The food was superb. Before every guest was laid a slab of bread cut from loaves straight out of the oven; on that were piled beans, juicy hot meat, and fresh fish. There was whisky to drink, although the fainthearted might dilute it with water if they wished. The refugees from the Reverend Murray's meager hospitality fell to with avid purpose while Sir Torquil talked — of the weather, of the ships in the loch, of reports of fighting up near Banff, of rumors that the Sassenach king had razed another town in Europe somewhere with his customary fearful slaughter. His assembled clan stood with folded arms, listening, studying the visitors, and speaking only when their patriarch addressed them.
Toby did eat enough for four, but Hamish came a close second, and the others did not skimp. If a man was going to die, it was best to do so on a full stomach. The world mellowed to a kinder, easier place. He could forget for a little while that he might be possessed by a demon, that a notorious hexer was hunting him, that the Sassenachs had probably set a price on his head, that he was responsible for seeing Meg Campbell of Tyndrum safely to Oban. What matter? He had escaped from the prison of his childhood. He was no longer Toby the Bastard, he was making his way in the world. He was going to make his name also.
Toby of Tyndrum, Toby of Fillan? Never!
Toby of the Highlands? Too vague.
"Annie," Sir Torquil told one of the redheads, "Master Longdirk needs more beef."
"Nonsense, Father! He's got more beef than I've seen in years."
Toby heard his own laugh over all the rest.
Gradually the voids were filled and the eating slowed. Rory wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, licked his fingers, and folded his arms. He refused offers of more. He began to talk, ignoring the huge audience with apparent confidence that his words would never be reported to outsiders.
"What news of Lord Robert?"
"The Campbell's in Edinburgh still," Sir Torquil said cautiously, "with his lady. Attending Parliament."
Rory did not repeat his earlier description of the chief of Clan Campbell as a boot-licker — his hosts lived only an hour's walk from Inverary. He did not parrot the usual rebel description of the current parliament as a farce of traitor puppets.
"And the master?"
"He's gone hunting up Fort William way." The caution was even more marked. "So they say."
Rory nodded. "I gave Keeper Murray money for the wood we burned and the food we ate — the most expensive meal in the history of Scotland, that was. But he'll never spend it. Would you take a load of peat and—"
"I was planning to, soon as the rain stops. I do that every year."
"Good!" Rory reached for his sporran and his host growled like a dog at a bear-baiting.
Rory smiled thanks. "Apart from that, we have a couple of problems. The Sassenachs are after my man Longdirk, there, and you have a hexer loose in the district."
Sir Torquil nodded. "Aye, you told me. Nobody's seen any strangers."
"She's around."
"Well, you're safe here."
"But we can't stay!" Rory raised a hand to balk argument. "You're close enough to the shrine that the spirit will guard you, but if we hang around, we may endanger the spirit itself."
"Like that, is it?"
"Very much so. We need to decide where to go. Father?"
The little friar blinked, suppressing a burp. "Glasgow. Master, er, Longdirk, needs to visit the sanctuary. Failing that, Dumbarton. But we must get past Inverary."
"That can be arranged," Sir Torquil said, smiling yellow teeth in his red beard.
"Then we should go by Glen Kinglas, over to Loch Lomond. Two days should do it."
Rory nodded thoughtfully. "Hamish Campbell?"
"I go with Toby, sir." Hamish was very pink, fighting an attack of hiccups.
Rory's eyes turned to Meg. "You'll be safe here."
Meg glanced at Toby and then down at her hands.
"You're a Campbell with Campbells in the middle of Campbell country, miss!" Sir Torquil thumped a hairy fist on the table. "No one will lay a hand on her here, Master, er, Rory."
Except perhaps Campbells. Toby had already registered that there were many more males than females in this household. Several young faces were displaying interest already. If Meg wanted a husband, she would have a wide selection available in Glen Shira. Why should that prospect alarm him? It was no business of his, even if she had let him kiss her. She must stay and he must go, out of her life forever.
And what of the alleged MacDonald — the MacDonald who gave orders to Campbells in the middle of Campbell country and had them obeyed instantly? The allegedly handsome smoothie?
He knew who Rory was now.
Still Meg said nothing.
Rory was looking at him expectantly.
Was he really to be allowed to make his own decision? He held the rebel's gaze for a moment while he straightened out his thoughts. He wished he were smarter. If he blundered, he would imperil not just his own life — which was worth very little at the moment — but the others' also. Meg, obviously, must not be taken into more danger. To insist on trying to protect her would be to expose her to Valda's demons. Meg would have to remain at Glen Shira, yes. It was the least of all evils.
"You heard what the spirit said, Master MacDonald." He noted the twitches of amusement in the audience. "It said I might thwart the hexer, although what that means, I don't know. I have to go out and face her. I don't fancy a life of endless miraculous escapes. If I stop running away and go on the offensive, perhaps I'll start enjoying miraculous victories?"
Rory showed none of his usual mocking contempt. "Or just stop escaping? How do you go on the offensive? You've thrown away your sword. What weapon will you use? Fingernails?"
"Boulders!" Hamish declaimed. "There's lots of battles in Scotland been fought by rolling boulders down on the enemy. Pass of Brander in…" His voice withered away under Rory's glare. "Hic!" he added quietly.
Toby sighed. "Why not boulders? I'll pick them up and throw them. Show me the Dumbarton road and I'll be on my way. The rest of you stay here."
Rory shook his head. "We'll come. We could try and find a boat to take us, of course, but not while the weather's doing what it's doing."
Toby thought about that. "No. If you're all trapped with me in a boat, you'll be too vulnerable. I'd rather walk where I can run."
"Walk it is, then. Not Miss Campbell, of course, but—"
"Me, too," Meg said quietly. "Where Toby goes, I go." She looked up, her face flushed. "He needs looking after!"
Some of the onlookers tittered, but then silence fell.
Rory's jaw was clenched. He was obviously about to exert a veto, and what the alleged MacDonald said here had the force of law.
"Yes," Toby said, "I do need looking after. Let's all go. When we sight Lady Valda, you turn back and I'll go on alone." If Meg was there, there would be less chance for heroics from any of the others — Hamish, or Father Lachlan. They would rally around Meg.
Rory drummed his fingers on the table. Then he shrugged. "We'll see you as far as Kinglas, then. Valda'll not likely try anything before that." He turned to Sir Torquil, who was looking deeply shocked. "Can you get us by Inverary without the earl's men questioning us?"
Their host smiled. "Aye, Master, I think we can that."
PART SIX
Dead or Alive
CHAPTER ONE
Sir Torquil had offered ponies, which Rory had refused, much to his companions' relief, but half a dozen young Campbells had ridden off, presumably to clear the way. Leather capes were another matter — Torquil had insisted on providing them, and no one had argued very hard. He had wanted to donate shoes also, muttering about walking on shingle. Everyone knew that shoes would soon cramp feet unaccustomed to them, so the shoes were declined with thanks.