The Rogues (13 page)

13 BURNING

I fell into sleep that night as if hit on the head with a cudgel, and I dreamed the entire time. Nightmares, I think, though I remembered none but the last of them, for when I awoke, it was to a worse nightmare than any I had dreamed.

In that final dream, I heard a pounding on the roof of the cottage, a deep, soft sound like bales of hay being dropped from the clouds. I sat up on my pallet and looked around. Lachlan and Da hadn't stirred, and I could hear Ishbel's sleepy breathing from behind the rough blanket that separated her from us.

I got up and in my nightshirt walked out the door to see that the ground was covered in hilly folds of light, fluffy snow. More snow was coming down, falling as quick as water, and soon it was up to my knees. I tried to take a step, but my legs were as weighed down as if I were standing knee-deep in mud. Twisting about, I looked back at the cottage, which was completely enveloped in the snow and looked like a huge, white haystack. Da, Lachlan, and Ishbel would be trapped inside and freeze to death while they slept. I could feel my heart stutter in my chest. They had to be warned.

I tried to call out to them, but my voice was frozen and the words fell out of my mouth in chunks of ice. Now the snow was up past my shoulders. I tried to struggle free, but it was no use. The white tide rose up over my head, and as it did so, the snow turned a deadly black. I coughed and spluttered, trying to suck in breath, but it was like drowning. So I shoved my arms through the drifts, trying to swim, but the darkness grew thicker, and my belly and lungs were turning to ice. I wondered as I died if I would wake up in hell.

Then I felt someone grab me, pull me up toward the light. I woke up, gasping, with Ishbel's hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake.

“Up ye get!” she was saying. “There's work to be done.”

I wondered groggily how I could be expected to work when I was dead. Then I smelled porridge cooking over the fire and realized I was alive and at home. Lachlan was already hauling on his breeks so that he could grab the first bowl of porridge, the one that would have the creamiest helping, fresh from the top of the pot.

There was a thin trickle of daylight slipping through the window. As I shook off the dream, the awful reality of this day forced itself upon me, like the glint of a sharpened sword at our throats. We were being evicted. I wondered if I'd dreamed that too.

“Where's Da?” I asked, getting to my feet and struggling into my own shirt and breeks.

“He's already eaten and gone out to gather the cattle,” Ishbel answered as she ladled out porridge into two bowls. “We're to be off the land today.”

“But we can't just pack up and go just like that,” I said, my voice rising as if I were angry with Ishbel and not the laird. “Go just on Rood's say-so. Surely Da wouldna …”

“For once yer da is being sensible,” Ishbel said, her voice tight as she kept a rein on her anger. She turned from me, bringing the porridge pot back to the fire. “The laird has the law on his side, as rich men always have.” Her shoulders went up in a shrug.

“And he has the soldiers too,” Lachlan added.

Ishbel turned, looked at me, her voice softening. “Sit and eat, Roddy. I won't have us going on empty stomachs. Yer ma wouldna have liked that.”

“Going where?” Lachlan asked, his mouth now full of porridge, hungrily spooning it down as if it might be his last hot meal, as it very well might be.

Ishbel shrugged but didn't answer. I suddenly realized she knew no more than we did. So I sat down on the bench at the table, and Ishbel plunked a bowl of steaming porridge in front of me. I added salt and a spot of milk and waited for the porridge to cool. Unlike Lachlan, who ate his burning hot, I liked mine almost cold.

“There's no foretelling what will happen,” said Ishbel, “but we need to be ready for whatever comes.” She brushed a strand of red hair back from her high forehead and sighed. “Yer da and some of the other men were talking last night after the two of ye were in bed. Something about holding on here while they make an appeal to the magistrate.”

“An appeal to the magistrate could take weeks,” said Lachlan through a mouthful of porridge. “And there's no saying it will come to anything.”

Ishbel nodded. “Yer da knows that, which is why we're to be packed anyway. Some magistrates go by the law and some by their friendships with the laird. We have to be prepared for either.”

“But Ishbel …,” I began, sick to my stomach that Da should give in so easily. I pushed the bowl away from me.

“Eat up, Roddy,” Lachlan urged me. “Ye'll need yer strength for the road ahead.”

I was stunned to hear
him
accept defeat, Lachlan, who'd always been the one to thumb his nose at authority. Talking about the road ahead when we should have been planning how to fight. I shook my spoon at him. “Ye'll not quit so easy over this, will ye? Remember how we chased the sheep, how we marched on Kindarry?”

He bent his head low over the bowl, scraping up the last spoonful of porridge. “That was a lark, a boys' game, Roddy. Battling the law's something else. A poor man has nae chance there.”

I still hadn't eaten a drop, and now I slammed my spoon down angrily on the table. “If the law's only for the rich, then why should we not all be outlaws? Like the Rogue?”

“Wheesht and eat yer breakfast,” said Ishbel, pushing the bowl back at me. “There is nae sense in arguing. At least no before ye've eaten.”

But Lachlan had the bit between his teeth now and carried on doggedly. “A man knows when to quit the field, Roddy. When the war is lost. Believe me, ye'll not want to be left behind.”

I spooned up some porridge. It was still hotter than I liked, but I ate it anyway, in one quick swallow. It burned going down, and I swear it set my heart on fire too, so I set the spoon aside. “I never reckoned ye for such a fairdie, brother!”

Lachlan pushed away his empty bowl and glowered at me. “A fairdie, am I?” He pointed his finger at me. “Look what's happened to ye already. Don't ye think Willie Rood would be glad of another crack at yer stubborn skull?”

“There's still Bonnie Josie to stand against him,” I said. Somehow even saying her name seemed to give me courage. “She'll take our side for sure.”

“Have ye no heard?” said Ishbel. “Nae—how could ye? The widow's took sick. Josie's only care now is to tend her mother night and day and bring her as much comfort as she can.”

My mouth dropped open. I forced it shut with my right hand. “All the more reason for us to stay,” I muttered. “We shouldna leave her to the laird's mercy, nor to Rood's.”

“Worry what mercy they'll have on us,” said Ishbel sharply. “We've no kinship nor title to guard us. Your Bonnie Josie will do just fine. The rich always do. Now eat up before I force that good porridge down yer throat, for I'll not have it thrown away.”

I gave Lachlan a last glower, and he gave back as good. Then standing, he went over to the basin to splash off his face. I ate up the porridge, my anger having made me hungry. Yet even when I'd finished, there was still a pain gnawing at my stomach.
We can't just run off and leave our homes to the laird's fat sheep
, I thought.
Surely Da won't stand for that
.

Lachlan snatched up his bonnet and opened the door, but Ishbel called him up sharply. “Where do ye think you're going, Lachlan Macallan?”

“I'm going to help Da,” he answered.

“He's no need of yer help. Yer to stay here and help me pack our belongings.”

“Och, taking care of the house is woman's work,” said Lachlan, stepping outside. “Roddy will stay and help ye.”

“You're not leaving me to that!” I called. Dodging around Ishbel, I dashed out after him. I was surprised to find he'd come to a stop right outside the cottage. He was frowning and sniffing at the air.

“What's fashin' ye?” I asked.

“Can't ye smell it?”

I sniffed and knew at once. There was a bitter tang to it, the wind blowing it north to the other end of the glen. We hadn't a chance of smelling it till we were outside of the cottage's thick walls, but here the reek was unmistakable. I leaned out and saw a plume of smoke rising against the sky and below it a flicker of flame where the Kinnells' cottage stood.

“A fire?” I said. “But what would anybody be burning this time of morn?”

“Look!” Lachlan exclaimed, pointing.

There was a small group of figures hurrying toward us.

“It's Hamish Kinnell and his family!” I said as they drew closer. They were our closest neighbors.

“God help us!” I heard Ishbel gasp. Only then did I realize she was standing behind us, staring in horror.

The Kinnells gave us no greeting but made to hurry past, their faces pale and their eyes wide, as if a mad hound was snapping at their heels.

“Hamish,” Lachlan cried out, for they were best of friends. He reached out a hand to them.

But Hamish, his parents, and his grandfather had only a few belongings slung over their shoulders, though the aging grandfather was really as much baggage as they could manage.

“What's happened?” Ishbel asked.

Hamish's mother was too distressed to speak, his father too burdened with the grandfather, so Hamish spoke for them all. They went on down the road for a moment without him. He spoke quickly, his words galloping into one another.

“The laird's men came at dawn with Rood at their head and rousted us out of bed by flinging a torch into the house. You'd best run while you have the chance. If we go back, they said they'll throw
us
in the fire. Not that there's anything left to go back to.” He nodded at Lachlan, a swift farewell, and was gone after his family.

“I thought we had till noon at least,” Ishbel called after him, but none of the Kinnells answered back. They were too set on escaping the men who had set torches to their home.

And now we could see those very men. They were striding down the glen toward us with flaming torches and cudgels in their hands. Marching with dogged determination, they looked as if they were in no hurry to be done with their foul work.

“Right—grab what you can!” Ishbel ordered us.

“But what about Da?” Lachlan objected. “We have to warn him.”

“He'll know what's happening soon enough. All he has to do is look up at the sky,” Ishbel said. She pointed, and when I looked up, the morning sky was already dark with smoke as if the laird had turned day into night. “He'll find his own way to us,” she added. “Now hurry!”

She pushed me inside and started making bundles of clothes. I gathered up my own few things, but inside, I was dying to make a stand. That was when I heard Lachlan's voice and rushed outside after Ishbel to see what was going on.

Lachlan had found a stick and was waving it over his head, threatening the laird's men, who were nearly at our house. “Awa'!” he shouted at them as if herding sheep. “Awa'!”

They didn't look a bit frightened. In fact, one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a red beard, even laughed.

“Out of the way, boy!” he ordered. “We've got written leave from the laird to clear this glen of all trespassers.”

Ishbel snatched the stick out of Lachlan's hand and tossed it to the ground. “Dinna mind the boy. He's weak in the head.” And when Lachlan tried to protest, she hissed at him like an adder before turning back to the laird's men. “Besides, we're nae trespassers.” She smiled at them. “This is our home till noontime. We're allowed that at least. Willie Rood's paper said so.”

“Yer to be off Kindarry land by noon,” the red-bearded man corrected her. The sternness in his face showed that her smile had not moved him a bit. “That's what Willie Rood says, what the paper says. And he's off to tell the laird of our progress. So, ye best stop gabbing and make a start, woman, or be caught trespassing.”

Ishbel pushed Lachlan and me away from the men. “Don't give them cause for more trouble than can be avoided,” she instructed us. Then she darted back into the cottage to salvage what she could.

As she did so, I tugged Lachlan's sleeve and pointed toward the hillside. Da was charging down toward us, waving his crook, his shirt flapping as he ran. He had seen the smoke in the glen and guessed what was afoot.

“Awa' there!” he yelled. “Awa' from my property!”

As if fate was bringing them together, at the same time Willie Rood came riding up on his horse, back from reporting to the laird, his podgy face wrapped in a smirk.

Da planted himself between Rood and the cottage. “Ye've no right to treat us like this, like tinkers tramping across the land instead of lifelong tenants.”

“The law says we do,” Rood answered him. He waved his rough-looking crew forward, Red Beard as well as two men with great knife scars on their faces and two more who looked enough alike to be brothers, with the same missing teeth and blue eyes. “We've wasted enough time here.”

One of the scarred men started toward the house, thrusting his torch ahead of him.

“Nae, no while I breathe!” Da declared. He passed by Rood with an angry sweep of his crook, making the horse rear up, then grabbed the man with the torch by the arms. They began to struggle and Da, with his righteous anger, seemed to be getting the better of it. Before anyone else could move, Rood had his horse once more under control and spurred it forward, driving it right into Da and knocking both him and his opponent to the ground.

The other four men closed in on the house. The red-bearded man picked up the fallen torch and with it lit the torches of the others.

Lachlan and I tried to stop them, running at them kicking and punching. But they were huge men and too strong for us, simply shoving us aside. Lachlan landed on his arm and I on my bum. As we scrambled to our feet, we could only watch helplessly as Red Beard flung his torch through the window and another man flung his torch through the open doorway.