It happened in a blur. First, she was sitting on the edge of the cliff, and he was falling slowly away from her. Then she was over the edge herself, feet scrabbling for purchase which she could not find. Her hands grabbed the sharp edge of the rockface, and she hung there. A long ripping noise broke the silence as her dress tore away from under the weight of his grip, and then, with a long wail, he was gone.
Emily clung to the edge of the cliff by her fingers. She was stretched full-length above a fearful drop, and her feet could find no rest on the sheer stone face of the cliff. The muscles in her arms and fingers screamed in protest at the sudden load, and she gasped. She looked down and felt sick. The drop was a long, way down. In the shadows at the base of the cliff, she could see Ewan’s crumpled figure, unmoving. She looked up. Grey clouds skudded across the blue sky, and the rain began to fall as her fingers slipped.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A strong hand grasped her wrist. She gasped in surprise as strong arms hauled her up, dragging her across the rugged edge of the cliff face. She looked up. A figure loomed across her view, but her vision swam, the face silhouetted against the sky. White spots danced across her vision.
“Emily MacPherson?” growled a Scottish voice. “Can it be ye, truly?”
She opened her eyes and blinked. The world swam back into focus, and she was sitting up beside the edge of the cliff, her dress ragged and torn, looking into the concerned face of a highlander she recognised. Robert MacPherson, an older man, and one of the men who had travelled with them from Inveraray. He was swarthy, black-bearded and strong, and his black, shoulder-length hair falling across his face as he looked down upon her with an expression of concern.
“Robert MacPherson?” Emily exclaimed in a thick voice.
”Aye, ‘tis me, and this is a bonnie chance, for ye as well as for me, it would seem. Whit hae ye been daeing wi’ yersel’?”
“I...” she tried to speak, but without warning the fear and terror of her recent escape flooded over her. She trembled and leaned forward with her hands on her knees, retching dryly.
“Och, come now,” said Robert MacPherson, and he put an arm around her shoulders and helped her up.
“Come away frae the edge, now, and dinnae try tae speak just now.”
Together they walked away from the edge, Emily trembling and stumbling and the big MacPherson warrior with his brawny arm around her shoulder and his alert eyes glancing keenly all around the woodland. When they were a good step away from the clifftop and coming under the edge of the woodland, Robert MacPherson sat her down with her back against a tree. She leaned her head against the bark and closed her eyes as he rummaged in his pack and drew out a little silver flask.
“Here,” he said, uncorking the flask and offering it to her. “Take a little o’ this and gie it a moment tae settle, then ye shall feel better.”
She took the flask from him and drank. As she did, he spoke to her in a measured, almost distracted tone.
“Aye, but Murdo MacPherson will be aye glad tae see ye!” Sorely tried has he been since ye were taken frae us, and ‘tis a’ we hae been able tae dae tae keep his spirits up as we waited for our allies, the Grants and the McGraws, tae come and add their strength tae ours. Aye, weel hae ye captured the heart o’ our chieftain, Emily MacPherson, and I believe that he would sacrifice a very great deal tae hae ye safe and sound again.”
The hot liquor burned her nose and throat as she swallowed, but her eyes cleared, and she felt new strength in her limbs as she listened to him. She took a little more before handing it back to him.
“Thank you, Robert MacPherson,” her voice came out a little hoarse after the harsh whiskey.
“I have a great deal to tell,” she went on, “but first I want to hear how you came to be here in such the nick of time! If It was not for you...”
He smiled.
“Very well,” he patted her arm. “I was sent out tae scout ahead o’ the main band, since we suspected that the English were near, ye see. Ewan MacPhail hadnae come back, though he had been gone a long time. Murdo and James were worried and sent me out to see whit I could see, but I’d only been gone a few minutes when I found yon horse wandering in the woods.”
He gestured, and she saw with a rush of gratitude that her sedate grey palfrey was tethered up to a tree nearby, looking at them with interest.
“Weel,” continued Robert MacPherson, “I thought that if there was a horse in the vicinity, then the rider couldnae be far awa’ either, ye ken? So I cast my eye about, and I saw ye fighting wi’ yon man down by the cliff edge. I ran down toward ye, but as I did so, ye baith fell ower the edge! I’d hae thought ye were a goner for sure, but I was aye pleased tae find ye there when I looked ower. The chap ye were fighting wi’ wisnae so lucky though, eh? Whae wis it?”
“It was Ewan MacPhail,” said Emily, the man’s eyes widened in horror.
“But, he stammered, “does that mean... Ye couldnae mean...”
“Yes, Robert, we are betrayed. Ewan MacPhail was feeding information to the enemy all along. I was held captive in the castle at Fort William, and I found out his treachery by sheer accident. I spied on the man in charge of the garrison, Clairmont, the man who has been pursuing me, and I found two letters which Ewan had written, passing him information about your location. That was how I knew in which direction to ride to find you.”
He listened with interest.
“But Robert, “did you say you had only been away from Murdo for a short while before you found me? Does that mean he and the Scottish army are close at hand? I fearEwan was on his way back from reporting on the position of the MacPhersons when I caught him. He had a pouch full of English silver at his belt. I.cut it open when I fought him. Look!.”
She pointed back down the slope toward where their fight had begun. Robert MacPherson stepped over to where Ewan’s ill-gotten payment had spilt out across the verdant mossy forest floor. The coins glinted in the sun, and Robert leaned down and picked up two of them, slipping them into his pouch after he had examined them.
“Good God they are coins o’ English manufacture tae be sure, wi’ the head o’ King George – curse him – there plain for a’ tae see. I will tak’ a few back tae Murdo tae show him, but the rest may lie there til the end o’ days for a’ I care. I willnae pick up traitor’s wages.”
He seemed more relaxed as he sat down a little way from her, taking the flask from his pocket once again and drank deeply from it. He seemed to savour the flavour for a long time as he gazed off into the trees, a considered look on his rugged face. Rising, he walked to the edge of the cliff, where he gazed down over the edge for a long time. He came back and sat down again in silence.
“Whae would hae thought it, eh?” he continued after a little time had passed. “Whae would hae thought it; Ewan MacPhail. I hae tae say, mistress, that for a wee while there I wasnae just certain o’ the truth o’ yer tale, but the presence o’ these coins certainly does prove it tae my satisfaction. And ye fought him, and killed him, nae less! Weel, we certainly dae owe ye a great deal o’ thanks, and no mistake and yer husband shall be rightly proud o’ yer valiant deeds when he gets tae hear about them. But now, if whit ye say is true, then we must be going, and without delay. Dae ye feel up tae it?”
Emily nodded in agreement at his words. “You are right. There is little time to waste; we may already be too late.”
Emily clambered to her feet stiffly, walked over toward the grey palfrey, taking hold of the horse’s reins.
“Thank you, Robert, let us go. It was my mission to come back here and find you, to warn you of this treachery in your ranks. My best friend gave her life so that I could escape and bring these tidings, and I would not have it that her sacrifice was wasted.”
“It’s no’ far,” he said as they set off. “they are just on the other side of this ridge. We will gain height, and then we shall see them. Come, sit upon your horse and I will walk along beside you.”
They went forward together
in companionable silence, him walking briskly and her keeping the horse to an easy trot. The woods around them were filled with the noises of the day, the song of birds, the creak of branches, and the endless rustle of leaves in the trees. The rain, turned heavy as they proceeded up the sloping ridge. As the steady stream poured down, it turned everything around them to a grey, wet haze.
Robert MacPherson had understated the distance. It took them longer to gain the top of the ridge, and by the time they did, they were both soaked. Neither could quite see down into the valley. He led her down, traversing the wooded face of the hill, the ground becoming rough and stony, with frequently fallen trees. Dismounting, he led her horse.
“They will be down here,” Robert MacPherson pointed off to the left. “It’s no’ far. And then we shall see whit we can s...”
He was cut off mid-sentence by a terrible sound they both knew well. It was the drawn-out crackle of a ranked line of muskets firing. The sound rang through the still, rainy air.
“Too late!” Robert cried. “We are too late! They are attacked! Come on, miss, we must hurry!”
They ran, Emily, trying not to haul too heavily on her horse’s rein, and Robert trying not to get too far ahead of her.
“Please, hurry!” he called as she pushed forward, trying to put on speed. As they crossed the slope among the thick undergrowth and dripping branches, they heard again the ugly packing song of rifle fire, now combined with the yelling of men and the clashing of weapons.
When at last they reached the edge of the little gully they came out onto a flatter piece of ground. The first thing they saw was a small group of Highlanders, swords in hand, peering down through the undergrowth. One of them jumped up, turning his sword toward Emily and Robert, but Robert held up his hands.
“’tis I, Robert MacPherson!” he called, “and I hae found Murdo MacPherson’s wife in the woods, making her way back tae us. Put away yer blade, Hamish!” The leader and the other men lowered their blades, nodding to Robert and Emily. Their leader, Hamish, gestured for them to come and join the little group.
“Hide yersels in here, if ye please.” We hae come back frae scouting, much like yersel’ Robert, only tae find that we are too late, and the attack has already begun! We were just discussing whit we should dae when ye appeared. See here!”
Emily lashed the end of Steady’s reins around the base of a small tree and crawled forward to look where the man was pointing. A terrible scene was laid out before her.
Murdo and his men had been ambushed, and in the deep and narrow cutting she could see, the valiant highland men dying before the English guns. They had come into the glen in a long and straggling file, making them prime targets for an ambush, and now the groups of light infantry concealed in the wooded slopes of the valley were using the advantage of height to pick off the Highlanders at will. As she watched, a group of Highlanders on the ground returned a scattered volley up the hill. None of the redcoats fell.
Emily watched this terrible spectacle when she felt Robert MacPherson slip up beside her. He was quivering with anger and frustration at seeing his comrades in such a plight, but there was little he could do – or so she thought.
Suddenly, she picked out Murdo from the crowd. There he was in the centre, giving orders. Despite the dreadful scene, a smile crept across her face as she watched her strong, brave man taking charge of the situation on the ground. With a rush, he led the Highlanders in a mad dash along the floor of the narrow glen, to where it opened out onto a flatter plain. There, was enough room for them to form up properly, and with remarkable speed they formed into a line, rifles forward and swords behind. The light infantry on the hillsides continued firing, but they were out of effective range.
“Look,” said Robert, at her side, “they are ready to fight now!”
As they watched, the other highland scouts gathered around them. At first, they were pleased by the improvement in the circumstances of their fellow men, but their pleasure quickly changed to fear when they saw the enemy approaching from the other side of the glen.
They heard the drums first, and the hoarse cries of officers shouting orders to their men. Then they saw it, moving like a great animal, slowly and single-mindedly across the uneven floor of the valley. It was the main body of the English infantry, red-coated, disciplined, and moving with precise and deadly purpose toward the Highland infantry.
“There are so many of them!”Emily gasped. “How can we win this? Oh, Murdo, what will become of us now?”
She felt Robert’s hand upon her shoulder.
“We will dae what we can, Emily, and if this is the end o’ the road, then we shall mak’ a good end o’ it at least. Down there, see? There are mair o’ the damned ambushers, making ready to attack.”
Emily looked where he was pointing and saw, a team of enemy light infantry creeping up the same side of the hill Emily was watching from, ready to attack the Highlanders’ flank as soon as the battle was joined. On the flat below, the disciplined redcoats tramped in step to their drums, rifles high as they closed on the Highlanders.
“I cannae take this!” Robert cried. Hamish nodded his agreement. He ground his teeth in frustration.
“Aye, aye,” said Hamish, “enough is enough.”
He turned to the men behind him, who looked on with grim determination on their faces.
“Are ye wi’ me?” he cried in a loud voice, and all the men clattered their weapons and cheered in agreement.
“Bide here, lassie,” said Robert to Emily, before turning to join his men.
On the slope below, the redcoat light infantry glanced up behind them in surprise at the shouting. One or two of them pointed back, the whole troop trying to turn and bring their rifles to bear on their new foe.
They were too late. With a terrible roar and a great rush, the little group of scouts charged down the hill and crashed into the English light infantry ranks. The two groups met with a great clash of arms, the redcoats managing to fire a few ineffective shots before the impact, but the wrath of the Highlanders was too much for them. They stood firm and gave a decent fight, but they were no match for the fury of Hamish, Robert, and their men, and they quickly broke, fleeing down the hill.
A great cheer rose from the MacPhersons on the ground, seeing they had allies on the hill above, and rattled their weapons and shouted encouragement. But as Emily watched, she saw that their enthusiasm was desperate. Before them, four ranks of redcoat infantry packed shoulder to shoulder and filled the little glen from end to end. Behind them, on horseback, she recognised with a chill the figure of Clairmont, standing tall in his stirrups and looking over the heads of his infantry toward the Highlanders. Beside him on a big black horse, looking bowed with care, sat her father.
Emily watched with growing horror as she realised the Highlanders were preparing to charge. On the other side of the steep little glen, the other group of light infantry was already in range of the highlanders and sniping careful shots at their ranks. Men were falling. At the front of their tightly packed group, she could see Murdo, sword in hand and a look on his face which chilled her to the bone. It was the look of a man who faces his death and does not fear to meet it head-on. Cold fear flooded her.
The baby.; he does not know about the baby! If he did, he would not run so easily to his death in battle. She put her hands on her belly for a moment and closed her eyes.
Below her, Murdo gave the order to his riflemen to fire. His men were not drilled anywhere near as well as the redcoats, and knew they only had six rounds apiece, but he would not charge his swordsmen in without at least making use of his guns first.
“Fire and advance!” he yelled, and the thunder of the massed muskets deafened him as the officers took up the order for the firing drill. The grey smoke and acrid smell filled the air, and he coughed, his eyes streaming.
The men hurried forward a few paces, before the second rank rushed through the first, their guns loaded and ready. The second rank fired and crouched as the third
rank ran forward. In this way, the three ranks advanced steadily while keeping up regular volleys of musket fire, and provided a screen for the sword-armed shock troops advancing behind them. As he peered through the smoke, wondering why the redcoats did not return fire, a messenger ran up and plucked at his sleeve.
“Sir, a message frae yer faither,” said the young man.
“Weel?” said Murdo, looking at the lad, “whit is it?”
“He says that the cavalry are in place and will await the signal,”
“Ah, good, good,” Murdo was encouraged. “Go back tae my faither and gie him my thanks, and tell him that he is tae gie the signal when he sees fit.”
The rain was falling steadily, and as Murdo looked up for his father through the smoke, the musket-armed troops began their fourth and last firing sequence. Murdo saw James away at the other end of the massed melee troops and raised a hand to him. His father met his eyes across the distance and raised his hand in return. Murdo saw in his father’s eyes the same fatalistic feeling that he embraced. Somehow, the enemy had got wind of their movements and had ambushed them in this narrow place. They still had a chance to fight their way through, but it was a slim chance, and likely it would take the end of both James and Murdo before it would come to fruition.
Fighting For A Highland Rose (Defenders 0f The Highlands Book 1) Page 21