to realise that whoever was speaking – there seemed to be two voices, hissing and muttering in argument – really was speaking in Gaelic.
He had only a smattering of it himself; his mother had had it, but— he was moving before he could complete the thought, panicked at the notion that potential assistance might get away.
‘Hoy!’ he bellowed, scrambling – or trying to scramble – to his feet. His much-abused knee wasn’t having any, though, and gave way the instant he put weight on it, catapulting him face-first toward the door.
He twisted as he fell and hit it with his shoulder. The booming thud put paid to the argument; the voices fell silent at once.
‘Help! Help me!’ he shouted, pounding on the door. ‘Help!’
‘Will ye for God’s sake hush your noise?’ said a low, annoyed voice on the other side of the door. ‘Ye want to have them all down on us? Here, then, bring the light closer.’
This last seemed to be addressed to the voice’s companion, for a faint glow shone through the gap at the bottom of the door. There was a scraping noise as the bolt was drawn, and a faint grunt of effort, then a thunk! as the bolt was set down against the wall. The door swung open, and Jerry blinked in a sudden shaft of light as the slide of a lantern grated open.
He turned his head aside and closed his eyes for an instant, deliberate, as he would if flying at night and momentarily blinded by a flare or by the glow of his own exhaust. When he opened them again, the two men were in the cow-byre with him, looking him over with open curiosity.
Biggish buggers, both of them, taller and broader than he was. One fair, one black-haired as Lucifer. They didn’t look much alike, and yet he had the feeling that they might be related – some fleeting glimpse of bone, a similarity of expression, maybe.
‘What’s your name, mate?’ said the dark chap, softly. Jerry felt the nip of wariness at his nape, even as he felt a thrill in the pit of his stomach. It was regular speech, perfectly understandable. A Scots accent, but—
‘MacKenzie, J.W.,’ he said, straightening up to attention. ‘Lieutenant, Royal Air Force. Service number—’
An indescribable expression flitted across the dark bloke’s face. An urge to laugh, of all bloody things, and a flare of excitement in his eyes – really striking eyes, a vivid green that flashed sudden in the light. None of that mattered to Jerry; what was important was that the man plainly knew. He knew .
‘Who are you?’ he asked, urgent. ‘Where d’ye come from?’
The two exchanged an unfathomable glance, and the other answered.
‘Inverness.’
‘Ye know what I mean!’ He took a deep breath. ‘ When? ’
The two strangers were much of an age, but the fair one had plainly had a harder life; his face was deeply weathered and lined.
‘A lang way from you,’ he said quietly, and despite his own agitation, Jerry heard the note of desolation in his voice. ‘From now. Lost.’
Lost . Oh, God. But still—
‘Jesus. And where are we now? Wh-when?’
‘Northumbria,’ the dark man answered briefly, ‘and I don’t bloody know for sure. Look, there’s no time. If anyone hears us—’
‘Aye, right. Let’s go, then.’
The air outside was wonderful after the smells of the cow-byre, cold and full of dying heather and turned earth. He thought he could even smell the moon, a faint green sickle above the horizon; he tasted cheese at the thought, and his mouth watered. He wiped a trickle of saliva away, and hurried after his rescuers, hobbling as fast as he could.
The farmhouse was black, a squatty black blot on the landscape. The dark bloke grabbed him by the arm as he was about to go past it, quickly licked a finger and held it up to test the wind.
‘The dogs,’ he explained in a whisper. ‘This way.’
They circled the farmhouse at a cautious distance, and found themselves stumbling through a ploughed field. Clods burst under Jerry’s boots as he hurried
He had only a smattering of it himself; his mother had had it, but— he was moving before he could complete the thought, panicked at the notion that potential assistance might get away.
‘Hoy!’ he bellowed, scrambling – or trying to scramble – to his feet. His much-abused knee wasn’t having any, though, and gave way the instant he put weight on it, catapulting him face-first toward the door.
He twisted as he fell and hit it with his shoulder. The booming thud put paid to the argument; the voices fell silent at once.
‘Help! Help me!’ he shouted, pounding on the door. ‘Help!’
‘Will ye for God’s sake hush your noise?’ said a low, annoyed voice on the other side of the door. ‘Ye want to have them all down on us? Here, then, bring the light closer.’
This last seemed to be addressed to the voice’s companion, for a faint glow shone through the gap at the bottom of the door. There was a scraping noise as the bolt was drawn, and a faint grunt of effort, then a thunk! as the bolt was set down against the wall. The door swung open, and Jerry blinked in a sudden shaft of light as the slide of a lantern grated open.
He turned his head aside and closed his eyes for an instant, deliberate, as he would if flying at night and momentarily blinded by a flare or by the glow of his own exhaust. When he opened them again, the two men were in the cow-byre with him, looking him over with open curiosity.
Biggish buggers, both of them, taller and broader than he was. One fair, one black-haired as Lucifer. They didn’t look much alike, and yet he had the feeling that they might be related – some fleeting glimpse of bone, a similarity of expression, maybe.
‘What’s your name, mate?’ said the dark chap, softly. Jerry felt the nip of wariness at his nape, even as he felt a thrill in the pit of his stomach. It was regular speech, perfectly understandable. A Scots accent, but—
‘MacKenzie, J.W.,’ he said, straightening up to attention. ‘Lieutenant, Royal Air Force. Service number—’
An indescribable expression flitted across the dark bloke’s face. An urge to laugh, of all bloody things, and a flare of excitement in his eyes – really striking eyes, a vivid green that flashed sudden in the light. None of that mattered to Jerry; what was important was that the man plainly knew. He knew .
‘Who are you?’ he asked, urgent. ‘Where d’ye come from?’
The two exchanged an unfathomable glance, and the other answered.
‘Inverness.’
‘Ye know what I mean!’ He took a deep breath. ‘ When? ’
The two strangers were much of an age, but the fair one had plainly had a harder life; his face was deeply weathered and lined.
‘A lang way from you,’ he said quietly, and despite his own agitation, Jerry heard the note of desolation in his voice. ‘From now. Lost.’
Lost . Oh, God. But still—
‘Jesus. And where are we now? Wh-when?’
‘Northumbria,’ the dark man answered briefly, ‘and I don’t bloody know for sure. Look, there’s no time. If anyone hears us—’
‘Aye, right. Let’s go, then.’
The air outside was wonderful after the smells of the cow-byre, cold and full of dying heather and turned earth. He thought he could even smell the moon, a faint green sickle above the horizon; he tasted cheese at the thought, and his mouth watered. He wiped a trickle of saliva away, and hurried after his rescuers, hobbling as fast as he could.
The farmhouse was black, a squatty black blot on the landscape. The dark bloke grabbed him by the arm as he was about to go past it, quickly licked a finger and held it up to test the wind.
‘The dogs,’ he explained in a whisper. ‘This way.’
They circled the farmhouse at a cautious distance, and found themselves stumbling through a ploughed field. Clods burst under Jerry’s boots as he hurried
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