A Heart In The Highlands

9-3

Still Iona and Cathy waited until after about five minutes, reassured by the round of Eachann’s rhythmic snores they crept forward into the light. All the way to the door of the Keep they watched Eachann, but it was obvious that the laudanum had done its work effectively. It would be many hours before he would be troubled by anything.

Iona ran up the steps and fitted the key into the lock. Her hand was shaking and for one awful moment she thought that she had been tricked and that it would not fit. But it was only stiff and with an effort she managed to turn it. Hardly daring to breathe she pushed the heavy door with both hands.

There was a lantern hanging from the roof of a high circular room. The only furniture was a rough wooden couch covered with a blanket. Lying on it apparently asleep was Hector, but as the door opened he sat up, instantly alert. When he saw who stood there, his eyes widened and he sprang to his feet, but did not speak.

“The guard is drugged,” Iona whispered, “but come quickly.”

In answer Hector picked up his belt which he had loosened and which had fallen on the couch. He fastened it round his waist and knelt to tie his shoes. Then he glanced round to be sure he had left nothing behind.

“Ready,” he murmured.

Cathy was waiting in the passage, Hector joined her and Iona locked the door of the Keep. Then all three slipped past the sleeping Eachann to where Cathy had left the lantern. Cathy picked it up.

“Wait here, mistress,” she said in a low voice.

She sped back again to light her little candle from the lantern on Eachann’s bench. It was but a second or two before she joined them, but in that moment Hector had reached out his arms towards Iona and pulled her close. She could feel his heart beating with excitement.

“How did you manage it, you wonderful girl?” he whispered.

“It was the Duke,” Iona replied. “Oh, Hector, I am sure, quite sure, that he is on our side. But we cannot talk here, we must get you away at once.”

“I have no desire to linger,” Hector replied, “but if what you say is true about Arkrae – it’s splendid news.”

Cathy joined them at that moment and without wasting time in further speech they set off quickly down the passage, Cathy leading the way, her lantern bobbing ahead like a will-o-the-wisp. They passed the stairs down which she and Iona had come from the upper floors and about two minutes later came to a door in the outer wall. Here Cathy stopped.

“Ye had best gang oot this way, Mister Hector.”

“ Where does it lead to?” he asked.

“Straight on tae the loch,” she replied. “Ma uncle may be below wi’ his boat but if he’s no theer, can you swim?”

“Like a fish,” Hector replied.

Cathy raised the lantern and Iona saw there were big bolts on the door and a wooden bar stretched across it. It could not have been used for some time, for the bolts were rusty and it took all Hector’s strength to draw them and to lift the bar from the staples. But he managed it, the door swung open and the sharp night air blew in on them.

Iona bent forward and looked out. She gave a muffled exclamation, for Cathy had indeed spoken truly when she said that the door led straight on to the loch. There was below the door a sheer drop of perhaps thirty feet into the still dark water. Cathy raised her lantern and waved it slowly then she drew back into the passage.

“If ma uncle is aboot, he’ll see the light an’ ken ’tis a signal,” she said. “Wait a wee while, Mister Hector, in case he come for ye, but if there’s no sign of him, ye’d best gang swift. Ye maun be far frae here afore the dawn breaks, for his Lordship’ll send his men in search o’ ye.”

“I know that,” Hector answered. “If only I had a horse, I should feel happier.”

“Wheen ye reach the ither side o’ the loch,” Cathy said, “take the path which leads to the south, wheen it branches gang due west. After aboot a mile ye’ll come tae a wee hoose. Ask for Raild the Piper. Tell him who ye are an’ if he canna fund ye a horse, he’ll keep ye safe. Ye can trust him as ye’d trust yer ain mither.”

“Thank you, Cathy,” Hector said, “I shall never forget what you have done for me.”

“Ye’ll wish tae talk wi’ ane anither,” Cathy said. “I’ll wait doon the passage, but ye maunna linger, Mister Hector. Each minute that takes ye awa’ frae the castle is a minute on tae yer life.”

She moved as she spoke until she was out of earshot. They could see the flickering of her lantern like a tiny eye in the darkness, but in the starlight Iona could still faintly discern the outline of Hector’s face.

“There is not time to say much,” he said quietly, “and no words that I could find would begin to express my gratitude, Iona. But my escape will cause trouble and it is you I am worrying about. If you are certain Arkrae is for us, waste no time but hurry back to France with the news.”

“I had not the slightest idea what His Grace felt until this evening.” Iona replied, “when he deliberately showed me a duplicate key of the Keep and made it possible for me to rescue you. It was fine of him, but I have a feeling that he, too, is in danger.”

“Arkrae can look after himself – you can’t. Get back to France as quickly as you can,” Hector said urgently. “Promise me?” He put out his hands and took hold of Iona’s. “Promise me?” he repeated.

“I have not yet found the ‘Tears of Torrish’,” Iona reminded him.

“Arkrae is prize enough,” Hector replied impatiently, “and there’s one other thing. You will be in France before me, and besides, there’s always the chance of my being captured again. Will you take this notebook and see that it reaches Brett as soon as possible?”

He drew the little book from inside his coat and put it into Iona’s hand.

“I had planned to hide it before they handed me over to the English,” he said. “The contents are too valuable for it to be destroyed except as a last resource, but at the same time it would be dangerous for it to be discovered in one’s possession. If you are not leaving at once try and get it into the keeping of Dr. Farquharson of Inverness.”

“Dr. Farquharson,” Iona repeated reflectively. “That is the man whom Colonel Brett told me to get in touch with when I was ready to return to France.”

“Then he may already have heard of you,” Hector said. “Ask him to dispatch the notebook to Paris and, better still, you with it as speedily as can be arranged.”

He looked out of the open door into the night.

“There’s no sign of Dughall and in a way I’m glad. He has risked too much for me already. I shall swim for it.”

“The water will be very cold,” Iona said, realising that she was shivering in the chilly air.

“It will freshen me up and keep me awake,” Hector smiled. “Goodbye, my dear.”

He put his arms round her and gave her another affectionate, passionless hug. Iona was growing increasingly familiar with this individual form of endearment and it no longer embarrassed her. Instead she clung to him, reluctant to move from the warm shelter of his arms.

“Take care of yourself, my dear.”

Hector released her and sat down on the floor. He dangled his legs over the water before lowering himself slowly, finding a foothold here and there until he was halfway down the side of the castle. Then he jumped.

Iona, leaning out of the open door, heard the splash, but it was too dark to see him in the water.

“May God gang wi’ him!” Cathy’s voice said in her ear.

Iona strained her eyes into the darkness. She could hear a soft movement in the water, then there was silence.

The further shore seemed dark and foreboding. She felt Cathy’s hand pull her and was obedient to its insistence. There was nothing more she could do, but even as she moved Iona knew with a clear unshakable certainty that Hector was all right. He would win through, serve the Prince and return safely to France. She was as sure of this as she was sure of life itself.

Hector would succeed, but for herself there was no such certainty.

With the greatest difficulty, both Iona and Cathy exerting all their strength, they managed to shut home the bolts on the door, and lift the wooden bar into position. As Cathy turned back towards the staircase, Iona remembered the key of the Keep.

“You must take me first to the Duke’s sitting room,” she whispered.

The twisting staircase brought them to the first floor. After a few minutes’ walking the passages widened, became carpeted and furnished and Iona recognised where she was. Moving silently, they reached the Duke’s sitting room and found it in darkness save for the glow from a few flickering embers left in the dying fire. It took Iona only a second to slip the key back into the drawer of the writing table from where she had taken it. But as she closed the drawer, she paused for a moment, conscious that the room was filled with the heavy fragrance of tobacco smoke. As she stood there with her fingers touching the smooth polished wood where his arms had so often rested, it brought her a vivid picture of the Duke, of his grey eyes, cold and almost expressionless, looking down into hers.

Now she was no longer afraid of him. He had saved Hector. He had shown her all too clearly that under that mask of proud indifference he was human – and understanding.

“Thank you, thank you,” Iona whispered into the darkness.

Then she turned and crept from the room.