CHAPTER 55 - A Discovery on the Road

1 November 1687

SCOUGALL AWOKE UNDER a clear blue sky. He could not feel his feet because of the cold. There was a dawn frost on the grass. From his hiding place he recognised the track which they had followed the night before. Everything seemed calm, a bright winter morning in the hills.

There were noises in the distance. As he peered out, a cart appeared on the track accompanied by two horsemen. Other figures walked beside it.

As they came closer he recognised the gait of a man about a foot taller than the others. He was on his feet and ran to greet him.

‘Thank God you are safe, Davie!’ MacKenzie beamed at his young friend. Scougall was lost for words. Tears formed in his eyes and he experienced a feeling of joy such as he had not experienced since arriving in Lammersheugh. Good was triumphing over evil. He thought of the wonder of the Resurrection, of life renewed. He recalled his prayer of the night before. MacKenzie embraced him warmly.

‘We can share our stories over breakfast.’

Scougall joined MacKenzie beside the cart. It was only then that he noticed its load. He counted six heads among the bodies slumped on top of each other. He recognised the face of one of Clachdean’s men, but he could not see the colonel himself. They did not speak on the way down to Lammersheugh.

Exhausted and filthy, they were soon sitting in the inn devouring breakfast.

‘Last night did not turn out as I had hoped. Much blood has been spilled. I did not tell you that I sent word to Mr Cockburn, asking him to bring his men to Rooklaw. I admit that I was not sure whom we would face as our enemy, Mr Cockburn or the colonel. But one way or the other we would find out.’ MacKenzie smiled at Cockburn. ‘I believe Clachdean’s plan was to collapse the wall on us, Davie. After you escaped, the skirmish continued for about thirty minutes. I could do little with my small weapon, so I hid as best I could. The colonel was hit in the melée but escaped into the night. He has the constitution of an ox. Four of his men were killed. Two of Cockburn’s died bravely fighting for the King.’

‘We have no time to waste, gentleman. We must make for Girnington House as soon as possible,’ interrupted Cockburn. ‘I will send word to the sheriff that his deputy is gravely injured.’

Scougall was weary, but resigned to seeing the affair concluded. A few minutes later they were on horseback, following the road to Girnington.

About a mile from the mansion, at the side of the road, a body was slumped against a fence post, head bowed, legs apart. There was a black movement around the groin where crows feasted on an open wound. The colonel’s belly was a great white sack from which a trail of bloody sausages extruded. His hat was still on his head, his sword lay on the ground. A horse was feeding on the grass nearby. A dark patch of blood could be seen between his legs where the wound had bled copiously.

They dismounted, scattering the birds. ‘I expect he was making for Girnington,’ said Cockburn pointing up the track.

‘He has met a fitting end.’ MacKenzie looked distastefully at the huge figure. ‘As we say in Gaelic, Cruinnichidh na fithich far am bi a’ chairbh, Where the carcase is, the ravens will gather. It is just that the crows have fed upon him!’

Scougall felt no pity for Clachdean. He had attempted to kill them. He was willing to use the innocent for political ends.

‘Come, gentleman. We must bring her ladyship news that he is dead. I think she will be surprised to see us,’ added MacKenzie.

Before they departed, he searched the colonel’s body and found a small leather bag attached to his belt. MacKenzie emptied the contents into his hand. Gold coins shone in the morning sunlight. He put them back and threw the bag to Scougall. ‘Count these, Davie. Money is behind much of the evil in this parish.’

MacKenzie removed Clachdean’s hat. ‘This was probably used to suffocate Janet Cornfoot. His sword dismembered Helen Rammage.’ He ripped off the wig to reveal the white baldness of his vast head.