The Rogues (27 page)

“Word may have reached their officer by now of the happenings at Kindarry,” he said. “Else I doubt they'd still be so keen on our trail.”

“Maybe there's a reward out on us.”

Dunbar nodded. “Aye, that would put a burr in their breeks right enough.”

“Shouldn't we find a better place to hide?” I asked. The shelf was barely disguised with shrubs and vines.

“Speed will serve us better than stealth now,” Dunbar answered. “We have to keep on the move going up and over.”

This was a countryside even harsher than the place where the Rogue had made his lair. Patches of thorn jabbed into my bare hands and face, and rocks cut and chafed us at every step. “Is there no track through here?” I whispered.

“This is nature's own backyard,” Dunbar answered. “A perfect place for a Rogue to disappear.”

I was beginning to understand. From here we could swerve off in any direction, and it would take a long time searching for the soldiers to pick up our trail on rock.

Again and again we heard the redcoats calling out to each other.

“Fools,” I heard Dunbar whisper once under his breath. “If I were your captain …” For each time the soldiers cried out, the Rogue could adjust our route. And I, of course, followed silently.

We mounted higher and higher until the drop below was so sheer it made me giddy to look at it.

“Keep yer eyes straight ahead, lad,” warned Dunbar quietly. “And yer head way down. Give them yer back, with no skin showing. Think of yerself as mere heather or gorse.”

I thought of our scrawny sheep and cows grazing on the hillside. The whiter their coats, the easier they were to find. Dunbar and I had to blend in with the land. Our dark clothing would do it; our pale skin would give us away. I looked straight ahead and bent over. If the soldiers were going to find me, they would not have an easy time of it.

Now I heard a new sound, a great roaring. When we rounded a section of the mountain, I saw a glittering waterfall leaping off the heights above our heads.

I started up in awe, but Dunbar caught my sleeve and pulled me down low. So I lay on my stomach and craned up at the waterfall. It plunged a hundred feet down past us to rage and froth in a whirling pool. Turning my head slightly, I could see that from there it launched itself down a steep-sided ravine in a series of racing, foam-topped rapids. A shimmering spray kicked up by the waters hung in the air about us.

We began to move downward now, but the edge of the ravine and the rushing current below blocked us off.

“The redcoats have been circling around to get to the top,” said Dunbar. “I could hear it in their voices. They do that so we will make easy pickings even for a poor marksman.”

“Then what are we to do?” I wondered. “The path is getting too narrow.”

“We have to cross to the other side,” said Dunbar. For the first time he seemed distracted.

“The other side of what?” I asked, though of course I knew. No need to keep my voice down now. The water's raw shout drowned out everything.

He didn't answer but started toward the edge of the ravine, his boot heels skidding on the loose stones. I wriggled down after him on my belly, clutching the ground with my fingers to slow my descent. We reached a lip of rock that jutted out over the spuming river. When I gazed down, I saw the water raging like a beast over jagged rocks. It looked as if it wanted to snatch the legs out from under us and drag us off to our doom.

Dunbar laid down his musket and unslung his pack. “It's a fair jump,” he said, “but there's no help for it.”

On the other side, the slope was gentler, with scrub and pines to give cover, but the size of the gap—it looked as wide as a river—made me tremble. I hoped the dampness in my eyes came from the spray and not from tears.

“It's too far,” I said. “We'll never make it.”

Dunbar narrowed his gaze at me, then suddenly adopted a casual, nearly jaunty air. “Of course we can,” he said, as if the feat were as simple as stepping over a rabbit hole. Holding his pack by its strap, he whirled it once, twice, then hurled it across the gap to thump down on the far side, where it rolled over three times before stopping.

He turned to me with a grin. “We're next, then.”

“Nae, man, ye're mad,” I said, backing away from the edge. The crash of the waterfall was dinning in my ears.

Dunbar took stock of me and cast a wary eye at the slopes above. Any sound of the redcoats approaching would surely be drowned out by the water's thunder.

“I'll go first, then, to show ye the way,” he said.

He picked up his musket, took a backward step, then dashed forward, launching himself into the air. His coat flapped about him, and he landed in a crouch on the far side. Drawing himself up, he turned and stretched an encouraging hand toward me.

“Come on, lad! Any more dawdling will kill us!”

I shook my head. My face was beaded with spray, but my mouth was as dry as tanned leather. I couldn't do it. I couldn't jump.

“Ye can do it!” Dunbar said sharply. “Do it for love of yer kin or to spite the thieving laird, but—God's mercy, Roddy!—make the bloody jump!”

28 DARK CLOUDS

The Rogue's words stung me like a lash, and it was more shame than courage that drove me on. In two strides I reached the edge, then jumped. Beneath my feet I could feel the huge empty depth of the ravine. It felt like there was a giant serpent below, its mouth wide open, waiting to swallow me.

For an instant my heart surged with hope, then just as quickly I knew I was falling short. Desperately I stretched out for the other side. As my feet dropped beneath me, I dug my fingers into the far ground, clawing frantically, my face pressed against earth and rock. My feet scrabbled on the sheer slope, searching for some purchase, but I was losing hold.

“Oh, God!” I cried. “Oh, God!” Sheer terror turned me cold as ice.

I was slipping, my fingernails breaking on the hard surface, my shoes tearing. I looked up and saw Dunbar's face above me. He was leaning far over the edge, stretching down with both hands. At the last instant he managed to grab my wrists. I dangled for a breathless moment, then he gave a grunt and heaved me up beside him.

I lay there panting until Dunbar hauled me to my feet. I was shaking badly, but the Rogue supported me with one arm and pressed his flask to my lips.

“Drink!” he ordered. “It'll steady ye.”

I took a swallow and the fiery whisky burned down my gullet, easing the icy shock.

“Come now, laddie, we've a ways to go yet,” said Dunbar, giving me an encouraging clap on the shoulder.

As we scrambled up the barren slope, I thought:
I did it! Alan Dunbar said I could
—
and I did! A
warm feeling spread through me, warmer than the whisky, and I grinned.

An open deer track led toward a stand of pine. Beside the track grew tiny knots of heather, still brown and barely budded. It would be months before the hillside would glow with purple flowers. It was as if we were the only living beings on earth. But we were alive!

Finally we reached the shelter of the pines, and at the same time a crack of a musket sounded, louder than the now-muffled thunder of the falls. Quickly, Dunbar crouched behind a large rock and pulled me down beside him. He nodded to the far side of the ravine where the redcoats were working their way down the slope, testing their footing on the treacherous ground. “Here they come, lad.”

He braced the musket against his shoulder, resting the barrel on the rock as he took aim. I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw as he pulled the trigger. The shot echoed across the ravine, and the bullet kicked up a plume of dirt right at the feet of one of the soldiers.

The redcoat jerked back, and his companions froze in their tracks, looking around to see where the shot had come from. While they hesitated, Dunbar rapidly reloaded and loosed off another round, which whacked off a rock only inches from another man. Our pursuers blazed off a couple of random shots, then scrambled frantically for cover.

Dunbar gave a satisfied grin as he loaded his gun again. “That should hold them a while. They'll be scared to cross in case I pick them off as they jump.” He stood slowly, bent over, and I did the same. “Now we have to stay low so they can't see us above the rising fog from the water and the damp grass.”

He turned then, heading up the slope, keeping low in the shade of the pines. I scurried along beside him, wondering what was in his mind.

“Did ye mean to miss them?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I've no stomach for shooting soldiers. I wore that same uniform myself for far too long. But I'm a good enough shot to miss them as I will. Still, if I have to kill to dodge the gallows, I do it, but for now I'll just keep running as long as there's a way forward.”

His words gave me fresh respect for the man. Determined as he was to be free, he still abided by a code of honor. And then I thought:
What a puzzle he is. One moment a rogue and the next a man worthy of the Highland chiefs of old
.

Overhead a solitary eagle, in ever-widening circles, surveyed the ground below. I shivered, thinking:
Aren't we lucky that redcoats canna fly
.

A hard day's journey we had of it, clambering over more rocks and shale, chancing the narrow tracks, and sometimes clinging by our fingernails to avoid tumbling from the heights. We were always on a slope and often a slippery one at that. I wondered if I'd ever be able to straighten up and walk right again.

Midway through the morning there was a shot in the distance and then another. I looked around to see where they were coming from, but Dunbar wasn't concerned.

“They're too far off to be shooting at us,” he said. “They'll be bagging game for their meal.”

“I'm glad of anything that slows them up,” I said, wondering at the same time what we were going to do for a meal. My own stomach was so empty, it thought my throat had been slit hours ago. All we'd eaten this day had been river water and a handful of dark berries. The moldy cheese and bread in our pack was long gone.

To make things more difficult, dark clouds rolled in and unleashed a heavy, relentless rain. The ground grew soggy beneath us. Walking became nearly impossible, and we slogged along. I encouraged myself with the thought that the soldiers were not as used to trekking through the hills after cattle and sheep as I. But then I remembered how they were used to going after human prey, and any encouragement I'd felt left me.

By afternoon's end, the rain was beating down in a ceaseless torrent. The steep slopes both above and below us were slick and muddy.

“We must press on,” Dunbar told me. “We canna be caught out here in the open.”

I answered with a nod, hoping I looked braver than I felt. I promised myself not to fall behind. However, as I toiled up the mountainside, the muddy footing slipped away under me and I started to slide uncontrollably.

Dunbar made a grab for me but only set himself slithering downward at my side. Both of us were clawing at the wet ground with hooked fingers already scraped raw by the climb. But neither our hands nor our feet could find any purchase to slow our sickening-quick descent.

“Cursed fates,” Dunbar cried as he dug at the slimy earth and kicked at it with the toes of his boots.

“Double curse!” I shouted.

Then suddenly I spotted a rock jutting out of the ground to my left. I managed to catch it with one hand, then swung the other over to secure my grip.

The Rogue was sliding past me, trailing more curses in his wake. I thrust out my right leg and managed to hook my foot through the strap of his musket. The other end of it caught under his shoulder like a sling, pulling him up short. He immediately took the chance to dig his feet into the earth, then gradually worked his way up beside me.

I groaned in pain, for it felt as if my knee would burst apart under the strain of Dunbar's weight.

Blinking at me through the rain, he laughed. “This is no the way I thought this old gun of mine would save me. Good work, lad.”

I grinned under his compliment but wouldn't let him see how much it mattered. “Well, we're even now.”

Tilting his head to the left, he said, “Aye—we are. Now listen, lad, there's some wee trees clinging on over there. If we slide ourselves over that way careful like, the going will get easier.”

He crawled sideways on his hands and knees and I went after, careful to secure a good hold before making any move. Looking up, I could see the grooves we'd left in the mud.

We took shelter from the rain under a moss-covered overhang. As we sat knee to knee, Dunbar brought out a crust of bread and some overripe cheese from his pack.

“I thought it was all gone,” I said.

“I always like to surprise my apprentices.” He chuckled and handed me half. “Keeps them on their toes.”

I was so grateful I began to laugh, and he joined me. We laughed until our stomachs were sore, and then we ate our meager rations slowly, happy for each small bite.

Soaked through and aching with weariness, I was still buoyed by the fact that our long slide down the hill might have gained us time on the redcoats. And they would be hard-pressed to chase us in this downpour. I said as much to Dunbar.

“Whether we've gained or lost,” he said, “we canna yet know. But I can tell you this, lad. There's no sense in dwelling on what's lost.” He leaned toward me and said with a kind of forced eagerness, like a father to his flagging son, “We're alive and free yet. That's the good side of things.”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “I'm starting to think there's nothing left in the world but us and this wet mountain.”

Dunbar gazed out at lashing rain and the grey peaks beyond. “‘I looked now upon the world as a thing remote,'” he said in a strange, faraway voice, “‘which I had nothing to do with, no expectation from, and, indeed, no desires about.'” He smiled at the puzzled look on my face. “It's a line from a book,” he said.