“You got my warning?” Oliver asked in a low voice once they had been served their beers.
Matthew nodded. Always a bit too late, these warnings, for him to save any but himself, and the execution witnessed today was the fall out of a massive attack on a conventicle around Whitsun.
Fortunately, most of the participants had escaped into the waterlogged moss, but the preacher had been cornered, defended by the man who had died with him. He waited; if Oliver were to warn him of attending the conventicle planned for tomorrow then he had the final proof he needed. Three different dates to three different people, Sandy and Matthew had decided, and depending on what Matthew heard back they’d know who it was that was feeding the authorities far too much and far too accurate information.
“Did you enjoy it?” Matthew asked, throwing his head in the direction of the gallows where the bodies still hung, revolving on their ropes. “The fifth preacher to hang in as many weeks. You must be building up quite the reputation with the powers that be.” Oliver flushed, the damaged side of his face shading into a dark plum.
“They were condemned in due course, I couldn’t very well intercede at the trials.”
“Nay, of course not; in principle, you can do nothing once you’ve apprehended them, so the easy solution to your moral dilemma would be not to apprehend any.” He regarded Oliver quizzically. “You said that at heart you were still the same lad I once knew and loved, a lad with ideals and convictions. I must say you hide it well.”
“My hands are tied,” Oliver retorted with an edge.
“Oh, aye, I imagine they are. By the army or by my brother?”
Oliver went a deathly white. “Your brother?” he said, eyes darting all over the place.
“Aye, Luke Graham. You know him, don’t you?”
“Is Luke Graham your brother?” Oliver widened his eyes to the point of looking inane. “I would never have made the connection. You’re very different from each other.”
“Thank you, I take that as a compliment.”
He wanted to sink his fist into Oliver’s face, but that would end with him being carted off somewhere and he wasn’t going to do anything that would place him at the mercy of this man. Instead he changed the subject, wondering if there had been any further development in the Dutch war, laughing silently when Oliver’s face clouded. The Medway debacle was a raw wound, only weeks in the past, and to have the proud battleship HMS Royal Charles towed back to the Netherlands by the Dutch Navy rankled in the English minds.
“I’d stay home tomorrow,” Oliver said in passing as they made their farewells. “Preferably with a reliable witness or two.”
“Reliable?” Matthew twisted his mouth. “And that would, per definition, not be a Scot.”
Oliver shrugged. “Just stay home.”
He bowed and turned into the alley leading back to his quarters. Matthew watched him until he disappeared out of sight. Well, he had his answer; Tom Brown. Sandy wasn’t going to like it, not one bit. Nor would the soldiers, riding all that way on the morrow only to find there was no meeting. He whistled softly to himself as he made his way back to the stables.
“Tom Brown? Are you sure?” Alex sounded disbelieving.
“Aye.” He increased the pressure of his legs around Ham’s flanks, making the stallion break out in a jarring trot.
“Ouuf,” Alex protested. “This is very uncomfortable.”
Matthew urged the horse into a canter instead, and for some minutes they submerged themselves in the primitive joy of speed, Alex whooping like a bairn as the road disappeared beneath them in huge bounds.
“What will happen to Tom and his wife?” Alex asked once they were back to a sedate walk.
“I don’t know. But we’ll have it out with them tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? And must you take part? It could be dangerous.”
“I must,” he said. “As to dangerous, I think not. The soldiers will be elsewhere.” But he wasn’t looking forward to it, condemning one of their own for treason.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” she asked.
“Nay, which is why Ian has spent all day watching the comings and goings at the Brown farm.”
“Ian?” Alex’ voice soared into a treble. “But he’s a boy!”
Matthew shrugged. “He is nigh on thirteen, Alex, more a man than a lad.” And capable, as he had proved already back in October when Ian helped save him. He stretched with pride.
They rode in comfortable silence for the last miles, with Ham ambling along more or less on his own. The spare line of trees that bordered the road seemed to pant in the heat, leaves hanging stiff with dust. Matthew threw an irritated look at the clear sky; a soft, long summer rain, that was what his crops needed, and mayhap it would clear the heavy air somewhat.
“Every time I come back home I look for her,” Alex said as Ham walked down the last slope. “I see Mark, Jacob, little Daniel and there’s a gap, and I always look, but she’s never there.”
“Aye, I do too. And every time I get close to the pig pen I expect to see her there.”
“What was it with her and pigs?” Alex laughed into his back. “From the moment she could walk it was the pigs. Especially the sow.”
“Kindred souls?” Matthew suggested, laughing as well. “Pigs are intelligent creatures, and mayhap Rachel felt conversing them was somewhat more fulfilling than attempting a discussion with her brothers.”
“Matthew!” Alex slapped his arm. “It makes our boys sound like imbeciles.”
“Sandy will be coming by late tonight,” Matthew said as he helped her off the horse. “He’ll be walking in along the river. Do you want to come with me to meet with him?”
“Is it safe?”
Matthew gave her an exasperated look. “Safe enough that I ask my pregnant wife along.”
“Well then I suppose the answer is yes.” She took his hand and placed it against her middle. “I bet you it’s a boy.”
Matthew wouldn’t have it. “A lass, and so far I have been right each time.”
“Huh; fifty-fifty chance.” But he could see she hoped he was right this time as well.
Her hand in his was slippery with nerves when they made their way through the dusky summer night. She was barefoot, as was he and they splashed into the shallows and waded in silence, with Alex waving her free hand at the night bugs that fluttered around her face.
Bats swooped down in silent arcs, cutting just in front of them, and from behind them came the distant sound of a neighing horse, making Alex flinch. Matthew steadied her and brought her to a stop. There was a largish flat stone to the side and it took some time for Alex to make out that the dark shape on top of it was Sandy, not another stone.
Sandy greeted them in a low voice, and for the coming half-hour they sat and talked, their voices inaudible to anyone not standing beside them.
Ian had come back just before they set off, to eat and report, and was already making his way back to his stake out. From what Alex could gather, his news had been unwelcome. There had been a number of sightings of soldiers during the day, soldiers that had dropped in two by two and simply not ridden off. According to Ian’s calculations at least a dozen soldiers were hidden in the outhouses of the Brown farm, and Sandy and Matthew agreed that it was an elegantly sprung trap. From that first written warning to Matthew, to the repeated verbal warnings over the last few months, the intention had been to make Matthew and Sandy identify the traitor – and come after him.
“Like bait.” Sandy mimed a mouse trap clapping shut.
“But that would mean they know tomorrow’s meeting is a hoax.” Alex said.
“Not necessarily,” Sandy said. “But they know Matthew isn’t a fool, and this is the sixth – no, seventh – time that intelligence has been leaked that has been known to a limited few, of which Brown is one.”
“So what will you do?” Alex asked.
Sandy and Matthew looked at each other. “Nothing,” they chorused.
“At least not
tomorrow,” Sandy said. “It’s their son; one of the Brown boys was captured at that conventicle last August – the one where we were nearly caught. The lad was brought home to his stunned parents, thrown hog tied in front of a dragoon, and now he’s kept alive only as long as his parents cooperate.”
“They won’t let him live anyway,” Matthew said, sending a pebble to land with a dull splash in the water.
“Nay of course not. He stabbed a soldier, the wee daftie. But for now they hope, aye? Major Wyndham is good at spinning a tale of potential salvation.”
“How do you know all this?” Alex asked.
Sandy tapped his nose. “One piece here, the other piece there.”
Sandy and Matthew moved on to talk of other things while she leaned back on her arms, thinking that this would make quite a nice spot for a daytime picnic, secluded and shaded as it was. Very secluded, she thought, throwing a look up the slope. Something snagged her eye. She squinted, trying to focus. There; a flash of white in all the gloom and it was moving towards them.
There was a series of sharp cracks from further up the slope, something came crashing through the vegetation. Horses! Soldiers, oh my God, several soldiers. Matthew and Sandy acted so fast that Alex’ vision blurred, and by the time the three horses splashed into the water around them all that was to be seen was Alex and Matthew, intimately entwined. Alex shrieked and pushed at Matthew, smoothing down skirts and retying her shift over her bared breasts. The lieutenant looked from one to the other, small eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.
“What are you doing here?”
“I would think that was pretty obvious,” Alex said, “and we were having a lovely time, thank you very much, until you decided to scare us senseless.”
The officer raised his brows. Well; he did have a point. Who in their right mind would make love on a cold stone surrounded by a cloud of midgets?
“Where is he?” The lieutenant asked, riding his horse as close to the flat stone as he could.
“Who?” Matthew did his best innocent look, eyes very round.
“That damned Peden! One of my men saw him crossing the moss towards your place.”
Matthew made a big show of scanning the rock and the surrounding shrubs.
“Not here. Personally I prefer not to have a minister close by when I’m swiving my wife.”
One of the mounted men snickered, making the lieutenant glare at him before turning back to Matthew.
“One day…” he hissed, spitting with precision at Matthew’s feet. He rose in his stirrups, staring at the undergrowth. With a curse he spurred his horse up the steep bank and disappeared. A couple of minutes later his men had dropped out of sight and Alex unclenched her hands from her skirt.
Sandy reappeared so abruptly that Alex gasped. She raised her eyes to the tree that hung above them.
“You’re some kind of monkey?”
“Aye,” Sandy grinned.
Alex looked from him to Matthew, seeing the exhilaration of one mirrored in the other and was blindingly angry with both for finding anything amusing in a situation that could have ended in a catastrophe. She backed away, plunged into the water and began to run.
“Alex,” Matthew was beside her in an instant, his arm around her waist. “Hush, lass, it went alright.”
“But it could have gone awfully wrong,” she said.
Matthew drew them both to a stop. “Nay it couldn’t, I told you; I don’t take risks. The slope is littered with dry branches and twigs, Sandy can scale that tree in his sleep, and if it came to the worst I would’ve killed them.”
“All three?” Armed men on horses? Terrible odds.
“All three,” Matthew said, and something in his voice made her shiver
Chapter 31
Ian was pale when he showed up for breakfast next morning. Over a bowl of porridge he explained that as far as he could make out there were still several soldiers on Brown’s farm. Matthew nodded, drummed his fingers against the table and turned to face Alex.
“Will you come with me to Cumnock?”
“Cumnock? Again?” She had no desire whatsoever to spend a whole day riding back and forth to a somnolent Sunday town, and anyway, what would they do there? It wasn’t as if Matthew intended to attend services at the Anglican Church, was it?
“Witnesses,” Matthew said in a low voice. “I have no intention of being set up on account of having no one to vouch for my whereabouts.”
She didn’t understand. How witnesses? “But you’re here, at home…” With me, she almost added, until she recalled that her testimony would carry no weight whatsoever in the here and now, she being nothing but an extension of her husband.
“… and the Brown farm is just down the road.” He sighed at her continued incomprehension. “Ride with me aye?” He threw a look out of the window and back at her. “It’s a beautiful day. We can pretend.”
“And the children?” Alex smoothed Jacob’s hair back from his brow and kissed him on the pale skin under his fringe.
“They’ll be fine. Sarah will look out for them.”
Half an hour later they were on their way, Alex seated in front of him.
“Why?” Alex asked, leaning back against his chest. The sun was uncomfortably warm on her skin, even through her clothes, and she was swept with longing for a pool side vacation with the smell of sun lotion in the air. Yeah; right. Still, she could take a swim. Once they got back she was going to go for a long, private soak in the eddy pool, no children allowed.
“This wee scheme of theirs has been a long time in the making. Oliver will be most upset when it doesn’t work, and God alone knows what he’ll do then. And if something happens at the Brown farm, I don’t want to be close,” Matthew said.
Alex thought about that for a long time. “Do you think something will?” At his continued silence she craned her head back. He was looking tired, worn around the eyes, his long mouth set into a straight gash.
“Aye, along the lines of masked men entering and killing an unsuspecting Mr Brown, and when the soldiers give chase what do they find but that the tracks lead back to Hillview and there I am, a sitting duck for their accusations.”
What? She sat up straight. “Kill him?” She liked Tom Brown, could only imagine what anguish he was going through as he was forced to betray his friends to keep his son alive.
“Och aye; he’s expendable.” He sounded sad – very sad.
“But… no! Besides, murder is a hanging offence, and that would mean that Hillview would still remain with Mark, which Luke doesn’t want.” She nodded, comforted by her own logic.
“Aye, but what’s to stop them from hanging and fining me?”
“Jesus in heaven!” Alex almost fell off the horse, so upset did this make her.
Matthew slowed the horse well before the crossroad oak. The large oak drooped in the heat, and just to the right was the branch from which he had hanged Gower. He shivered, a quick prayer for forgiveness flashing through his brain – mostly for not feeling any remorse.
In his arms Alex tensed, no doubt as affected as she always was by this particular crossroads – the place where she had nearly been dragged back to her time, all those years ago. A long, guttural howl rose into the air. Ham neighed, Alex clutched at his arm.
“What was that?” Alex said.
Matthew held in his horse, reluctant to go on. Ham snorted, small ears pricked into alertness. There was something lying on the further side of the tree, half in, half out of the oak’s spreading shade. Matthew took in splayed, stiff legs, the glint of metal under the hooves.
“A horse. Dead it would seem,” he said. Yet another howl cut through the air, a wordless plea for help.
“Or in pain,” Alex suggested.
“That’s no horse,” Matthew said. “That’s a man.”
He’d been right; it was a dead horse, and pinned below it was its rider, arms pushing futilely against the ton of horseflesh that was squeezing the life out of him. They dismounted. Matthew
frowned down at one booted leg, following what little he could see of the man until he found his face. Two dark eyes met his, eyes so wide he could see the bloodshot whites that surrounded the irises.
“It’s Captain Howard,” Alex said.
Matthew nodded. He’d recognised the officer immediately, although this terrified man had very little in common with the normally so controlled captain. Well, with the exception of last time he had seen him.
“We have to help him.” Alex put a hand on Matthew’s forearm.
Aye, not much choice, was there? Not that he wanted to, the man could well die here, under his horse – a divine retribution for wee Rachel.
“Matthew!”
He sighed. “You’ll have to help, I can’t pull him free on my own.”
Once they’d succeeded in pulling him from under the horse, Matthew propped the captain up against the gnarled trunk of the oak. Howard was so pale Matthew could see the fine blue veins that ran just below the skin at his temple.
“One broken collarbone, one mangled leg and I think you’ve fractured your wrist,” Alex concluded after her examination. She bent his hand, he yelped. “Just checking. So, what happened?”
The captain shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. Nestor…” He broke off to look at the dead horse. “He became skittish as we approached the crossroads. Somewhat temperamental, Nestor is – was. Mayhap it was a wasp – or a viper.”
“A viper?” Matthew laughed, shaking his head.
“No, probably not,” the captain said. “But one moment we’re trotting along, the next he’s bucking and heaving, impossible to control, and then he took one giant leap, stumbled and fell, thereby breaking his neck, I’d hazard. And there was I, trapped beneath him.” He rubbed at his face. “I’d have died if you hadn’t come along.”
“I know; terrible, isn’t it, to owe your life to your purported enemies,” Alex muttered and the captain went a dusky red.
Soon they were well on their way from the crossroad, with Matthew and Alex walking beside Ham while the captain sat the horse. No way was she sharing the horse with him, Alex had told Matthew when he suggested she might ride as well – not unless she broke both her legs.
The Prodigal Son Page 29
