“With one I’d drag myself along rather than sit that close to him,” she’d said, making Matthew chuckle.
The captain looked down at them and frowned. “It’s Sunday.”
“Aye.”
“But…” the captain’s frown intensified. “You’re supposed to be attending a conventicle.”
“A conventicle?” Matthew shook his head. “Such things are illegal, are they not?”
A small bubble of laughter escaped from Alex’ lips. After a few moments, the captain joined in.
“You should perhaps wash a bit before we get to town,” Alex suggested, looking the captain up and down. He was sitting beside her on the verge, while some yards further away Matthew had disappeared behind a stand of shrubs to relieve himself.
“It won’t make that much of a difference, will it?” he said, looking at his torn and dishevelled garments.
She hitched her shoulders: it wasn’t really any of her business.
“Is it fun?” she asked. “You know, hunting Covenanters?”
He flushed. “They‘re in breach of the law.”
“They are simple, good people that believe in God, just like you do.”
“They?” Captain Howard looked at her with interest. “Aren’t you one of them?”
Alex looked away. “My mother was a Catholic, and I dare say that some of the Presbyterian ministers I’ve met are very worried about my lack of commitment to their faith. Sometimes it makes things difficult – especially for him.” She smiled in the direction of her husband. “He didn’t much like it when I told his sister that reasonably God was Catholic rather than Presbyterian – given the overwhelming amount of Catholics.”
Captain Howard stared at her. “Do you believe He is?”
Alex yanked loose a tuft of grass and pursed her mouth. “No. I don’t think He cares one way or the other – He judges on actions not on denomination.” She stood up and wiped her hands down her skirts. “I believe God is fair; not always kind but at least fair.” She placed both hands on her stomach. “A kind God wouldn’t have taken Rachel.”
Captain Howard looked as if he wanted a geyser to open then and there, the heat evaporating him to smoke.
“Holy Mother of God,” he groaned. “I swear I didn’t mean to.”
“I know you didn’t, and I’ve forgotten to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“You sent us the one person he needed.” She inclined her head in the direction of Matthew.
“Oh, that,” he muttered. “It was the least I could do.”
It was noon by the time they reached the garrison buildings.
“Is the major in?” Matthew asked, supporting the captain to the door.
“The major?” The captain shrugged. “I think not. He insisted on commanding today’s raid on the Covenanters.” He gave Matthew a shrewd look. “I dare say he’ll be most disappointed at not finding you there – he had hoped to.” He bowed and limped off.
“I can imagine,” Alex said in an undertone to Matthew. “Who knows, maybe he’ll be so frustrated he bursts a gut.”
Major Wyndham was furious, stalking back and forth in the cramped, dark kitchen of the Brown’s farmhouse. House? This was no house, this was a hovel, and the woman’s silent weeping was making him itch. Damn! So elegantly planned, so beautifully baited and still Graham managed to evade his little trap. He’d counted on him being here, administering justice to the informants, and instead… He crashed his fist into a door and cursed.
A rivulet of sweat trickled down his back and he wasn’t sure if it was the heat or fear that had him transpiring like a pig. Luke Graham had been very threatening in his last letter, and with every day Oliver saw the advent of a most unappetising future, a future in which destitution and dishonour figured to a very large degree. He looked out of the window and back at the silent Brown couple. Well, he thought, what was it the infidels used to say? If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed must come to the mountain. And he was doing this for his son, a small boy of five. He closed his mind to the voice of conscience reminding him that Matthew had children too, pulled his sword and turned to the fear-stricken Browns.
An hour later, Oliver Wyndham held in his horse at the top of the lane leading to Hillview. The coming half-hour was going to be most unpleasant and he hoped Mrs Graham wouldn’t be too difficult to handle while Matthew was fettered, but if it came to that, he supposed a slap or two would calm her down.
The farm looked somnolent in the warm Sunday afternoon, with cows and horses grazing in the water meadows, hens scratching at the ground in the hen coop and one ancient dog stretched out in the shade of the privy. The dog lumbered to its feet, head lowered, and barked. A peaceful slice of the world, but a slice about to explode into so many shards it would never be put back together again.
“Ride on.” Oliver spurred his horse and rode hard down the lane, hatless, coatless, and with his sword drawn. There was a scream, several screams. A young woman rushed for the kitchen, carrying a child while dragging another behind her. A man as crooked and bent as Methuselah appeared from behind the stables, two more men were down in the meadows, but nowhere did he see Graham’s distinctive height.
“Matthew Graham?” Oliver barked, holding in his horse in front of the only humans still in the yard – two boys standing hand in hand. He frowned down at the elder of them. Hadn’t he seen him before?
“My uncle isn’t at home,” the lad said. “He is off to Cumnock, with my aunt.”
“Your uncle?” Oliver had problems keeping his mare under control. How had Matthew seen this coming? He should have been at home, and then he would’ve dragged him off, the evidence being found where needed. And now… Oh, Lord! What had he done?
“Aye, Matthew Graham is my uncle. I’m Luke Graham’s son, and we’ve met before.” The lad looked guilelessly at Oliver, but deep inside those hazel eyes Oliver saw a small flicker of contemptuous amusement. He was washed by a wave of anger that this boy should stand in front of him and smirk, when it was his father that was ultimately the cause of all this mess.
He tightened his hold on his sword, but behind him he heard a hissed “Sir!” and knew that while his men might turn a blind eye on the killing of two informers, they would not countenance him killing children – especially not here, where one child had already died due to the crown.
“Search the place,” he said instead. “Turn the whole farm upside down. We saw, did we not, how the murderers ran off in this direction?” His men muttered an unenthusiastic agreement but dismounted all the same. Oliver raised a shaking hand to his face, wiping at sweat and blood before dropping off his horse. Think! he urged. For God’s sake, think Oliver. And he was, thinking so hard his brain was overheating, but in whatever direction he turned he saw a closed door, and in his mind the space in which he stood was shrinking rapidly into something that looked uncomfortably like a hangman’s noose.
He made as if to enter the house, but the elder lad blocked his way.
“Not you sir,” he said. “I won’t let you enter.” Oliver lifted his hand to shove the boy aside and suddenly the other boy stood there as well.
“Not you,” the younger one said. Two pairs of eyes, startlingly similar, stared into his, and Oliver backed away. Damnation! He was surrounded by Matthew Graham lookalikes, bright hazel eyes swimming in his head wherever he looked.
He sat down on the ground and pulled off his riding gloves. There was a soft exclamation from the younger boy and Oliver looked down at his hand, still bloodied, despite the quick wash. He closed his fist. One hour ago he had been many things, foremost among them unprincipled and in debt. Now it all paled into insignificance; he had murdered. He had killed before – often even – but in the heat of battle, not with intent in a dark, squalid kitchen. For my son, he reminded himself furiously, I’m doing this for my little Francis.
“Nothing sir.” The shadow of one of the dragoons fell over Oliver.
“Well then we must ke
ep on looking. And we must make haste towards Cumnock, lest Graham be attempting to create an alibi for himself.” He rose, inflated with a new bout of self-confidence. Let him find Graham and the rest would sort itself. Yes, of course it would.
Chapter 32
Alex was helping Matthew saddle up Ham for the ride home when Wyndham rode into the market square, boots and breeches covered with road dust. Behind him came a dozen or so dragoons, as grimy as Wyndham was. Matthew muttered an expletive, pulled his sword free and placed Alex behind him.
“Finally!” Oliver dismounted and advanced upon Matthew, stopping only when he saw the glint of light on the uncovered blade. Wyndham shook his head.
“Attempting to resist arrest, Matthew?” The man was grinning, eyeing Matthew as if he were a coveted trophy. Not reciprocated, with Matthew’s face acquiring a belligerent set to his jaw that had Alex decide it was best to take a firm grip of his coat. Oliver took another step and Matthew’s sword flashed in warning.
“What are you waiting for?” Oliver beckoned at his men. “Take this man!” Four dragoons slid off their winded mounts and advanced towards Matthew, who backed away.
“Arrest me for what?” he said in a loud voice. “What is it you want to pin on me this time?”
“Pin on you? No, no Graham, this time we’re talking murder.”
“Murder?” Matthew licked his lips. “Murder of whom?”
“The Browns,” Oliver said, “around noon, and we saw you as you left the farm running.”
“Oh, no,” Alex moaned.
“Did you?” Matthew said. “Well that’s mighty strange. I was here at noon, and a number of people can vouch for that.” He retreated, eyes flying from one dragoon to the other, always ensuring he was between Alex and the advancing men.
“I saw you there, and I’m sure more weight will be given to my sworn testimony than to the word of the odd apprentice.” Wyndham made a peremptory motion with his hand. “Go on, seize him.”
Four, no six, soldiers closed in on them.
“Get away, lass,” Matthew said.
“No way, I can’t leave you to … Ah!” A sword whizzed by her ear, she leapt back, stumbled and fell. Up; get up.
Strange how many inconsequential things one noticed in situations like these. One of the dragoons had a yawning gap between sole and upper leathers, Matthew had to change his stockings and why was there a fishing hook protruding from the lining of his coat? Matthew slipped on the cobbles, slid like a skateboarder for a yard or two. He was fighting on all sides, his sword dancing through the air, but he was hemmed in by the wall behind him, by the horse on his other side, and by her, still on her knees beside him. One of the dragoons gave her a shove, threw himself forward and Matthew disappeared from her sight.
“Matthew!” She screamed, because she couldn’t see him, could only hear him, and to the side stood the smirking major. Arsehole; this was all his fault. Alex bunched her skirts up and kicked the closest dragoon. With a yelp the man fell, crashing into Matthew, who staggered back, slamming into Ham, who neighed and half reared. Shit! But Matthew was still on his feet, and the dragoon sure as hell wasn’t. Right; onwards and upwards. She prepared for yet another kick. Arms grabbed her from behind, arresting her halfway through the movement.
“Hold still,” the major said in her ear. You wish. Alex stamped down hard on his foot, stuck a hand in his crotch and squeezed until he squealed like a pig. She wrenched herself free from the gasping officer and launched herself into the fight.
“Alex!”
What? Where? Oh God, he was down; one of the dragoons was sitting on him, and here came another. She didn’t stop to think; she rose on her toes, wheeled and crashed her foot into the breastplate. Holy Matilda, that hurt! But it stopped the poor man in his tracks, his face going bright red as he tried to breathe. His companions fell back, she grabbed the soldier sitting on Matthew by the hair and pulled. Sometimes girlie fighting is by far the best. The man yowled like a cat in heat and tried to prise off her fingers. With a grunt Matthew was back on his feet. A scratch on his cheek, blood on his arm, but all in all he seemed unharmed. He crouched, snarling. Here came the soldiers again, and now there were eight, and the look in their eyes made Alex want to break and run.
“Stop!” Despite his limp, Captain Howard covered ground quickly. Alex had never been so glad to see anyone in her whole life. “What in God’s name are you doing, sir?” he asked his major, sounding extremely disapproving. The soldiers halted, looking from the captain to the major.
“Mind your own business, captain,” Wyndham wheezed, clutching at his privates. “Get out of the way lest he stab you in the back. This is a desperate criminal, a coldblooded killer just come from the slaughter of two innocents in their home.”
The captain looked him up and down in silence, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
“You have the wrong man, sir,” he said in a ringing voice.
More and more spectators had drifted over in their direction, a loose circle of men following the proceedings with interest. Far too many were gawking at her and Alex shifted on her feet, adjusted her clothing, her hair, her lace cap, not at all enjoying being the centre of attention. Beside her Matthew drew in a long, ragged breath, lowering his sword arm to hang by his side.
“Move, captain,” Oliver said, “move or regret it. That’s an order.”
“I can vouch for Matthew Graham’s whereabouts all day. You, on the other hand, rode out very early, major, did you not? Just after dawn, if my recollection serves me right.” Captain Howard let his eyes sweep the silent dragoons. “Murder is always murder and soldiers hang for that just like anybody else.”
A loud murmur of approval rose from the collected townspeople.
“It wasn’t us,” one of the dragoons said, backing away. “It was him, the major; we were but following orders.”
His companions muttered their agreement, and one by one the dragoons distanced themselves from Wyndham, leaving him to stand alone. Alex needed a stiff drink – or a chocolate bar. Given that neither materialised she snuck her hand into Matthew’s. His fingers closed round hers.
“Me?” Wyndham blustered. “I’ve done no such thing! It was Graham! We all saw him leave at a run, did we not? I’ll have any man saying differently flogged, y’hear? And that includes you, Howard!”
“Mr Graham was here,” the captain said. “I’ll swear to it before any court in the land.” He motioned to the dragoons, and the men lowered their weapons.
Matthew returned his sword to its scabbard. “I pity you, Oliver. You began life as a person of faith and conviction and you’ll end life as a man for whom nothing was holy and everything was for sale.”
“Silence!” Oliver thundered. “I’m arresting you for murder Matthew Graham. Arrest him I say!” Oliver screamed, but none of his men as much as lifted a finger to comply.
“You’re the one they’ll lead away in chains, Wyndham. Too many witnesses, far too many.” Matthew went back to tightening Ham’s girth, turning his back on Oliver.
Alex heard the whoosh of air when Oliver lunged at Matthew’s uncovered back and acted instinctively. A blocking movement with her arm, the impact making her wince, a quick follow up chop that made the major yelp, and then Matthew was there, wresting the knife from Oliver and throwing it to land several feet away.
“Coward,” was all he said, before helping Alex up on Ham.
Captain Howard nodded to two of the soldiers and Oliver was grabbed and led away. He seemed stunned, legs dragging over the cobbles. The remaining dragoons moved off, leading their winded horses. Now that the show was over the crowd dispersed, a few of the men coming over to say something to Matthew, now and then clasping his hand.
The captain hobbled over to the horse and smiled up at Alex.
“I think you’re right, Mrs Graham; God doesn’t care, one way or the other.”
She burst out laughing. Perfect timing for a theological discussion.
“Of cours
e He doesn’t. And whatever His denomination, you’ve earned yourself a seat in heaven today.”
A wave of blood flew up the captain’s face. “God’s speed,” he muttered, standing back when Matthew sat up behind her.
“And to you,” Matthew said, before clucking Ham into a walk.
It was like riding in a procession. All through the narrow streets people popped their heads out to stare at them – or at her. She’d never live this down, she sighed, they’d never let her forget the day she grabbed an officer by the balls to save her husband’s life. Very much worth it, all in all, even if she probably should disinfect her hand when she got home. She wiped it on her skirts, and noted that it trembled. Not only the hand, but her arm, her legs, all of her was shaking. Matthew settled her even closer to him, his thighs strong and warm, his breath tickling her cheek. She wanted him to hold her like this forever.
“I wasn’t sure you still retained your fighting skills,” he commented as they left Cumnock behind.
“Me neither,” Alex said, “but I guess some things, once learnt, remain with you forever.” And thank heavens for that; she decided then and there to implement an extension to her exercise routine A.S.A.P. – one never knew when her martial skills might come in handy.
It was late afternoon when they turned up the last stretch. What with the heat and the evening light, the landscape around them shimmered in shades of gold and burnished bronze, dust rising from the dirt road when an odd gust of wind rushed by. Two small sentinels stood waiting for them at the top of the lane, two shapes that at the sight of them began to run. Mark’s face was streaked with tears, Ian looked about to cry and without a word Matthew dropped off the horse and collected both boys to his chest in a long, silent hug.
Once Ham had been taken care of, Alex produced bread and ham, beer for Matthew and Ian, and settled down to listen to Ian’s description of the recent events.
“So you faced him down, just the two of you?” Matthew cleared his throat. “You’re very brave, aye?”
The Prodigal Son Page 30
