she retorted, staring boldly into the ruddy face. “Where are your eyes,
man, that you cannot recognize a Campbell when you see one?” She snatched
up Lady Argyll’s cloak and waved it at him, thankful for that particular
theft. “Och, but I am glad that you have come,” she went on with a
trusting upward smile through her lashes. “It was my wicked Cameron uncle
who came by my home on Loch Awe with that devil Montrose and all the
army, and stole me away to keep house for him, since his wife died, and
he saying I must be his daughter now and some day marry a Cameron; and
have I not been biding my time and waiting for warm weather to run away
back home?”
The Campbells blinked and believed her. She was utterly convincing, and
in any case, what Cameron would have claimed to be a Campbell, even at
the edge of death? And had she not the once fine Campbell cloak, clearly
given her by a lady of that clan? The sword went back into its sheath.
“Och, well,” said its owner with a sigh. “Naught to do here but burn the
place. But at least you can be coming back the now.”
This was the last thing Kelpie wanted! “To another army?” she jeered,
hiding her panic. “No, now, I’ve enough of armies and battles. Leave me
be, just, and when ’tis warmer I’ll be finding my own way. Will you not
be fighting Montrose soon?” she demanded. “Or is it only women and bairns
you are after?”
They shuffled their feet. “We’ll be taking care of Montrose,” promised
the stout one. “But we cannot leave you here, lass. You must just come
along back to Inverlochy, and perhaps himself will be seeing you’re sent
back home.”
Kelpie’s heart threatened to choke her. He’d be sending her back, fine
enough! “_Dhé!_” she sputtered, knowing her life might depend on her next
words. “Will ye be bothering the likes of him with a nobody, and him with
a war on his hands? He’d no be thanking ye for it! Besides,” she confided
beseechingly, “it is myself am afraid of Mac Cailein Mor, and he so great
and all. No, now, just leave me here, and then it’s away back I’ll be by
myself.”
The stout one was not unsympathetic. “Well, women have daft fears,” he
observed. “But ’tis true enough that himself is an awesome man. We cannot
leave you here, but perhaps we can be tucking you into a wee bit place
near Inverlochy where you’ll not be noticed until we move on. There is
a burned shieling just near the loch, with one end left untouched. Come
along now.”
To argue further would be hopeless and perhaps fatal. This was a stubborn
man, already close enough to suspicion. Numb with apprehension, Kelpie
wrapped the cloak firmly around herself and let them lead her outside
while they fired the thatch.
And then, just as they were climbing up the bank, a tall man pointed to
a faint wisp of smoke to the southeast. “Another shieling,” he announced
happily.
It was no shieling at all, of course. It was Alex’s fire, and now
Kelpie’s curse would be well and truly fulfilled. Why hadn’t she thought
of telling them herself? And why was it that she felt more dismay than
elation? Frowning, she probed at the feeling, trying to figure it out.
Och, of course; It was not for Alex’s sake she did not want him caught,
but for her own. For he would be sure to tell them that she was no
Campbell at all but a gypsy lass, and then they would take her straight
to Argyll. She bit her lip as she silently followed the Campbells up the
Cour in the direction of the telltale smoke, hoping passionately that
Alex would either get away or be killed before he could betray her.
He nearly did get away. The cave, when they finally found it, was empty,
the fire quenched with snow. The tangled footprints in the snow seemed
to lead nowhere, and they might have given up but for the stubbornness of
Hamish, the stout man. But at last someone saw Alex hiding high up amid
the dark needles of a pine tree.
“A MacDonald!” Hamish peered upward. “Come away down, now, or we’ll shoot
you there.”
“And what difference?” asked Alex mockingly from his high perch. “I’d as
lief be shot here as on the ground.”
Kelpie set her teeth. She hoped they’d shoot him now, before he could see
her and speak against her. She _did_! But again Hamish had other ideas.
What was a MacDonald doing here at all, he wanted to know, and one,
moreover, who was clearly well educated and therefore at least the son of
a chieftain? It was a thing out of the ordinary and had better have the
attention of his own chieftain, Campbell of Auchinbreck.
“We’re no for shooting you now,” he announced, “but will be taking you
prisoner.”
Alex seemed to think it over for a moment. Then he laughed. “’Twill be a
braw task for you, then,” he observed, “for I’ve a sore hurt ankle and
can no longer set it to the ground—or else you’d not have found me here,
whatever. Are you wanting to carry me all that way? For if not, you may
as well shoot me here.”
This last clearly appealed to most of the Campbells, but Hamish stuck out
his jaw. “Aye, then. Finlay and Angus will carry you,” he announced, to
the displeasure of two of his men.
Alex shrugged and came down, leaning for an instant against the trunk of
the tree as he reached the ground. His face was cool, although his ankle
must be hurting him badly. But his lips tightened slightly when he saw
Kelpie, and he stood for an instant, fixing her with another of those
long, penetrating looks. There was more than mockery in it now. Kelpie
flinched from it, and it came to her that Alex thought she had brought
the Campbells to find him.
Of course he did! How could he suppose anything else? And he knew quite
well that he held the power of vengeance in his own tongue. For although
he could not know what was between Kelpie and Mac Cailein Mor, the mere
word “witch” would be quite enough to destroy her.
She waited for it, head high, with the look of a trapped fox in her eyes,
hoping they might kill her swiftly, for Argyll would do worse. But Alex
did not say it. Looking into her eyes, he gave one short contemptuous
laugh and turned away. And while he arranged himself in the hand-chair
made by the reluctant Finlay and Angus, Kelpie stood quite still, hot and
shaken by feelings she hadn’t known she possessed.
She tried to collect her thoughts during the long, slow trip back to
Inverlochy Castle. Why had Alex not denounced her? He must be waiting,
knowing she would be tormented by uncertainty. He would do it, doubtless,
when they reached the castle. Och, then, she must forget the searing pain
of his laughter, and try to get away!
Dusk was lowering as they neared Inverlochy, and she sidled up to walk
alongside Hamish. “I am frightened,” she whispered pathetically. “There
are too many men, and I used to the lonely hills and cattle. Can I not
just be slipping away down the loch and home? I know the way well enough.”
He looked at her kindly. “No, ’tis much too cold for you to be traveling
alone,” he said with firmness.
Kelpie’s lip trembled—and for this she required no great dramatic
ability, either. He looked alarmed. “Do not be crying, now,” he said
hastily. “I tell you, I know a place where you can bide, and no need
to be going among the army at all. Just wait now until I’m turning the
prisoner over to Auchinbreck. Fergus, run ahead a bit and see can you
find out where he is the now.”
He clasped Kelpie’s cold hand firmly in his, no doubt thinking he was
comforting her; and Kelpie had to trudge along beside him, her heart
thudding with fear. It thudded harder when Fergus returned to report that
Auchinbreck was away down at the loch with Mac Cailein Mor, seeing about
the two cannon.
“Fine, then,” said Hamish. “For the wee bit placie for you to hide is
down there too, and we need not be going near the castle at all but just
deliver the prisoner and ask can you stay there at the same time.” And
he beamed heartily upon the quaking Kelpie, who saw no escape now from a
witch’s death by fire.
Setting her teeth hard upon her lower lip, she tried to remember that she
had faced death before. But this time she seemed to have no courage in
reserve. The long strain had drained it from her. She could only remember
Mac Cailein Mor’s cruel face and unbearable dungeon, and think that this
could not really be happening, and wish that she could drop dead on the
spot and be done with it.
They were just past the castle now, and Hamish turned to watch a
scattered group of soldiers come running from the slopes of Ben Nevis,
cutting behind his group, in a great hurry to reach the castle. There was
an air of alarm in their gray shapes in the dusk, and Hamish stared after
them curiously.
“A fine hurry they are in,” he said. “I wonder what news it is they are
bringing from the ben, and what they could be finding at all on that wild
place.”
“Perhaps the water-bull of Lundavra has been straying north a bit,”
suggested Alex, breaking his long silence. His voice dropped to an eerie
whisper, and only Kelpie could hear the hint of laughter in it. “You’ll
have heard of it, no doubt, with its broad ears and black hoofs and wild
demon eye?”
The soldiers shivered, and one made a gesture, quickly halted, of
crossing himself. For though the Campbells were now all good members of
the Kirk, old habits remained from many generations past and were likely
to pop up in a crisis.
They went on, with occasional furtive glances over their shoulders at
the brooding shape of that giant mountain Ben Nevis—the highest, it was
said, in all of the British Isles, and therefore an apt place for uncanny
and ungodly things. Kelpie too would have been glad to scurry from its
menace, had there not been a greater one facing her. As it was, she would
gladly have fled to Ben Nevis for protection, even if there were a dozen
water-bulls there.
They had circled below the castle now, to the river, and were perhaps a
mile from Loch Linnhe. If only Hamish would relax his hard, reassuring
grip on her hand, she might be able to dive into the surrounding dusk and
lose herself. But when she gently tested his grip, he merely tightened it.
Perhaps if she should suggest to him that she could walk better with
both hands free? Or was it already too late? There was a group of dark
shapes in the gloom just ahead now. If that was Argyll, this was her last
chance! “Please,” she began in her softest voice, and got no further.
From behind came the pound of running footsteps, and an excited voice
raised. “Mac Cailein Mor! Mac Cailein Mor!”
A soldier rushed past them to the figures a few yards ahead, and the cold
voice of Argyll answered. “Here. What is it, then?”
“Montrose!” The soldier gasped. “Some of our scouts have just come back.
They say Montrose is on Ben Nevis!”
21. Vengeance
In the shocked silence which followed, Hamish forgot his comforting grip
on the poor wee frightened lass for an instant, and in that instant the
poor wee frightened lass vanished.
She crouched on the far side of a rhododendron bush, tensed and ready for
further flight. For the moment, it was best not to move again, for there
was silence beside the river, and she dared make no noise that might call
attention to herself. Och, the good luck of it! And a fine chance there
was that, with this news, no one would think of her again at all.
“Impossible!” said Argyll. His voice was thin.
“It is true, Mac Cailein Mor!” insisted the messenger. “On the north
slope of Ben Nevis it was, his army ran into our outpost, and some of our
scouts escaped and came to warn us.”
“Impossible,” repeated Argyll more thinly yet. “He couldn’t. He went up
the Great Glen, and he hasn’t come back down it. And there’s no other way
he could have come in this cold and snow—not with an army and horses and
cannon. It’s not humanly possible.”
There was a good deal of sense in this. Even Kelpie, still as a bogle
behind her bush, frowned in puzzlement. How _could_ Montrose have come
so quickly, and _not_ through the Great Glen? Over the bitter impassable
mountains, then? Och, Glen Roy, it must be! Argyll didn’t know this
country as she did, and as the Camerons and MacDonalds would. Through
Glen Roy, then—and it was next to impossible even then, but if anyone at
all could do it, then it would be Montrose and his Highlanders, and she
the cause of it all, with her message! She hugged herself silently.
“It couldna be the army,” said an Edinburgh voice soothingly. “Gin ’tis
Montrose at all, which I doot, ’tis a mere handfu’ o’ wild Hieland
thieves he could ha’ brought, and we’ll wipe ’em oot the morn.”
“Still and all,” came another voice, “it might be best for you to be
going on board your galley, your Lordship. You’ve an injured shoulder,
remember, and you’re too valuable to risk your life in a mere skirmish.”
“You may be right.” There was unmistakable relief in Argyll’s voice,
and Kelpie lifted her short lip in contempt. “I can put you in charge,
Auchinbreck, and send commands from my galley. Who is that over there?”
His voice rose sharply, and Kelpie’s hair stood on end until she heard
Hamish’s apologetic answer. “Hamish Campbell, just, with a MacDonald
I found skulking up near the Spean River, and I thinking you might be
wanting to see him.”
“A MacDonald?” Auchinbreck’s voice was incisive. “Aye, he’s likely a
scout for Montrose and may be able to tell us something. Will you speak
to him, your Lordship?”
“Later,” said Argyll. “Take him down to the shelter by the loch and stay
there yourselves on guard. See that no one goes near the galley, and I’ll
question the prisoner before I go board.”
There was a crunch of snow as Argyll and his party started back toward
the castle, and then a pause. “Why isn’t he tied?” came Argyll’s voice
accusingly.
“Och, your Lordship, he has a hurt foot, and it would be too hard to
carry him this whole way if—”
“He could have been shamming, you fool!” Argyll was furious. “Tie him
now.”
He went on, leaving the other group of dark shapes where they stood.
“Well, so, and himself was saying ‘now,’” muttered Hamish, “so now it is,
my lad. We’ll have your two hands behind you. _Were_ you shamming?”
“Not a whit,” said Alex coolly. “I’d have left you before this, if I
were.”
“Well, I almost have it in my heart to pity you, just for your courage,
though you’re a cursed MacDonald. Angus, where’s the wee lass?”
“She was off and away at the word Montrose,” reported Angus, “and no
wonder. She’s frighted even of our army and will be in terror of his.
She’ll no be staying for a battle.”
“Och, she’ll freeze, just, poor _amadain_!” said Hamish worriedly. “And
she could have been staying at the shelter with us, and quite safe. Well,
so. Come away now.”
They moved off toward the loch, leaving Kelpie to figure out her new
situation.
It was a great improvement, surely, but hardly rosy. If only the weather
were warm, there would be no problem at all. She could set off for
safety, leaving Alex just where she wanted him, and Montrose over behind
the mountain to settle with Argyll after Argyll had settled with Alex.
But it was cold! And there would be no shelter near, what with all the
homes burned. And she didn’t want to freeze.
An hour earlier she would gladly have taken the chance, gladly frozen,
even, in preference to meeting Argyll. But now that she was out of
danger from him for the moment, she wanted to live, and how could she be
arranging it? If it were not for Alex, she might slip down to the shelter
after all, and just hide when Argyll came. But Alex would not miss
another chance to betray her. He had delayed too long once before, and he
must be cursing himself for it.
But she had to do something! Shivering, she got to her feet and silently
followed an orange glimmer down near the loch. Och, a fire! Kelpie
hurried her steps until she could see the ruins of a shieling hut, one
side open to the night, but with a warm fire just at the edge, where the
fireplace had once stood. Alex, well bound now, was lying against one
wall, and the other men were grouped around. As she watched, they began
taking food from their pouches.
In an agony of indecision, Kelpie crouched in the bushes, just too far
away to feel the warmth of the fire, but she didn’t dare to go closer.
She could almost wish Alex free, so that—
Her eyes widened. Alex had turned over to face the wall and was
unmistakably settling down to sleep! How could he? Reluctantly Kelpie
admired him for it. He was a bad one, but for all that he had a cool
courage that was fine.
She waited a few minutes more; then she _had_ to get warm! And Alex
seemed to be truly asleep. Standing up, she raised her voice scarcely
above a whisper. “Hamish!”
He was up, his ruddy face turning to search the bushes. “The wee lass!
Are you frozen, just? Come away to the fire. It was gey foolish of you to
run off.”
She came, rubbing her numbed hands in the heavenly warmth, even though it
made them hurt sorely. “I was affrighted,” she explained, “of Montrose,
and of all the men, and of Mac Cailen Mor, and even of him.” She nodded
toward Alex. “Please, if anyone comes, could I not be hiding away at the
back behind the walls until they go?”
“Ou, aye,” said Hamish tolerantly, “if you’re so frighted as all that.”
* * * * *
It was nearly morning, and Kelpie had napped a little herself and was
warm and fed (with a wary eye on the sleeping Alex), before voices and
steps announced a party coming from the castle. In a flash she was around
behind the ruined shieling, just at the corner where she could hear
everything and even see a bit. She would be safe enough from now on,
for although it was still dark enough to escape, the faintest of gray
appeared over the stern dome of Ben Nevis, and the peaks farther south
were beginning to show starkly black against the lighter clouds. The
night was over, and she could afford to stay and watch what happened to
Alex.
“Put my things aboard,” ordered Argyll’s cold voice. “I’ll be along as
soon as I see to this prisoner. Where is he?”
“Here, asleep,” replied Hamish humbly. “Wake you up, MacDonald! Mac
Cailein Mor wants to talk to you.”
Apparently Alex awoke as Kelpie always did, all at once, for there was
no trace of sleepiness in his voice. “Well, then, and let us talk,” he
returned casually.
Kelpie knew that his coolness would enrage Argyll, who repeatedly fled
danger and was about to do it again. This would go hard with Alex. She
_must_ see! There was a hole in the wall, just at the corner, where a
stone had fallen out, and surely no one would be noticing a wee eye in
the dark!
She applied the eye to the hole. Sure enough, Argyll’s pale face was
twisted with anger, the habitual sneer deeper than usual. And Alex had
that faintly amused smile on his face, despite bound hands and swollen
foot, and despite his fear.
“Your name?” asked Argyll harshly.
“Alexander MacDonald of Ardochy on Loch Garry,” replied Alex proudly.
“So. Son of a chieftain, then. And what were you doing skulking in
Lochaber?”
“Nursing a sprained ankle,” replied Alex, still with a faint smile, “and
hoping to be overlooked by your men.”
“You knew we were here, then?” Argyll pounced upon the idea like a man
looking for an excuse to unleash a storm of venom. And there was no doubt
he had his victim. Kelpie’s revenge would be better than she had ever
dreamed! She pressed closer to her peephole to see if Alex’s face would
betray fear. But he just lifted a sandy eyebrow.
“Could anyone _not_ be knowing you were here, with the smoke of burning
homes rising like the plague?” he retorted reasonably.
“You are one of Montrose’s men!” Argyll said accusingly, and Kelpie found
herself thinking of the things Alex might answer to that. He would never
claim to be a Covenanter, proud fool that he was, but he could say he was
not with Montrose, that he never had been, that he had had a quarrel with
the Camerons—any number of things. But he said none of them. Did he not
know that his silence would seem an admission of guilt? Kelpie fumed at
his stupidity before she remembered that—this time—she was on Argyll’s
side.
“You are a spy left behind!” Argyll went on threateningly. “It was you
warned him we were here!”
“I wish I _had_ been the one,” confessed Alex wryly. “I would not be here
if I had. But since I _am_ here, and not with Montrose, that is clearly
nonsense.”
“Don’t quibble with me!” Argyll was in a cold rage, the cruel, bullying
streak in him showing clear. “You were responsible. You hurt your foot
and sent someone else with the message.”
In the gleam of the fire, Alex’s jaw moved up and outward a fraction. “I
would have done so,” he retorted proudly, “but that I could find no one
to send.”
“You’ll not save your life that way.” There was wintry satisfaction in
Argyll’s face. “Unless you can produce the guilty party and prove your
innocence ...” The sentence went grimly unfinished.
Even Hamish looked shocked at this unfairness, and for an instant Kelpie
missed the full irony of the situation. Then it dawned on her. Alex was
to die for the thing she herself had done—and he well aware of it and
helpless, since he had no notion where she was! It was almost too good to
be possible!
She bit her lip and pressed closer to the chink, and a squeak of what
must be delight—although it felt almost like a sob—escaped her.
Alex turned—oh, so casually!—and his eyes, dark in the shadow of the
shelter, looked straight into hers.
Kelpie stopped breathing. Too appalled even to move, she stood frozen,
waiting for the simple, deadly words that must come next. In her mind she
heard them clearly. “Very well so, and you will find the guilty party is
the witch lass hiding this very moment outside the wall....” She should
be away, running like a hare! But she could not, for her shock had glued
her feet to the ground, and already Alex had begun to speak.
“And how,” he asked deliberately, “could I be doing that?”
Kelpie missed the next part of the conversation, for she was altogether
stunned. He had seen and recognized her; never a doubt of it. In that
instant she had handed him the victory, his own life and hers as well,
and he had dropped them indifferently at his feet! Why? Was he fey, then,
to be deliberately throwing away his life? Not even the scruples of Ian
could account for it, for Alex owed her nothing and less than nothing,
especially since he believed she had betrayed him to the Campbells.
In her bewilderment she didn’t even feel relief at her own narrow escape.
And when she was again able to concentrate on the scene inside, she found
that Alex had taken the edge off her victory simply by giving it to her.
Where had the triumph and savor gone? Frowning, she reminded herself that
Alex was being justly punished for what he did to Ian, and she was _not_
sorry! No, nor would she ever dream of wanting to save him whatever, for
he deserved to die, and had she not been planning revenge? She would not
_want_ to help him even if she could—and couldn’t if she wanted to, for
was it not her rule of life to look out for herself and no one else?
And if Mac Cailein Mor should so much as glimpse the witch lass caught
trying to hex him, and herself wearing his own wife’s gown and cloak this
moment.... She laughed at herself for even thinking that such a daft idea
could ever enter her head. It was gloating she was. She _was_!
Intent on her gloating, she risked another peep through the chink and
saw that Argyll was biting his lip with anger. Alex had no doubt just
said something derisive, for he was smiling recklessly. But for all his
composure, Kelpie knew that he was afraid in the face of death. Had not
she herself, more than once, acted calm when she did not feel that way?
Och, she knew how his heart must be pounding, as her own was just from
imagining it.
Or perhaps it was pounding with happiness and excitement and triumph. Her
fists were clenched painfully and her lips drawn back from her teeth.
This was the moment, and she would watch while—while—
“Take him out yonder and shoot him,” said Argyll.
Then Kelpie heard a reckless laugh coming from her own lips, and she
found herself around the wall and in the firelight and confronting Argyll
with her head held high.
“No, now,” she said, “for ’twas I sent the messenger.”
One part of her stood aghast and terrified at the insane thing she had
done, but the other part—the thing inside, which had been pushing her for
so long—was glad and triumphant.
22. The Last Word
For a moment even the daybreak seemed to pause over the Highlands. The
thin sky of morning lighted a wan world of muted gray and white and
purple with an eerie, ghostlike tone. There was no sound outside the
ruined shelter with its circle of sickly firelight, and for just an
instant there was no sound even there.