Fourteen
The man called Jamie spent the night, and the two days following, at the cottage of the fisherman. This had in no way been planned. But he had woken trembling and feverish, and with a deep cough that would not be silenced. It was as if only now, when it had reached a safe haven, that his body could tell him of its many ills and deprivations.
The old man insisted that he remain in bed, at least until the high fever broke. As to thoughts of his own safety, he had none; and with the heavy overcast and clinging fog he deemed it prudent, and a necessary risk, to keep him from the cold and damp of out-of-doors. The younger man at length agreed, not because it seemed wise, but because it was inevitable. He had no choice. Once so healthy and robust, he now felt a dull ache in the very marrow of his bones, and a chill that would not be abated. So he remained in bed, and with forced patience, passed the two hard days.
But on the succeeding morning---perhaps two hours before Mary fled in panic from the hut---he felt again the deep restlessness which had troubled him three days before. Something was wrong. Someone dear to him was in danger. He could not have said how he knew this; but know it he did, and resolved then and there to pay call upon those he loved. Though he was still far from well, and fully realized the risk, this instinctive sense would not be overruled. He now found it as impossible to remain in the cottage as it had previously been to leave.
He thanked the fisherman for all that he had done, and promised to send word to him, or come himself, as soon as he knew that all was well. And he promised to be careful. The veteran was concerned: his experience had taught him the inadvisability of haste. But seeing the intensity of the younger man’s face he could only wish him well, and after he had gone, say a silent prayer for him in his own fashion.
The wheels of fate were turning. Events were in God’s hands now.
* * *
Mary wandered aimlessly across the high plateau toward the sea, feeling lost and miserable. As she walked she watched the fog rise slowly and evaporate, along with all faith in herself. Vaguely she told herself that she would never again live with her mother in the dark, dismal hut, where everything was smoke and confusion. But even this seemed a wavering resolve. How could she promise herself anything, when she had been so weak.....
A single tear broke from the stillness of her face, as she realized that in all the haste of her flight she had nonetheless seized the heavy cloak from its peg by the door, the same which she now wrapped about her. She cried because this instinctive action showed her, more even than the painful workings of her mind, that a part of her still wanted to live. As much as she had loved Michael, and loathed the thought of a world without him. . .still, she desired life. It was in that moment an unbearable anguish.
She heard hoofbeats approaching from the west. This did not at first seem to register, except perhaps for a dim realization that it could not be the man she feared, who would have to approach from the east---behind her.
The plateau had gradually sunk and narrowed, until now it was little more than a rough gully between the two rocky shoulders which pressed upon it. It occurred to her that the riders, still hidden by the rise and fall of the track ahead, would soon be upon her, and that there was nowhere to hide. But the same nightmare logic that says not to fear, it is only a dream, told her now that this could not be what in fact it was: a dangerous meeting in a place far from help. It all seemed so inevitable. And she was tired of fighting.
Two horsemen appeared on the track below her as she reached the crown of the rise, which occurred at the very point where the opposing walls were highest, rising in serrated levels to a height of sixty feet, several yards to either side of her.
The riders were dressed in red.
She looked quickly about her for a sheltering shadow or place to hide, as all the warnings that she had been raised on began to torment her. But the noon sun was hidden by a cloud, as if it had not the heart to watch: there were no shadows. And they had seen her.
The two men rode easily, lazily in their fine English saddles. Young cavalrymen, they had been sent to investigate reports that one of the escaped prisoners believed to be in the area had been sighted.
But if their superiors placed a high importance on the capture of these elusive wretches, clearly they did not. For them it was a tedious duty; and without their captain to oversee them they were merely pretending to search, killing time and half looking for trouble. Like much of the English military of that time they were not volunteers, but had been pressed into service as an alternative to prison. They were neither dedicated nor high-minded, and had been assigned to this remote desert (as they thought of it) because they were fit for little else. In fact, they were hooligans, representing not the best of their country, but the worst. As for compassion, they had little enough for their own kind. For the kin of these stubborn Highland fools, they had none.
So when they saw the girl it was not a question of what they wanted from her, but only, would there be anyone to witness the act? Their eyes searched ahead and behind, to either side, then fixed resolutely on the girl.
Mary observed all of this, but stood rooted to the spot in fear and disbelief. Surely they could not want her like this, pale and distraught. Surely they had some conscience. The two riders stopped just in front of her, addressing each other as if she did not exist.
“What d’ya think?” said the first in a heavy cockney. He was a smallish, heavy-set man with a nondescript face and yellow teeth. “Would be a fine catch, and no mistake.” His companion, a lean, dour-looking man with drooping red moustaches, did not at first reply, but only continued to stare at the object in question.
“I think,” he said at length, dismounting. “That I want you to hold my horse.” The smaller man laughed harshly, and spurred his own steed forward to take hold of the reins.
“Just be sure ya save some for me,” he said. “I don’t fancy ridin’ a dead horse.” The red-haired man began to advance, as Mary backed away in rising horror.
“Please,” she said in a pathetic voice. “Don’t do this.” But her words had no effect. The man seized her by the arms, and after a moment’s indecision, threw her to the ground.
And then he was upon her, tearing at the buttons of her dress, pressing her body hard against the stony track. Writhing in terror, Mary let out a piercing scream. The man lifted his hand to strike her. But the blow never fell.
A shadow flashed across her vision, as an indistinct shape flew down from the rocks above. There was the thud of impact, as the man on top of her was torn aside. Two men wrestled on the ground beside her. The one, in rough clothes that fit him badly, quickly gained the upper hand, pinning the other beneath him. He raised a long knife in his hand, and with a savage cry, drove the blade home.
But an instant later there came a shot from behind, and the prisoner fell forward across the man that he had stilled. The second cavalryman, still mounted, had draw his pistol as soon as he regained his senses, and waited only for a clear shot at the Highlander.
In the confusion he had lost his grip on the other’s horse, which bolted at the sound. And taking quick stock of the situation, the cavalryman seemed to feel much the same panic. For he too rode away, as if the Devil rode behind him. His hoofbeats died slowly in the distance.
Recovering somewhat from the shock, Mary rose and went to the crumpled form of her deliverer, to see if anything could be done. The ball had pierced his back, but perhaps.....
Raising his upper body carefully, she drew him clear of the other. Then kneeling, she slowly laid him down, causing the fair, curly head to loll weakly into her lap. She let out a gasp as a familiar face looked up at her, and said her name with a smile.
“My Mary.”
It was James Talbert, her cousin, and companion of her youth. And though he lay dying, there was yet a look of strained happiness on his worn, still boyish face.
“James!” she choked through her tears. “You should have just let them..... Oh. Don’t die!”
“Hush, my girl. I don’t mind.” His words were quiet but distinct. “You don’t know it---” His face clouded with pain, and for a time he was unable to speak.
“You’ve done me a kindness,” he said finally. “You’ve given my death meaning.” With this he stiffened, and gave a convulsive shudder. She feared he was already gone; but after a pause the blue eyes opened again, and he spoke. “Will you do something for me?”
“Anything,” she wept. “Anything.”
“Kiss me, Mary.” Brushing the tear-stained hair from her face, she did as he asked.
“Thank you, love..... You’re so very sweet..... Too bad you’re in love with that other one, eh?” He tried to wink at her, but his face was suddenly changed, as crestfallen as the moment before it had been triumphant. His muscles convulsed from the pain of his mortal wound. “Kiss me, Mary. I’m gone to a better world.”
Trembling, she bent once more to press her lips to his. And when she rose again, he was gone.
“No. Dear God, please! It should have been me,” she sobbed. “It should have been me.”
She rocked him slowly back and forth, for the second time in her young life crying the bitter tears of a loved one lost. A heavy silence reigned about her, and the birds in the heath would not sing.