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.
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.
A short walk brought them to Loch Fyne — forty miles long, Hamish announced, reaching all the way to the Mull of Kintyre and the Isle of Butte. As the rain hid everything out of bowshot, Toby was not impressed by the information. He had never seen the sea before, and found even the smell of it intriguing. The tide was out, exposing smooth gray rocks coated with strange weeds and barnacles. He would have liked to see the ships that Hamish insisted would be anchored off Inverary, but had to be content with bobbing gulls and the little boats that lay on the strand near every cottage, surrounded by intriguing tackle.
'Fishing nets,' Hamish said, unnecessarily. 'Lobster creels. They dry fish on those racks, don't they, Master MacDonald?
According to Rory, they passed within a mile of Inverary Castle itself, but the rain obscured it totally. Few folk were mad enough to be about in such weather, and any who had reason to watch for strangers must have been discouraged by the Campbells of Shira. The fugitives saw hardly a soul.
Their way lay east, a crude trail where the hills met the sea. At high tide, it might have been impassable. Hamish quartered like a questing hound, trotting back with shells and crabs and jellyfish to show.
The world was starting to offer novelty. With a cape to keep off the worst of the rain and free of his weighty sword, Toby was having a better day. Better was a relative term, of course.
They reached the mouth of the River Fyne and turned south, still following the shore. At the hamlet of Cairndow, two men emerged from the rain to interrogate the strangers. Rory stalked on ahead to speak with them, and they reacted in the now familiar fashion, doffing bonnets and bowing. The travelers were allowed to pass.
They crossed a river on stepping stones that were mostly underwater. They turned inland.
Miraculously, the rain had eased to a drizzle, revealing a straight glen ahead, almost narrow enough to be called a gorge. On the left, beyond the river, the hill was an imposing wall, soaring into the clouds without a break. It was not quite a cliff, although a man would need go up it on all fours. The near side was more gentle, although still too steep for any use but cattle. The river might be just a peaty burn most of the time, but days of rain had turned it into a roaring brown torrent, which had taken over the track in places and was washing it away in others. It frothed and thundered over boulders, setting Toby's teeth on edge with a sepulchral rumble of rocks rolling along its bed.
'Where is this?' he demanded after a while.
Rory said, 'It's Glen Kinglas—' and stopped.
Toby looked back, seeing a glimpse of Loch Fyne framed in the glen mouth, with hints of the hill beyond like a wall of mist. 'Then here we part.'
Silence, except for rain and wind and the growling of the river.
He had calculated well in bringing Meg along. Now the moment of farewell had arrived, the other men were reluctant to desert him, even though they knew they could give him no aid.
'Go back,' he said. 'This is my battle. You have done more than was required, by many a mile, all of you.'
'Just because you have escaped the woman before, Tobias…' Father Lachlan began, but he did not finish. What he meant was that there was no spirit of Glen Shira here, no hob of Fillan. Toby was alone.
He had always been alone. He always would be. Strong men could stand alone. The time for running away was over.
'Go back,' he repeated, speaking to Rory's angry stare. 'If you had a warband at your back, you could not help me now. Find a warm hearth down there in Cairndow, or somewhere. Or go back to Sir Torquil's.'
'The tide is in!' Rory snapped. His pride was burning him alive. He was the leader. Sons of chiefs did not stay behind when their followers went into danger — he regarded Toby as his man, even if Toby refused to bend a
