Augustus Shackleford sighed. ‘We’re no good to ‘em if we end updecorating MacFarlane’s flower beds.’
‘Ah ken yer concerned, ma lady.’ Gifford said, ‘But like the guid Reverend said, we cannae help the bairns if we’re deid. We’d be eejits tae charge in wi’oot a plan.’
‘Could we send in Chapman’s men?’ Jennifer asked Peter.
The Viscount thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘They are not an army. They are employed for our protection only. To send them against MacFarlane would be to risk outright war.’
‘Can the chucklehead be reasoned with?’ the Reverend asked. ‘Perhaps he’ll listen to a man of God.’
‘A Sassenach one? Ah doot it.’
‘Th’only thing we need tae ken is when the mine be empty o’ MacFarlane guards so we can free the bairns,’ Brendon announced. ‘We cannae risk walkin’ intae a fight wi’ his warriors.’ He paused before adding, ‘Mebbe the Reverend can gie some excuse fer bein’ in the area – tell the MacFarlane he be visitin’ fer another purpose?’
‘The MacFarlane willnae gie him the time o’ day,’ Gifford scoffed.
‘But if he gaed wi’ ma da? The MacFarlane haenae a quarrel wi’ Dougal Galbraith.’
‘I will not be accompanying that … that beef-witted good for nothing anywhere,’ Reverend Shackleford spluttered.
‘Was there bad feeling caused by your sudden departure?’ Peter asked, ignoring his grandfather’s dismay at being obliged to go somewhere with the elderly Scot.
‘There was nae bad feelin’,’ Brendon clarified. ‘Ah made sure tae gie a guid excu…’ He trailed off before finishing the sentence and swore softly.
‘I take it your excuse willnae be helpin’ us now,’ Malcolm sighed.
‘Ah told the MacFarlane ma da haed hurt his leg.’
‘How bad?’ Peter demanded.
‘Ah didnae say. Jus’ that Da was abed.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Just ower three months back.’
‘So if it was merely a sprain, it’s quite possible Dougal could be up and about by now?’
‘I absolutely refuse to be in the company of that bacon-brained imbecile…’
‘I’m certain we can dress his leg up a little. Could he produce a convincing limp, Brendon?’
‘Ma da could convince anyone he was the King o’ bloody Scotland,’ Brendon answered drily.
‘Under no circumstances will I spend even one second with that pudding-headed pig-widgeon…’
‘Do you think he would do it?’
‘No, absolutely not. I will not be giving that cork-brained grubshite so much as the time of day...’
‘Ah ken he’ll be more an’ delighted tae lie through his teeth tae the MacFarlane.’
‘We’d have to come up with a convincing excuse for them both being there? An English priest and a Scottish … err… farmer?’
Brendon frowned. ‘Aye, ah ken ma da might nae be so delighted tae trick the bastart wi’ a Sassenach God botherer in tow.’ He paused before adding, ‘An’ anyway, jus’ visiting wi’ the MacFarlane willnae get them anywhere near the mine.’
‘If you think I’m telling so much as the smallest plumper toprotect that lily-livered hornswoggler…’
‘What if Grandfather was on some kind of pilgrimage? Perhaps searching for a relic of some description? Would that give him an excuse to get closer to the mine?’
