The Battle for Duncragglin (13 page)

Alex must have slept as he suddenly noticed it was light. There were noises all around him, loud noises. He raised his head from the dirt and painfully turned his neck.

It was Groenie. He was in a right state. “What's going on here?” he shouted. “These two were given to me. I cannae do all the cooking by myself all the time. Let 'm loose.”

“Ye know I cannae do that.” Jack gave Groenie a rude gesture.
“Go
away.”

Clutching his carving knife with a white-knuckle grip, Groenie turned on Alex. “Where are my buckets?” he shrieked. “Where did ye good-for-nothing vermin leave my buckets?”

“I don't know,” Alex replied dully.

“What do ye mean, ye dinnae ken?” Groenie roared. “Tell me now, or I'll carve ye like dinner.”

“Ask Malcolm.” Alex wearily closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep. He kept them shut even as he felt Groenie's boot nudge him, rocking him back and forth.

Groenie looked up at the jailer. “What did ye do to 'm?”

“Not a bloody thing. Maybe today they'll let me make 'm talk.”

“When they do, find out where they left my buckets.”

Groenie stomped away. Jack shuffled back over to his lean-to. Chains rattled as Craig sat up behind him.

“Good morning, Craig.” Alex tried not to sound miserable. “Nice day, isn't it?”

Craig's chains rattled some more as he rubbed his eyes. “It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.”

In spite of everything, Alex managed a laugh. He sat up stiffly and stretched, looking around their open-air jail. “So,” he said, “how are we supposed to find the toilet with all these chains on?”

Craig pointed to the bucket Jack had left next to the water bowl.

“What, no toilet paper?” Alex threw up his hands in dismay.

“Where do we wash our hands?” Craig asked. “What would Mum say?” The smile slowly faded.

“I think she would say, ‘Thanks for trying to find me, Craig,’” Alex said quietly.

“Who would have thought we'd end up here?” Craig smiled wryly, holding up his manacled hands.

“Well.” Alex took a deep breath. “I wonder what's for breakfast.” He looked about as if expecting to find it sizzling in a skillet somewhere nearby.

Craig raised a finger. “How about we put in an order for scrambled eggs and toast?”

“Good idea!” Alex spoke to an imaginary waiter. “And can I also have some freshly squeezed orange juice, please?”

They sat cross-legged, tucked imaginary napkins under their chins, picked up pretend cutlery, and dug into the breakfast of their dreams.

“This French toast is the best.” Eyes closed dreamily, Alex took another bite of thin air. “Pass the maple syrup, please.”

The talk of food was making Alex hungry. He glanced over to Jack's lean-to and wondered if they would get anything other than the moldy chunk of bread that still lay in the dirt next to the toilet bucket and the water bowl. Perhaps if they got rid of it, they would get something else. Alex stood and kicked it into a cluster of bushes.

Jack's blood-chilling voice came from behind. “Ye don't want my bread, now do ye?” Somewhere in his voice, Alex detected a note of intense pleasure. “I gi' ye a piece of my bread out of the kindness of my heart, and ye just kick it away.” Jack sauntered over to the bushes and stooped to retrieve the bread. He spat on it and smacked it down on a stump, well out of reach.

“The time will come when ye will be begging me to gi' ye this piece of bread – seeing how it's the last food ye'll get!”

With a gleeful snort, Jack headed back to his lean-to. He stopped to look toward the camp interior and squinted. Alex followed his gaze and felt his heart leap. Malcolm was striding purposefully in their direction, his pointy beard hitting his chest as he walked.

Alex was delighted – his plan had worked! Groenie must have demanded that Malcolm tell him where the buckets were, and Malcolm then learned that they were jailed.

Jack stepped forward to block Malcolm's way. “What's your business here?”

“Don't bother me, Jack.” Malcolm shouldered him aside without breaking his stride.

He stopped before Alex and Craig and folded his arms. “So, m'lads, a fine pot of trouble ye find yourselves in.” Malcolm's frown was gone, but no smile replaced it.

“I was only trying to see Sir Ellerslie to tell him –” Alex began.

Malcolm held up his hand. “That's not the issue here.” He shook his head somberly. “Our emissary is back from the Macpherson and the McRae clans and he brought us news. The clans will join us in our efforts to overthrow Hesselrigge and are mobilizing their men as we speak.” Malcolm's hand fell. “But both the Macphersons and the McRaes disavow any knowledge of ye two. Now, what I've come to ask is, how can that be?”

Alex's heart sank. How could he explain to Malcolm that they did not know them as they were not born yet and would
not be born for over seven hundred years? His mind raced as he tried to think of something plausible to say. A weak and obvious lie would only make matters worse, but so would the unbelievable, ludicrous truth.

Craig finally broke the silence. “Please, sir,” he began hesitantly. “They don't know us as we have come from another time.”

Malcolm's face grew dark, his eyes all but disappearing behind his bunched eyebrows. “Don't be telling me that ye be wizards, as these we burn at the stake.” He stepped back. “Rorie's right – we have no choice but to leave ye here until we learn the truth.” With that, he turned to leave.

“Wait!” Alex called. “I need to tell Sir Ellerslie something important … it's about Rorie.”

Malcolm stopped dead. He spun and pulled a fistful of Alex's shirt so they were practically nose-to-nose. “Anything ye can tell Sir Ellerslie, ye can tell me. Begin.”

Alex hesitated, wondering if he could trust him. “I saw Rorie with a band of Hesselrigge's soldiers.”

Malcolm's eyes narrowed.

Alex felt blood pound in his ears. He knew that if Malcolm was on Rorie's side, he and Craig would soon be dead.

“Where?”

“We took a shortcut through the woods and spotted them down by the loch.”

“How many?” Malcolm shot a glance at Jack, sitting disgruntled in front of his lean-to. He was out of earshot, but not by much.

“Hard to tell. They were mostly in the woods. We saw about a dozen horses down by the water.”

“Are ye sure it was Rorie ye saw with them?”

Alex nodded.

“Rorie is a commander here. His men are everywhere. Repeat what ye have said to no one, or ye'll be dead before ye can finish y'r sentence. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Malcolm released Alex with a light shove that made him stagger and strode away.

Jack watched him go. Malcolm did not appear to be intervening on behalf of the boys. If anything, he was angry with them. Perhaps he would soon authorize a bit of persuasion. Jack looked at Alex and Craig and broke into a gummy grin.

“What was that about?” Craig asked, disappointed to be left in chains.

“I'm not sure,” Alex bent toward Craig, adding in a low voice, “but I think Rorie and some of his men are kind of double agents for Hesselrigge. If they knew that we know, we'd be dead in a second.”

“Know what?” Craig looked puzzled.

“Exactly – make sure you keep it that way.”

They waited several long hours while the sun rose higher and they got hotter and thirstier. Jack sat reclined before his lean-to, passing the time by slipping knots into the ends of the thongs of a cat-o'-nine-tails whip. Finally, several guards came stomping into view, among them the older guard that had brought them here.

Jack looked up, startled, and broke into a hopeful grin. “So, it's time, is it?” He got up eagerly and gave his refurbished whip an experimental flick. All nine tentacles crackled.

“Sorry, Jack. I'm told the Macphersons and the McRaes wish to deal with these impostors themselves. I believe they will get the usual treatment for those who make false claims as to their parentage.”

“Ye mean beheading and disembowelment?”

“Aye, although I'm no sure in which order.”

“Can we no ask them a few questions first?” Jack displayed his whip. “It'll no take long.”

“There's no time, and besides, I need them fit for walking.” The guard gestured impatiently. “Release them, Jack. Now! Get moving.”

Jack reluctantly gathered up his ring of keys. He slowly flicked through them, one by one, his eyes firing angrily. He roughly twisted a key in each manacle, prying them open.

Alex's legs felt weak. Pretending to examine the red sores the rings had left on his wrists, he looked for a way to escape. There were woods not too far away….

“Move it!” The older guard gave Alex a shove.

Alex and Craig were marched through the camp. It struck Alex as wrong, somehow, that the bustle of sounds around them continued as if everything were normal. Horses snorted on their tethers; birds chirped from the trees. A rhythmic clanging rang out. Sparks flew as a man with a thick leather apron and gloves used a short sledgehammer to pound a red-hot piece of metal against an iron block.

Alex wondered how everything could carry on as usual when it so clearly was not. The entire world should be stopping to see their predicament. Birds should be silent and sad in their trees; horses should watch with big sorrowful eyes.

The blacksmith should stop his pounding and gaze sympathetically as they passed.

None of this happened. The world appeared ready to let them die with barely a glance. Tears springing to his eyes, Alex felt crushed that the loss of his life could mean so little.

A
lex and Craig were brought to a large tent. The older guard pulled back the canvas flap and gave the boys a wink. “Ye'll be alright now, lads,” he murmured. “Rest assured.”

Confused, Alex stumbled into the tent. A group of men standing about abruptly stopped talking. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Alex spotted Sir Ellerslie and Malcolm.

Wallace stooped to be closer to Alex and Craig. He rested his big hands on their shoulders. “Sorry for the rough treatment, lads. Don't be too angry with me. Rorie's men are all about. We had to fool 'm while we got ye out of there.”

“No problem,” Alex said weakly. “Think nothing of it….”

Wallace gave Alex's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Excellent work, tipping us off regarding Rorie. I've had suspicions about him for some time.” Alex winced from the pain in his shoulder and was glad when Wallace stood to address the group.

“We'll be leaving on horseback, with these lads bound
and on foot,” Wallace said. “To Rorie's men, it will appear that we're off to meet the Macpherson and McRae clans to hand over the impostors. Once in the woods, we'll meet up with the others and have these lads lead us to the enemy. I've no taken the chance of having our scouts find their camp for fear they'd be spotted and we'd lose the element of surprise.”

He turned to Malcolm. “Are your men in position?”

“Aye! They're waiting in the woods for our arrival.”

“Excellent! And, Sir Ellerslie, have you organized and briefed the men here in the camp on what they're to do?”

“That I have. Those we know we can trust have been told. They await our word. I'll remain here to lead them.”

“Very well.” Wallace appeared satisfied and resolute. “At my signal, we will take down both the enemy camp and the traitors here in our midst. With luck, we'll capture Rorie in the process.”

While Wallace continued his instructions, Sir Ellerslie led Alex and Craig to a table with long benches, where a large pitcher of water, some bread, and a small stack of dried meat were laid out. “Grab something to eat, lads,” he said. “But be quick. We'll be departing soon.”

The water tasted
so
good that, having downed several goblets and his stomach feeling full to bursting, Alex still wanted more. He had gotten so parched chained out in the sun that almost no amount of water could quench his thirst. He lay back down on the bench and felt his insides gurgle. He had left no room for food and could eat no more than a few nibbles of bread.

Alex idly stared at a fold of canvas that swept down from a ridgepole. His eyes slipped out of focus and the fold doubled.

Voices blended together into a low roar, punctuated by the occasional exclamation or laugh. He felt as if he were gently floating downstream, bobbing and twisting with the current.

The next thing Alex knew, his name was being called over and over again from far away. He opened his eyes slightly and saw two Sir Ellerslies floating before him. Sir Ellerslie's two faces drifted closer together, spread back apart, then snapped together as one.

Alex lifted his head. “What is it? Where am I?” He struggled to sit up.

“Relax, relax,” Sir Ellerslie said, gently helping him up. “We've let ye sleep as long as we could, but it's time we were off.”

Alex stared in dismay. Craig was being led from the tent, his hands tied behind his back. The rope traveled up, knotted around his neck, and hung before him like a long leash.

Sir Ellerslie nodded approvingly. “That'll fool the bastards.” He spotted the look on Alex's face. “
Oc
/i
,
don't ye worry … we'll have these ropes off ye lads as soon as we're in the forest.”

“What! Me, too?”

With considerable misgivings, Alex allowed himself to be tied. As he expected, the rope chaffed his neck. Worse, he had to keep his arms high behind his back to keep it from choking him.

Outside the tent, horses neighed.

Wallace leapt to his feet. “It's time. Let's be off!”

The tent flaps were flung open and Wallace strode out, followed closely by Malcolm and a number of his lieutenants. A bowman roughly pulled Alex and Craig behind him as
if they were livestock. He knotted their ropes to his saddle.

Wallace gave his horse a jab with his heels. It shot forward and settled into a trot.

“Ready?” Malcolm called out, one arm in the air. He waited as his lieutenants and bowmen settled their skittish horses. Then he swung his arm down. “Let's go.”

Alex felt the rope jerk tight around his neck. He staggered forward. Arms still high behind his back, Alex stumbled down the uneven forest path, desperately trying to put some slack in the rope. Craig ran beside him, bumping into him as he dodged obstacles. While Alex understood that this was all to fool Rorie's men, he wondered irritably why they had to put on such a good show.