disappeared into the chapel and emerged a moment later carrying Esa’s bundle in both hands. With a dramatic flourish, he passed it on to Kyle in full sight of everyone present.
Kyle shook out the folds and held up for all to see a gray wool tunic that had been cut open from neckline to hem. “This is what Abigail wore on the day she was murdered,” he said, his voice raised. “The killer’s scent still lingers on the dead girl’s dress.” He beckoned for Macalister to come forward from where he waited with the dog in the shadow of the trees.
On cue, Macalister walked through the midst of the villagers with the huge alaunt padding along at his side on a lead rope. The close proximity of strangers seemed to annoy the dog, as evidenced by the curling lip and the low growl of warning rumbling deep within its chest.
The sight of bared teeth in the dog’s massive jaws set off a round of animated protests from the villagers, who expressed fear for their own safety and that of their families.
Macalister brought the dog to the chapel steps.
Kyle held out the tunic for Fergus to smell. “No harm will come to those innocent of Abigail’s blood,” he said in a forceful tone that sliced through the rising babble of voices. “Stand fast, and let the dog do its job.”
Macalister kept a firm grip on the lead rope as Fergus, with ears pricked and nose to the turf, started to prowl among the villagers. The knowledge that only the guilty were at risk kept most of them from cringing and shrinking away when the dog paused to sniff at their boots or nuzzle the hem of their garment.
Some of the women grew rather anxious when the great beast approached their children, but they relaxed as soon as it snuffled its way along the ground to the next pair of feet.
The premature dusk slowly faded into twilight. In the waning light, Kyle kept an eye on Brodie, who showed a keen interest in each man’s reaction to the dog’s assessment of them. As the number of those left to check dwindled, he noticed that Brodie’s focus shifted to Tullick, who stood among the remaining few.
Some of the villagers, hungry after laboring in the field all day, started to complain that they wanted to go home. Kyle was about to dismiss them when he caught the look of desperation on Tullick’s face as Fergus advanced on him.
Brodie evidently saw it, too, for he slipped around behind Tullick to forestall the possibility of escape on one of the mules a couple of yards away.
Kyle plunged from the chapel steps toward Tullick. The villagers turned to see where he was going, inadvertently getting in his way.
Tullick swung around, poised for flight, only to come face to face with Brodie, who blocked his path.
A dull flush stained Tullick’s bearded features, for by his attempt to flee, he had owned to his murderous act against Abigail.
Brodie’s frowning brow and tightly drawn lips made it clear that he now knew the truth of it.
Tullick panicked. He pulled the dagger from the sheath at his side and cut the air with it, as though to intimidate Brodie into stepping aside.
Brodie stood his ground, his eyes more dangerous than the blade in Tullick’s hand. “Don’t be a fool, lad,” he said, with thinly veiled menace in his voice.
Tullick lashed out with the dagger, intent on stabbing Brodie to get him out of the way.
Brodie leaped back like a scalded cat, colliding by chance with his own pony standing alongside the mules.
Reggie, as ill-tempered and unpredictable as ever, butted Brodie with its head. The forceful, unexpected blow from behind sent the older man stumbling to his knees.
Tullick grasped Brodie’s forearm with one hand and twisted it up his back. He held the blade to the older man’s neck with his other hand.
Kyle, now on the scene, drew his sword and leveled it at Tullick’s chest. “Stand down,” he commanded.
Tullick hauled Brodie to his feet to use the older man’s body as a shield. “Stay back,” he said, his voice shrill with alarm. “Stay back or he dies.”
To prove he meant it, he jabbed the tip of his dagger deeper into Brodie’s straining throat, causing a trickle of blood to leak from the puncture wound. He took a step backward, dragging his reluctant hostage with him.
“Why did ye kill her?” Brodie said, choking out the words due to the awkward angle of his neck.
“She were a whore,” Tullick said, his mouth twisted in anguish. “I only plowed where others went before me.” He forced his hostage back another pace. “I didn’t mean to kill her. I just wanted to punish her for spreading her legs for that Southron.”
A shocked silence fell over the villagers. Even Alex and Will stared at Tullick in disbelief. Although repelled by what they heard, they all nonetheless edged closer so as not to miss a word.
“Throw down, and let him go,” Kyle said. “I’ll see that you get a fair hearing.”
“Fair or not,” Tullick said, “it’s the gallows for me now.”
A streak of lightning forked across the sky. The momentary flash showed the apprehension on Tullick’s face, whereas Brodie appeared to have aged ten years in as many minutes.
Tullick flinched at the loud clap of thunder that followed. He pulled Brodie, unwilling and struggling, back to where the mules were tied.
Now that his freedom was imminent, Tullick blazed into renewed confidence. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten about Reggie.
Chapter 11
The shaggy brown pony struck with the speed of a viper. Its gaping jaws reached for Tullick’s arm, but instead of sinking into flesh, the long yellow teeth clamped down on the baggy sleeve of his loose-fitting tunic.
The assault from the rear took Tullick by surprise. He spun about to confront his adversary, hauling Brodie around with him. He was clearly relieved to see that it was only Reggie, yet when he tried to reclaim his sleeve, the obstinate pony retained an unrelenting grip on the fabric.
That momentary diversion nearly cost Tullick his life, for Kyle lunged at him with his drawn sword. The young man whirled in time to thrust Brodie between himself and the sharp point of the blade.
Kyle pulled back before he pierced Brodie by mistake. He braced his booted feet, ready to spring forward should another opportunity present itself.
Tullick again attempted to jerk his sleeve from Reggie’s teeth, but the stubborn pony hung on with galling tenacity. His frantic gaze swept the half circle of grim faces watching him narrowly, waiting to see what he would do. The deepening twilight washed them all into shades of gray, making the chapel beyond shadowy and indistinct.
Tullick stole a glance at the nearest mule, so close he could reach out and touch its velvety nose. Before he could ride away, he must cut the tether binding the
mule to the tree. If he took his dagger from Brodie’s straining throat for even an instant to sever the rope, the man would turn on him, or else the vigilant deputy would strike him down.
Evidently aware of the hopelessness of his situation, Tullick made a reckless bid for freedom. He gave Brodie a hard shove from behind. Then with a mighty wrench, he liberated his sleeve from the pony’s clenched teeth, not the least concerned that he left half of it behind.
Brodie staggered into Kyle, who lowered his sword to catch the older man as he fell. The villagers, with Esa among them, converged upon them, crowding around to render assistance.
In the confusion, hardly anyone noticed the solitary figure slip into the dusky gloom between the trees, only to vanish in the soft darkness of the forest.
The villagers milled about, chattering excitedly to one another. The waning moon, ringed with a dull halo of light, at last came out from behind slow-moving gray clouds to shed a silvery luminescence upon the chapel yard and those in it.
Kyle let his gaze rove over the villagers in search of Tullick, whom he did not expect to find. Brodie, whom he did expect to see, was nowhere to be found.
Both mules were there, as was the pony, which suggested Tullick fled on foot. Any hope of catching him depended on the chase to commence at once. Because of the prevalence of bogs in the vicinity, only a fool would blunder about the woods after dark without a light.
“I will need as many torches as you can muster to track Tullick down,” he said to a couple of men beside him.
“One torch is all ye need,” the first man said, “and that be for yerself.”
“Aye,” the second man said with a nod. “I know of none who would venture out into the mire at night, even with a torch.”
He understood their trepidation, for the bogs were unforgiving and fed as hungrily on the careless as well as the ignorant. He was about to turn away when he noticed Brodie’s pony wagging its head from side to side, like a dog, with the scrap of cloth still in its mouth. Perhaps there was another way to overtake the felon.
