Then what? What could demons do? Could they smell his tracks like bloodhounds? With sick apprehension he watched the sinister cavalcade draw near the point where he had crossed, expecting any minute to see the horses reined in, the hunt turn south in pursuit.
It seemed unfair that demons could travel the world while benevolent spirits like tutelaries remained in one place. Why should forces of evil have such an advantage over the good?
But the riders kept going, onward to the west, and in a few more minutes the rain hid them from sight. Hamish released a loud gasp of relief, speaking for all of them. He scrambled to his knees.
"What happens when she gets to Pass of Brander and finds out Toby can't have gone that way? She'll turn back!"
"Come on!" Rory shouted, jumping up. "We're easy meat on the flats. Let's get into the hills."
CHAPTER FIVE
The land steepened into pasture, then bare hillside. A faint trail climbed the valley of the chattering, frothing Eas a Ghail. Toby discovered that he was alone with Meg for the first time. He wasn't sure if she had arranged this, or he had. It didn't matter. Hamish had gone scurrying on ahead. Father Lachlan and Rory were deep in conversation at the rear.
Her cheeks were bright red; her braids dangled from under a brown bonnet. She looked up expectantly, blinking as the rain blew into her eyes. He smiled. She smiled back — so if she blamed him for her present troubles, she was not going to say so.
Smiling was fine. Talk… he felt totally tongue-tied. Meg had never affected him like that before. He could recall the nights she had turned up at the castle and he had walked her home… he could remember himself chattering like a flock of magpies — like Hamish, even — but now he had no idea what about.
"Er… Um… How're you managing?"
"Fine."
"Cold?"
"Yes."
Oh.
Pause.
"Meg… I'm sorry. I mean, I'm sorry to have dragged you into all this danger."
Her slender eyebrows almost disappeared into her cap. "It wasn't your fault, Master Strangerson. It was my fault for being so stupid, remember?"
"I'm sorry about that."
"You're sorry I was stupid?"
"No! I'm sorry I said that."
"But if a person is stupid, it must be a kindness to tell her so, so that she won't be stupid in future."
Why was talking with women so much harder than talking with men? Why did words seem to change their meanings and simple sentences turn around to bite the tongue that spoke them? Why did humor always become insult and criticism poison?
"You weren't stupid. I was stupid to say you were stupid."
"Then you didn't mean what you said when you said I will soon be a woman and men will start to lust after me?"
Demons! "Did I say that?"
"Indeed you did, sir."
"Then I was wrong."
"Oh?" Danger crackled somewhere in that monosyllable. Bonfires blazing on the mountain…
"I mean, men lust after you already."
"Such as who?"
"Any man!" Toby dearly wished Lady Valda and her demons would descend on him immediately and carry him off. Since that did not happen and he was already in over his head, he snapped, "Me, for instance."
Meg's eyes opened wider than normal. "Truly?" Then she tossed her head so that her braids danced. "I mean… Toby Strangerson, that's a terrible thing to say! How dare you say such a thing! What does she look like?"
"Who?"
"Lady Valda. Describe her!"
What had Toby Strangerson ever done to deserve this? He described Lady Valda. Having totally taken leave of his senses, he went on to relate how she had bared her breast in the dungeon. Then the wind felt icy on his heated face, but it was warm compared with Meg Campbell's expression.
"And you dream of her now, I understand?"
Oh, demons! "Never mind about that!" he said hastily.
Fortunately, they had caught up with Hamish, who had reached a fork in the river and was sheltering against a boulder, waiting for directions. Toby had never been more pleased to see anyone.
He grinned at them with chattering teeth. "Having fun?"
"Fun?" Meg said. "Hamish Campbell, you haven't got the brains of a peewit! Freezing in a storm on a mountain, being hunted by Sassenach soldiers and Sassenach demons, and why would you think we're having fun?"
"Why else would you be holding hands? Helping Big Toby up the hill?"
Meg snapped that she would clip his ear. Toby wondered how long he'd been holding her hand and why he hadn't been aware that he was. He realized, too, that Meg regarded Hamish as he did — as just a kid. That meant she was more than a kid, didn't it? How long had he been holding her hand? Helping her up a steep bit, then not letting go… Had he ever held her hand walking home from Lochy Castle? If this was the first time, why hadn't he been more aware of it? Because he had always thought of her as a child?
"Right fork," Rory said, coming up behind. "I do wish you'd tell me what you're going to do with that sword, boy. How are you faring, Miss Campbell? I wish we did not have to subject a lady to such uncongenial circumstance."
Meg simpered, but she had not released Toby's hand. "Oh, I fare well, thank you, sir! Are we not like the mother plover, who feigns a broken wing and so leads the foe away from her nestlings? We have drawn the hexer away from Fillan!"
"So you have! A very poetic allusion!"
"The plover runs toward danger, not away from it!" Toby said.
Meg looked up at him with disgust.
Rory laughed.
The track soon disappeared altogether. The entire world disappeared behind walls of sleet and draperies of rain. Reality was reduced to rocks, grass, patches of heather, fading swiftly to gray in all directions. It moved underfoot, but never arrived anywhere or changed significantly. The journey had become an endurance test. The only hints of excitement came from the little stream, whose peaty brown waters already frothed at the lip of the banks. The wind buffeted, snatching away breath, trying to freeze any flesh it could reach, turning even raindrops into needles. Rory decreed the way with undiminished confidence, although Toby was hard put to believe he could possibly know where he was.
Hamish lost some of his enthusiasm, no longer questing ahead like a hound. He was the most agile, with Meg a close second, hampered by her long dress. Father Lachlan kept up a steady pace. Toby cursed his outrageous sword and himself for being such a fool. He could not admit defeat and discard it now, of course. A man had pride.
The way grew steeper. Snow swirled in the air now, starting to coat the ground. Only Rory had shoes. Toby had never worn such sissy things in his life, although he had kept a couple of leathers he would wrap around his feet when he attended to the chores in winter. In really bad weather he just stayed home. True Highlanders prided themselves on being hardy, but even true Highlanders had to make concessions to the rigors of their climate sometimes. With a regular job at the castle and his feet grown to full size — they couldn't be going to get any bigger! — he had been reconciling himself to acquiring a pair of shoes and probably a leather cape. He could use them now…
"Can't bring horses up here!" Hamish crowed, scrambling on hands and knees up a scree slope. "This'll stop the demons! Won't it, Father?"
"I expect it will," Rory said cheerfully. "We'll find them waiting for us at the top."
"Is that possible?" Meg asked.
Father Lachlan just nodded grimly and kept on plodding.
Once they came to an overhanging rocky wall that had even Hamish looking baffled. Toby cupped his hands and hoisted him overhead until he found a handhold and scrambled up. Meg smiled gratefully and offered a foot. Then it was Father Lachlan's turn — Hamish and Meg grabbed his arms and pulled him after them.