Algernon sat gingerly on the stone wall, and the two men hovered uncertainly above him. Algernon was in a flaming temper.

'Couldn't catch two wenches, could you? Call yourselves "His Majesty's soldiers"? The terror of the Highlands?

You wouldn't frighten a one-armed dairymaid. Here' he turned to the man who'd been supporting him 'pull this boot off.' The soldier leant down, and as he held the boot, Algernon pushed against his shoulder, sending him over backwards with the boot. 'Ah, that's better,' said Algernon.

'I've done enough walking for one day. You two go and fetch my horse. And if you're not back in an hour, six lashes apiece. Do we understand each other?' The frightened soldiers saluted. 'Well, what are you waiting for?' said Algernon. 'Go!' The men turned and started back along the path.

'Imbeciles!' Algernon screamed after them. 'Leave the lantern here. You think I want to be left in the dark?' The soldier with the lantern brought it over and placed it by Algernon. 'Right! Now, quick march!' The soldiers turned and scurried away down the path.

The two girls crouching in the pit heard every word.

Kirsty whispered in Polly's ear. 'He's staying there. Now what can we do?' Again, her eyes filled with tears.

Polly gave an exasperated sigh. 'Oh, not again. Didn't the women of your age do anything but cry?' she whispered.

'Aye?' said Kirsty, completely uncomprehending.

But Polly wasn't about to enlighten her on the difference between a girl from the eighteenth century and a girl from the twentieth century.

'Never mind,' she whispered, 'I've got an idea. Now listen. Since our officer has so obligingly parked himself outside our pit, let's lure him to join us down here.'

'Oh no,' said Kirsty, but Polly picked up the dirk and handed it to her. 'You're better with this thing than I am, and we can handle him between us. Now, here's what we can do.'

Above them Algernon was making himself as comfortable as the night and the damp air would permit.

He had opened a pouch left by the soldiers containing bread, a chicken leg, and onions. Now he raised the chicken leg and was about to bite into it when he heard a low moan from the pit, rising to a wail and then slowly dying away. The sound was high-pitched and eerie in the extreme. Algernon dropped the chicken leg back into the pouch and reached for his sword hilt. He raised the lantern and looked fiercely around him.

As Algernon did so, another wail arose. Raising the lantern, Algernon quickly established that this ghost-like wail was coming from just behind the wall. His hand shook, but he stood up. He was, after all, an English officer and not supposed to be afraid of ghosties and ghoulies and things that go b.u.mp in the night. He drew his sword, holding the lantern out, and scrambled over the wall just as a third wail of a slightly different timbre started up and then cut off abruptly in mid-sound. It appeared to come from a clump of trees beyond a rough patch of ground.

(Algernon could not see the gaping hole left by Polly as the other end of the pit was still covered by a cunningly designed matting of branches and gra.s.s stalks.) He put his foot on a clump of gra.s.s and crashed through into the pit, lantern and all.

The fall completely knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment all he could see was stars. Then he felt the cold steel of a knife held along his throat, and when he opened his eyes he saw before him a strange girl, dressed in a costume that the prim Englishman would have found immodest on a girl of six, never mind a fully grown wench, as he put it to himself, of nearly twenty.

A low Scottish voice hissed in his ear. 'Move and I'll slit your throat from ear to ear.'

Algernon tried to move but felt the cold steel pressed deeper against his throat.

'She will, too,' said the strange girl, 'so you'd better keep still. Here.' Polly unbuckled and pulled off his sword belt, then wrapped it tightly around his legs. 'Use the strap for his wrist,' she said to Kirsty. Between them the girls trussed up the fuming young officer.

'Do you know that for a.s.saulting a King's officer...'

Algernon spluttered.

'I know,' said Polly, 'thirty lashes. But you're not in charge now. We are. Kirsty,' she said, 'turn out his pockets.'

Kirsty, a little shocked, started back. 'Ach, no, I couldna do that.'

'Why not,' said Polly, 'he has money, and we need it.'

'By gad!' Algernon burst out. 'You cannot mean to rob me.'

At his words, Kirsty overcame her scruples. 'And why not?' she said. 'You and your kind have robbed our glens.'

She opened his pouch. 'He has food, look... chicken, bread.'

'Great,' said Polly. 'Now, my gallant gentleman, your pockets.'

'I have done you no harm...' began Algernon.

'No harm!' said Kirsty. 'It is no thanks to you that my father and Jamie were not hanged. They're probably rotting in Inverness gaol by now.' She felt in his pocket and brought her hand out. Then reacted in wide-eyed incredulity. 'Will you look at this?' she cried.

As Polly bent forward to look, she saw in Kirsty's hand the gleam of golden guineas.

7.

The Water Dungeon 'Right old rathole this is,' said Ben. Ben, the Doctor, Jamie and Colin were in a circular cell, like a medieval dungeon.

Colin, still only half conscious, was propped up on two steps that led down to the floor cell, behind him the strong oak door with a narrow-barred grille. The walls oozed damp, and were covered with green moss. As Ben looked down, he saw that water was beginning to seep in through cracks in the rough stone walls. Illumination came from a spluttering tar torch stuck in a bracket beside the door. As they looked up, they could see an iron grille, and through it the white gaiters of the English sentry. Jamie was sitting on the step beside the Laird, and the Doctor was stretched out on a rough stone bench built against the wall, his legs out, seemingly unconcerned with his surroundings.

Jamie looked over at Ben. 'If you think this is a rathole, King George has worse to offer, never fear.'

'Yeah, I reckon you're right,' said Ben. 'I'm glad, at least, that Polly's out of this. I wonder if she's all right.'

The last remark was directed at the Doctor, who didn't seem to have heard, lost in his own thoughts, and humming gently to himself.

'Doctor,' said Ben. 'Doctor.'

The Doctor looked at him. 'I expect she's all right,' he said, 'she got away.'

'Why did we ever get mixed up with this lot?' said Ben.

'Well,' said the Doctor, 'it wasn't exactly my idea.'

Then, as he saw Ben's face fall, he went on, 'Oh, don't worry, I'm rather glad we did. It's quite an adventure. I'm just beginning to enjoy myself.'

Then, as Ben raised his eyes heavenward he would never understand the Doctor no matter how long he spent in his company the Doctor continued, 'I bet this place has an echo. It's a cla.s.sic shape. Let's try, shall we?' He put his hands beside his mouth and at the top of his voice yelled, 'Down with King George!' His voice, picked up by the circular room, produced an echo that took several seconds to die down. 'There,' said the Doctor, satisfied, 'I'm right.'

'Silence, you Jacobite pigs! Unless you want a touch of this bayonet,' the sentry called.

Jamie turned round to the Doctor, wide-eyed. 'So you are for the Prince after all?'

'Oh, not really,' the Doctor shrugged. 'I just like listening to the echo. Well, to work,' he said. He went over to Colin. 'Let's have another look at that wound, shall we?'

He started to pull Colin's plaid aside to look at the shoulder wound.

'Will you be letting him now?' said Jamie.

'Oh, I don't think so,' said the Doctor. 'With rest it should heal.'

'Heal!' Jamie was outraged. 'And you claim to be a doctor? You've no bled him yet.'

''Ere,' Ben intervened, 'what's he on about?'

'Blood-letting,' said the Doctor.

'But that's daft.'

'It is the only method of curing the sick,' said Jamie.

'Huh,' Ben scoffed. 'Killing them, more like. He's lost enough blood already, don't you think.'

The Doctor felt in his pocket and brought up a small telescope, then turned it upwards to where a few pale stars were visible through the grille. He began muttering to himself. 'Oh Isis and Osiris, is it meet?'

'Oh no,' said Ben. 'What are you on about now?'

'Whist, man.' Jamie was impressed.

The Doctor took another look through the telescope.

'Gemini in Taurus.' He turned abruptly to Jamie. 'When was the Laird born?'

'In the fifth month,' said Jamie.

'Ah,' said the Doctor, 'that's what I thought. The blood-letting must wait until Taurus is in the ascendant. So it is willed.'

'Stone a crow!' said Ben. 'You don't believe in all that codswallop, do you Doctor?'

'Of course I do,' said the Doctor. He gave Ben a quick wink and nodded over his shoulder. 'So does he. And he's never heard of germs.'

Jamie looked puzzled. 'What was that word?'

'Oh,' said the Doctor, 'germs, they're all around us.'

Jamie reacted at this a little fearfully, shrinking back and looking round him as if he expected to see germs hopping off the walls.

'Have you a handkerchief, Ben?' said the Doctor.

'Uh, I think so. It's not too clean,' said Ben. He pulled out a small pocket handkerchief.

Jamie looked at it in disgust. 'That wee la.s.s's handkerchief? Here Doctor, try mine.' Jamie felt inside his shirt and pulled out a great square of linen giving it to the Doctor, who began binding Colin's wound. As he did so, he noticed the corner of a silken object protruding from underneath the Laird's bulky plaid.

'Ah, what've we got here?' said the Doctor. 'Ben, give me a hand.' Together they unwrapped Colin's plaid and pulled out a large, square silk standard, heavily embroidered and ornate, with silken ta.s.sels. The Doctor held it up. 'What have we here?'

Jamie's eyes almost started out of his head. 'It's It's, aye, Prince Charlie's personal standard.'

'Then what's he doing with it?' Ben pointed to the Laird.

'Protecting it. Now put it back, will ye. If the English find it '

'Ah, wait.' The Doctor took it, opened his coat, and wrapped it around his body, then b.u.t.toned his coat again.

The floppy, disreputable frock coat the Doctor wore looked little different for the addition.

Jamie started forward angrily. 'What do you think you're doing?'

The Doctor pointed at Colin. 'And what chance do you think he'll stand of evading the gallows with this on him?'

Jamie stood nonplussed, scratching his head. 'Och, well '

'Besides, it'll keep me warm. Now Jamie,' he said, 'play us a tune to cheer us up.'

Jamie felt inside his coat and brought out the playing pipe of a set of bagpipesall he had managed to salvage from his piper's equipment after the battle. 'Here,' he said, 'I'll do mah best, but I canna do real justice to a tune without a bag and pipes ye ken.' He started to blow a sad, soft, plaintive little Highland tune on the pipe. Soft as it was, it carried to the ears of the sentry above them.

'Stop that noise!' he called down.

Ben, whose taste in music leant more towards rock and pop, turned to Jamie. 'Do you call that cheering us up?'

Jamie looked wounded, and the Doctor gently put his hand on his shoulder. 'What Ben means, I think, is that he'd like to hear something a little more cheerful. I'm rather good at this sort of thing myself. May I try?'

Ben groaned and turned away, holding his head. 'Here we go,' he said. The one thing they always suffered from on this and other trips was the Doctor's musical efforts.

Jamie drew himself up a little proudly. 'You'll not be able to play it, you know. It takes a McCrimmon to play the pipes.'

'Well, never mind,' the Doctor shrugged. He felt in his pocket and brought out the tin whistle he always carried in an inside pocket. Then, playing loudly and a little shrilly, he fingered the jaunty tune 'Lillibulero', the Jacobite marching song.

Even Jamie was alarmed at this. 'Eee,' he said, 'whist ye!'

The Doctor stopped playing for a moment. 'You're a loyal Jacobite, aren't you? This is your song. Ben, whistle it with me. Come on.'

As the Doctor led them, Jamie, looking around a little nervously, and Ben, not in the least comprehending the significance of the tune, started to whistle the catchy rhythms of the march. Up above them, the sentry, a loyal follower of King George, to whom the tune of 'Lillibulero'

was the very symbol of the rebellion which had so nearly conquered Great Britain, pointed the musket down through the grille. 'Silence, I say,' he said. 'I've warned you rebels once.'