Highland Ballad Part 10

She heard hoofbeats approaching from the west. This did not at first seem to register, except perhaps for a dim realization that it could not be the man she feared, who would have to approach from the east---behind her.

The plateau had gradually sunk and narrowed, until now it was little more than a rough gully between the two rocky shoulders which pressed upon it. It occurred to her that the riders, still hidden by the rise and fall of the track ahead, would soon be upon her, and that there was nowhere to hide. But the same nightmare logic that says not to fear, it is only a dream, told her now that this could not be what in fact it was: a dangerous meeting in a place far from help. It all seemed so inevitable. And she was tired of fighting.

Two hors.e.m.e.n appeared on the track below her as she reached the crown of the rise, which occurred at the very point where the opposing walls were highest, rising in serrated levels to a height of sixty feet, several yards to either side of her.

The riders were dressed in red.

She looked quickly about her for a sheltering shadow or place to hide, as all the warnings that she had been raised on began to torment her.

But the noon sun was hidden by a cloud, as if it had not the heart to watch: there were no shadows. And they had seen her.

The two men rode easily, lazily in their fine English saddles. Young cavalrymen, they had been sent to investigate reports that one of the escaped prisoners believed to be in the area had been sighted.

But if their superiors placed a high importance on the capture of these elusive wretches, clearly they did not. For them it was a tedious duty; and without their captain to oversee them they were merely pretending to search, killing time and half looking for trouble. Like much of the English military of that time they were not volunteers, but had been pressed into service as an alternative to prison. They were neither dedicated nor high-minded, and had been a.s.signed to this remote desert (as they thought of it) because they were fit for little else. In fact, they were hooligans, representing not the best of their country, but the worst. As for compa.s.sion, they had little enough for their own kind. For the kin of these stubborn Highland fools, they had none.

So when they saw the girl it was not a question of what they wanted from her, but only, would there be anyone to witness the act? Their eyes searched ahead and behind, to either side, then fixed resolutely on the girl.

Mary observed all of this, but stood rooted to the spot in fear and disbelief. Surely they could not want her like this, pale and distraught. Surely they had some conscience. The two riders stopped just in front of her, addressing each other as if she did not exist.

"What d'ya think?" said the first in a heavy c.o.c.kney. He was a smallish, heavy-set man with a nondescript face and yellow teeth.

"Would be a fine catch, and no mistake." His companion, a lean, dour-looking man with drooping red moustaches, did not at first reply, but only continued to stare at the object in question.

"I think," he said at length, dismounting. "That I want you to hold my horse." The smaller man laughed harshly, and spurred his own steed forward to take hold of the reins.

"Just be sure ya save some for me," he said. "I don't fancy ridin' a dead horse." The red-haired man began to advance, as Mary backed away in rising horror.

"Please," she said in a pathetic voice. "Don't do this." But her words had no effect. The man seized her by the arms, and after a moment's indecision, threw her to the ground.

And then he was upon her, tearing at the b.u.t.tons of her dress, pressing her body hard against the stony track. Writhing in terror, Mary let out a piercing scream. The man lifted his hand to strike her.

But the blow never fell.

A shadow flashed across her vision, as an indistinct shape flew down from the rocks above. There was the thud of impact, as the man on top of her was torn aside. Two men wrestled on the ground beside her. The one, in rough clothes that fit him badly, quickly gained the upper hand, pinning the other beneath him. He raised a long knife in his hand, and with a savage cry, drove the blade home.

But an instant later there came a shot from behind, and the prisoner fell forward across the man that he had stilled. The second cavalryman, still mounted, had draw his pistol as soon as he regained his senses, and waited only for a clear shot at the Highlander.

In the confusion he had lost his grip on the other's horse, which bolted at the sound. And taking quick stock of the situation, the cavalryman seemed to feel much the same panic. For he too rode away, as if the Devil rode behind him. His hoofbeats died slowly in the distance.

Recovering somewhat from the shock, Mary rose and went to the crumpled form of her deliverer, to see if anything could be done. The ball had pierced his back, but perhaps.....

Raising his upper body carefully, she drew him clear of the other.

Then kneeling, she slowly laid him down, causing the fair, curly head to loll weakly into her lap. She let out a gasp as a familiar face looked up at her, and said her name with a smile.

"My Mary."

It was James Talbert, her cousin, and companion of her youth. And though he lay dying, there was yet a look of strained happiness on his worn, still boyish face.

"James!" she choked through her tears. "You should have just let them..... Oh. Don't die!"

"Hush, my girl. I don't mind." His words were quiet but distinct. "You don't know it---" His face clouded with pain, and for a time he was unable to speak.

"You've done me a kindness," he said finally. "You've given my death meaning." With this he stiffened, and gave a convulsive shudder. She feared he was already gone; but after a pause the blue eyes opened again, and he spoke. "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything," she wept. "Anything."

"Kiss me, Mary." Brushing the tear-stained hair from her face, she did as he asked.

"Thank you, love..... You're so very sweet..... Too bad you're in love with that other one, eh?" He tried to wink at her, but his face was suddenly changed, as crestfallen as the moment before it had been triumphant. His muscles convulsed from the pain of his mortal wound.

"Kiss me, Mary. I'm gone to a better world."

Trembling, she bent once more to press her lips to his. And when she rose again, he was gone.

"No . Dear G.o.d, please! It should have been me," she sobbed. "It should have been me."

She rocked him slowly back and forth, for the second time in her young life crying the bitter tears of a loved one lost. A heavy silence reigned about her, and the birds in the heath would not sing.

Fifteen

So it was that Stephen Purceville found her. He had knocked twice on the door of the hut, with growing impatience until, receiving no answer to his summons, he kicked it in. There he had found her gone, the place empty but for a filthy hag who hid her face and said nothing.

Yet for all his indifference and haste, the momentary glimpse of her eyes had struck a chord of memory inside him, though he was far too angry to puzzle it out. His woman (he thought of everything he desired as his) had betrayed him, gone off, when she knew that he wanted to see her.

Riding off in a storm of emotion, he came across Sergeant Billings as he rejoined the main track, who with a scared face spoke of ambush and treachery, and pointed back along the way he had come. Angered still further by the intrusion of duty (and reality) upon his romantic dreams, he forced out of the man what information he could, then bluntly ordered him to be silent, and follow.

So the two rode west together, and found her still in the same att.i.tude, holding the body as she would a sick child. She did not at first seem to hear them approach, till with a vehemence which startled them both, the young Purceville screamed at her:

"What is the meaning of this!"

Mary turned, as if not understanding what was wanted of her. Her eyes focused on him with an effort, and she replied slowly, in a voice that seemed to come from far away: from the bottom of a well.

"Two men are dead, who perhaps desired life. And one who desired death still lives. What meaning would you have?"

The blankness of her face astonished him. For a brief instant he felt something akin to genuine horror. What could have happened to transform the lithe, innocent creature of so few days before? But the thought could not penetrate deeply, for now the smaller man had begun to speak.

"You see, Captain, it's just as I told you." He spoke rapidly, eyes wide and shifting with the obvious lie. "She 'ates us. Set a trap for us she did, acting all seductive like. Then her man jumps down from the rocks---"

"You shut your mouth!" cried Purceville bitterly. He had seen Mary's torn dress, and knew how much faith to place in the character of these men. "Get out of here," he said. "Back to the barracks. And G.o.d help you when I return."

The small man rode off in haste, but did not go where he was sent. As he struck the high road he turned to the south instead, and fled into obscurity.

The Englishman dismounted and came closer. His face was a study of inner conflict, as rage and compa.s.sion warred inside him. Mary had little doubt (nor was she wrong) which side would win.

"Why?" he asked flatly, stopping a few feet away. "Why didn't you wait for me? If you had. . .none of this would have happened."

The girl slowly lowered the body, then stood to face him. "In the name of G.o.d, Stephen, is there any part of you that isn't utterly cruel? Do you think I don't know that?" This was too much. Her patience expired, and she no longer cared for the consequences.

"Am I supposed to feel worse because I also hurt your feelings?

Am I supposed to equate that with the death of two men, one of them my cousin? d.a.m.n you! If you possessed the least sensitivity you'd have known three days ago there could be nothing romantic between us. And today. If I had thought for one moment that you would listen to reason, and let me

explain---"