When Findhorn withdrew, we lay in silence for a few moments.
'Sorry Marie,' I said at length. 'And I'm sorry Doctor, for getting you into this.'
'You did not get me into anything,' Mungo said. 'I chose to come, and I chose to stay, remember?'
I pulled the chains in frustration. I had only been secured for a few moments, and already the iron was chafing at my wrists and ankles.
'What will happen tomorrow?' I think it was the first time I had heard Mungo sound uncertain.
I glanced at Marie, who was slumped in misery and thankfully not listening. 'Findhorn and McAra will set Marie and me free in the grounds. After a few moments they'll release the hounds, and then they'll follow and hunt us down.' I tried to sound calm although my mind and body were silently screaming with fear. 'I don't know what they have planned for you, Mungo.'
'I doubt it will be pleasant,' Mungo yanked fruitlessly at his chains. 'I wish I could have helped you more.'
'You did more for me than any man ever has,' I said truthfully.
'You mean more to me than any woman ever has,' Mungo's words were so soft I had to strain to hear them.
I did not know what to say. In a few hours, I would be dead or wishing for death, for Findhorn would have no mercy. 'You are a good man, Mungo,' I refined the phrase when I realised I was repeating what I had said to George Rogers. 'You are the best man I have ever met.'
If circumstances had been different, I would have allowed my feelings for Mungo to grow. I knew that any relationship was impossible, and then I snorted. Good God, what did it matter? There was no future. 'I think I could have loved you, Mungo.'
The silence lasted a long time. 'I have loved you since the first time we met, Dorothea.'
I closed my eyes. I did not wish to hear more.
The door opened, and a beam of light landed between us.
Chapter Nineteen
'I don't know what to do with you two,' Macfarlane's Highland accent was one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard in my life. 'We leave you for a few moments and look at the pickle you get yourselves into. Is this little girl the missing Marie?'
'It is,' I must have sounded dazed as I wondered if I had said too much to Mungo. 'And where did you spring from?'
'Oh, we were near the footbridge when you were captured,' Macfarlane said. 'We followed McAra and the others. Who is that ugly, red-faced fellow?'
'Lord Findhorn,' I said.
'No friend of yours, I would reckon,' Macfarlane said.
'You would reckon correctly,' I agreed.
'Let's get you out of here,' Macfarlane unfastened my chains and moved on to Marie while MacGregor worked on Mungo.
I took a deep breath. 'I'm not going anywhere.'
They stared at me, as one would expect them to do. With my mind still reeling from all that had happened and Mungo's statement, I would have been sensible to return to his house to consider what to do next. I did not wish that. I wanted to strike back at Findhorn. I wished to hurt him as he had hurt me, point a pistol at his head and blow his brains out.
'We can have you in the doctor's house in quarter of an hour,' Macfarlane said.
'No.' I shook my head. 'I'm here, and now I am free I am going to retaliate.' My language was infinitely milder than my intentions.
'Dorothea! No!' Marie held the doctor's coat tightly around her, although none of the men present was in any way interested in her nakedness underneath. 'Run away now! Please!'
'If you three could take Marie somewhere safe,' I continued. 'Just leave me here. As a good friend of mine said once, the time for running has stopped.' To be honest, I had no idea what I was going to do, but the sight of Findhorn had put iron in my soul. I had been pushed around for too long. I had run away to India and had returned to try and rebuild my life, only to fall into the same situation, with the same people.
'I'll stay with you,' Mungo said, and I blessed him without words.
'And me,' Macfarlane said. 'MacGregor will look after the young lassie.' His grin was pure mischief. 'He's got five daughters, so he knows what to do.'
MacGregor laughed openly, showing gaps in his teeth. 'I have five daughters and three sons,' he said, 'and one more on the way.'
It was not the right time to offer congratulations although I promised myself that I would hansel the new arrival as handsomely as I could. I was building up quite a catalogue of debts in Tynebridge Hall, and I would honour them all.
'What do you have in mind?' Mungo asked.
'Let's get Marie away safely first,' I said, 'and then we'll work out what best to do.'
A couple of hours before, we had crept around Tynebridge Hall as a trio of scared fugitives. Now I felt like Nimrod. The memories of the evening when Findhorn and his cohorts hunted me had always been present. They had strengthened after I saw him.
I had tried to fire one pistol and thrown it at Findhorn. I still had its mate. 'Do you have any gunpowder, MacGregor?'
'Here's my powder horn.' It was flattened cow horn, plugged with a piece of leather and decorated with interlaced Celtic designs.
'It's beautiful, thank you.'
'It was my grandfather's great-grandfather's.' MacGregor spoke with pride. 'He carried it at Inverlochy when the great Montrose broke the pride of the Campbells.'
'And now it will serve to break the pride of Findhorn,' I said. And his head, I thought. I was aware of Mungo watching me, his face concerned.
I unloaded my Joe Manton and withdrew the powder charge, replacing it with dry powder from Macfarlane's horn.
'You've done that before,' Macfarlane said.
'I had to carry a gun in India,' I knew I was giving too much away, 'in case of snakes and badmashes and the like.' I felt Mungo's eyes on me and wondered what he was thinking. I blocked the thought. I had other things to do before I could consider Doctor Hetherington.
'I've never met a woman like you,' Mungo cut through my mental defences without effort.
'I've never met a man like you.' Despite my intentions, I was equally honest. Mungo could do that to me. Before I left Scotland the only men I had known had been of Lord Findhorn's type, loud, arrogant and grasping. They had been men handsome and successful on the outside and ugly as the devil's tail on the inside. In India, there had been hard-drinking military men from the King's and Company's armies, or Company servants, prematurely aged men vastly overburdened with responsibility. Only since I returned had I met men that I could allow myself to trust and genuinely like, and two of them were Macfarlane and George Rogers. The third and last was Doctor Mungo Hetherington.
Once again I remembered Mother Faa's prediction that I would marry a man in uniform. Yet, if I had a choice between Mungo and Captain Rogers, which one would I choose? I pondered; there was no doubt that George was the more dashing, a handsome, well-set-up man with lands and no-doubt a vast fortune. On the other hand, Mungo Hetherington had proved utterly reliable in all circumstances; there was no doubting his bravery. I knew that he liked me, and he claimed he loved me. He could also be trusted. On at least two occasions he had me at a terrible disadvantage, naked and vulnerable and he had been nothing other than a perfect gentleman in the real sense of the word. Mungo was a gentle man.
There was one part of me, one tiny, treasonous segment that was slightly disappointed that Mungo had not been somewhat more forward. It was that part of me that had tried to entice him with my tight breeches and the swaying of my hips. Now that I recalled these incidents I felt slightly ashamed of my behaviour, for there could be no future between us except for friendship. The doctor had made it plain that he was from an inferior social standing and I had my secret. The attraction was there, and we had both declared our feelings. Or had we only claimed our love because we thought we were going to die and we could be reckless with our emotions?
I did not know.
I realised that I had been looking directly at Mungo as the thoughts had raced through my mind. What must the poor man think of me?
'I'm sorry,' Mungo said. 'I've been staring at you.' He lowered his voice. 'If our circumstances were otherwise,' he said.
I was not sure what that meant and answered without thought. 'Things are what they are.'
We looked away simultaneously. Macfarlane studied the wall as if he had never before seen such fascinating stonework.
I checked the workings of my pistol and replaced it under my cloak. 'Shall we go?'
'What do you intend to do with that thing?' Mungo was abrupt. I knew the question had been on his mind for some time.
I said nothing, not for any desire to appear secretive and mysterious but merely because I did not know the answer. I retained my image of Findhorn cowering away as I shot him in the head.
We moved on at last. I led with Mungo next and Macfarlane padding in the rear. He may have been a middle-aged man with more grey than black in his beard and a spreading waistline, but I would rather have him on my side than any swish young gallant. Macfarlane carried the lantern, whose light flicked and pooled ahead of me.
I heard somebody singing Arthur McBride and stopped abruptly, stepping into the shadow of a recessed doorway. I did not know the man who walked towards us. He was young, with a confident gait and clothes that would cost five year's income for a working man.
'Well we beat that bold drummer as flat as a shoe,
And we made a football of his row-de-dow-dow'
Without conscious thought, I waited until he was past, produced my pistol and rammed the muzzle against the back of his head. The man gave a loud squawk and jumped in the air.
'One word, I said, 'and I'll blow your brains all over the wall.' Honestly, I don't know where I got these words. Until that night, I had no idea I could be so bloodthirsty.
If the man had not moved, I don't know what I would have done, but Macfarlane clamped a huge hand over his mouth and dragged him into the nearest room.
'Close the door!' I hissed as Mungo hesitated.
Now only Macfarlane's lantern gave us light as I ordered my prisoner against the far wall.
'You're that woman!' he said, foolishly, when Macfarlane removed his hand. 'We captured you.'
'And now we've captured you back,' I said. 'How many of you are in the house?'
'That's for me to know and you to find out,' the man said. Indeed I was not sure if he was a man yet, more a youth with the smoothest of skin on his face and soft childish lips. I doubt he had needed to lift a razor in his life.
'Oh, we'll find out,' Macfarlane glanced at me and winked. 'We'll cut off your fingers one by one and make you eat them,' he continued with a list of horrors that made me shudder and wonder in which Gothic romance he had found them. Certainly, I doubted that my middle-aged housekeeper's husband could do such things. And then I remembered the skill with which he had abducted Turnbull and wondered anew.
'He means it.' Mungo gave his short but significant contribution to the conversation.
'Six!' the youth's resistance broke.
'Name them,' I demanded.
The youth's eyes swivelled from me, a woman with a darkened face wearing man's clothes and carrying a pistol, to Macfarlane with his lurid threats and Highland accent, to Mungo, with the flow of blood now dark and encrusted from the crown of his head to his chin. We must have looked a desperate crew.
He hesitated, so I pushed the pistol against his back and twisted. 'What's your name?'
'John.' The youth said. 'I am the Honourable John Lindsay.'
'Well then Honourable John, now you can tell me who your companions are.'
'They'll kill me.'
I gasped as Macfarlane took over. Without a word, he ripped the honourable John's breeches down to his ankles, revealing that he wore nothing beneath. John yelped and tried to cover himself.
'Against the wall,' Macfarlane said. 'Facing outward.'
The Honourable John squealed like a pig as Macfarlane slammed him against the wall and produced his dirk. Lantern light played along the length of the blade as Macfarlane placed it against John's smooth belly.
'Lord Findhorn!' The Honourable John nearly screamed the word.
'And who else?' Macfarlane tapped the blade of his dirk on a very personal place that made me wince and the Honourable John crouch to protect himself.
'Hector MacAra,' John said, and now he had started he seemed unable to stop. 'And the Honourable Peter Hain, Sir Lancelot Snodgrass and Sir Martin Marshall.'
'That's five,' Macfarlane tapped the knife, and again, harder than before.
'And me!' Honourable John said.
'Thank you,' I looked at Macfarlane, not sure what to do next.
'Off with them!' Macfarlane took over, throwing the Honourable John onto the ground with a single movement and ripping off his boots and breeches. I watched as John wriggled there, naked from the waist downward.
Using his dirk, Macfarlane ripped John's breeches into long strips and tied his ankles and wrists together, leaving the last fragment to fasten across his mouth as a gag.
'That will keep you quiet,' Macfarlane said. 'If you move, I will come back for you and…' he gave some threats that would have made Bonaparte run screaming in fear and which reduced the Honourable John to a blubbering wreck. Men in that condition are anything but impressive, but a small, unpleasant part of me found some satisfaction in the procedure. John would have been one of the hunters; now he was a broken and unhappy little boy. Hopefully, he learned from the experience and would never subject a woman to anything similar.
'Men are never happy without their breeches,' Macfarlane said. 'I hope you are not offended by what you saw.'
'Not in the least,' I said. 'But we should have asked young Johnny where his colleagues were,' I was belatedly sensible.
Macfarlane shrugged. 'Maybe I should go back.'
'No, we'll keep moving,' I decided.
'What do you intend to do with them?' Mungo asked. 'Tie them up and leave them?'
'I intend teaching them to leave us alone.' I decided that as I spoke. I was determined not to be a victim again. Thrusting Joe Manton inside my shirt, I rubbed my hand across the butt. It felt warm and smooth and reassuring.
I had a small glow of triumph as I moved around the Hall. I knew my enemy and how many there were, and I wanted revenge. Oh, I knew that is probably a sin, but I was not dealing with honourable, respectable men but with the very opposite.
Somebody was singing, the words loud and coarse. I nodded to Macfarlane and loosened the pistol inside my cloak.
'Come on,' I said, once more feeling my heartbeat race.
Macfarlane gave a small smile. 'Was your mother from the Gaeltachd?'
Two men were approaching, one about twenty-five and already drunk, the other Sir Lancelot Snodgrass. We allowed them to pass us and then pounced. I thrust my pistol into the neck of the younger and Macfarlane simply grabbed Sir Lancelot and smacked his head against the wall. Taken by surprise, the men hardly resisted as Mungo opened the nearest door and we hustled them inside. We did not need to ask the number of men, so we contented ourselves by asking the name of the younger and where their companions were.
'What the devil?' Sir Lancelot clasped a hand to his head. 'Do you know who I am?'
'Yes, Snodgrass,' Macfarlane said.
'How did you escape?' Sir Lancelot was slack-mouthed as he stared at me. Unable to resist the temptation, I gave him a back-handed slap that drew blood from his mouth.
'That's for Marie,' I said. Only Mungo's worried look prevented me from landing another.
'You filthy whore,' Sir Lancelot added a choice selection of epithets that should have curled my hair.
'I wonder how you look with your breeches off,' I said when he had run out of insults.
'What do you mean? I am Sir Lancelot Snodgrass, and I demand you release me.'
Macfarlane's laugh ended Sir Lancelot's tirade. 'Shall I cut them off, Miss Flockhart?'
'Yes, please,' I watched with as much pleasure as satisfaction as Macfarlane ripped his blade
down Sir Lancelot's breeches from hip to ankle. The cloth parted, with Sir Lancelot goggling and swearing.
I looked and forced a harsh laugh. 'No wonder you need your friends to support you,' I said.
The younger man, Sir Martin Marshall, stared open-mouthed and obeyed as Macfarlane flourished the dirk ordered him to remove his breeches.
'So that's two more.' Five minutes later I looked back at the men, naked from the waist down and bound hand and foot. Their nakedness did not interest me. 'You're right Macfarlane; they're nothing without their breeches.' I shook my head. 'Nothing to see and nothing to boast of.'
'There are three left,' Macfarlane said.
I nodded. 'Let's find them.' I was glad that Sir Lancelot was out of the way. Now I wanted McAra and Findhorn. The rest were nonentities; they mattered less than the chaff in a riverside mill.
We scooped up the Honourable Peter Hain as he sat on the stairs and bundled him into an empty room. He struggled, kicking at me and using the most commonplace language, so I thrust Joe Manton inside his mouth and cocked the hammer. His eyes widened in horror.
'Down to the cellar with him,' I said. 'Chain him where we were chained.'
'McAra and Lord Findhorn will find him there,' Mungo warned.
'That's the idea,' I said. 'When Findhorn and McAra come for us, we'll take them instead.'
'You can't do this,' Hain said when I withdrew my pistol and dried the barrel on his shirt. 'You don't know who I am.'
Macfarlane laughed and fastened the chains around his ankles and wrists. 'You sit still, your Honourableness, and behave.'
I stared at the Honourable Peter Hain. Half naked and chained to the wall; he still looked as trustworthy as a viper. I could not help but despise these men. 'We'll use him as bait.' I heard the malice in my voice.
I knew that Mungo had been watching me. I hoped he understood that I was cleansing myself of the horror I had endured here.
'Dorothea,' Mungo put a hand on my shoulder. 'Be careful.'
'I will,' I said. Mungo was not advising me to take care of myself. He was urging me not to cause too much damage to Findhorn and his men. Every time I captured one, I felt the desire to hurt, to rip, to savage and even to kill. I was sure that Mungo read my feelings.
A Turn of Cards (Lowland Romance Book 3) Page 22
