Highland Ballad Part 29

And where the h.e.l.l was Ballard? That they must kill the orderly was clear, but it must be done in such a way..... d.a.m.n him! His sudden appearance had undone a scheme so perfect it would have solved everything. "Everything!"

But his wrath was wasted here, and he knew it. He let his great body slide down to the hard, unyielding floor. And for all the anguish it cost him, he knew he must remain there until the furor of his body had lessened, and his thoughts become more tenable. Then he would act with swift resolution. Or so he imagined.

For Ballard, in his ponderous and short-sighted way, had reached a very different conclusion. Though unable to weigh the full consequences of such a choice, he had decided that the days of his master's dominance were numbered, and that it was time to abandon him.

"I'm me own master now," he said aloud. "Now I decide who lives, and who don't."

So rising slowly, with plans of his own pa.s.sing through him in the dark, he descended the remaining steps, and approached at last the final landing---the broad level s.p.a.ce before the ma.s.sive door.

He heard a sudden start in the gloom, and strained his eyes to see.

The single lamp was now smoking so badly, and cast such a wavering glow..... He saw the orderly, crouched like a frightened child at the foot of the impenetrable door. The Lieutenant took a breath, then chose his course.

"Peace, Master c.u.mmings," he said to him. "I haven't come to kill you.

Stand against the far wall if it will make your mind easier. I'm going to let you out."

"But you. . .you murdered him." Almost a sob.

"Not I, my friend. It was that b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Purceville, who done it before I could stop him. And that'll be an end to my faithful service, I promise you. After all these years' blind obedience, I see him now in his true colors. I tell you, I've had enough."

He came forward with the ring of keys in his hand, as the other moved distrustfully away. He inserted the iron shaft, turned it in the lock, and pulled open the door with a seditious crack like the unsealing of a coffin. Then stood away.

The orderly eyed the opening, torn between desire and fear. Then began to inch toward it with his back against the stone, arms spread plaintively behind him.

"Be cautioned," said Ballard as he drew closer. "You must walk past the guards at the end of the corridor as if nothing has happened, then lie low till I've had time to deal with the Master. His men are ruthless, and the Lord only knows what they'll do if they suspect....."

The young man looked back at him, confused, then suddenly burst through the opening and out into the corridor beyond.

Ballard sealed and locked the barrier once more. And thinking of the girl, so utterly helpless in the cold dark cell, he smiled.

Thirty-Six

Perhaps a mile from the garrison, the bony ridge to the left of the road began to decline and pull back, leaving in its place a high, gra.s.sy plateau. This continued largely unbroken to the Castle, due north, ending to westward in a stark precipice that fell for a thousand feet into the churling seas below. At this same point the road began a long, slow loop to the right, at length bending back to meet the fortified drawbridge at the Castle's eastern gate.

Here Stephen turned off the weathered track, moving up into the lateral plain. Michael plodded on behind him, still bound, his wrists raw and aching. So convincing had Purceville's performance been before the garrison---so rough and disdainful his treatment of the prisoner---that Michael himself was not certain how things now stood between them. But a short distance from the precipice the Englishman checked his horse and dismounted, approaching him.

"I underestimated you," said the Highlander. To this the other did not reply, but sternly set to work loosing the bonds.

"This much I did for you," said Stephen, as the last knot fell away.

"What I do from here on is for myself, and for the girl."

"I ask no more." Nothing was said about the pistol, which the Englishman did not return. For Michael knew that the time for weapons and fighting was pa.s.sed. Now there was only the Tower, and the sea.

The two mounted, and rode the remaining distance carefully, the horse weary and unsure beneath them. And soon the hard dark walls of the fortress were sharply outlined against the tattered sky beyond.

Drawing closer still, Stephen guided the reluctant animal to the very edge of the cliffs upon their left. Far below the seas crashed sullenly against the unyielding stone, or hissed dark warnings upon the sands of a shallow inlet. Michael strained his eyes for any sign of the waiting skiff, but distance and darkness defied him.

And soon the great, cornering Tower frowned black and menacing before them. They dismounted, feeling small, perhaps a hundred yards away, in the hollow beneath a wind-riven oak.

Together they advanced on foot, through the cold stubble-gra.s.s, until they were halted by the rounded bulge of the Tower itself. Immediately to the right of it a dry, deep-cloven moat had been cut into the stone foundation, encircling the Castle on its three exposed sides. The fourth, to westward, was protected by the fall of cliffs behind.

But the Tower itself needed no such fortification. Two hundred feet high, its thick and unscalable walls showed no opening for at least half that distance, and then only a staggered spiralling of high narrow windows for archers. The only other feature it showed beneath the crowning battlements, were the lizard- and gargoyle-headed drainspouts, which in centuries past had been used to pour boiling oil down upon the heads of would-be attackers, along with a volley of arrows and a shower of stones.

Craning his neck to look up at it, Michael saw neither light nor sentinel, either in the Tower itself, or upon the high, adjacent wall.

For none were needed. Sheer physical impa.s.sability guarded this bulwark turned prison, where there could be no thought of rescue or escape. The Berserkers themselves had not been able to storm its fastness, and they were five centuries gone and forgotten.

Here at the last, Michael realized the full desperation of his scheme.

It would take a near perfect throw to reach the upper windows with one of the projectiles in which he placed such hope. And as Stephen had said, they didn't even know which cell the women were in. He could not look at Purceville now, who surely must be sneering at his 'faith' and naivete.

So there it was. To have come so far, and overcome such obstacles, only to be defeated in the end by cold, indifferent stone. His whole soul longed to cry out her name in pa.s.sionate summons. . .but he dared not. For though the walls were blind, surely there were ears within to hear his desperation, and descend upon them like angry birds of prey.

Feeling utterly lost, he lifted the great coil from his shoulders, and let it fall in a useless heap to the ground. And hung his head, unable for a time to continue.

But when he raised it again, unvanquished, his eyes caught a gleam of something bright and solid in the gra.s.s, as for a moment the moon shone down clear and un.o.bstructed. He moved closer, before the pale light could hide itself once more. Was it possible.....

The ring! He lifted it gently, as if it were a thing of smoke which might dissolve upon his touch. But the slender band remained.

"What is it?" asked Stephen.

"A sign," replied the Highlander.

And with these words all the hope and urgency of his task returned to him. "It is my mother's. . .it is Mary's ring, cast down as a marker from one of the cells above." He turned again to face the Tower, careful to stand in the exact spot where he had found it. "The way the windows are staggered, it could only have come from the uppermost story. Would that make sense, based on your knowledge of the Tower?"

"Yes," said Stephen, understanding. "And it would suit my father's temperament as well. He'll have done everything possible to intimidate....."

But Michael was no longer listening. Instead he ran with sudden resolution, back to the startled horse, and removed the saddlebags.

Returning again, but this time not so close, he tried to gauge the height and distance exactly, then poured out his bundles on the ground.

The two women sat huddled together in fear, at the farthest point from the wretched, inadequate door. For as Ballard suspected, they had heard every word of the murderous doings beyond it, including Lord Purceville's promise that they would not live out the night.

Of all the moments Mary had yet endured, this was undeniably the darkest. To hear one's death sentence p.r.o.nounced is a trial few can face. To hear the words spoken by her own father, the man who had brought her into the world, who should have loved and cared for her above all others. . .was a horror so black it nearly clove her heart in two. She hunched together, pale and shivering with fright---unable to act, or even to think.

And yet it was only in that, most desperate of corners, that the true strength of her spirit revealed itself. Her slow-awakened courage, pushed to its final need, became galvanized at the last, not a momentary surge, to be swept away as soon as anger left her, but a permanent foundation, underlying all. The will to live, and to resist the evil that would snuff out that life, rose so strong in her that it was all she could do not to cry out in rage.

Clenching her jaws to keep the lower from trembling, she broke away from the helpless embrace and began to move across the floor on all fours, searching for the blade that she had earlier discarded.

With this, Anne Scott too seemed to gather herself, and perceiving her niece's intention, began to search for the knife as well. All done in the poor and inconstant light from without, and with the urgency that only threat of death can bring.

It was no easy task. For the uneven paving stones held many cracks, with scattered straw overlying all. But at last Mary's hand touched steel, and her fingers closed around it.

A moment later two sounds were heard, one almost in answer to the other. First came Ballard's heavy tread upon the threshold of the landing. Then somewhere in the distance, a startled horse gave voice to its weary confusion.

As if with one mind the women sought each other out. Then locking arms, they turned all senses outward, poised for instantaneous action.

Together they heard the rough speech of the men outside the door, at the same time wondering with secret hope what rider had approached the outer walls, where none had come before.

"Where have you been?" growled Purceville angrily. "What did you do with him?"

"Mister c.u.mmings met with an accident. He was in such haste to bring help to his dying master, that he missed his footing and fell headlong down the stairs. Broke his neck. An ugly accident, but natural enough."