Herre djävlar ; what an awful day this turned out to be.” He opened one eye and nodded at the glass held in John’s hand. “I’ll have one of those after all. I bloody well deserve one, don’t you think?”
Chapter 5
They came from the east, two men that crested the hill, stopped for a moment, and began to make their way towards them. Matthew rose, eyes locked on the approaching men. One was carrying a sack, a brace of hens thrown over his shoulder, while the other was holding a staff of sorts – a long stout stick. They went barefoot the both of them, with mended, ragged breeches and dirty shirts.
Alex scrambled to her feet. “More soldiers?”
He shook his head. Nay, not soldiers, but fighting men none the less. Matthew frowned; armed, he’d warrant, and he had nothing but a dirk to defend them with. He stooped, closed his hand on a heavy branch and felt somewhat comforted. Not much of a defence against the staff, but he was not an inexperienced fighter – rather the reverse.
“Stay in the cave,” he said.
“Why? I can —”
“Do as I say, aye? Those two have their sights set on something, and I warrant it’s you.”
“But —”
“Go! I don’t want them looking too closely at you.”
Alex hobbled off, ducking into the small opening just as the two men reached them. The older of the two nodded a greeting, and gestured for his companion to set down his burden.
“Nay,” Matthew said, “I’m in no mood for company.” Father and son? Brothers? Related at any rate, both men sharing dark, coarse hair, lumpy noses and receding chins. After a quick inspection, Matthew dismissed the younger of the two as essentially harmless. No; it was the elder, the man with the staff, that was the one to watch out for.
“Oh aye? Is it the lass you’re worried about then?” the older man said. “Don’t worry man, we won’t touch her – not unless you invite us to.” His dark eyes leapt from Matthew to the cave opening, to the branch in Matthew’s hand, small mouth curling into a contemptuous smile. He handled the staff with assurance, and now that there was only a yard or two between them, Matthew could see the top end had been sharpened. A stake then, not a staff, and from the matter that clung to its tip well used. Matthew shifted on his feet, ostentatiously weighed the branch in his hand.
“I won’t. She’s not for the likes of you.”
The younger man snickered, keeping his eyes on Matthew’s hands.
“Strange looking lass,” the older man said. “We saw her as we came over the moor, before she hid away in yon cave.”
“Strange? How strange?”
“Odd clothes,” the younger man piped up, pointing at the bright red jacket, left behind by Alex in her haste. He made as if to set down the sack and the fowl.
“Go,” Matthew said. “I already said, I don’t want company.”
The older man laughed. “I think not.”
Out of a capacious pouch he produced a flintlock pistol which he aimed at Matthew. Matthew took a step back. Pistols were fickle things, even at close range, and from what Matthew could see, this particular weapon was not well maintained. But a loaded muzzle was always a danger, and Matthew was not quite sure what to do. The ruffian grinned, hefted the pistol higher. His stave fell to the ground beside him.
“Get the lass,” he said to his younger companion. “She’ll be worth a pretty penny or two.”
The young man dumped his load on the ground, took a few steps in the direction of the cave. Matthew sidled away, putting a further yard or two between himself and the pistol. The younger man ducked into the cave. Matthew tightened his grip on his dagger. Should he throw it? The muzzle wavered, the man’s interest distracted by the loud yells that emanated from the cave.
“Incompetent,” the man muttered. “What is taking him so long? A few slaps and she’ll come along nicely – they all do.” Matthew took the opportunity to launch himself at him, moving like an
Chapter 5
They came from the east, two men that crested the hill, stopped for a moment, and began to make their way towards them. Matthew rose, eyes locked on the approaching men. One was carrying a sack, a brace of hens thrown over his shoulder, while the other was holding a staff of sorts – a long stout stick. They went barefoot the both of them, with mended, ragged breeches and dirty shirts.
Alex scrambled to her feet. “More soldiers?”
He shook his head. Nay, not soldiers, but fighting men none the less. Matthew frowned; armed, he’d warrant, and he had nothing but a dirk to defend them with. He stooped, closed his hand on a heavy branch and felt somewhat comforted. Not much of a defence against the staff, but he was not an inexperienced fighter – rather the reverse.
“Stay in the cave,” he said.
“Why? I can —”
“Do as I say, aye? Those two have their sights set on something, and I warrant it’s you.”
“But —”
“Go! I don’t want them looking too closely at you.”
Alex hobbled off, ducking into the small opening just as the two men reached them. The older of the two nodded a greeting, and gestured for his companion to set down his burden.
“Nay,” Matthew said, “I’m in no mood for company.” Father and son? Brothers? Related at any rate, both men sharing dark, coarse hair, lumpy noses and receding chins. After a quick inspection, Matthew dismissed the younger of the two as essentially harmless. No; it was the elder, the man with the staff, that was the one to watch out for.
“Oh aye? Is it the lass you’re worried about then?” the older man said. “Don’t worry man, we won’t touch her – not unless you invite us to.” His dark eyes leapt from Matthew to the cave opening, to the branch in Matthew’s hand, small mouth curling into a contemptuous smile. He handled the staff with assurance, and now that there was only a yard or two between them, Matthew could see the top end had been sharpened. A stake then, not a staff, and from the matter that clung to its tip well used. Matthew shifted on his feet, ostentatiously weighed the branch in his hand.
“I won’t. She’s not for the likes of you.”
The younger man snickered, keeping his eyes on Matthew’s hands.
“Strange looking lass,” the older man said. “We saw her as we came over the moor, before she hid away in yon cave.”
“Strange? How strange?”
“Odd clothes,” the younger man piped up, pointing at the bright red jacket, left behind by Alex in her haste. He made as if to set down the sack and the fowl.
“Go,” Matthew said. “I already said, I don’t want company.”
The older man laughed. “I think not.”
Out of a capacious pouch he produced a flintlock pistol which he aimed at Matthew. Matthew took a step back. Pistols were fickle things, even at close range, and from what Matthew could see, this particular weapon was not well maintained. But a loaded muzzle was always a danger, and Matthew was not quite sure what to do. The ruffian grinned, hefted the pistol higher. His stave fell to the ground beside him.
“Get the lass,” he said to his younger companion. “She’ll be worth a pretty penny or two.”
The young man dumped his load on the ground, took a few steps in the direction of the cave. Matthew sidled away, putting a further yard or two between himself and the pistol. The younger man ducked into the cave. Matthew tightened his grip on his dagger. Should he throw it? The muzzle wavered, the man’s interest distracted by the loud yells that emanated from the cave.
“Incompetent,” the man muttered. “What is taking him so long? A few slaps and she’ll come along nicely – they all do.” Matthew took the opportunity to launch himself at him, moving like an
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