The Scot looked at him as though he was addled. ‘What aboot themidges?’ He asked at length.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Reverend Shackleford sighed. ‘We’ll use my drawers,’ he muttered turning his back.
A couple of minutes later, he laid the largely whitish pair of undergarments down on the ground. His birthday had been a month earlier.
For once the elderly Scot refrained from commenting aside from muttering under his breath, ‘Ye could scribe most o’ the good book on them.’
‘What are ye gaunnae write?’ he asked as the Reverend took up his stick of charcoal.
‘I think “Coast clear1 guard in hut,” should do it. Laboriously the clergyman chalked the words across the back of his drawers in letters as large as he could fit down each leg.
‘Right then. I think they should be able to see that if we stand close to the shore. Come on Dougal, there’s no time to lose.’
Bemused that the English was using his given name for the second time, Dougal followed in silence, a sudden problem rearing its ugly head.
If he wasnae careful, he might actually get taelikethe God walloper. An that wouldnae dae at all…
Five minutes later, the two of them were standing on the edge of the shore, each holding a leg high in the air, shouting and pointing at the improvised sign.
‘It’s nae guid, they cannae see it,’ Dougal declared after five minutes. ‘Ah’ll hae tae climb on yer shoulders.’
‘If you think I’m allowing your drawers anywhere near my person, you’re very much mistaken,’ the Reverend shuddered.
‘Dae ah complain aboot haein tae look at yer face like a skelped arse?’ the Scot answered cheerfully, stepping up onto a boulder. ‘At least ah can take mine off. Right then, bend doon.’
Against his better judgement, the Reverend went over to the boulder and bent down. Oh how he was missing Percy. The curate would never have answered him back like his present unsavoury companion.
It only took Dougal a few seconds to hop up and sling his leg around the Reverend’s neck. ‘Jus’ like auld times,’ he chuckled into the clergyman’s ear. Clearly the Scot was much more agile than Percy, and moments later he was sitting triumphantly on his companion’s shoulders. Once the Reverend had wobbled to his feet, Dougal rose up, held up the drawers and yelled at the top of his voice.
Within minutes, Malcolm and Brendon appeared on the Lochside. ‘The coast be clear, wi one guard,’ Dougal yelled, flapping the drawers up and down for emphasis. Seconds later both men gave the thumbs-up sign and disappeared into the long grass.
‘Well, that were easy,’ the Scot crowed, throwing the drawers to the ground and sitting back down on his haunches. Unfortunately, as he sat down, the front of his kilt slid over the Reverend’s face like a pungent shroud.
Reverend Shackleford gave a muffled choking sound and wobbled from side to side as Dougal tried to wrestle his kilt back over the Reverend’s head, only to hook the sporran over the clergyman’s ears in the process. With a panicked yell, Augustus Shackleford slowly tottered forward and despite his passenger’s increasingly desperate entreaties, promptly fell headfirst into the loch, Dougal sailing like a flying fish over his head.
Chapter Nineteen
Malcolm and Brendon wasted no time speculating why the signal had been changed – doubtless they’d find out soon enough. Their entire attention had to be on the children they were attempting to rescue.
After hiding their knapsacks near to the MacFarlane boat, Brendon ordered Fergus to stay and guard. Then after giving the wolfhound a quick fuss, he followed Malcolm towards the distant copse of trees bordering the quarry. As soon as they stepped into the trees, nearly twenty minutes later, both men drew their pistols. Once back out in the open, they used the abandoned buildings as cover as they crept towards the mine entrance. Mostly derelict, it was hard to believe any of them had housed mine workers as little as two years back.
After about five minutes, they spotted a dilapidated bothie near to the entrance with a wavering light in the window, even though it was still a couple of hours until dusk. Why the guard had picked possibly the most ramshackle of all the buildings to sleep in was anybody’s guess. Perhaps he was afraid of ghosts.
The whole place was unnerving. There was no birdsong and only the distant sound of the loch slapping against the shore broke the silence. Slowly,carefully, they tiptoed towards the lighted window.
‘It’s nae yet sundoon, so he’ll nae be asleep, ’ Brendon whispered, ‘we’ll hae tae finish him fast. Afore he haes the chance tae run.’ Malcolm nodded, deliberately not questioning the steward’s use of the wordfinish. Whatever needed to be done, they would do it.
By the time they reached the hut, both men were dripping in sweat. Pointing to the entrance, Malcolm, lifted his pistol and held up three fingers. The only thing they had was the element of surprise. That, and the fact that there were two of them.
But according to Finn, the guard left behind was a giant. And a nasty one at that.
Brendon drew his own pistol and nodded. Seconds later, Malcolm kicked in the door, and they stormed inside, only to be confronted by a man the size of Goliath sitting with his booted feet propped up on a rickety table, staring them unconcernedly.
‘What took ye so long?’ he questioned without moving a muscle.
∞∞∞
The first thing Jennifer was aware of was a blinding headache. And the second, that she was hanging upside down over a moving horse. Seconds later, she felt her stomach cramp as she emptied its meagre contents all over the animal's forelegs.
