Voice in the Mist

by Nigel Cubbage

  He could hear the man behind him sighing heavily. There was no other option but to carry on up wherever the staircase led.

  “Balatte!” Sibley’s voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs. The footfall stopped abruptly. “Come back a moment – there is something I need to check with you.”

  Holding onto the handrail and panting with relief, Drew heard his pursuer retrace his footsteps downstairs. What should he do now? He could not go down for fear of being discovered. They might reappear at any second.

  Perhaps the “guest” Sibley had mentioned was a prisoner, being held in this tower and Balatte was on his way up there.

  Drew looked up and saw he was almost at the top. There were two doors. He tried the first one. It opened out onto the battlements. He stepped out onto a narrow walkway and looked back towards the shore.

  In the distance, he recognised the familiar figure of his brother, standing on the beach. If only he could speak to him!

  Drew slipped back inside. Next to the second door was a hook on which hung a black key. It had to be the key to the door. Drew went to grab it and open the lock but hesitated. He grasped the door handle and tried it. It was locked. He put the key into the lock and turned until he felt a solid clunk.

  He pushed the door open and stood in the doorway. Over next to a narrow window, a man turned round to look at him.

  Drew’s jaw dropped in astonishment.

  “Henry?” he gasped, uncomprehending. “How on earth did you get here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing!” Henry McOwan leapt to his feet. “I watched you come over. How did you manage to find me?”

  “I didn’t know you were here. We didn’t know they had taken you prisoner; we’ve been away since yesterday. I just followed the thieves across the causeway to snoop about.” Drew related the events of the previous twenty-four hours as briefly as he could. Seeing Henry’s face, he stopped.

  “What’s up?”

  “Drew …” Henry spoke very slowly. “… I haven’t been at Rahsaig since I was taken prisoner … the day we came back from Rum.”

  “What?!” Drew almost shouted, remembered their situation and stopped himself. He took a step closer to Henry and spoke in a hoarse whisper.

  “You mean … but you were at Rahsaig … we had to get you to agree to this trip. If it wasn’t you, then who was it? There is a guy at Rahsaig being you. You waved us off yesterday – gave me a right telling off about looking after Rebecca.”

  Henry smiled glumly.

  “You have met Morgan … my twin brother.”

  CHAPTER 19 – Message In A Bottle

  Sunset over Knoydart was a dazzling blend of orange, purple and crimson. As the last shafts of sunlight finally sank across the loch, Rebecca felt an edge to the breeze almost at once. She rubbed her arms against the chill, hoping Dougie was well on his way. It was an hour since he had gone.

  Barradale Castle was quiet and serene, out in the middle of the loch. The tide was creeping ever further up the shore, the causeway having long since disappeared. Rebecca watched a couple of noisy red-beaked oystercatchers at the water’s edge, scavenging for food, until her attention was diverted by a movement just below the castle. A rowing boat was pushing off, one figure leaping aboard clutching a rope, while a second sat at the oars. They were silhouetted against the evening light, making identification impossible. The boat struck out for the shore. Rebecca realised it was heading straight towards her. She slipped back into the trees from where she could watch unobserved.

  The men came ashore and started to head up the glen in the direction of Dead Man’s Crag, which gave Rebecca immediate cause for concern. Dougie would be unaware that anyone was on the path behind him. She recognised the painter. The two men passed slowly by, in the sort of silence that exists when people have argued, the painter obviously annoyed and trailing a good ten yards back. The other taller, blond man glowered over his shoulder several times, to check he was still following.

  Rebecca fidgeted nervously, wondering if she should go after them. The two men could not possibly catch up with Dougie but he might run into them. Dougie had been so very firm that she was to remain where she was no matter what happened, that she decided to stay put. There was little she could do in any case, since she would probably be slower than all of them. Her ankle was now feeling the effects of yesterday’s walking. It would be better to wait and keep an eye out for Drew.

  ***

  Drew’s face was blank with astonishment. His mouth opened but no sound emerged. Henry explained.

  “Morgan is in with Sibley. You have not met him before and the family does not speak of him – I hadn’t seen him for twenty years. Rebecca will never have heard of him. We are identical apart from our hair colour, but that can easily be altered. Morgan ran away from home after a row with Father – we heard he had gone to South America. The row was over him stealing money from Father, a lot of money. It was to feed a gambling habit and pay off the loan sharks.

  Well, when the boat from Rum arrived back in Arisaig and I went off to get the car, Morgan was sitting in the driving seat. I was astonished. He locked the doors so I couldn’t get out. One of his henchmen tied me up, put me into a van and took me off to Morar, a couple of miles away then he came back to meet you – not me. I was driven to the beach, where they bundled me into a boat and brought me here.”

  “But he is so like you … I’d never have guessed, nobody would. How can he do that? He knows everything about everyone, about Rahsaig … it’s incredible.”

  Henry smiled.

  “That is because he has a little mole telling him everything he needs to know to pass himself off as me. I’m pretty sure I know who. They are using Lord Gordon’s home while he is away because one of the men involved is McAllum, the head ranger. He’s a hard case. They want me to sign some documents, turning over the rights on the estate to Morgan but I’ve refused. So by replacing me with Morgan, they can make it seem as if I did sign and get witnesses to the signature. Everyone will think it is me, just like you did.” He paused and frowned.

  “We’ve got to get out of here. One of them will be up with my supper in a few minutes. Then they won’t come back until morning. If you hide on the roof until he has gone, you can come back to let me out. We can slip down, take a boat and be away and they won’t find out for hours.”

  ***

  Of all the rangers in this remote corner of Scotland, when it came to speed over the ground, Dougie Campbell was acknowledged to be the fastest. As he had done on the way, Dougie took the most direct route back, straight over Dead Man’s Crag. Supremely fit due to spending his life climbing up and down hills and mountains, a climb that would have taken an average person several hours, Dougie achieved in less than one. He paused at the top to catch his breath and looked back down the glen. Barradale Castle was now completely cut off, standing ghostly and grey in the fading light. Although the sun was still catching the very top of the mountain where he stood, Dougie knew he had only a limited amount of good light left. With a grunt, he set off at a run down the slope.

  ***

  “Loch Hourn. How much longer do I have to stare at Loch Hourn? Hourn means Hell, you know.” Henry sighed in exasperation as he looked out of his tower prison.

  “I’m sorry, Henry,” said Drew, sitting with his head in his hands. “How was I to know that numpty Sibley likes ‘to take the evening air on the battlements’?”

  “It’s not your fault,” said Henry.

  “But it does leave us with rather a predicament, now that we are both ‘guests’ here. I hope our podgy friend believed your tale about coming to deliver a message for McAllum from Dougie. All he has to do is ring Rahsaig and speak to Morgan to find out the others came with you. Then they will be on the look out for Rebecca and Dougie as well. We have to get out of here and find them first.”

  ***

  The snap of a twig somewhere close by caused Dougie to look up sharply. Having retrieved his rucksack and enough food fo
r the night, he had just arrived at the place where his return route crossed the stalkers’ path from Barradale.

  He heard voices, one raised in whining protest. He ducked behind a large rock not a moment too soon, for somebody emerged from a small copse into a clearing nearby. Dougie recognised the painter and, with a sharp intake of breath, McAllum of Barradale.

  “So … Mac is in this thing too,” he whispered under his breath.

  “That explains why he wasn’t around much when we were counting the Barradale deer.”

  “…You must start as soon as we get there,” the tall McAllum was saying. “You heard the boss. Everything has to be ready by Saturday. You have to have the painting done in two days. I’m away in the morning to see our friendly Laird at Rahsaig and I’ll be back on Friday to pick it up. Then you can get back to your French loft.”

  “It’s a Parisian attic studio, actually,” said the painter, with a haughty sniff. “Not that I would expect a fellow like you to have any understanding about how an artist lives or draws his inspiration.”

  The men passed on down the hillside towards the manse. When he was certain they were out of sight and earshot, Dougie re-emerged, crossed the path and continued the same direct ascent he had taken earlier.

  ***

  “So our friends won’t be back tonight, then?” asked Rebecca, watching as Dougie took off his boots, sighed in pleasure and wiggled his toes. She rolled her eyes and pretended to faint from the fumes.

  “Okay, okay,” smiled Dougie. “No, they won’t. And we should get some rest now so we can be up and about early if wee lummox decides to put in an appearance.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Rebecca. “Drew’s situation has changed while you’ve been away. He is now inside the castle, in the tower. I saw him through the binoculars. He has either got himself caught or found somewhere to hide for the night.”

  Dougie gave a hollow laugh. “He’ll have got himself caught, don’t you worry. Well that’s blown it, sure enough. Was this before or after those guys came ashore?”

  “After.”

  “Good. It’s likely that they won’t know. I overheard McAllum say he is headed for Rahsaig in the morning to see Henry. At least he hasn’t been warned off. What’s this thinking you’ve been doing?”

  Rebecca smiled wryly.

  “Well – I don’t think your pal McAllum will be seeing Henry tomorrow… since he is in the tower as well.”

  “What?!” Dougie sat bolt upright and stared at her incredulously.

  “I saw them both at the window.”

  “What’s Henry doing there? Is he a prisoner too?”

  “I’ve no idea. My plan is to take that boat” – she pointed to the rowing boat the men had come ashore in earlier – “and go and find out. If necessary we’ll carry out a little rescue under the cover of darkness. McAllum and his pals have a free hand to steal whatever they want from Rahsaig, if Henry is locked up in the tower.”

  Moments later, Dougie and Rebecca had loaded their gear into the boat and pushed out from the shore. The water was black and still. The first stars were showing in the sky.

  Dougie took the oars and rowed strongly and as soundlessly as he could. Rebecca sat facing him, one eye on his muscular arms, the other on the castle.

  “There’s only one place on the island we can land, so we’ll just have to pray they’ve all turned in for the night,” said Dougie, grimly. “If we’re spotted, we’ve had it.”

  The silence of Loch Hourn was almost deafening, its stillness enhanced by the dark. Rebecca felt sure even the splash of an oar and the wash of the boat through the water would be heard. They were rounding the edge of the island, when they were startled by a noise in the water next to the boat.

  “What the – what was that?” Dougie hissed, turning his head sharply.

  “I’ve no idea,” whispered Rebecca. “Wait a minute!”

  She pointed up at the tower. In a lighted window at the top, the tousled head of Drew could be seen, waving frantically and pointing down at them.

  “What’s he on about?” growled Dougie.

  “That!” said Rebecca, pointing to something floating in the water a few yards from them. Dougie took one of the oars from its rowlock and managed to drag it alongside.

  “It’s a plastic bottle.”

  Rebecca grabbed the bottle from the water and opened it. There was a piece of paper stuffed into the neck. She took out her torch.

  “Oh no – message in a bottle!” sang Dougie, sarcastically.

  “It’s quite ingenious, actually,” said Rebecca. “Listen to this.

  ‘QUIET!!!! Don’t try rescue – too dangerous! Sibley’s men below. Henry and I held in top of Tower. Sibley going to Skye tomorrow to steal a painting from Lord Mac and taking us for cover. Tell Lennie to arrest Laird at Rahsaig.’

  “Arrest the Laird at Rahsaig? What is he on about – the Laird is up in the tower and going to Skye tomorrow. He’s lost it.” Dougie made a helpless gesture up at Drew. Henry appeared at the window and threw another object out. It landed beside the boat.

  “How many bottles have they got?” muttered Dougie, grabbing it from the water and almost tearing the cap off. Rebecca shone her torch on it. Inside was another, hastily penned note, this time in Henry’s handwriting.

  Bogus Laird at Rahsaig – do not be fooled. Tell Lennie that Morgan is back – he’ll understand. Act as if nothing has happened – tell them you know nothing of our whereabouts and Drew has gone to Barradale on an errand for you. Sibley is planning getaway on Saturday with all paintings. Coming to Rahsaig with gang on Friday, so watch out!

  Rebecca scratched her head in bemusement. “What does he mean, ‘bogus laird’ at Rahsaig? And who is Morgan?”

  She stared up, uncomprehending. Unseeing in the darkness, Henry merely made a gesture urging them to depart.

  “We’d best get going,” said Dougie. “To Rahsaig, I suppose, but I’m blowed if I know what’s going on now … or what on earth we are going to do.”

  He manoeuvred the boat around and began to row away from the castle and down the Loch. Rebecca sat in the stern, looking at each note in turn and then back at the fast-disappearing figures at the window. After a few more strokes, they had been swallowed up in the gloom. She shrugged her shoulders.

  “How far is it back to Rahsaig?” she asked.

  “Well, we’ll have to go all the way round the coast. Seven kilometres, maybe more. It would be quicker on foot over the top but it’s dark and I doubt you’d make it fast enough.”

  Rebecca grudgingly conceded he was probably right. Even without a sore ankle, she would have had no hope of matching Dougie’s pace over the mountains.

  “Should we not put in and phone? You said there was a Mountain Rescue post here.”

  Dougie looked up sharply and smiled.

  “Of course! Rebecca McOwan – were you not the boss’s niece and but a slip of a lass, I would kiss you for that!”

  “Don’t worry on my account,” said Rebecca under her breath, smiling.

  “We can call our friendly neighbourhood cop and then Willie to come and pick us up.”

  “Where is the Mountain Rescue post?”

  “Half mile down there towards the sea – as long as we don’t get lost in the dark. There’s a small beach just along the shoreline. Look out for rocks below the water. Don’t want to go holing ourselves.”

  They rounded a headland and Dougie steered into a tiny bay. A small stream flowed into the loch from a narrow glen, cascading steeply down from the slopes of Ladhar Bheinn. Where the river left the trees, was a small, wooden hut, no bigger than a garden shed.

  “That’s it?” said Rebecca in disbelief. “You call that tatty little shed a Mountain Rescue post? Where are the rescuers?”

  “It’s not quite the AA, I’ll grant you but then that’s not the point. It’s a place to rest up and communicate with the outside world. It’s deceptively big inside, you’ll see.”

  �
��Oh, amaze me!” said Rebecca, sarcastically. “A bijou pied-a-terre, here in the middle of the wilderness, with every home comfort!”

  She followed Dougie through the door. Once he had found some matches and lighted a large hurricane lamp, she could make out a rather basic room with chairs and table.

  “There’s a stove, coal, first aid kit, kettle – which I suggest is put on – and tea, sugar, tinned food, maps, blankets, bedding and even a few camp beds. Everything you would need if you got stuck here in bad weather. You’re impressed, I can tell.”

  Rebecca was looking around, still sceptical. Dougie laughed and handed her the kettle.

  “And over here is the radio, which I am going to use.”

  Rebecca looked down at the kettle and back at Dougie, mock affront on her face.

  “No running water, I’m afraid. But you’ll find plenty of water in the river. Don’t fill it from the loch – that’s sea water.”

  He turned to the radio and started to rummage through a pile of papers. Rebecca made a face at the back of his head and went outside. She bent to fill the kettle from the river. Then she sat down on a rock to think.

  “Has that kettle got a hole in it?” Dougie yelled from the doorway of the hut.

  “No. Just enjoying the peace of your Highlands, Mr Campbell.”

  “Aye, well you’ll enjoy it better with a cup of something. I’ll see what I can rustle up to eat as well. I’ve lit the stove.”

  With a warm mug of soup clutched between her hands, Rebecca ventured back outside. She climbed the point and sat down in the heather. Above her, the sky was a mass of stars, twinkling brightly. She could even see the swathe of the Milky Way. The only noise was the river and the gentle lapping of the water on the beach. The shadowy outline of the castle was now almost a mile away. She thought of Drew and Henry, in their tower. She would have to pretend she knew nothing and hope the bogus laird, whoever he might be, did not become suspicious. But if the thieves were going to Rahsaig, did that not mean she would become a prisoner too?

  “Dougie!” Rebecca ran back inside. Dougie was on the phone and held up his hand.