Part 29 (2/2)

”I did it as much for myself as for her. There was no need to thank me.”

”I never thanked you either. You know, when you grabbed me and said to this ugly man that you could handle me alone, I was ready to let you take me. At that moment, something broke inside me, and then I realized that all you wanted was to help me.” She searched his eyes. ”You know, Andrew, I never talked to anybody about that day, except to Betty once or twice. I wanted to erase its memory from my mind.” Her eyes got unfocused. She was gazing inside. ”What would you've done if he had raped me?”

Andrew drew her tighter to him and closed his eyes as if he were reliving the scene in that glen. When he opened them again, he said icily: ”I would have slit his throat then and there.”

”But he was so much stronger than you.”

”True, but I can throw my dagger with deadly accuracy much faster than he could have moved, and he knew that. That's why he didn't try to attack me after I deliberately stepped into his path when you ran to the ravine.”

”I didn't know that.” She looked at him proudly, stroking his left cheek. ”Why did you kill the officer?”

”How do you know I did? I never told anybody.”

”Donald MacLaren told us. He said you saved his life. He was rather puzzled that a Campbell of Argyle would help him.”

”It was a deed on the spur of the moment. It didn't even occur to me that I was saving his life. The only thing in my mind was how much I hated that vile man. He had forced me to do things that made me lose my self-respect. And when I realized that we were alone, I acted without thinking. Killing him was my way of freeing myself from this hatred.”

She burrowed her head on his neck. ”Andrew.”

”Yes, Helen?”

”Please, love me always, even if I sometimes quarrel with you, because I love you more than anything.”

”I will, Helen, I will.”

The first smoke began to rise from the chimneys of the cottages near the ferry. Helen again checked that it was safe. Half an hour later, when they finally rode up to the pier, the ferryman and his two helpers were already busy on the flat boat, which was moored on the down-river side of the pier. No more than forty feet long, it was made to carry mainly pa.s.sengers and goods and was not intended for horses and cattle. So the horses would have to swim behind the ferry as the boatmen poled it across the river. With the tide rapidly flowing out, the vessel rode about three feet below the pier level. They were the only people intent on crossing. The ferryman seemed reluctant to undertake the trip just for them. Only when Andrew offered to double the fare did he give orders to his two helpers to ready the boat for the crossing.

After removing the saddle bags, Andrew led the two horses into the water and coaxed them along the pier to the boat, where Helen took the leads. He jumped down to the deck and joined her at the rear left, taking the leads of the horses. One of the men removed the last mooring rope, and the boat began to drift slowly away from the pier, pulling the horses along.

At that moment, three riders galloped into the square of the pier, and Dougal's booming voice reached them: ”Halt the ferry!”

Immediately, the man at the stern threw the rope, he had been curling up, back around a mooring post, while the other, standing near the front of the boat, used his pole to steady it and push it gradually back toward the pier.

It took Helen only a fraction of a second to comprehend what was happening. Oh, no, father! A leaden paralysis took hold of her. Helplessly, she looked at Andrew. The latter tossed the horse leads to her and rushed over to the boatman, shouting: ”Don't stop!”

The fellow looked at him confused, just long enough for Andrew to rip the rope from his hands and let its end slide into the water. The other helper attempted his best to steady the boat, but the force of the outgoing tide slowly rotated the stern away from the pier.

By then Robert was running down the pier. Without the slightest hesitation he leapt into the water, caught hold of the boat's front port side, and hauled himself over the railing. Robin, following close behind, also jumped, trying to reach for the vessel, but it slipped from his grasp. Dougal was shouting and swearing for the boat to come back, joined by the ferryman who berated Andrew for interfering. Meanwhile, the outgoing tide irretrievably carried the ferry into the current. The ferryman and his helpers did the only thing left for them, namely steer it to midchannel.

Robert stood at the front of the boat, Andrew at the stern, twenty feet separating them.

”You won't get away this time, you coward!” shouted Robert. He reached for his pistol and aimed at Andrew.

For a moment Helen watched the two men in dismay. Robert, tall, broad shouldered, looking wild; Andrew, at least half a head smaller, slight in comparison, no match for his opponent. Robert is going to kill him! She was about to let go of the horses' leads and jump between the two, when she heard Andrew's sharp call: ”Helen, hold on to the horses!”

Robert pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He swore, dropped the gun and pulled his knife. His feet wide apart to steady himself on the gently swaying boat, he came slowly forward.

Suddenly, a blur of steel flitted through the air, and a moment later Robert cried out in agony. The knife in his right hand clattered to the wooden deck. Dismayed, he stared at the dagger deeply embedded in his right biceps. He did not even counter when Andrew's left fist slammed into his stomach and, as he doubled over, the right connected hard with his jaw, sending him cras.h.i.+ng to the deck, out cold. It all happened so fast that none of the other people on board had time to move. For several long seconds, Dougal, who had been shouting: ”Get him, Robert, get him!” fell silent, a pistol in his right hand, helplessly gesticulating, and then he fired, missing the boat by several feet. He started to swear even more vociferously, hurling abuse and threats.

”The boat!” the ferryman called out suddenly, and the two helpers tore themselves away from watching Andrew, and scurried back to their task, poling the ferry slowly across the river.

Andrew removed Robert's other wet pistol, picked up a leather strap lying in the deck, and quickly tied the fellow's hands. He fastened the strap firmly to a hook on the side of the boat. Only then did he retrieve his own dagger, rinsed the pointed blade in the river water, wiped it on his pants, and put it back into its sheath. Robert's sleeve started to stain as blood seeped from the wound. Andrew filled a pale with water and poured it over the tall man's face. Slowly, he began to stir, gasping for air. When he opened his eyes, naked hatred hit Andrew.

Rubbing the sore knuckles of his right hand, the latter turned away and faced Helen for the first time. Her expression reflected a confusion of disbelief, pride, and awe. She had never regarded him as a fighter. Sure, she had seen him as tough, fast, calculating, but she hadn't judged him to be able to stand up to a big man like Robert, her father, or her brothers. And there he had cut down Robert as if it were child's play. So dominant, decisive, and in complete control. She didn't know how to respond to his silent appeal for her approval. Her impulse was to jump up and hug him, too relieved that no harm had come to him. However, she remained seated, still breathing shallowly, meeting his gaze, trying to smile, but not really succeeding.

He came over and put a hand on her shoulder. It trembled slightly. She covered and pressed it, searching his eyes. Suddenly, she could breathe again.

Robert had recovered his voice and broke into a verbal barrage of protest and abuse in Gaelic, directed at everybody, full of obscene shouts and threats. Helen blanched. It brought up the scene at the lochan. She covered her ears in a vain attempt to suppress it.

With three quick steps, Andrew was at Robert's side. He picked up the knife the lad had dropped and pushed the point under his chin, forcing his face upward, the sharp point just piercing the skin. The shouting stopped abruptly. Robert shrank back, his face suddenly a mirror of fright.

”Another sound of abuse, and I will gag you. Got that?” Andrew's voice was hard and uncompromising.

Robert attempted to nod without moving his head and winced when Andrew slid the blade from under his chin, leaving a superficial cut. He rubbed his chin with the top of his tied hands and stared in dismay at the smear of blood.

”You cut me!” he said through clenched teeth. His voice had a petulant quality.

Andrew ignored him and returned to Helen's side. She reached out to touch his hand. She wanted to say something, but only managed his name. A smile fleetingly softened the hard steely look in his eyes.

”So that rider at the Partick bridge must have been one of them. That's why they were so fast on our trail,” he said in a low voice.

”Yes, that must be it. They probably split up to watch all roads out of Glasgow.”

”I think you're right. I wonder where the Drummond lad is.”

”Stealing another horse to get back home,” she answered sarcastically. ”What are we going to do now? We won't have much of a head start on them.”

”I think we stick to our plan, except that we go into the hills, rather than along the coast... I should go and explain things to the ferryman,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand from hers. Reluctantly, she let go.

The ferryman did not hide his apprehension when Andrew approached, picking up the two pistols as he went past Robert. Andrew's apologies and offer of an extra two s.h.i.+llings calmed the old man's agitation somewhat, particularly when Andrew humbly accepted his rebukes for interfering with the control of the ferry. Andrew gave him Robert's weapons and asked that he take the lad back to the pier on his return trip. He also told him not to hurry, that it would help them to have a good head start.

The south side of the river had no pier. The ferry ended up at the edge of a mud bank, well below its usual landing place. Helen and Andrew climbed on their horses from the ferry and rode to dry land. Once on solid ground, they galloped south for several miles, keeping to a narrow, meandering path and pa.s.sing through several small villages.

”Why are we riding along this path where everybody can see us?” asked Helen when Andrew slowed down to give the horses a breather.

”So that people see us go south and can tell your father,” answered Andrew with a grin. ”He'll then believe that our ultimate destination is England and that we only made the detour to the ferry to avoid the Glasgow police... I think I still remember a trail that cuts into the hills another mile or so south of here.”

”Didn't you often pa.s.s through these parts when you were with the brandy smugglers?”

”We usually worked farther south. We only came twice through here. That's the trail I thought of taking. It skirts around towns and villages.”

At a sharp bend in the road shortly after crossing the River Gryfe at Fulwood, Andrew turned west. There was no sign of a path.

”Are you sure this is the way?” questioned Helen anxiously.

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