Highland Ballad Part 30

"Good," said Purceville more calmly. "Good work." But Ballard would have none of it.

"So the death of these two we can explain," he said flatly. "But how are you going to explain throttling them b.i.t.c.hes?"

"I'm not, Lieutenant , and I suggest you watch your tongue." He paused, perceiving for the first time the danger of the man before him. Not even his son knew more..... "We throw the bodies out the window, then have them collected by Simon's men and hurled into the sea. Arthur's escort will be too unnerved by his death to remember why he came here tonight, if they ever knew. Then tomorrow we put two other women in their place---my former mistress and her mother---who'll say only what we tell them to say. All done as neat as neat."

"Well it don't sound such a sure thing to me," rumbled Ballard, whose one thought amidst the closing web of treacheries was to have his way with the girl, possibly even steal her away.

"So who b.l.o.o.d.y asked you!" cried Purceville, drawing a great pistol from the inner lining of his coat. But the sudden outburst brought an answering pain from his chest, and he fell back against the wall for support. Yet he still had fire enough to point the weapon squarely at his subordinate, who had taken a menacing step towards him.

"I catch my breath. . .then we go in, and do it!" Ballard could only glare at him, his hopes for l.u.s.t slipping away.

The two women, holding whispered counsel of their own, had begun to form plans for an ambush, when a second unexplained sound met their ears. Soft, but infinitely nearer it came: some round and yielding object had struck the floor gently, then bounded a short distance further with a rustle of hay.

Again Mary dropped down on all fours, groping, but this time toward a more definite source. Again her hand met something solid, which she could not at first identify. It seemed to be. . .a ball of twine, wrapped about some heavier object.

"Anne," she whispered anxiously, rejoining her companion. "It must have been cast through the window. What can it be?"

Holding it up in what poor light could be found, the older woman made out a tiny sheet of parchment wrapped beneath the first few strands, on which some kind of message had been scrawled. She hurriedly worked it out with her fingers, beginning to understand. Recognizing the word 'rope', as well as the hand which must have written it, she needed no further explanation.

"It is your way out," she replied firmly. "Yours. Remember that, both of you. And as you love me, do as I say. You must leave me behind ." With that she moved swiftly to the window, and wrapping the end of the twine securely about her left hand, with her right cast the remaining bundle as hard and as far as she could.

Michael, still at his distance, unsure of success, did not see her.

But Stephen could; and sensing the same urgency that had driven the Highlander to sudden action, he called to him in a harsh whisper.

"Michael!"

The slender cord had unraveled perhaps half the necessary length to reach the ground when, catching slightly, it pulled the remaining ball back against the Tower wall. But the force of impact loosed the snag, and the weight of the stone within carried it bouncing and unwinding to the turf below.

Michael, coming forward, still had not seen his mother. But he saw the shrunken ball of twine, reduced to almost nothing, and wasted not an instant.

Seizing the end of the rope, which lay but a short distance off, he tied the thinner cord firmly below the first of the s.p.a.ced knots, then tugged gently in signal. Only then did he look up to see the female form leaning out, and with frozen breath, watched the life-line beginning to ascend.

Anne Scott held the tensing line away from the wall for as long as she could, till the growing weight of the rope forced her to bring it closer to her body, praying that the twine would not catch and tear against the stone. Mary stood guard behind her, the knife clenched, trying to understand what was happening. Anne Scott stepped back. The rope was in her hand.

".....I tell you I don't like it," snapped Ballard just beyond. "And what if I told you I hadn't got the key?"

"I'd blow your G.o.d d.a.m.ned head off."

Searching the floor, the widow found the iron hoop through which ancient shackles had once been pa.s.sed. She put the end of the rope through and tied it fast, tested it with a severe pull, then guided Mary quickly to the window.

"Over the side with you, Mary," she whispered. "No time for fear.

Michael is below with your brother. Yes! Give me the weapon. . .now up into the sill. That's it. Keep firm hold of the rope, and use the knots to guide you down. Climb swiftly but carefully, then be gone, both of you! I'll deal with this lot."

Hardly knowing what had happened, Mary found herself outside the window, clutching a dark rope with all the desperate strength of youth. She tried at first to gain some foothold, then in a moment of panic, to reach up and climb back into the sill. But the groping hand slid away, and the downward momentum twisted her body outward..... She hung by one hand above the void, as a sudden wind ripped across her, and the surf beat hungrily against the rocks far below. Fear choked her nearly to paralysis. But there was something else, there on the solid ground. Two figures stood, one of them.....

Twisting her body and using her legs for leverage, she turned again to face the stone, and with her right hand, once more took firm hold of the lifeline.

Not looking down, breath coming in gasps and limbs trembling, she began to descend, her feet wrapped tightly, tensely sliding from one catch-knot to the next.

When she dared to look again she was halfway down, and Michael was standing beneath her, arms wide as if to embrace the sky.

Anne Scott heard the key being turned in the lock. But for all her determination, the great hulking figure who threw open the door was too fast for her. As she moved swiftly toward him, the knife raised, her motion was checked by a savage blow that felled her at once, and left her all but senseless. The Lord Purceville, with the light behind him had seen her coming, and with his great fist crashed her to the floor.

Moving past her as his eyes strained to adjust to the gloom, he swept the cold shadows of the chamber like a ravening wolf that had lost sight of its prey. For a moment he despaired, as it became clear that the girl was gone.

But then he saw the rope, rising tautly from the floor and over the lip of the sill. Himself not wasting an instant he ran to the window, shifted his bulk, leaned over and out of it. Seeing the girl still descending far below, he swept out his own knife and began cutting into the strands one by one.

Michael was too intent upon the progress of his nearing lover to take in the dark bulge that appeared at the window. Mary never thought to look up, but only continued to descend.

Perhaps twenty feet from the ground she suddenly felt the rope begin to give. Releasing her hands once each, she instinctively pushed away from the wall--- The last strands gave way as she fell back, stifling a scream.

Michael caught her, shielding her body with his own; but the force of impact sent them both to the ground. Together they rose, embracing and in tears. . .until slowly they perceived the danger that awaited them.

And it came not from above, where Lord Purceville knew that any shot was as likely to strike his son as the two lovers. . .but from directly behind them. More sinister than raw violence, because it came from an unguarded quarter, the dark spectre of betrayal rose before them.

Stephen Purceville stood with the pistol at arm's length, his eyes fastened with twisted vehemence upon the turning form of the Highlander, his pa.s.sion all the greater for the torment of his soul.

"Stephen!" cried the girl in sudden terror. For in her mind's eye she recalled the dream: Michael standing blind and helpless, returned from the dark pool of Death, only to find its second emissary standing ruthless and final before him. As in the dream, the messenger of hate knew no entreaty. His eyes and voice were cold as steel.

"I vowed that I would help you win her freedom. That I have done. But I will not surrender her to you . The girl will come away with me, or be buried here beside you."

"No," said Michael flatly. "No."

"I'll kill you!" cried the betrayer. And the scarlet arm began to stiffen in the firing motion.

But at the very instant he would have shot, Mary stepped before her only love, willing to die to save him.

A moment later the Englishmen was confronted by something more unnerving still. For it was not the love loyalty of another, but his own, unrealized devotion. A cry was heard from above: not a scream, for it contained rage as well as fear. Like a stone from a precipice it fell, and like a stone struck the earth beside him, changing to the horror of his eyes from a formless clot. . .into the writhing figure of a man. His father lay, broken and dying, on the ground.

And from the Tower above came another sound, as if in answer to his pain: a howl of laughter so complete, so devoid of all remorse.....

Ballard had come up behind his leaning master and, all other base pleasures denied him, with his own strong and gnarled hands, hurled the aging tyrant to his death.

Casting away the pistol as if itself the instrument of murder, Stephen fell to his knees before his father.

"What can I do!" he cried. And while the man's tortured movements grew less, the son knew in his heart that this was not the easing of pain, but the end of all struggle, brought by death.

The Lord Purceville had just strength enough to turn his head once, and view the flesh that would outlive his own. But that was all. The life flowed out..... Angelica. I'm sorry .

Too late. He had tried to kill his own daughter. His eyes rolled back, and he was dead.

Stephen's head shot back in agony, as he released a sound more b.e.s.t.i.a.l than human. All was dead for him. He was alone.

But no tears would form, nor did he wish them to. The one emotion that still burned, and seemed capable of sustaining him, was revenge. He rushed blindly back and remounted the horse. And brandishing the sword, rode away toward the gate in a fury, as if the lovers did not exist.

Anne Scott remained p.r.o.ne on the floor, her mind dazed but her senses still aware. She had seen Lord Purceville go to the window, as she had watched his treacherous Lieutenant move behind him. . .and heard the long fall to ruin.

Now she lay very still, as the man remained with his back to her, perhaps in contemplation of what to do next. Moving one arm only, she again found the knife, which had not slipped far from her grasp. And she in turn felt a strong temptation to creep up behind him..... But all around her was the taste of murder and death. And for the love she still bore her children, she could not.