knee to him.
'I am sure you have other friends close, to offer you shelter, Master… MacDonald.'
That hint made the gray eyes glint dangerously. 'Father Lachlan, you take the girl and the boy and—'
'No, my son,' the friar said quietly. 'This battle is not for you. Remember your grandfather.'
'I'm going with you!' Hamish announced — bravely enough, although there was a strange whiteness around his eyes.
He was a puppy yapping at a bull, but Toby was touched. The courage of the Campbells of Fillan was very real to the teacher's son, and not to be mocked now. He squeezed the boy's shoulder. 'Thanks, my friend. I know I promised you we would hang on the same gallows, but I'm not headed to the gallows today.'
'Go with our prayers, Tobias,' the friar said. 'You can follow the trail without trouble, over Rest and be thankful—'
'What?'
'A pass. That's its name, Rest and be thankful. Then down into Glen Croe, between the Cobbler and the Brack, to Arrochar. You'll be only a mile or two west of the Loch Lomond Road, then. When you get to Dumbarton, ask at the sanctuary for Father Gregor…'
If he got that far. Toby braced himself. He had never reneged on a promise before, but in this case it was a distasteful duty. 'I must ask you for your oath, Father. Promise me that Meg Campbell—'
The friar cried out. 'Where is Meg Campbell?'
Meg Campbell was a tiny figure in the distance, trudging along the road, indistinct in the rain. With a roar, Toby took off in pursuit. He heard feet slapping in the mud behind him. How had she managed to get so far without them noticing?
He caught up with her and grabbed her arm. She swung around furiously.
'Take your hands off me!'
He took his hands off her.
She started walking again. He tracked beside her, fuming. 'What the demons are you doing?'
'Going where you go. I told you.'
She was being so stupid that he didn't know where to start.
'Meg, I'm an outlawed murderer, a demonic husk, a penniless vagrant. I've got a price on my head, a hexer at my heels…'
She glanced back at the posse. 'Yes, but I feel safer with you than I do with Rory. Oh, Toby, I can't explain… I trust you. I more than just trust you, I…'
'You what?'
'Never mind. Rory frightens me!' She smiled suddenly, seeing his shock. 'I don't mean he threatens me. He's witty and charming and attentive. But… I am afraid when I'm with him. Not afraid of him, so much as afraid of
'What does that mean?'
Again she glanced back at the pursuers. 'I don't know. I mean, I don't know how to tell you without hurting you.'
'Try me!' He had never seen fiery little Meg Campbell so off-balance, so unsure of herself. Rory would be here in seconds.
She bit her lip. 'He's so devious! He could steal a horse's shoes without lifting its feet.'
'He's clever and I'm not, you mean?'
'Oh, you know that's not what I mean! He promises… You really think he's a rebel?'
What in the world was she trying to say?
Then Rory came splashing up to them, obviously furious that his followers were not following as he expected. Hamish was close behind him, handicapped by his bundle. Father Lachlan would come in a distant fourth. Below his leather cape, the hem of his white robe flapped madly, like a housewife's duster.
'Meg, you are being foolish!' Rory said sharply. 'You go on, Longdirk.' He reached for Meg's arm.
Toby struck his hand away. 'She goes with me if she wants.'
'To face Valda? And demons? Are you out of your minds, both of you?' Again Rory reached for her arm. 'Come with us, Meg. You go on, Longdirk. We'll talk sense into—'
Again Toby smacked the rebel's hand away. 'I am not your man and she is not your woman.'
Rory stared at him incredulously and drew. 'By the demons of Delia, I have taken all I can from you, you ignorant ox. Now I am going to teach you some manners!'
Toby edged away from Meg, clutching his bundle in both hands before him. It was the only weapon or shield he had. He ought to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness, but he would rather drop dead.
'Armed, this time, my lord? The last lesson misfired, didn't it? Your match was a little damp.'
He had been a fool to rile a swordsman, a noble. Rory would be within his rights in chopping off an ear or two. Indeed, if Rory just ran the churl through, then who would bring justice against him? Who would seek vengeance for Toby Strangerson? He had no clan, he was no man's man, whereas Rory was a very important personage indeed.
'Or are you just annoyed that an ignorant ox managed to work out who you were? Managed to see through all the childish lies!'
Meg shouted, 'No! Stop this!' She tried to move between them, but Rory dodged past her, pushing her away.
'Stay out of this, woman!' He advanced slowly on Toby again, lips white with fury, silver eyes shining, steel glinting. Any moment he would leap forward and lunge.
Toby continued backing away.
He stopped, his feet stuck. They looked all right, but they felt as if they were buried in mortar.
Rory, too, was staring down in dismay.
Hamish screamed, 'Valda! It's the woman!'
About half a mile up the glen, a line of riders was advancing toward them. Five — no, six. Where had they come from?
'Well!' Rory said, sheathing his sword. 'Do you suppose that's just the local cattlemen's association holding its annual meeting?' He had switched instantly from fury to icy calm.
Meg cried, 'Toby!'
Again Toby tried to move, but his feet stayed rooted to the road. Trapped! He glanced over his companions and saw that they were all transfixed. He had promised to guard Meg and then led her into more danger than her father could have dreamed in his worst nightmares. With a howl of fury he hurled his bundle away from him.
He looked down at the five mortals. They stood in a loathsome pool of demonic power. He blew it away. Apart from that, they were unharmed.
He looked up the glen. The mounted six trotting along the road… The hexer smiled gloatingly as she led her odious pack along the trail. Their horses were dead — ridden to death and beyond death. The other woman lived, but her mind had been tormented away to nothing. Two of the males were corpses, their resident demons fully occupied in running the decaying bodies they inhabited. They could contribute nothing. Of the other two, one was directing the horses and also had an overriding directive to protect the hexer. That left only one fully operational, and even that one was encumbered by shackles of gramarye.
Back to the five… The big one, the witchwife's lad, the curly-haired one… he grew. He swelled to a giant, a mountain, looming over Glen Kinglas. Ignoring the clouds and the rain, he surveyed the hills: the trail, heading straight for big Beinn Ime and then bending right to find the pass, gentle Beinn an Lochain on the right, and the sheer, straight face of Binrein an Fhidhleir, soaring up two thousand feet without a break on the left.
Weapon?
Roll boulders on them, the teacher's boy had said. Why not?
