A Heart In The Highlands

9-2

Cathy moved slowly, for it was imperative for them to go silently and it was also difficult for Iona to keep within the small circle of light from the lantern. More than once she stumbled and it was with the utmost difficulty that she refrained from crying out on feeling herself fall forward into nothingness or bumping painfully against a wall or a piece of furniture.

At last after what seemed to her a very long time they reached the ground floor and entered a high, broad passage. Here the walls were unplastered and they walked on bare stone so that every movement they made, however cautious, seemed to echo and re-echo into the chilly darkness. Not speaking a word, Cathy went ahead on tiptoe until unexpectedly she stopped abruptly. A little way ahead of them the passage curved.

Cathy appeared to be listening, then after a moment she turned and flashed Iona a warning glance before she opened the lantern and blew out the candle. For a few seconds Iona could see nothing, but as her eyes grew used to the darkness she perceived a faint light ahead. She heard Cathy put down the lantern on the floor, and then she felt her fingers gripping hers to draw her forward.

Hardly daring to breathe, Iona allowed herself to be led slowly along, her body close against the wall, until the light ahead grew brighter and brighter, the two women concealed from it only by a stone buttress. Very cautiously first Cathy and then Iona peeped round it.

A dozen yards away a big lantern had been set on a wooden bench. Beside it sat a big broad-shouldered youth of perhaps twenty-two years of age whittling at a piece of wood with a knife. His lips were pursed and as he worked he whistled tunelessly. His hair was long and fell untidily around his face. He had thrown off his coat and his shirt was open to the waist, showing a stalwart, hairy chest. This, Iona knew, must be Eachann.

Beyond him was the Keep, its solid oak door with heavy iron hinges and a square lock reached by two stone steps. The surrounding walls, constructed of big square stones, were formidably massive. This part of the castle had been built as a fortress and had never been used as anything else.

Cathy took a deep breath and Iona knew that she was about to step forward and speak to Eachann, when suddenly there was the sound of footsteps. Quietly purposeful they approached the Keep from the other direction. There was the sharp clink of heels on a stone floor growing louder and louder and Iona guessed that someone was crossing the Great Hall.

Desperately she put out her hands and clung to Cathy. Both women pressed themselves close against the buttress so that Iona could feel the sharpness of the roughly hewn stone bruising her skin through the thin material that covered her.

Eachann, who had looked up unexpectedly when he heard the footsteps, suddenly sprang to his feet. Someone came forward into the light of the lantern and Iona saw that it was Lord Niall.

The diamond buttons on his coat of puce satin glimmered and glittered in the light from the lantern. He carried a candlestick of polished silver and the wax trickled thickly and lopsidedly over the stand. His face, dark and satanic, seemed strangely at variance with his powdered hair and the jabot of exquisite lace at his chin.

The very gaiety of his clothes and the sparkle of his jewels seemed out of place because of an aura of virulence and venom about him. It seemed as if Eachann felt this, for he took a step backwards and there was something sheepish, yet apprehensive in his attitude as with lowered head he watched Lord Niall from under his eyebrows.

Lord Niall set his candlestick down on the wooden bench, and then he glanced round, his eyes finally resting on Eachann.

“Has the prisoner asked for anything?” he inquired.

“Nay, m’lawd.”

“Has he called out, attempted to talk with you?”

“Nay, m’lawd.”

“The prisoner is securely housed? It is impossible for him to escape?”

“Aye, m’lawd.”

“I will look for myself.”

Lord Niall walked to the door of the Keep and Iona saw him slide back the wooden shutter of a peephole heavily barred with iron. His Lordship stared through it for some seconds, and then he closed the shutter again.

“Asleep,” he said, “or pretending to be. You are quite certain he has not asked you for anything?”

“Nay, m’lawd.”

“There is always a possibility that a man of that sort might have friends in the neighbourhood or for that matter in the castle itself. If he asks for anyone, be sure to remember the name correctly and bring me word of what he has said first thing in the morning.”

“Aye, m’lawd.”

Lord Niall put his hand to his chin and appeared to be considering something. After quite a long pause he said,

“You have the key safely?”

“Aye, m’lawd.”

Eachann drew it from his belt and held it up. Lord Niall put out his hand.

“I think it would be safer if I relieved you of this. As I have already said there is always the chance of someone trying to rescue a Jacobite.”

He took the key and moved once again up the steps to the door of the Keep. He tried it in the lock, and having made certain that the door was firmly shut, slipped the key into the pocket of his coat.

“Keep a good watch, Eachann,” he admonished, and picking up his candle he walked off in the direction from which he had come.

Iona and Cathy heard his footsteps growing fainter and fainter until at last they could hear them no more. Eachann sat down on the bench and took up his knife and the piece of wood on which he had been working. He looked at it, gave a great yawn, stretched himself and put down both the knife and the carving. He yawned again, his breath expelling itself in noisy gusts. It was then that Cathy stepped forward.

She had advanced several yards towards him before Eachann, opening his eyes after his tremendous yawn, caught sight of her. His mouth remained open in a ludicrous expression of astonishment. Cathy advanced steadily until she was standing beside him, then she smiled.

“I was sorry for ye doon here in the cold, Eachann.”

“Hoots, Cathy, but ye gied me an’ awfu’ fright,” he exclaimed. “I thocht ye was a ghost comin’ oot o’ the dark!”

“I hae no wish tae scare ye, Eachann,” Cathy answered. “I was only tryin’ tae dae ye a kindness.”

“Aweel, an’ whit sort o’ kindness micht that be?” Eachann asked, catching sight of the bottle.

Cathy held it out to him with a smile.

“Wine?” he queried greedily.

“Aye, an’ guid wine at that,” Cathy answered. “The housekeeper sent me for it, but I was ower long an’ wheen I got back she was fast asleep. It seemed a pity tae waste the wine an’ I thought o’ ye doon here all alane. It will warm ye, for ’tis a cold nicht.”

“That’s awfu’ guid o’ ye, Cathy,” Eachann said. “I wouldna hae expected it o’ ye, indeed I wouldna. Ye hae been reel cruel tae me this twelve month. I swear ye hae e’en turned yer heid awa’ wheen I looked at ye.”

“I have nae doot o’ it,” Cathy said severely. “Ye are tae pleased with yersel, Eachann, that’s what’s wrang with ye. But mind ye, I’m a friend an’ ’tis sorry I am that ye hae tae spend the nicht in a place like this. Upon my saul, it gives me the creeps!”

Eachann looked around him.

“’Tis no whit ye’d ca’ a gey place!”

“Gey?” Cathy echoed. “It is doonrich fearfu’, that’s what it is. Why, I’d as soon spend the nicht in a graveyard.”

“Hoots, I’m no feart,” Eachann laughed.

“Aye, ye’re a brave laddie, I’ll say that for ye,” Cathy said. “But I’ve heard tell that the ghost o’ MacCraggan Mor walks here at nicht. Ye can see his white sporran swingin’ in the darkness an’ his white feathers at the side o’ his bonnet.”

She whispered the last words and her tone was eerie.

Eachann shivered.

“Put a loc’ on yer tongue, Cathy. Tis a fule yell be makin’ o’ me. I’m no supersteetious an’ if MacCraggan Mor iss walkin this nicht, he’ll no harm a puir Heiland laddie.”

“Dinna ye be tae sure o’ that,” Cathy replied sharply. “If MacCraggan Mor ken some o’ the things that happen in the castle, it’s nae wonder he rises frae oot o’ his grave.”

“An’ whit ca’ ye mean by tha’, Cathy?” Eachann asked, but he could not meet her eyes.

“Ye ken full weel, Eachann mon, what I mean,” Cathy said. “Ye an’ Sime an’ those ithers as make friends with the English should be ashamed. I heard tell as yersel’ were seen with ane o’ they redcoats ootside o’ the Fort last Saturday.”

“Gawd’s maircy, but who told ye tha’, Cathy?” Eachann expostulated. “’Twas waitin’ for his Lordship we weer an’ the redcoat but proffered me a wee drappie.”

“Then shame on ye for takin’ it!”

“An’ what harm ca’ tha’ dae?” Eachann asked defiantly.

“That’s for ye tae answer,” Cathy said, “an’ dinna fash tae explain yersel tae me. Keep yer excuses for MacCraggan Mor if he visits ye in the sma’ hours.”

Eachann shivered again.

“Stop bletherin’, Cathy,” he said, “an’ gie us a kiss. ’Tis gratefu’ I am for the wine.”

“Then show yer gratitude by keepin’ yer kisses to yerself,” Cathy retorted. “I maun get back oopstairs. If onyone finds I hae been here, ‘tis a fine talkin’ tae I’d get an’ nae mistak.”

She took a few steps away from him, but Eachann jumped up.

“Nay, Cathy, bide a wee while.”

“I canna,” Cathy said, shaking her head. “Ye wouldna get me sent awa’, Eachann, would ye?”

“Indeed I wouldna, ye wee darlin’,” he answered.

He put out his arms to catch her, but she was too quick for him. She ran a few steps, then stopped and looked back, realising that he was about to follow her. She pointed to the bench.

“Gang back tae yer post, Eachann,” she said. “If there’s trouble brewin’ for me, there wad be far worse trouble frae his Lordship if ye lef’ the prisoner unguarded.”

“Aye, I nae doot o’ that,” Eachann muttered, and his face fell. “But dinna gang awa’.”

“I maun,” she whispered, and she hurried away while he stared after her, torn between his desire to follow and his fear of leaving the Keep.

Cathy swung round the buttress and joined Iona in the shadows. For a moment they were both tense for fear that Eachann might come lumbering down the passage, but duty won and he sat down on his bench. His hand went out towards the bottle of wine. He picked it up, looked at it appreciatively, wetted his lips with his tongue then took a long drink.

It was evidently most enjoyable for he smacked his lips loudly and immediately took another pull at the bottle. Iona and Cathy waited. Iona was conscious now of being intensely cold. She could feel the damp seeping up through the soles of her thin satin shoes, but it was not only the cold that made her fingers seem almost too stiff to move and which kept her so tense that she felt as if she too had turned to stone. Suppose they failed, her mind queried, suppose the laudanum did not work on Eachann, suppose the wine merely revived him or else he dozed so fitfully that he heard them when they approached the Keep?

She knew that Cathy was anxious too, but there was nothing they could do but wait and go on waiting while Eachann drank. At last the bottle was finished, drained to the very last drop and reluctantly he set it down under the bench.

Now he was yawning again, this time drowsily and with not so much vigour. His eyelids were closing, his head nodding a little. His chin touched his chest and startled him so that he awoke with a jerk. He was yawning again, but weakly as if the effort was too much.

It was evidently uncomfortable on the bench for he moved to seat himself on the floor, his back to the wall facing the door of the Keep.

“I’m keepin’ watch,” he said aloud in a slurred, somnolent voice. “I’m keepin’ watch, ghosties or no ghosties.”

His legs were outstretched in front of him, but his head slipped a little sideways, then quite suddenly he keeled over. His head struck the floor, he grunted, pillowed his head in his arms, but did not open his eyes. Slowly his body adjusted itself to a more comfortable position, his knees bent, his back curved.

He gave a sudden snort, which echoed round the walls, and then he was asleep and snoring in the slow, thick manner of someone who has been drugged.