Chapter 11

11

I t was midnight when the rebels gathered together in an old ruined barn that was as near to the grain store as they could be without being seen. The barn had served them well for a few years as both a hideout and a place to store their booty until it was time to distribute it.

"Right," Keira said grimly. "I have heard that the store is only half full, but our people need food, so let us take what we can and hide it. If we must, we will do another raid after that." At once, there was a storm of protests, but Keira held up her hand, then put a finger over her lips. "Shhh! I know it is something we have never done before, and it is risky, but times are desperate and we cannot let people down when they are depending on us. Are you in agreement?"

This time, there was a general chorus of agreement, but even if every man in the band had not followed her, Keira would have gone anyway since she was passionate about the welfare of the people she thought of as her own.

"I would prefer that we all had time to rest before we strike again, but we have no choice." Keira sighed. She was already exhausted, and the night was not half over.

Cautious as always, Keira had sent out scouts before them, but there was no sign of any movement that suggested that the store was being watched.

"Naybody there, Keira," said Ben as he crept back to them. "It looks safe."

Keira nodded. "Good. Are we ready?" she asked, looking around.

There was a forest of nodding heads.

"Aye!" they replied very quietly.

"Let us go! And good luck, lads!" Keira called out, then they began their journey of mercy.

While she was carrying out her missions, Keira always kept her final aim in sight. No one would go hungry if she and her band could help it.

Keira crept around the side of the store while the others spread out around her. She had a bad feeling about their raid that night, but she had no idea why. They had planned meticulously, as they always did, and there were no signs that anything was any different from the way it usually was. She chastised herself for being foolish and tried to push her presentiments of doom to the back of her mind and concentrate on the task at hand.

Each of the rebels kept a fair distance away from each other so that if the worst happened, they could not be captured all at once. As well as that, they were all dressed in dark clothing that would blend into the night. Every precaution that could be taken had been taken.

Keira was the leader, but she had never claimed to be better than any of the men who worked with her and was not keen on barking out orders. Thoroughness and organization were her best weapons. She was, without doubt, a better rider and had keener eyes than most, but apart from that she claimed no special skills and let each of the men do what he did best. She had found that things usually worked out better that way.

The door was firmly locked and bolted, but two of the more powerful men levered the door open with a heavy iron implement that Keira had instructed the blacksmith to make for her. He had been rather baffled at the time.

"What dae ye want it for, mistress?" he had asked, with a puzzled frown.

"I want to break the doors down with it," she informed him, with a mischievous smile.

He had laughed heartily and followed her instructions. The same tool was used to break the keyhole in the wooden door so that Keira could reach her small hand inside and open it.

Now, the band moved silently into the barn, and Ben lit a stump of a candle to pierce the stygian darkness. They moved in utter silence and with the ease and fluidity of long experience as one man unloaded a sack and then passed it to the next man, then the next, until it arrived at the cart that was waiting outside. It was a large cart pulled by a big, placid draft horse, and it was perfect for their needs since all six men and Keira could ride in the back along with their loot. When the cart was full, they moved back to the barn, where the sacks of grain were dropped into a trapdoor on the floor and covered with straw.

When they arrived at the barn, Keira counted the sacks as they dropped one by one into the cellar. "Twenty," she said, sighing. "That is not going to go very far among all the people in this village, but it would feed my father for a year. Damn him!" Her voice was a growl.

There was silence for a moment while she stood thinking.

"I am afraid there is nothing else for it, men. We need to go out again. I am sorry."

As she spoke, she felt a fierce anger flare up inside her. Her father had taken all the barley, rye, and oats from his tenants and paid them nothing, despite many promises and written contracts Keira herself had witnessed. Most of the tenants were illiterate, and she did not trust the laird, but she had hoped to help them the legal way.

However, her father had no respect for the law, and the common people were too afraid to stand up against him, which was why Keira was out in the dead of night putting matters to rights. Upper classes had ways of finding their way around contracts.

"Aye, well, as ye say, hen," James Dunn, a stout man, said firmly, "we must dae what we need tae dae." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked around. "Aye?" he asked.

"Aye," came the reply.

"You are all such good men," Keira said warmly. "Come, let us quench our thirst."

She took out a few flasks of ale from her backpack and offered them to the rebels. After they had all helped themselves and the flasks were empty, James said, "Ye know, Keira, ye are the best lass I ever knew. Withoot ye, this wee collection o' ragtag men couldnae manage tae dae anythin'. Thank ye, hen."

For a moment, Keira was overwhelmed. "I am quite sure that you could do very well without me, lads, but it is good to be appreciated. Thank you." She smiled around at them, then said briskly, "Now, before we change our minds, let us go!"

Murdoch lay in the dark on the ground for what seemed like an eternity. He was cold, even though it was almost summer, and fidgeting with impatience. At this time of year, the hours of full darkness were becoming fewer and fewer, the first streaks of dawn appearing at about the fourth hour in the morning. By his reckoning, it must be about that time now, but as yet, there had been no signs of morning approaching. He was stiff, cold, and still tired because of his broken sleep.

He wished the robbers would just hurry up so that they could arrest them and be done with it. He did not foresee a show of great resistance from them. From what he had heard, they had never once stood and fought back. They simply ran, sometimes leaving their booty behind them until a few years before…

The rebels had been a scourge in the district for at least twelve years, but it was only in the last four that they had become a force to be reckoned with. Something had happened then. They had become more organized and had begun to use tactics that were military in their precision to outmaneuver the castle guards, sometimes employing decoys to lure them away on a wild goose chase. Murdoch had only been Captain of the Guard for a year, but in that time he had seen them in action only once, and they had managed to elude capture with relative ease.

They will not escape this time, he thought grimly.

This time, every available guard was on duty, and Murdoch had made sure that each of them had been provisioned properly to keep their strength up, armed to the teeth, and knew his orders precisely. Nothing would be left to chance.

The tension in the camp was palpable, and the silence was thick except for the hooting of night birds and the first cheeps of songbirds greeting the day.

Then, suddenly, it began.

"I hear them," Dougie whispered, as he scrambled over to Murdoch. "I can feel them movin'." He put his ear against the ground to demonstrate.

Murdoch did likewise, then, as he felt the vibration, which sounded like the rhythm of horses' hooves against his ear, he nodded.

"Rouse the men," he said firmly. "This time these bandits are going nowhere." He stood up and beckoned the guards to stand around him. "These people are dangerous and must be caught. That is your job for tonight, and I want it done." He did not wait for salutes.

As the cart and the men stopped beside the big store, Keira felt a shiver going down her spine. Something was wrong—she could feel it as all the hairs on her body stood on end—and she was about to order the men to stay on the cart, but they had already begun to jump off it. Moreover, she could not risk crying out to them in case anyone was there.

She reasoned that she might be overreacting because she was nervous, she thought, seeing ghosts where there were only shadows. Yes, that was all it was.

She jumped off the cart, her heart racing furiously, and scurried over to the barn. James was already at the door, looking baffled as he stared at it since it was closed but not bolted. He tried the handle and the door swung open.

That was the moment that Keira knew that her instincts had been right. She tried to gather her scattered wits sufficiently to find a way out for them, but she suddenly saw that the group was surrounded on all sides by guards. Her first thought was that someone had betrayed them, but it was hardly the time to be worrying about that now. Now they had to escape, and it was every man for himself.

A few heated sword fights broke out between the soldiers and the rebels, but the guards were surprised to learn that the men were surprisingly good with swords, especially with axes, and most of them were able to fight off the guards and run into the forest.

Two of the rebels were seriously wounded, but many of the guards were lightly or severely injured too. Two would never use their legs again, and one of them had lost his arm up to the elbow. It was as bloody a fight as Keira had ever seen, but she wanted to take part and do her share, even though she was scared witless.

Keira had just unsheathed her sword when suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth from behind, and her arm was viciously twisted up between her shoulder blades. The pain was so acute that she screamed, and as she was dragged off into the night, she was still screaming, both with pain and with fury, for ignoring her sixth sense. She should have listened to it, for it was never wrong.