The Rogues (19 page)

As I started to turn, a bit of movement below caught my eye. There was a figure coming from the right at a brisk pace across the flat, rocky ground. I froze. Then when I was sure the man wasn't looking up at me, I drew back into the cover of a gorse bush and peered through the twilight.

It was only Dunbar, no mistaking that rabbit fur bonnet, that deerskin jacket, that swagger. I heaved a sigh of relief. He had a bundle slung over his shoulder, and he'd gone away without any such, just his pockets stuffed with what food and tobacco and stuff he needed. Intrigued, I watched him climb the hill, being careful to keep myself hidden.

Halfway up, he stopped and carefully looked about. I leaned out of sight and took a deep breath, confident he hadn't spotted me.

When I looked out again—
carefully, carefully
—he was hunched over a cluster of rocks. He lifted one up and set it aside to expose a small hole. Into that he stuffed his bundle, then covered it over again. Before he could straighten up, I darted back into the cave and lay down by the cold fire, trying to look as if I hadn't shifted all day.

All the while I was thinking:
What can Dunbar have brought back that's so valuable he's keeping it a secret even from me
?

When he came inside, he cleared his throat, and when I looked up sleepily, he bobbed his head at me. Then he cast a suspicious glance around the cave, as if to assure himself I hadn't interfered with any of his belongings. Luckily the boxes and tins were just as he'd left them. Only the bowl of neeps was disturbed.

Unslinging his musket and water skin, he sat down opposite me. “I've been thinking on what ye said,” he told me without meeting my eyes. He cleared his throat again, as if something were stuck there. “There's no harm in ye staying a while longer. Provided ye make yerself useful.”

I was so surprised I could hardly speak. In fact my jaw dropped open. This was just what I wanted. But what had changed his mind? And did it matter, so long as he changed it?

“I'll do … I'll do whatever ye ask,” I blurted out at last. “Just name the task.” I could feel a big, daft smile spread all over my face.

“We'll speak more on it in the morning,” Dunbar said gruffly. “If ye're to come with me, ye'd best get a good night's sleep.”

“I've been dozing all day,” I lied. “Canna we talk now?”

“We canna.” His answer was almost a slap.

We ate a cold, meager supper of carrots and barley in silence. It was as unappealing as the bowl of neeps. I cleared the dishes away, and he nodded. That was as close to a conversation as we came.

I wanted to ask Dunbar why he was letting me stay, but he looked so distracted, I didn't dare. Even when he sat back against the stone wall, eyes closed, smoking his pipe, I had the sense to keep quiet. I feared that if I upset him now, I'd lose all the ground I'd so mysteriously gained.

Still, I was pleased with myself. Pleased for all that I'd figured out. And even more pleased I'd convinced Dunbar to keep me on. But I couldn't help wondering what it was he'd hidden in that hole in the ground.

Well, if he had a secret, I had my own secret too. I'd seen him hide his bundle. So, which of us was the greater rogue now?

20 THE STILL

The next morning Dunbar seemed more relaxed, as if he'd come to terms with me staying on. Though I was still curious about his change of mind, he brushed me off whenever I tried to question him.

“I'll no have ye fashing me the whole time,” he said testily. “If that doesna suit ye, ye're free to leave.”

I'd no choice then but to keep myself to myself.

“Pack up some food and drink,” Dunbar said, gathering up his equipment, “and get ready to march. Since ye're staying, I mean to put ye to work.”

“Where are we going?”

“No place we'll get to by sitting here blethering.” He turned his back on me and packed up his weapons—musket, knife, and ammunition and some other strange tools I had no name for—into a leather sack.

In a few moments he was off down the back side of the hill, a rocky path covered with grey scree that skittered away from us at each step. I scurried after, carrying a second sack filled with our provisions. The morning was bright, the sky spotted with three layers of clouds. I had to walk briskly, nearly breaking into a run, just to keep up with him. My legs were still wobbly from being ill, but I was not going to let that show.

After a bit he turned and watched me, and then he nodded, as if approving my efforts to match his soldier's stride.

I can do it
, I told myself. And indeed, the longer we went, the stronger I felt.

In this unfamiliar stretch of country I could tell only that we were headed east toward the Kindarry glens. We stuck to the trees, a large stand of oak, and wound our way through them, though what path we were on was unclear. I think Dunbar must have made up a different route each time to make it harder to track him. I turned to look behind us. I couldn't see the crag and the cave at all, only a solid wall of trees.

After a while, we left the protection of the forest and entered a stone gully with broken walls of grey flint. Our feet left no track here either.

Dunbar didn't speak to me, and so I kept silent as well. But it was hard. I wanted to know where we were going and why. I wanted to know if we were silent because it made us safer, or if we were silent because he had nothing to say to me, or if we were silent because of our secrets.

Suddenly fear rose up like bile in my throat. Could Dunbar be carrying out his threat to turn me over to the laird? Was I a lamb being led to the butcher? I gnawed on that for a while until I saw that even though he'd threatened, it made no sense. Why would he go to all the trouble of saving my life, carrying me all the way to his lair, nursing me for days, only to betray me? And surely, since he'd saved me by shooting at the factor, he was as much a wanted man as I.

But then
, I reminded myself,
he is a rogue. Who knows what rogues think
?

Almost as if he'd heard my thoughts, he said in a gruff whisper, “Ye'll be wondering where we're headed.” He nodded at the long gully.

“It's crossed my mind.” I tried not to sound too keen.

“Word reached me yesterday that Rood's not taken our run-in well.” He smiled, a slow smile that lit up his face. “He's got men scouring the hills.”

“Hunting for me? Or for ye?”

Dunbar gave a wry laugh and signaled me to sit on a log that must have washed down the gully in some fierce storm years ago. It was as grey as the stone. Settling himself against a rock, Dunbar crossed his legs, took out his pipe, and stuck it in his mouth unlit. “They've no got the nerve to come after me. They know what a good shot I am, and they're all too scared of catching a musket ball between the eyes. Nae, lad, it's my other whisky still he's got them hunting. He wants to take my purse, not my head.”

“Surely if it's stayed hidden this long, it's safe enough.”

“Nobody's ever been minded to seek it out before. After all, why should they cut off their one source of cheap whisky? They came upon the other still by chance, but now they are looking for a reason.”

I crossed my legs as well and felt a small wind through my hair. A hawk screeched above us. The clouds scudded by. And here we sat, two rogues together, talking and plotting.

Now that I'd thought it through, I no longer feared he was going to turn me over to the laird. But I had to win him to
my
plan. Suddenly I realized that I didn't know how.

“But things are changing now,” he said.

I leaned forward. “What do you mean to do?”

“I need to take the still apart and shift it to a new hiding place, somewhere off McRoy land. Ye can stand lookout for me while I'm working. Think of it as yer first lesson in roguery.” He grinned.

Not my first
, I thought, but I couldn't tell him that. I grinned back. “Is it far?”

“Far for ye, not far for me.”

Sharing his plans, Dunbar started to talk to me in a friendlier fashion, giving me advice on how to always have an eye out for cover. He also said that if I heard animals stir—rabbits and grouse were the best indicators, and crows loved to talk about intruders—it meant there was somebody snaking around close by. I nodded and made a great show of taking in his words, for I didn't want him to stop talking. He knew everything I needed to know. And more.

“There must be times,” I said, “when ye have to find a way into somebody's house … for shelter or food.”

Dunbar threw me a long glance, almost measuring me. “Hard times make for hard means,” he said at last. “I'll not deny I've taken charity off some as never knew they were giving it, but never from any that couldna afford it. Still, I'd be doing ye no favor to put ye on that track. It's dangerous work. And a hanging matter if ye're caught.”

I bit my lip to hold back my protest. I needed him to tell me more. Those were exactly the things I needed to learn about. I had to get the Blessing back—and soon. But he had no more to say.

We got up and carried on for a good two hours more, winding up through craggy hills scattered with shriveled saplings and a lot of prickly gorse. It seemed a good place for hiding a still or a bad place for a murder. There were bushes and boulders that kept a man from seeing more than a few yards ahead at any step.

“This looks like a good …,” I began softly.

Suddenly Dunbar raised a hand, signaling me to halt and be silent. He cocked his head to one side and listened intently. I did the same, and then I heard voices up ahead.

Dunbar put a finger to his lips and beckoned me to follow. We stopped by a thorn bush and he listened again.

“Damn, but they've beaten us to it!” He cursed under his breath.

There was a gust of drunken laughter.

“From the sound of it, they're sampling my wares for free.” His whisper was fierce. “How many do ye reckon there are?”

I listened hard. At last I ventured a guess, holding up two fingers.

Dunbar nodded. “Good lad. Ye've got keen ears when ye choose to use them. Now, best stay out of sight. There's no sense letting on that ye're with me.” Unslinging his musket, he started forward in a poacher's crouch. I kept close behind him.

“They have ye outnumbered,” I whispered urgently. “They'll be armed too. A still's not worth dying over, is it?”

Dunbar grinned back at me over his shoulder. “I'm counting on them to see it that way.”

He paused at the space between a boulder and a thornberry thicket. The gap was so narrow I could hardly see past Dunbar at all. But what I
could
see made my stomach go cold. As I'd guessed, there were two men, their muskets set down on the ground at their feet. They were enjoying their drams of whisky, a jug nestled between them, and they had that soft, muzzy look that men just slightly drunk often seemed to get. They weren't at the fighting stage yet, just happy and unaware. Beyond them, against the rocks, were the tin drum and pipes of the Rogue's still, an odd contraption I could make no sense of.

Dunbar rose slowly to his feet. A rook cawed a warning; the men didn't look up. They were having too much fun drinking. But at the sound, I held my breath.

Then Dunbar stepped nimbly into the clearing, cocking his musket and laughing out loud.

The laird's men leapt to their feet, and one of them kicked over the jug by accident. It rolled across the ground, the last of the golden liquor dribbling from its neck.

I edged forward for a clearer view. The man on the left was a thin, nervous type, while the bearded man to the right had a flushed and angry face.

“I'd not expected to find customers so thirsty they'd come all this way for a wee dram,” said Dunbar. “How are ye two enjoying my drink?”

Both men had their eyes on his gun. They must have known only too well how quickly he could get off a shot. They were hired men, but
he'd
been in the king's army. They moved back against the still, perhaps thinking that Dunbar wouldn't harm them so near it. They didn't know what I knew—that he was already planning to dismantle it.

The thin man cleared his throat. “We're here on the laird's business, Dunbar.”

“And what business would that be, McInnes?” The Rogue's musket never wavered. That he knew the man's name surprised me. What surprised me even more was how calm he sounded when he should have been furious with anger.

“He wants ye off his property,” answered the one with the beard. He took another step back.

“If that's what he wants, he'll need better men than ye two to do the job.”

“Take a telling, Dunbar,” the thin man pleaded. “He'll have the militia on ye before long, and how would that serve ye?”

Dunbar laughed again, but this time there was no mirth in it. “The militia, is it? I must be a very dangerous breed of scoundrel.”

“Och, man, if ye've any wits at all, ye'll pack up and make a new lair for yerself far away from here,” the bearded man warned.

“I'll take that advice as well meant, Sinclair,” Dunbar told him. “Ye've been good customers to me before. But surely ye know, I come and go at no man's bidding. If ye're truly concerned for my welfare, I'm sure ye'll be wanting to pay for the whisky ye've drunk.”

The laird's men exchanged glances, each expecting the other to answer.

“Come along,” Dunbar urged. “If ye've come without money, I'll have to take it out of yer hide.” His voice was the more frightening for its calmness. “After all, I canna have ye robbing me like common brigands.”

“There's no call for that,” said the thin man, McInnes. He fished in his pocket for his purse and lifted it out with shaking fingers. Obviously he didn't think Dunbar was all that calm. As he tried to open the purse, it slipped out of his hands and hit the ground with a dull clink of coins.