‘Dae ye hae a likin’ fer climbin’ oot o’ windows, or intae ‘em mebbe?’
‘I very much doubt I have as much experience as you do since you clearly don’t think twice about entering a property uninvited.’
‘That be through a door, nae a window.’
‘And that makes it acceptable?’ The Reverend was beginning to sweat a little. He hadn’t realised the aperture was quite so narrow, and the drop quite sohigh. ‘Perhaps you could stop talking and give me a hand.’
‘Mebbe ah’ll leave ye be,’ Dougal chuckled. ‘Ye be blocking the draft.’
The Reverend gritted his teeth. If the mutton-head thought he’d resort to begging… He looked down and gave a small moan. He’d only thought to investigate the possibility of them escaping should they need to – and failing that, to see if he could spot either Malcolm or Brendon.
‘The MacFarlane be nae aboot tae let us gae, that be why he left us all the way up here. Though should he see ye, crouchin’ there like an owergrown bat, he might be tempted tae push ye oot himself.’
‘Have you always been such a deuced gabster?’
‘Aye. It’s nae jus’ th’Irish wi’ the gift o’ the gab.’
An almost inaudible, ‘hmph,’ was all the Reverend could manage while trying again to force himself backwards into the room. Unfortunately his upper arms were trapped by his side. In the end he gave up and muttered between his teeth, ‘I’d be extremely obliged if you would assist me in removing myself from this deuced aperture.’
With a sigh, Dougal walked over and stared at the Reverend’s back. ‘Ye be stuck guid an’ proper,’ he muttered, adding aneejitunder his breath. Climbing up behind the clergyman, he managed to slide his hand either side of the large man’s thighs.
‘Watch me baubles,’ the Reverend growled.
‘Hoo can ye be thinkin’ o’ yer baubles at a time like this?’
‘I’d like 'em to remain intact if it’s all the same with you,’ the Reverend grated, abruptly recalling all the other times his trinkets had been put in harm’s way. Truly, it was a wonder he hadn’t ended up a deuced eunuch. The risks he took for the Almighty.
He held his breath as Dougal’s hands slid round his hips. ‘Can yesuck in ye belly so ah can slide ma hands up a wee bit more?’ he muttered over the Reverend’s shoulder. ‘Otherwise I’ll be usin’ yer bloody baubles tae hang on tae. I didnae ken ye be such a jollocks.’
Deuced cheek of the man. Gritting his teeth, the clergyman obligingly sucked in his stomach and felt the Scot link his fingers together, fortunately just above the imperilled trinkets.
Dougal rose up slightly and lifted one knee, bracing it against the clergyman’s back. ‘Right then, ah’m gonnae coont tae three, then ah’m gonnae pull.’
Resisting the urge to ask if the Scot could actually count to three, since he didn’t want Dougal to be tempted to push instead of pull, Reverend Shackleford nodded.
‘Wan, twa,three.’
For a second nothing happened, then abruptly the Reverend shot free of the embrasure like a cork from a bottle, taking the smaller Dougal with him. After skidding along the stone floor they crashed headfirst into the large chest where they stared up in horror as the whisky bottle teetered perilously, before falling directly onto the Reverend’s head, breaking in half and spilling the MacFarlane’s saintly mother all over the pair of them.
∞∞∞
It was the early hours of the morning by the time Brendon and Malcolm arrived within hailing distance of the MacFarlane’s keep. ‘Do ye think yer father managed to convince them?’ Malcolm asked as they crouched in the bracken to watch the keep in the predawn shadows.
‘Aye. The MacFarlane’ll want tae believe him,’ Brendon answered. ‘Ah reckon he willnae waste any time either. Wi’ a bito’ luck he’ll be marchin’ the Reverend an’ ma da oot afore day-daw tae get ‘em diggin’.’
Sure enough, dawn was just touching the sky as they spied a flurry of activity outside the keep, and minutes later, the Reverend and Dougal appeared, driving the same horse and cart they’d brought with them. Behind them were half a dozen of MacFarlane’s warriors.
Both men watched the procession with relief. Clearly the chief had believed the fabrication.
Climbing to their feet, the two men followed at a distance, taking care to keep out of sight.
Within minutes they could see Inveruglas, wreathed in the early morning mist. Crouching behind a large clump of heather, they watched the Reverend and Dougal unload the cart while their guards lounged about, laughing and joking. Brendon gritted his teeth. The men knew about the bairns in the mine. Truly the bastards deserved to lose their clan. They had no honour.
It took less than half an hour to load the MacFarlane boat tied up against the shore. Bigger than the boat Brendon had hidden on the island, it took two men to row it across to Inveruglas. Once there, obviously eager to be gone, they helped the Reverend and Dougal unload the supplies, then, leaving everything on the narrow shore, they pushed off and returned to the Lochside. Minutes later, all but one of them had left, taking the horse and cart with them.
∞∞∞
‘De ye reckon the MacFarlane’ll be wantin tae talk tae his mother afore we’re awa’?’ Dougal speculated, carrying the large spade towards the ruins of the tower that dominated the island.
