Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [74]
At the last, Clay took pity on him. He swayed in the saddle, avoiding the thrust which had been aimed inexpertly at his head, and struck the weapon from the boy’s hand. His arm swung in that terrible back cut which knows no guard and lops off limbs as a billhook lops branches. At the last moment, he altered his grip and it was the flat of the blade which thudded across the boy’s shoulders, hurling him from the saddle.
Clay flung the sabre away into the rain and took the stallion up through the trees to the moor. The rain was falling heavily now and he galloped along the track to Claremont.
Whatever happened, it was obviously impossible for him to return to the village. There was only one place where he might find safe refuge and that was with the Rogans, but first he needed clothes and money.
As he had expected, there was no sign of life when he rode down into the courtyard at Claremont. It would be some time before Vale and his men came looking for him. He dismounted and ran into the house.
In his spare riding boots at the bottom of the leather travelling truck, he had secreted a hundred gold sovereigns. As he entered the bedroom, he was praying fervently that Burke’s men had not discovered them. The boots were still lying in the bottom of the trunk, and as he held up each one in turn, a leather purse fell to the floor.
He pulled on a broadcloth riding coat, the first one which came to hand, found a spare hat and went downstairs quickly. He was beginning to feel light-headed again and he became aware of the deep, burning pain in his left arm. He found a bottle of brandy in the cupboard and took a generous swallow, the liquor burning deep into his stomach.
When he mounted the stallion again, he was feeling a little better, and he took the animal up through the trees and halted on the rim of the moor.
In the distance, a black column of smoke lifted into the rain from Drumore House, but he did not watch it for long. Instead, he looked down at Claremont below him in the valley, and for a moment, sadness moved through him, as he realized that this would probably be the last time he would ever see the place. He turned the stallion away and galloped through the rain toward Hidden Valley.
13
No guard rode out of the beech trees to challenge him as he reached the head of the valley and took the stallion down the steep grassy slope to the farm. They crossed the hollow at the bottom, scrambled up to the track and galloped past the paddock.
The rain fell heavily, a grey curtain that reduced visibility considerably. As he halted outside the house, the door opened and Cathal came out, a carbine in his hands.
A look of intense relief appeared on his face and he lowered the carbine and said, “God be praised, Colonel. For a moment there when I saw you coming, I wasn’t sure who it was. We’re all as jumpy as kittens here.”
“You’ve got good reason to be,” Clay told him grimly. “The cavalry arrived just after you and Marteen left. I only got away by the skin of my teeth.”
Cathal nodded soberly. “We were well started across the moor when we heard the shooting. We guessed what must have happened.” He reached for the bridle and led Clay’s horse into the stables. “Better leave him saddled, Colonel. There’s no knowing how fast we may have to get out of here.”
Clay dismounted and led the stallion into a stall next to two other saddled mounts, saw that he was well provided with hay, and followed Cathal across to the house.
The terrible, heartbreaking sound of a woman keening met them in the passage, and Cathal held him back at the kitchen door for a moment. “That’s my mother you hear, Colonel,” he said. “My father changed his mind about leaving Dennis in Drumore Church and brought the coffin home in the trap.”
“You’ve told them about Kevin?” Clay asked.
Cathal nodded and there was pain in his young eyes. “While the one