Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [77]
A hint of a smile touched the old man’s mouth. “That we did, Colonel. That we did.”
He sagged back into his chair and Clay hurried out of the room and through the passage. As he emerged on the front steps, the boys led the horses from the stables. They mounted, and Clay said, “Where do we go from here?”
“A place we know of in the hills, Colonel,” Cathal told him. “We’ll be safe there until it’s time to leave. The soldiers are bound to call at the farm.”
“And your father?” Clay said.
Cathal shrugged. “They can’t blame him for what his sons do.”
They took the track up to the head of the valley and rode across the moors, and gradually the rain slackened and then stopped. In the distance they could still see smoke rising from the ruins of Drumore House, and as they reached a fork in the path, Cathal reined in and shielded his eyes. “Who would have thought the place could have burned so.”
Marteen turned to Clay. “What happened to that servant of yours, Colonel, and Miss Hamilton?”
Clay shook his head. “I’m not sure. I sent them down to Drumore with Father Costello.”
Marteen frowned. “Perhaps they’ve gone to Claremont, hoping to find you there?”
It was a thought which had already occurred to Clay, and now he looked across the moor at the trees a quarter of a mile away, lining the valley in which lay Claremont. He came to a sudden decision. “I’m going to ride over to find out. You two can stay here. I’ll only be twenty minutes.”
Cathal grabbed hold of his bridle. “It’s madness, Colonel. The soldiers are bound to be there.”
“I’ll be careful,” Clay assured him. “I’ll stay in the trees and check before going down.
He cut short further argument by spurring his horse away, but before he had gone far, hooves thundered across the turf behind him and Cathal and Marteen rode alongside.
“There’s no need for this,” Clay said.
Cathal shrugged. “You’re our ticket to America, Colonel. We can’t afford to lose you.”
They slowed to enter the wood, Clay leading. Out of some strange sixth sense, he had a sudden premonition of the danger that waited for them. There was a movement in the trees, a flash of scarlet. He reined in sharply and a voice called, “Halt in the Queen’s name.”
A trooper appeared from the trees, cutting across his path. Clay ducked under the sabre and dashed his fist into the man’s face, sending him reeling from the saddle. The stallion plunged on, trampling the fallen man. Suddenly Clay was surrounded by troopers. He drew his Colt and slashed sideways with the barrel, forcing his way through the confused melee of horses and riders.
Then he was through and a voice called to him. He took the stallion up through the trees to where Cathal waved him on, and as he topped the rise he saw, with a thankful heart, that Marteen was already well out in front, galloping strongly for the safety of the hills.
Behind them, a bugle sounded. Clay glanced back over his shoulder and saw a half-troop of cavalry emerge from the woods and gallop after them, spreading out into a fan shape. He thought it a strange proceeding, but as he turned his head, he saw the other half of the troop crossing the moor on their left to cut them off.
He leaned low over the neck of the stallion and spurred it. The beast responded gallantly. Slowly, he drew nearer to Cathal and then he was at his tail. Another desperate burst of speed and they had passed, with twenty yards to spare, the riders who had tried to cut them off.
The hills lifted to meet them and the horses started to labor. They splashed across a marsh and entered a narrow valley. At the end of it, Marteen dismounted and, holding the reins in his right hand, struggled up the steeply sloping side of the valley, pulling the horse behind him.
He reached the top safely and turned to give his brother a hand. Clay was a yard or two behind them, when several riders appeared in the valley below. Clay slapped the stallion on the rump, sending it up and over the rim of the valley, and then he turned, drawing the Dragoon Colt from his waistband.
There