Highland Ballad Part 31

Then Ballard, for reasons known only to himself, turned away and walked past her, out of the cell, and locked the door behind him.

Mary was the first to regain her senses. For a warning bell had tolled somewhere within the Castle, and now an answering shot was heard from the garrison below.

"We've got to get out of here, Michael."

"But my mother....."

"Go!" came a woman's voice, descending from on high with the strength and finality of angels. The two looked up to see the widow's stern form pointing out and away, not in gesture, but command: they were to live, and go on giving.

Michael looked to the ground, to the wasted rope, then into the eyes of the young life entrusted to his care. And for all the pain it cost him, he was left no choice.

"I'll come back for you!" he cried. "I love you!"

And taking Mary by the hand, he led her to a crease in the cliffs, where a knife-slash path led to the sheltered cove far below. There, in that place removed, he could only hope that the fisherman was waiting with a boat.

Thirty-Seven

The long, snaking descent seemed to take forever, yet still no pursuit showed itself on the heights above. Perhaps the death of their leader had thrown the soldiers into confusion.....

As they drew nearer the shallow inlet, Michael could see something dark against the encircling stretch of sand; but it gave him little hope. At first the shape of it was wrong. Then, as the distance grew less and his eyes began to a.s.similate detail, he saw that it was in fact a skiff, but swamped and overturned as from a wreck: the oars scattered, and no sign whatever of the pilot. Real despair gripped him, as he could only a.s.sume the worst---

A shot was fired from the heights above, and then another, as soldiers with torches and long muskets appeared suddenly upon the promontory.

Shielding her body with his own, Michael guided his beloved through a last knifing trough, and out onto the rough outer sands of the cove.

Together they huddled down in the shelter of a jutting stone, as he tried desperately to form some alternative plan.

But none was needed. From beneath the overturned skiff, now scarcely forty yards distant, a shadow emerged and stood hard against the sh.o.r.eline.

"Michael!" cried a familiar voice, and the Highlander's heart leapt inside him.

Without answering, almost without breathing, he took the girl by the hand and ran with her that last naked distance toward the boat. The crack of muskets was again heard from the promontory, and the torches began to descend in a long, angling file. But it would have taken a perfect shot to hit them, even if they had been stationary.

And the three were anything but that. By the time the lovers reached him, the fisherman had righted the skiff and retrieved the oars. Then all together they set the prow to seaward, and half lifted, half lunged it down the wet sand incline, to where the ends of waves splashed around them.

"Into the boat with you la.s.s," said the fisherman, as the waters surged stronger beneath it. "Kneel in the prow, and hold steady as you can." Then together the two men urged the craft forward, into depths that would sustain it. A short way further, and they clambered over the sides, taking up their rowing positions. Then lowering oars, they bent their backs in unison, and prepared to meet the oncoming waves.

The first nearly swamped them with a crash of angry foam. The second was little better. But each time, during the lull that followed they would steady the craft, and with determined oars drive the boat further, away from the writhing sh.o.r.es, and out into the calming vastness. Another wave, and then another. . .and they floated upon the bosom of the sea.

Several hundred yards offsh.o.r.e, and perhaps a mile further up the coast, they came upon the fisherman's boat, securely anch.o.r.ed. Pulling alongside it, the two men helped Mary up and over the side, the old man instructing her to go below and change out of her wet clothes, then heat some broth over the small, cast-iron stove.

"I'm afraid there's no such luxury for us," he said to Michael, as the two boarded and tied the skiff behind. "The nearest English-held port is some miles from here, and I'm not sure they'd try to come after us at sea. But we can't take that for granted; and in any case, we've got to be off before the fog gets too thick. I'll not have us tacking blind, this close to an uneven sh.o.r.eline.

"There's a blanket forward," he continued, catching his breath.

"That's where I'll need you to stand. Help me set the sails, then to your post, and keep your eyes wide open. Things might get a bit close.

We'll have to find our way out by dead reckoning."

Even as he spoke, the trailing mists that had seemed so harmless began to thicken, and the wind to grow less. Soon the fog became a patching curtain, then finally, a dense cloud.

Kneeling at the fore of the vessel, shivering with cold, Michael strained all his senses for any sign of hidden rock looming up out of the grey, or sound of crashing surf upon the sh.o.r.e. The cloud-wrack above had at last cleared away, but the unbridled moon only served to cast a ghostly aspect throughout the clinging shroud, so near, ever-present, and menacing.

He fully realized the danger. Even with all the mariner's skill, to sail in these waters half-blind..... He looked back to see him standing by the wheel, with compa.s.s and lantern beside him, navigating by instinct and memory alone. Framed by the mists, weathered but hale, he formed a cla.s.sic portrait of savvy and determination. But was that enough? Only time, and agony, would tell.

At length Mary came back on deck with a lantern, bringing each of the men a steaming cup. Standing by her troubled companion, she offered to watch in his stead. But for all her courage she shook from the cold as badly as he, and her darkened eyes and sunken cheeks spoke plainly of the harrows of the cell.

"Thank you, my Mary," he said to her. "But I've got to fight this last battle myself. The best gift you can give me now is to know that you are safe and well. Go lay you down, wrap yourself warmly, and try to sleep. Go on with you now. John and I still have a bit of work ahead of us."

She wept to see him struggling so, unable even to keep his jaw from trembling as he spoke. But she saw that his mind was set, and that forces warred inside him with which she must not interfere. She kissed him gently, whispered, "I love you," and went below.

The hours seemed endless, the tension unbearable. A thousand times Michael thought he must crack---from the pressure, the cold, and the need to peer unerringly into the formless void. But he knew that he must stand his ground.

Then slowly, so slowly that at first he thought his eyes deceived him, the shroud began to thin, and a grey light to grow in what he knew must be the east. The fog began to patch, as the stubborn light grew stronger.

Then suddenly they broke into the open, and the red sun climbed once more above the rim of the world. He lowered his head in exhaustion, closing his eyes at the last.

And when he opened them again, there on his left hand he saw the ring, still clinging, forgotten, to the middle joint of his smallest finger.

A sob escaped him, undeniable. Because through all the numbing darkness, the anguish, futility and death, its single jewel shone hard and clear and perfect, untouched by the ravages of time, or the treacheries of men. The tears flowed freely, pa.s.sionately, for he knew the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had not beaten him.

His love survived.

Epilogue

Michael sat before a warm fire in the small island cottage, contemplating the ring about his finger. It had remained there since the night of the escape, and he had vowed not to take it off until his mother had been freed, and he gave it once more to his betrothed, this time in marriage.

Both he and the girl had fallen ill during the long sail to Rona, a lonely island of the Hebrides, and a place as far removed from English control as one was likely to find in the whole of Britain. Their first days there, in the care of the fisherman's brother, had been spent bedridden, fighting fever and exhaustion alike. Mary, with her natural vigor and stubborn optimism, had been up and about some days now. But Michael's hurts were deeper, of longer duration. Only now, after more than a fortnight, did he feel his body beginning to respond.

The fisherman had returned to the mainland after seeing them settled in, and had promised to do all he could to secure the widow's release, including hiring a solicitor, and filing for clemency under the new articles of Reconciliation. But he cautioned that patience and prudence were still needed: that they must lie low, and make no plans without him. In any event, he had said, he would return with news as soon as it was safely possible.

But each day that pa.s.sed left Michael more in doubt. For what had become of the hornet's nest they left behind---Earl Arthur dead at Lord Purceville's hand, Purceville himself murdered by a subordinate, and Stephen half mad with rage---he could not imagine. Surely after a time a new Governor would be appointed, and some kind of stability return. But where that left his mother..... It was beyond contemplation, almost beyond hope.

And this was what galled him. He had done all that a man could do, winning freedom for himself, and for the chosen of his heart. And yet he could not think of joining her life to his own, because the other half of his devotion remained imprisoned and dest.i.tute. . .for the crime of loving her children. Try as he might, he could not swallow this last bitterness, nor put it from his mind.

The cottage door opened suddenly and in burst the girl, breathless and in tears. He tried to ask her what was wrong, as dark fears of pursuit and capture raced through him. But she shook her head emphatically, unable yet to speak.

"You must come with me," she finally managed. "Put on your coat; something wonderful has happened."

He did as she asked, wrapping himself warmly, then walked with her out into the bracing, December morning. And as he took those first steps along the path, it occurred to him that he had not seen the sun, nor felt the free wind across his face, for what seemed an eternity.

The brisk Fall air was invigorating, the long sweep of rocky hillside magnificent. He thought he had never seen a sky so deep and blue. Real hope stirred in him, tormented him. He tried to stay the girl and make her speak. But she only clutched his hand more tightly, and urged him down the broadening track toward the sea.

Looking out across the blinding sparkle of blue-green waters, he saw a single sail approaching the tiny harbor. Shading his eyes he made out a smallish vessel, with a weathered pilot standing at the wheel. And beside him stood another, a woman..... He fell to his knees, unable for a time to continue.

At length he rose, and walked with his beloved the remaining distance to the landing. There, drawing nearer, the fisherman met his gaze with a smile that seemed to melt away the years, and make them both children again. The older man threw the mooring line to his friend, who tied it to the dock with a trembling but joyous hand. Anne Scott stepped off the boat, and mother and son embraced.

Mr. and Mrs. Michael Scott stood aboard the deck of the merchant brig 'Dauntless', watching with deep emotion the nearing coastline. It was now nearly June, and they had been at sea for two months. A single word resounded in both their hearts, as the burly captain approached them, and clapped his fellow Highlander on the back.