Doctor Who: The Highlanders (5 page)

‘Cattle raids?’ said Polly. ‘You mean, you steal people’s cattle?’

Kirsty, startled, stood back. ‘Och, no! What do you take us for? We’re no thieves. We only steal from those who take from us... like the McGregor clan.’ Kirsty walked forward and opened the nearest of the small wooden chests.

‘We keep our food in here.’ She looked in it hungrily, and rummaged among some old parchments, then brought up something that to Polly looked suspiciously like a large, hard dog biscuit. ‘Och,’ said Kirsty, ‘we’ve only one wee biscuit left. The men must have got here before us.’

Polly looked suspiciously down at the biscuit. ‘When was it left here?’

‘About three months past,’ said Kirsty, and started gnawing hungrily on a corner of the biscuit. Then, remembering her manners, she offered it to the stranger.

Polly wrinkled her nose in disgust and shook her head.

‘Ugh,’ she said, ‘dog biscuits!’

Kirsty looked up, annoyed. ‘Biscuits are no bait for dogs,’ she said, and set to work on it.

‘Well, not for me,’ said Polly, ‘please go ahead. I don’t want to lose my fillings.’

Kirsty looked blankly up at her.

‘Oh, teeth, you know... fillings, teeth. Never mind, I’m not hungry. We must make a plan. We saw them being marched away; now, where would they be taking them?’

Kirsty burst into tears. ‘To Inverness gaol. They’ll never leave that place alive.’

Polly looked down at the dishevelled, weeping girl, annoyed. ‘Oh don’t be such a wet. We must get them out.

Have you any money?’

Kirsty looked up, shaking her head. ‘For what do we need money?’

‘For food, of course,’ Polly returned. ‘That biscuit won’t last us long, and we need something to bribe the guards with. What have we got to sell then?’ Polly looked down at her bracelet, which was of twisted silver. She shook it.

‘This won’t fetch much, but it’s a start, anyway.’

‘Why would you help us?’ said Kirsty. ‘You are English, you’re not one of us.’

‘They’ve got my friends, too, remember,’ Polly rejoined.

She shivered. The air in the cave was chill and damp. ‘And I must get myself some proper clothes to wear.’

‘Aye,’ said Kirsty curiously, her tears forgotten. ‘Why do you wear the short skirts of a bairn? Ye’re a grown woman sure.’

Polly looked down at her mini-skirt and the torn and laddered tights. ‘Well,’ said Polly, ‘you see... Oh, it’ll take too long to explain.’ She looked over at Kirsty and spotted a large ring on the girl’s middle finger. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘that ring, it’s gold.’

Kirsty immediately covered the ring with her other hand and turned away.

‘Oh come on,’ said Polly crossly, ‘can’t I even look at it?

You’ll have to trust me, you know.’

Kirsty shook her head. ‘It’s no mine, it’s my father’s.’

‘Well let’s see anyway.’

Kirsty reluctantly stretched her hand out and Polly examined the ring. ‘Oh, it’s a gorgeous seal. We should get a lot for that.’

Kirsty snatched her hand back and looked up, frightened. ‘We’re no selling it.’

Polly stared back at her in disbelief. ‘Not even to save your father’s life?’

‘No.’ Kirsty shook her head firmly. ‘He’d no thank me.’

Polly shrugged her shoulders. ‘Oh, you’re hopeless.

Why, for goodness sake?’

‘He entrusted it to me before the battle. He’d kill me if I ever parted with it.’

‘I don’t understand you people,’ Polly sighed. Then with sudden resolution she held her hand out. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘give it to me.’

Kirsty scrabbled away across the floor, reached out and grabbed the dirk that Polly had been wearing and had set down on one of the chests. ‘I will not!’ she said.

Polly stared at her for a moment, and then shook her head in disgust. ‘Keep your ring,’ she said, ‘you’re just a wild wailing peasant. I’m off to help my companions. You just stay here and guard your precious ring.’ She turned back towards the door.

Kirsty looked up, anxious now that her one companion was leaving. ‘Och, mind your step outside, it’ll be dark soon.’

‘Oh, watch out for yourself,’ Polly shot back, annoyed, as she exited.

Kirsty stood up, calling after her. ‘You’ll get lost for sure.’ But Polly was already out of earshot.

Outside the cave it was indeed getting dark. The moor, which had seemed harmless enough in the daylight, now took on a totally different aspect, full of mysterious shapes that loomed up at Polly. She stared to retrace her footsteps back towards the cottage. At all costs she must find out what had happened to the Doctor and Ben. Even if the English soldiers captured her, what could they do? They surely wouldn’t harm an English girl, she reflected.

Anyway, she didn’t doubt her ability to talk her way out of any situation–
What was that?

Polly whipped around. She’d heard a noise, a stone rattling away down the slope not far behind her. Somebody was following her, or was it some animal or... For the first time Polly began believing the stories of witches, warlocks, and hobgoblins which so scared the eighteenth century Kirsty. Polly looked around. Beside the road there was a short, thick stick. She picked it up and held it out as a club.

‘Who’s there?’ she called, but there was no answer and the scuffling noises seemed to have stopped.

The night seemed even darker now, and for a moment Polly thought of going back to the cave; but that would have meant admitting to Kirsty that she was scared, and a silly weeping ninny like her – no, this she could never do.

She moved forward again along the rough track, with her head slightly turned and her ear cocked, listening for more tell-tale noises. She didn’t notice that the path had branched and she was following a smaller path rather than the main track. Then Polly thought she heard another noise behind her, this time the crack of a twig. She began to run along the track, really scared this time.

Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet seemed to disappear, and she found herself falling down through the darkness.

Polly screamed, and clutched at some grass verging what was obviously some sort of animal trap or pit; but the grass did not hold her. The clump slowly pulled out, and she slid down to the bottom of the trap, winded, dirty and very much afraid.

For a couple of minutes, Polly lay still, hardly daring to move, afraid of where she had fallen. Might there not be some wild animal beside her in this pit? She tried to remember whether they still had wolves in Scotland in the eighteenth century, or even – she shivered at the thought –

bears!

However, all she could hear were the usual night sounds, the distant shriek of an owl hunting its prey, the rustle of the wind in the trees just beyond the pit, and her own gradually subsiding panting. She stood up and felt her arms and legs, but beyond one or two bruises and some thick-caked dirt, there seemed to be no damage. She felt her way around the edges of the pit. It was about ten foot deep and six foot square at the bottom, but some of the sides had caved in, and Polly began scrambling up the loose earth. As she neared the surface, she could make out a latticework of branches, some fairly thick and strong, covering the other end of the pit from where she had fallen through. One of them looked strong enough to stand her weight, and with a great effort she leapt up and managed to hold onto it. She pulled her other hand up and then started pulling her way along the branch to heave herself out of the pit, when a hand came into view and shoved the branch back into the pit. Down Polly scrambled. As she looked up, she saw that the hand was now extended over her head, and was holding a dagger.

Polly’s Prisoner

As Polly looked up, the hand that held the dagger seemed to be raising it as if to fling it right down at the helpless girl beneath.

‘Don’t,’ cried Polly, ‘please, I give up!’

There was a scuffle of leaves above her and then Kirsty’s head appeared over the edge of the pit. ‘It’s your self!’ she exclaimed. The Scottish girl was so startled she dropped the dagger. Polly, with a quick twist, managed to turn away as it stuck into the ground beside her.

‘Careful, you idiot!’ shouted Polly. Then, angry because she’d been so afraid, said crossly ‘Of course it’s my self –

who did you think it was?’

‘Och, I’m sorry,’ said Kirsty. ‘I thought maybe a Redcoat had fallen into the animal trap – and I wish it had been.’

‘It’s lucky for both of us that it didn’t happen that way.

Come on, help me get out of here,’ said Polly.

‘Give me your hand.’ Kirsty stretched her arm over, and Polly scrambled up towards Kirsty’s hand. She grabbed it, but the Scots girl had not balanced herself on the edge, and Polly, the bigger girl, pulled her back over, so the both of them tumbled once more to the bottom of the pit.

‘Oh, help,’ said Polly, ‘are you hurt?’

Kirsty sat up and started brushing the earth off her arms. ‘No’, she said. ‘A wee bruise or two, and a lot of dirt.

Och, but now we’re both trapped,’ she wailed.

‘Not on your nelly,’ said Polly. ‘Even you Scottish lasses must’ve played piggy-back at some time.’

‘I dinna understand.’

‘You get down,’ Polly said, ‘I climb on your back and scramble up, then I’ll pull you up.’

‘Oh, I ken,’ said Kirsty. She kneeled; Polly got on her back and climbed up, raising her head above the level of the pit, and started reaching for a good hand-hold to pull herself out. She stopped and stared. A light was approaching along the path.

‘Quick wi’ ye,’ Kirsty’s voice came from below. ‘You’re no light weight, you know.’

Polly turned and looked down. ‘Shush,’ she said, ‘there’s a light.’

She now made the light out to be a lantern held by an approaching soldier. Behind him was a single file of men.

‘It’s soldiers,’ she called down. She jumped down from Kirsty’s back.

‘Redcoats!’ said Kirsty. ‘Och, we’re cornered now.’ Polly shook her head. ‘Shhh, let’s just wait. They’ll soon move off. Listen now.’

Up above them, a very weary Lieutenant Algernon Ffinch was stumbling along, leaning on one of his men, with another proceeding with the lantern. It had been a long hike through the mountains, and Algernon’s high-heeled elegant London-made boots were not up to the rugged Scottish moors. One heel had come off, and he was lame, cross and very tired. Suddenly, the man who was supporting the Lieutenant stumbled, and Ffinch fell forward.

‘You clumsy fool!’ he shouted. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the man. ‘I think it’s some sort of wall.’

The soldier with the lantern turned back and revealed the remnants of a low stone wall used to separate the farmers’

sheep fields, now in obvious disrepair.

Algernon sat gingerly on the stone wall, and the two men hovered uncertainly above him. Algernon was in a flaming temper.

‘Couldn’t catch two wenches, could you? Call yourselves

“His Majesty’s soldiers”? The terror of the Highlands?

You wouldn’t frighten a one-armed dairymaid. Here’ – he turned to the man who’d been supporting him – ‘pull this boot off.’ The soldier leant down, and as he held the boot, Algernon pushed against his shoulder, sending him over backwards with the boot. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ said Algernon.

‘I’ve done enough walking for one day. You two go and fetch my horse. And if you’re not back in an hour, six lashes apiece. Do we understand each other?’ The frightened soldiers saluted. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ said Algernon. ‘Go!’ The men turned and started back along the path.

‘Imbeciles!’ Algernon screamed after them. ‘Leave the lantern here. You think I want to be left in the dark?’ The soldier with the lantern brought it over and placed it by Algernon. ‘Right! Now, quick march!’ The soldiers turned and scurried away down the path.

The two girls crouching in the pit heard every word.

Kirsty whispered in Polly’s ear. ‘He’s staying there. Now what can we do?’ Again, her eyes filled with tears.

Polly gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Oh, not again. Didn’t the women of your age do anything but cry?’ she whispered.

‘Aye?’ said Kirsty, completely uncomprehending.

But Polly wasn’t about to enlighten her on the difference between a girl from the eighteenth century and a girl from the twentieth century.

‘Never mind,’ she whispered, ‘I’ve got an idea. Now listen. Since our officer has so obligingly parked himself outside our pit, let’s lure him to join us down here.’

‘Oh no,’ said Kirsty, but Polly picked up the dirk and handed it to her. ‘You’re better with this thing than I am, and we can handle him between us. Now, here’s what we can do.’

Above them Algernon was making himself as comfortable as the night and the damp air would permit.

He had opened a pouch left by the soldiers containing bread, a chicken leg, and onions. Now he raised the chicken leg and was about to bite into it when he heard a low moan from the pit, rising to a wail and then slowly dying away. The sound was high-pitched and eerie in the extreme. Algernon dropped the chicken leg back into the pouch and reached for his sword hilt. He raised the lantern and looked fiercely around him.

As Algernon did so, another wail arose. Raising the lantern, Algernon quickly established that this ghost-like wail was coming from just behind the wall. His hand shook, but he stood up. He was, after all, an English officer and not supposed to be afraid of ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night. He drew his sword, holding the lantern out, and scrambled over the wall just as a third wail of a slightly different timbre started up and then cut off abruptly in mid-sound. It appeared to come from a clump of trees beyond a rough patch of ground.

(Algernon could not see the gaping hole left by Polly as the other end of the pit was still covered by a cunningly designed matting of branches and grass stalks.) He put his foot on a clump of grass and crashed through into the pit, lantern and all.

The fall completely knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment all he could see was stars. Then he felt the cold steel of a knife held along his throat, and when he opened his eyes he saw before him a strange girl, dressed in a costume that the prim Englishman would have found immodest on a girl of six, never mind a fully grown wench, as he put it to himself, of nearly twenty.