Bruar's Rest

open, we have the devil for certain.’
    O’Connor, buttoning up his trouser-front, cursed, ‘Blast him to kingdom come, he must have sneaked past while I was havin’ a piss. Come on, boys, he won’t get far.’
    The men left their vantage points; two went to the far side of the house, while three ran round to the rear. They met halfway, but there was no sight or sound of anyone. Megan, with her ear to the door, called out to the housekeeper, ‘Have they got him yet?’ There was no answer. She shouted louder, ‘What’s going on, Mrs Sullivan?’
    Mrs Sullivan must have gone outside to see what all the commotion was, because there was no sound. What a blessed relief after a time to hear the shuffling footsteps of the old woman who had come back from wherever she’d been.
    ‘Mrs Sullivan, can you tell me if they’ve got Buckley?’ Megan called through the door.
    A sense of déja-vu overwhelmed her. Every fibre in her being knew who stood on the other side of that door, as a low hissing sound from the keyhole turned her ice-cold. ‘I’ll take the high road and you take the low... Hell’s back!’
    She slumped against the bedroom wall and slid to the floor. The meat knife fell from her limp hand, the strength drained from her body as she stared into nothing. He’d killed them all, and once more wanted her! There was scuffling outside her door and loud noises, but she failed to hear them. Suddenly the door almost came off its hinges. She grabbed the meat knife and almost rammed it into Michael, who along with O’Connor stormed through the barricade. ‘We have him, Megan, we have him!’ Eager faces swarmed around her. ‘Mrs Sullivan was in the kitchen, when she saw a shadow by the clock. She looked along the hall and saw him kneeling on the floor outside your room then tip-toed out for us. Come on, girl, the boys have him tied to a chair.’
    In a flash she was running along and into the cobbled yard, knife fiercely clenched in her hand. Terry was putting the finishing touches to the prisoner, tying his hands with strong rope. Paddy and Johnno smiled at the restrained criminal as he tried to wriggle free from his bounds. Johnno kicked the chair from under him, saying, ‘Where does ye want the bullet, ye wicked fart of a man?’ Buckley was to be executed, army-style.
    At the first sight of him she stood petrified, words and thoughts lost in a maze. She could only stare down at him, shaking. ‘But I’m not a mouse,’ she told herself, ‘a little helpless mouse.’ In a strange attitude he lay on the cold ground, tied tightly with his legs up in the air. His eyes narrowed and centred on her gaze.
    From the purple hills of Glen Coe she felt the power of her ancestors. ‘Megan,’ they said, ‘remember who you are, take back the pride that many died to leave as your legacy; keep it with passion.’ The voices faded, leaving a single whisperer who repeated, ‘Remember the bogs of dread that beat the Vikings.’
    The cruel fear of this monster had imprisoned her, sent her to another land with her tail between her legs. If he were there, Bruar would have failed to recognise her after what she’d been reduced to. Buckley had her shaking in her shoes like a cowed dog. Nick O’Connor interrupted her train of thought. ‘Best you were away inside, you don’t want to see this.’ His words signified Buckley’s coming end, yet as she gazed deep into his eyes he was still challenging her to take the low road.
    He tossed his head back in that so familiar way, causing a shock of red hair to fall over one eye. He sneered and grinned at her. It was as if no one else was present, only she and him. Suddenly everything became as clear as the sky when a cloud gives back the sun. This was her fight. Not O’Connor’s, nor Michael’s with his stable hands, this was between a Glen Coe Macdonald and street-fighter and killer Buckley. If he died, then it had to be by her hand. Paddy and Terry righted the chair. Buckley shook sand and gravel from his hair, then in answer to Johnno’s earlier question he said, ‘Put it right between my eyes.’
    What Megan did next was utterly insane. Sudden powers of energy rushed through her body. She dived behind Buckley and in one swift slash of the knife had cut him free from his bonds. ‘Get up onto the moor, Buckley, we’ll finish this there.’
    ‘Ha,’ he called, running past the men and away, ‘the low road it is, then.’
    The men watched helpless, as he took off