Highland Storms

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘Archie, can you fetch my horse, please. It seems he’s needed once more.’

  ‘Not so,’ Sherringham put in. ‘You’ll be walking. Prisoners don’t ride.’

  Brice gritted his teeth and took a deep breath to stop himself from saying something he might regret. His hands were swiftly tied in front of him and attached to a long rope held by one of the mounted soldiers. Archie’s eyes opened wide with consternation and he ran over to fling his arms around Brice’s legs. ‘No! Ye cannae dae sic a thing’ tae him! Tak it off,’ he shouted, using Scots instinctively so that the Sassenachs would understand him.

  Brice bent quickly and prised the boy off, whispering in Gaelic, ‘Never mind that now. Go and tell Marsaili what’s happened and make her write to a Mr Rory Grant in Edinburgh immediately. Got that? He’ll know what to do. Rory Grant, understand?’ He added directions to Rory’s lodgings.

  Archie nodded, his eyes filling with tears which he tried to blink away.

  ‘Everything will be all right, you’ll see,’ Brice promised. ‘Just do as I say.’

  ‘I will.’ Archie ran off and disappeared towards the back courtyard.

  Brice turned to Sherringham. ‘Am I not even to see the weapons I’m accused of having hoarded? How do I know you’re not making this up?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll see them soon enough. At your trial.’ Sherringham sniggered and ordered his troop to move forward. Brice felt a tug on the rope that bound him and started walking. He was so angry at the moment, any discomfort was forgotten. Sending Seton one last look which promised dire retribution, he concentrated on thoughts of revenge. They would keep him going for sure.

  Chapter Twenty

  Marsaili was in Brice’s bedroom, placing clean drying sheets next to the large wooden tub which had been brought upstairs by one of the men. When Archie burst in through the door, her heart skipped several beats and she put up a hand to steady it.

  ‘Good Lord, but you made me jump, bantling. What’s wrong?’

  She could see from the boy’s face he was in the grip of strong emotion and his mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to get any words out. He ran over to clutch at her skirts, raising tear-laden eyes to hers.

  ‘It’s the laird … been taken … Redcoats,’ he panted. ‘Said, must write … friend … Edinburgh.’

  ‘Whoa, what? Taken? What on earth for?’

  ‘Weapons … an awful lot of them … hidden.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Marsaili walked over to the window which faced the front of the house and gasped at the sight before her. She could see Brice, his hands bound, being dragged along the road out of the township. The troop of Redcoats weren’t even riding particularly slowly in order to allow him to keep up. He was having to half run so he wouldn’t fall. She clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, ‘Dear God!’

  She turned back to Archie to ask him for further details, when suddenly the heavy door to the master bedroom slammed shut. A grating sound announced that the key had been turned in the lock from the outside and both Marsaili and Archie stared at it for a moment before being galvanised into action.

  ‘No, wait! What is the meaning of this?’ She ran to the door and pounded on it, but she didn’t really need to hear Seton’s laughter from outside to explain what had happened.

  ‘Since the pair of you are so fond of the laird, I thought perhaps you’d like to spend some time in the man’s room,’ Seton called through the thick planks. ‘I can’t risk having you mobilise anyone to help him, so prepare yourselves for a lengthy stay. You should be comfortable enough.’ He chuckled again and Marsaili banged a fist on the door in pure frustration and fury.

  ‘You’ll not get away with this,’ she shouted. ‘When the laird comes back, he’ll see you pay for this.’

  Another chuckle. ‘If he comes back,’ came the reply. ‘I hear English gaols aren’t the best of places to spend half a year. You can catch all manner of diseases, especially when you’re weakened by hunger.’

  ‘You’re despicable!’ Marsaili kicked the door for good measure, but only succeeded in hurting her toes, which made her even angrier.

  ‘Yes, well, I’ll soon have you changing your tune when you’re mistress of Bailliebroch.’

  ‘For the last time, I’d rather die than marry you, you snake!’

  There was no reply to this, however, as Seton’s footsteps receded into the distance. Marsaili sank down onto the floor, with her back against the door, and Archie followed suit. ‘Now what are we to do?’ she muttered.

  ‘I don’t know, but the laird … what’ll happen to him? Was Mr Seton right?’

  ‘Not if I can help it. But first, please tell me exactly what happened.’

  As the boy launched into his tale, Marsaili clenched her fists in her lap and tried not to panic. She didn’t think to question her desperate urge to help Brice. It was the right thing to do, nothing more. The kiss they’d shared was neither here nor there. He’d just been in a good mood, teasing her, and meant nothing by it. It made no difference either way. I’d be as concerned for anyone else, she told herself. But would she?

  She shook her head. Perhaps she did have a partiality for the laird, but she’d never admit it and nothing would come of it. It didn’t change anything though. What had happened was an injustice and she had to extricate him somehow. That meant she had to think of a plan. There had to be some way of freeing Brice, but how?

  Nothing could be done until they themselves had been rescued. And how could they be when no one even knew they were locked in? The master bedroom was in a quiet part of the house. It wasn’t likely anyone would go near it. Could they shout out of the window? Doubtful. It was high up and no one had any business being at the front of the house at the moment.

  But wait, the men bringing hot water? A brief surge of hope coursed through her, but then she realised Seton would probably tell them it was no longer needed. The laird had been led away, he had no use for a bath.

  ‘Damn!’ she muttered. ‘There has to be another way.’

  But as Archie stared at her, eyes big and full of hope, she knew she was grasping at straws. They were well and truly stuck.

  Brice had known he was in for an unpleasant time, but had underestimated the sheer cruelty of Captain Sherringham. The man seemed to revel in his prisoner’s discomfort and made no allowance whatsoever for the fact that Brice had to walk while everyone else was on horseback. The pace, although fairly slow by riding standards, was punishing for someone trying to keep up. This was especially true over the uneven terrain they traversed towards early evening when they turned off the main road.

  Somehow, Brice kept going, however, without uttering a single complaint. He was sure that had he done so, Sherringham would only have urged his men to go faster.

  ‘We’ll be stopping at an old castle ruin where there are a couple of rooms left with roofs,’ Brice heard the captain tell his second in command. ‘I can’t abide the hovels the natives call inns hereabouts. I’d rather take my chances with the elements. At least you don’t get bed bugs or stink of peat smoke for days on end.’

  By the time the ruin in question hove into view, Brice was having to reach for his last reserves of strength. His leg muscles were screaming in protest and his feet ached where his boots were chafing from the long march. As the troop came to a halt, he tried not to show his fatigue and stood with head bent, trying to catch his breath. He had a feeling his trials were far from over.

  ‘Not so cocky now, are you, laird,’ Sherringham sneered. Brice looked up to find the captain standing right in front of him, fixing him with eyes full of disdain. As before, Brice drew himself up to his full height, thereby forcing the Englishman to look up to him. This made Sherringham’s eyebrows come down in a fierce scowl. ‘Think you’re better than us, do you?’ he asked. ‘Well, think again. You’re just another damned rebel and I’m going to show you exactly how we treat scum like you.’ He turned to a group of his men who had been watching the exchange w
ith avid eyes. ‘Men, teach the prisoner a lesson, then put him in the pit.’

  Brice drew in a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what was to come. He didn’t have long to wait. Some of the soldiers began to take turns to hit him, as if they were practising their punching techniques. Although he was able to block some blows, his bound hands prevented him from retaliating. He noticed it was only a few of the men who put any effort into it though and some hung back altogether as much as they could. At least there are a few decent ones among them then, he thought, but it was always thus. Soldiers were told what to do, but not all of them were as bloodthirsty and full of hatred as Sherringham.

  A couple of his henchmen seemed to be of his ilk, however, and they took pleasure in doing their worst, which was bad enough. Whenever Brice was pushed to the ground, he had trouble scrambling to his feet. Each time he was knocked over, kicks rained down on him until he felt as if his insides were on fire. It was the worst beating he’d ever received in his life, since normally he’d at least be fighting back.

  ‘Cowards,’ he hissed. ‘Untie my hands and we’ll see if you’re as brave.’ But the soldiers ignored his goading and the few who were enjoying this sport continued until he lay still on the ground, curled up, just waiting for them to finish. The only thing that sustained him through the ordeal was the fury burning inside him at such injustice. He hadn’t expected any favours along the road, but this went way beyond what was normal. These men were animals, their captain most of all.

  ‘That’s enough, surely?’ Brice heard someone say and the blows ceased.

  He felt hands lifting him by the arms and dragging him into the castle ruin. Daylight was fading fast, but he could see a hole in the floor of the room he was dragged into and knew immediately what it was. An old oubliette.

  No sooner had the word passed through his mind than he was shoved into the black pit, hurtling through space for longer than was comfortable. He tried to brace himself, but landed awkwardly with one foot slightly twisted, wrenching the ankle.

  ‘Hell and damnation!’ he swore.

  Luckily, the bottom of the pit was fairly soft with a layer of mud and leaves which had no doubt blown in through the broken castle walls. Brice thanked God for this small mercy as it meant he hadn’t broken his leg at least, which would have been a real possibility had the bottom been made up of stones. He pulled himself upright and for a while he leaned on the stone wall while he tried to block out the pain that assailed him from every part of his body.

  From deep inside, he dredged up the last remains of his rage and gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to put up with this a moment longer. He had to escape.

  But how?

  Marsaili tried not to let despair engulf her. It slowed her thought processes and she knew she needed all her wits if she was to come up with a plan.

  ‘I wish there was something we could do or another way out,’ Archie muttered, his dark eyes huge with misery and dejection. ‘Perhaps I can climb out the window? If we tie the sheets together, you could lower me down, maybe?’

  But Marsaili hadn’t heard his question. Her mind grasped onto his first sentence and she turned to him with hope surging through her. ‘That’s it! I’ll bet you anything there is.’

  ‘Is what?’ Archie frowned.

  ‘Another way out. A secret one.’

  Archie’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. ‘Like in the stories Auntie Greine tells sometimes, you mean? Ghostly passages?’

  Marsaili smiled for the first time since they’d been locked in. ‘No ghosts, I hope, but passages, yes.’ She jumped to her feet and held out a hand to pull Archie up. ‘Come, help me look for it. This is the master bedroom, the laird would be bound to want a way out in times of trouble.’

  She walked over to the nearest panelled wall and began to feel her way along, tapping every so often with her fingers to check for any sounds of hollow spaces. Archie watched her with a dubious expression at first, but soon copied her. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

  Marsaili nodded. ‘I’d bet my last merk on it.’ She glanced towards the door. ‘But if you hear anyone approaching, stop at once. We don’t want anyone to know what we’re doing.’

  It took them a while, but in the end their efforts were rewarded. Archie called her over to the far corner, next to the thick outer wall of the house, and pointed. ‘It’s maybe hollow here. Listen.’ He knocked softly on that part of the panelling, then at another to show the difference.

  ‘You’re right.’ Marsaili beamed at him. ‘Now all we have to do is find the catch.’

  It proved to be inside a small hole near the floor, which looked as though a mouse had made it. When Marsaili wriggled a finger inside, she encountered a catch which sprang loose, allowing the panelling to swing outwards. Stale air whooshed out, making dust motes dance in the light from the window. Behind the secret door was a narrow staircase leading down.

  ‘Yes!’ She turned to grab Archie by the hand, then thought of something else. ‘Wait. We need to make sure no one finds out we’ve gone, at least for a while. Come, help me push something heavy in front of the door.’

  There was a large, ornately carved chest at the foot of the huge four poster bed. Together they managed to alternately push and drag it over to the door, wedging it against the side of a small fireplace that was nearby. ‘There, that should stop anyone from coming in.’ Marsaili dusted herself down. ‘Let’s get out of here now, quickly.’

  Archie needed no second bidding, but followed her into the secret passage. They pulled the door closed behind them and stood for a moment to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness. ‘It’s not as bad as I thought,’ Marsaili whispered. ‘There’s some light coming in.’ Even so, they had to feel their way along carefully, so as not to go tumbling down the rough steps, and it took them quite a while to reach a small door at the bottom.

  ‘Archie, you must swear never to tell anyone about this, anyone at all, do you understand? I only found out by accident and the laird wants it to stay a secret.’

  ‘Don’t fash, I’ll not say a word.’

  They listened carefully before opening the door, but it proved to be behind a large bush at the side of the house and they crouched underneath its branches while making sure no one was about.

  ‘Are you going to send that letter now?’ Archie asked in a hushed whisper.

  ‘No, there’s no time to lose. I’m going after the laird myself.’

  ‘What? Are you sure? He said to write.’

  ‘Yes, but who could we trust to take a letter to Edinburgh? Seton will be watching everyone. I’ll tell you what though – if I’m not back in two days, you ask Kirsty to write to Mr Grant. The laird will need a lawyer to defend him in court if I can’t free him, do you understand? Maybe I will too.’ It was a lowering thought, but she refused to consider failure already.

  ‘Aye.’ Archie still looked doubtful, but Marsaili didn’t give the boy time to think about it any more.

  ‘I’ll need Liath, a couple of garrons and some food and blankets,’ she told him. ‘If I go straight to the stables, do you think you could make it to the kitchen unseen and tell your aunt what’s happening? She’ll give you what I need, but Seton mustn’t catch you.’

  ‘I can do that. He never pays any mind to us children anyway, so I doubt he’d notice me unless he was looking for me. He thinks I’m upstairs.’

  ‘Very well, but be careful. I’ll go and saddle the ponies and I’ll meet you in the stables. If anyone comes, I’ll hide in the hay loft.’

  Their luck held and Archie soon came tip-toeing into the stables with Liath in tow. The dog was pleased to see her, as always, but seemed to understand the need for silence instinctively. ‘Found him in the kitchen,’ Archie whispered.

  ‘Excellent, thank you.’ Marsaili took the items he’d brought and stuffed the food into a saddle bag. ‘I’m not taking the laird’s horse, he’s too fierce for me.’

  ‘Not him, Starke’s like a lamb, not crabbit at all.
’

  ‘Be that as it may, he’d be no use on Highland mountain paths and if I manage to rescue the laird, that’s how we’ll be travelling.’ She rolled up the blankets and tied them to the back of the saddles. Archie had also brought a plain grey arisaid, the large woollen outer garment worn by Highland women. It was really nothing more than a very large blanket and could be used as such if necessary. Marsaili put it on by pleating about two thirds of it round her waist and fixing it in place with a belt, leaving a gap at the front. The left-over piece, she pulled up behind her and round her shoulders, fastening it with a crude pin. It would keep out the cold and if it rained she could pull it up over her head. ‘Now can you make yourself scarce, Archie? I don’t want Seton to catch you or even see you until I’m long gone.’

  ‘I’ll go back to Auntie Greine. She said as how I could sit in the larder.’ He hesitated. ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t just go straight to Edinburgh yourself? Mr Seton wouldn’t know.’

  Marsaili shook her head. ‘No, I have a feeling we’d never reach the laird in time. And I just know something awful would happen to him. You saw that captain, he was enjoying himself. There’s no saying what he’ll do to Br … the laird.’

  Archie nodded slowly. ‘Aye, well good luck!’

  ‘Thank you, Archie.’

  As she led the ponies out of the entrance towards the loch, Marsaili prayed no one would see her and tell Seton. She doubted many people were on his side, but she didn’t want to take any risks. This was too important.

  They made it into the small copse where the trees hid them from view. Here Marsaili found a fallen log to stand on in order to clamber onto one of the ponies, then gripped the reins tight. She wasn’t used to riding much, but was sure she could manage. I have to! Out of her pocket she took a neckcloth she had grabbed on her way out of Brice’s room. She hoped it smelled of him, even though it hadn’t been worn for a few days. Holding it out to Liath, she bent down to whisper, ‘Find him, Liath. Seek. Please, find him.’ She knew he could do it. It was a game she’d played a lot with him when he was a puppy and which he’d always enjoyed. Liath’s ears pricked up and his mouth opened as if in a grin, then he set off without hesitation.