Chapter 40

 

‘No,’ he said again, as they sat side-by-side on the floor of the corridor. ‘First I take you home. Then I come back here. After I’ve rested my foot for a moment.’

‘But Robert,’ she said, turning towards him and laying one hand on his chest, ‘he’s vicious. Who knows what he might do? He’s got nothing to lose now.’

‘Exactly,’ he said grimly. ‘So I’ll make sure he knows that. I have reinforcements coming. Sergeant Livingstone is in charge of those.’

‘How will they know where to come? How did you know where to come? Where did you get the key? Why are you not on your way to London?’

‘The answers to those questions can wait. Did he hurt you?’

She took her hand from his chest and turned her head away, not wanting to tell him, not wanting to see the look on his face when she did. For she knew she had to.

He raised his right hand, winced, but continued the movement, bringing her head back round so they were looking at each other. ‘Whatever he did, Kirsty,’ he said gently, ‘the shame is his. Not yours.’

His face darkened as she told him what Arthur Menzies had threatened to do to her. ‘Calling me vile names all the while. I cannot bring myself to repeat the words he used. The worst names a man can call a woman.’

‘I called you one of those names once.’ His voice was soft with regret.

‘You did not grab me by my hair, tug so hard I thought he might pull it out. You did not squeeze my breast so hard it still aches.’

‘I’ll kiss your hair better,’ he said. ‘Take his touch away.’ He planted a series of soft kisses on her hair and her brow. ‘Would it help if I did it for your breast too?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It would help.’

‘Then, with your permission...’ Wincing again as the movement jarred his injured shoulder, he slid one hand down her bodice and let it lie there. He laid his free hand over hers where it rested in her lap.

‘Healing hands,’ she said a few moments later.

The long fingers resting so gently on the curve of her breast twitched. ‘Your hands, yes. Wrong word for mine.’

‘I don’t think so.’

He kissed her brow again, then put a finger to his lips and turned his head towards the big door. Someone was putting a key into the lock.

They scrambled to their feet, each helping the other up. Catto drew his sword from its leather scabbard and shoved her behind him. ‘Keep well back, Kirsty.’

Arthur Menzies pushed the door open to find Catto’s sword levelled at his chest.

‘Well, well, well. That answers the question this little strumpet wouldn’t.’ He glanced towards Christian, who was standing in the open doorway of the third cell down. ‘Your slut is loyal, if nothing else. Can’t imagine she’s much good between the sheets. Too prim and proper.’

‘You’ll never know. As you will say nothing more about her. As you will come with me. Now.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. We’ll finish this here. Once and for all.’

Muttering a curse, Catto took a step back, stumbled on his twisted ankle. Although he swiftly righted himself, the mishap gave Edmonstone enough time to draw his own sword.

‘Don’t be a bloody fool!’

‘It’s you who’s the fool!’ Edmonstone lunged forward, his blade heading for the side of Robert Catto’s neck. Standing his ground, he parried the attack, hitting the other sword up and away from his body. Arthur Menzies stepped back, drew his sword in an arc through the air, brought it round and attacked again. This time he aimed for Robert Catto’s arm. Again, he blocked Edmonstone’s sword, forcing his own close to its hilt and pushing it away, grunting with exertion. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

Edmonstone danced back and for a moment the two men stood and took each other’s measure. A year ago Christian and Anna Gordon had attended a demonstration put on by one of the fencing masters here in Edinburgh. He had described it as the noble art of swordsmanship. She had silently begged to differ on the nobility of what they had seen. She had to admit there was a certain grace to it. Obviously rehearsed, the movements of the two fencers had been as much a dance as a fight.

She saw the same showiness in how Arthur Menzies moved but there was no grace to this contest: and there was too much at stake. As the two men renewed their grips on their swords, she saw and heard Robert Catto’s sharp intake of breath. Curling his fingers around the hilt must have sent a jolt of pain up to his injured shoulder, the wound she had inflicted on him.

The two swords met and clashed again. Once. Twice. Three times. They were of the same type, slender but deadly lengths of flashing steel. She watched in an agony of fear. Robert Catto had experience of battle. She doubted Arthur Menzies did. Robert Catto was physically stronger too, but he was hampered by his injured ankle and shoulder. He was beginning to drag his foot. She knew Edmonstone had spotted that too, was trying to force him back, make him put weight on it.

She gasped as he stumbled again. Arthur Menzies lunged forward and hit his sword up. Robert Catto kept hold of it but his chest and the rest of his body was now exposed to the other blade. The look of triumph on his adversary’s face made Christian’s blood run cold.

Something happened then. Afterwards she could never describe exactly what. It was as though some unseen person had stuck their foot out and tripped Arthur Menzies up, making him stumble too. He lurched towards the wall of the corridor and struck his head against it. The impact made him drop his sword. It fell with a clang onto the stone floor. Robert Catto stepped forward and put his uninjured foot on it.

She stood there watching the two of them and did not know what she wished for. Other than Robert Catto’s safety and her own. His face wore the mask it had when she had first met him. Harsh. Unforgiving. The avenging angel. Was she going to see him kill?

He glanced back along the corridor at her and his face changed.

‘Bugger it,’ he said. Transferring his own sword to his left hand, he limped forward to stand in front of Arthur Menzies where he stood propped awkwardly against the wall, drew his right hand back and punched him hard in the jaw. Edmonstone lost his footing and fell backwards onto the floor. There was a crack as his head hit the stone floor and his eyes fluttered closed.

Shoulders heaving, Robert Catto looked at her again. ‘All over,’ he said between deep, shuddering breaths. ‘Sergeant Livingstone and Archie Liddell will be here any moment now. They can pick up this debris.’ He gave the body on the floor a contemptuous kick before lifting his head and tilting it to one side. ‘I think I can hear them now.’

The big door was pushed open. Sergeant Livingstone and Archie stepped into the corridor, two more guards at their back. She blinked when she saw Murdo Robertson was there too.

‘Looks like you have the situation under control, young Captain Catto.’

‘Aye.’ Robert Catto rubbed one hand over his face, wiping off glistening sweat. ‘Apart from being about to fall over.’

Livingstone and Archie Liddell came forward and put themselves on either side of him.

‘Lean on us, Mr Catto,’ Archie said. He looked at Christian. ‘Where?’ he asked.

‘In here,’ she said, standing back to allow the sergeant and him to help Robert Catto in and lower him down onto the edge of the bunk. Sergeant Livingstone went back out into the corridor. She heard the rumble of his voice as he spoke to the two guards.

‘Are you all right, Kirsty?’ Archie Liddell asked.

‘I am now. Och, Archie! I am so glad to see you!’