'Sorry, old girl,' Ben apologised.

The Doctor, for it was he in his old woman's disguise, muttered something, and for a moment Ben thought he heard the familiar voice and turned sharply; but the old woman was already hobbling away through the darkness.

Once out of the range of the lantern, the hunched figure paused, watched and then followed the file of soldiers as they walked along the street down towards the wharf.

They stopped before a large, half derelict warehouse and Trask led the way in. The sergeant hesitated inside and looked around suspiciously, but Trask felt in his pocket and pa.s.sed the man a couple of gold coins. 'Over there,' he said.

Aided by Trask, the men cleared a couple of barrels away from the bare wooden floor to disclose a trap door with a ring bolt. As Trask nodded, they seized and pulled it open. Underneath was a set of wooden steps leading down, and the sound of water.

'Get them down there.' Trask turned to the soldiers.

They started urging the tired, exhausted Highlanders down the steps towards the boat.

As Ben stumbled down the steps, he became aware of a long boat waiting to take the prisoners, manned by half a dozen rough-looking seafarers. He stopped and turned back to Trask. 'Here,' he said, 'where are you taking us?'

'Hold your tongue,' said Trask, 'you'll find out soon enough.'

'You've no mind to drown us, have you?' said Jamie.

'I wouldn't pollute the firth with you,' replied Trask.

'Now get in the boat.' They followed the others into the boat and sat on one of the thwarts.

Ben turned to Jamie as the boat pulled away. 'Quick,' he said, 'we can swim for it.' Jamie didn't answer. 'Well?' Ben demanded.

Jamie shook his head. 'I canna swim,' he admitted.

'Oh cripes!' Ben turned away disgusted.

In the shadows at the back of the warehouse, the Doctor watched the soldiers form fours and march out, then quickly made his way along to the still-open hatch and gazed down. As he looked he saw the end of the boat making its way across the dark waters of the firth towards a black, sinister-looking brig.

The long boat had now moved alongside the sheer black hulk of the brig. 'Belay there!' Trask's hoa.r.s.e voice broke across the water, and the sailors rested on their oars. Above them in the moonlight the fog now had cleared completely they could make out a small knot of men standing at an open s.p.a.ce between the gunwales of the brig. In their midst was the bound figure of a man. As they watched, the crew of the brig pushed the man over the side.

He fell straight as an arrow, hardly making a splash in the dark waters of the firth.

As Ben and Jamie watched horrified for his return to the surface, all they could see was an explosion of bubbles.

Trask turned round to the huddled prisoners. 'There,'

he said, 'in case you think of escaping, my fine gentlemen, watch them bubbles! Once aboard the Annabelle Annabelle, that's the only way ye'll get off it. Straight downwards. Now climb aboard.'

With the sailors standing by with drawn cutla.s.ses, the tired Highlanders climbed up the boat ladder and onto the deck.

10.

Aboard the Annabelle Annabelle The destination of the Scots' Highland prisoners was the ship's hold. It had obviously been used for the slave trade at some time. There were benches, rusty shackles, and four small portholes, not large enough to get more than a hand and an arm through along each side. There were already some thirty men huddled on the benches, trying to sleep, when the hatch door at the top of the companionway opened, sending a shaft of light down a rough ladder, and the latest contingent of prisoners were shoved unceremoniously down to join their comrades in the already overcrowded hold.

Ben was one of the last. He peered down and saw that there was barely room for anyone to sit, never mind lie down. 'Hey,' he said, 'there's no room for anybody down here.'

'Room enough for rebels,' the big voice of Trask bellowed after him. 'Get stowed below there.'

The three new arrivals finally made s.p.a.ce near one of the portholes after some grumbling from the men who were first there.

'How are ye?' Jamie asked the Laird.

Colin, his eyes brighter than they had been, nodded at him. 'Thank you, Jamie, a mickle bit better, I fancy. My fever's nearly gone.'

Ben shook the man nearest him on the bench. 'Hey, mate got any ideas where they're sending us?' The man, a tough thick-set Scot in rough seaman's canvas trousers and shirt, turned at at the sound of Ben's English voice and moved away from him as though stung. 'Beware of spies!'

he called out in a loud voice.

There was a chorus from the other prisoners who began to wake up and look around them. 'There maen be an Englishman amongst us, w.i.l.l.y.' The man spoken to, w.i.l.l.y MacKay, struggled to his feet: a rugged man with strong features and bright blue eyes, in his early forties. 'We can strike one more blow for Scotland, lads, one more piece of vermin to stamp on.'

Ben backed away to the bulkhead, a circle of fierce Highland faces around him. 'Once down, put your boots on him. Tramp his English bones to the deck. And remember, lads,' w.i.l.l.y called, 'the first blow is mine.'

There was a moment's silence as MacKay raised his huge gnarled fist, then a clear voice rang out over the a.s.sembled men.

'Will MacKay would ne'er strike a friend of the Prince.'

MacKay fell back. 'What? Whose voice is that?'

Colin McLaren raised himself to his feet a little shakily, aided by Jamie. 'You havena been so long away ye kenna recognise me?'

''Tis,' w.i.l.l.y looked closely at the Laird, 'Colin McLaren himself.' He clasped Colin's hand warmly.

Colin nodded. The men around began to relax.

'And Jamie,' said Colin. 'The son of Donald McCrimmon, a piper like his father and his father's father.'

'Aye, with no pipe,' said Jamie a little sadly.

w.i.l.l.y nodded to Jamie and then turned to Ben. 'And this Englishman is a friend of the Prince?'

'He's aye a friend of mine,' said Colin. 'He helped bring me here, weak but alive.'

'Then I humbly crave your pardon, sir,' said w.i.l.l.y. 'A friend of the McLarens is a friend of mine.'

There was a murmur of agreement from the Highlanders who now began to sink back to their former resting-places.

Ben nodded, the sweat still standing out on his brow. It had been a tight moment for him. 'Thanks, mate,' he said.

He took w.i.l.l.y's hand and shook it. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

'How come you're here?' asked w.i.l.l.y.

'He's a deserter from the English Fleet,' Jamie replied.

'Aye, I'm a man of the sea myself, the master of this very vessel.'

'Hey,' said Ben, 'if you're the skipper here, what's that Trask geezer doing on the bridge?'

'That shark,' said w.i.l.l.y, 'was my mate. I was running arms for the Prince past the blockade, you see. Trask betrayed me and the Navy boarded the Annabelle Annabelle. Now he runs it for King George.'

'Oh yeah?' Ben sounded sceptical, and w.i.l.l.y's temper flared up at his tone.

'You doubt my word?' said w.i.l.l.y.

'No,' said Ben hastily, 'no, skipper, not that. I just doubt that bit about him working for King George.'

'What do you mean, man?'

'We're not exactly being held like prisoners of war, are we? Hasn't it occurred to you that Trask may be using this ship without the knowledge of his King and Sovereign in some big fiddle on his own account?'

'Fiddle?' w.i.l.l.y was puzzled.

'Look,' said Ben, 'he'll sell us like the stinking fish he thinks we are. Slave labour, that's what we're gonna be. I think he plans to sell us over in the plantations.' There was a small chorus of dismay from the Highlanders at this.

'We'll see,' said Ben. 'It's a long way across the Atlantic.'

Polly was waiting anxiously for Kirsty to return. She was in a large barn on the outskirts of Inverness. There was a noise outside the barn door and Polly ran to it and put her eye to a crack. Outside, a man leading a small donkey laden down with pots and pans obviously a Highland tinker made his way along the narrow cobbled streets. Polly went back to the straw and picked up Kirsty's dirk which she had left on her plaid. Polly practised stabbing with it, but the thought of having to use a weapon was far too distasteful to her and she dropped it again.

There was a sound behind her and she turned just as Kirsty entered. 'Oh,' cried Polly, 'you did give me a fright.'

She ran forward. Kirsty was loaded down with clothes and a small sack. 'Phew,' she said, 'I'm no used to fetching and carrying. We had our servants at hame.'

'That's quite obvious,' remarked Polly drily. 'Have you got everything?'

Kirsty nodded. 'Aye, clothes for ye.' She indicated the clothes. 'Trays.' She dropped the wooden trays from the sack. 'And,' a little reluctantly, 'these oranges. Though why ye have to spend that money on oranges... they're no cheap you know, not up here.'

'You'll see,' said Polly. She held up the clothes. 'Oh, that's the gear. You know,' she said, forgetting whom she was talking to, 'last time I went back to the past I had to wear boys' clothes all the time.'

Kirsty stared at her blankly. 'Sometimes I canna understand a word you say.'

'Never mind,' said Polly hastily. She started drawing on the clothes over her mini-skirt and T-shirt. Finally, after settling the skirt and the petticoat and the handkerchief around her neck, copying the way that Kirsty had hers arranged, Polly was ready. 'How do I look?' she said.

Kirsty looked at her, unwilling to admit that she felt a little jealous. Polly's blonde hair and clean-cut good looks complemented the green gown she was wearing. 'Oh,' said Kirsty, 'you're bonnie enou'.'

Polly made a snub nose at her. 'Now for the oranges,'

she said. Polly began emptying the oranges out on the plaid and arranging them on the two trays Kirsty had brought.

Kirsty looked with growing comprehension. 'You're not going to have us selling oranges, are ye?'

Polly suddenly reacted anxiously and turned back to Kirsty. 'Oh gosh,' she said. 'They do have have orange sellers, don't they? I haven't got it all wrong, there is Nell Gwyn and all that?' orange sellers, don't they? I haven't got it all wrong, there is Nell Gwyn and all that?'

Kirsty looked puzzled. 'Nell Gwyn? I dinna ken her but there are orange sellers in Scotland. Where are your eyes, La.s.s? But they're mostly coa.r.s.e, common girls, ye ken.'

'The sort that hang around soldiers?' said Polly.

'Aye,' said Kirsty.

'Then we're orange sellers,' said Polly. Kirsty looked at her in dismay. 'How else can we find out where they've taken the Doctor and your father? There must be something we can do.'

'But if they find us out...'

'We still have a friend who can help us,' said Polly.

'Who?'

'Good old Algy. I wonder where he is now?'

11.

At the Sea Eagle The main dining room of the Sea Eagle was almost full with a bustling crowd of soldiers and local inhabitants eating, drinking, and occasionally starting to fight before the two ma.s.sive Highland serving men came forward to eject them. In the centre there was a large fireplace with an inglenook on either side. Opposite this, there were rows of rough oak tables and benches at which most of the soldiers and townsfolk sat. On the far wall, there was a succession of wooden part.i.tions of tables and benches affording some privacy to the occupants, who were able to pay for a complete meal instead of the hunks of bread, meat and cheese favoured by the less well-off customers at the inn.

At the far wall were two huge barrels of beer from which three soldiers were drawing large foaming mugs. Every time they drew one they made a chalk mark on the barrel, carefully watched by the proprietor of the inn who was sitting at a table near the door keeping an eye on the activities.

The Doctor, still in his old woman's disguise, shuffled up holding out a mug to be filled from the barrel. He nudged one of the soldiers who was blocking the way and said, in a cracked voice, 'Ladies first.'

The soldiers turned round and laughed at the strange-looking old woman. They started to shove her from one to the other. The Doctor put up with it for a couple of minutes, trying to preserve his disguise, and then he suddenly reached his hands out, grabbed the startled soldiers by their cross belts, and banged their heads together with the most unladylike strength. As they subsided to sitting positions on the floor, half stunned, the Doctor took the full mug from the third soldier who just stared at him and, with huffy dignity, stepped over their legs to the shelter of one of the part.i.tions.

The attention of the soldiers was diverted from the surprisingly strong old crone when Algernon Ffinch, limping slightly, entered the room. The men from the nearest table stood to attention.

Algernon turned to them. 'Sit down, sit down!' he said.

The proprietor nodded to one of the serving wenches who hurried forward with one of the better bottles of French wine that the inn afforded. Algernon slumped into an empty booth and as a gla.s.s of wine was poured out, took it from the girl. 'Be off with you,' he said, 'I'll pay later.' He took a long draught of the wine and sank back, closing his eyes contentedly. That's better, he said to himself, much better.