Clandara by Evelyn Anthony Page A

grinning face that mocked him. But Hugh only kicked his horse and bounded forward towards the gate. James could hear him laughing as he galloped through it.
    â€œIs it the Fraser we’re after?”
    Red Murdoch, his milk brother and therefore closest friend among the clansmen and one of the ugliest fighters he had ever known; came close up beside him, both horses stretching into a gallop. “It is,” James shouted. “He has two men with him. None must escape alive. But they’ve a start on us, Murdoch. We’ll have to ride like the devil to catch up with them before dark.”
    â€œI know a short cut,” Murdoch said. “There’s a wee path up Ben Mohire which comes down to the main track before it disappears into the moor altogether. We can take the horses up there and we’ll be down at the foot of Ben Mohire before the Frasers have ridden around it.”
    James shouted to his brothers and they slowed up and took the rough, steep track in the wake of the big redhaired Highlander who urged his sturdy horse along, talking and arguing with it as it stumbled among rocks and potholes. He had killed a dozen men in everything from a brawl over the whisky pots to an ambush in the dark, but he cared for his horse with the tenderness of a woman for her favourite child.
    â€œOch, come on now; you’re a wee clever lassie and you’ll get to the top before James Macdonald’s horse now, and shame the devil out of them all … Come on now, my wee one … ye’ll see a fine fight before the day is out, just step lightly and be patient now …”
    The others followed him in single file, James staring straight ahead, his mind a terrible blank, refusing to think further than the murderous task which lay ahead of him, refusing to imagine that within an hour he was likely to kill the brother of the woman he loved. But the thought and all its implications forced itself upon him and for a moment he weakened and pulled up his horse so violently that it reared and slipped on the treacherous path.
    â€œGently,” Red Murdoch admonished. “It’s a horrible pebbly place this, and even my wee mare goes easy. Another fifteen minutes and we’ll be at the top; the descent is no’ so steep as this.”
    â€œWhat are you stopping for?” David Macdonald demanded suddenly. “You heard our father. We’re in honour bound to do it. Ride on, James.” In honour bound. Men had died for their honour and killed for it because it distinguished the gentleman from the lowly born. It was possible for a man of ignoble birth to be a liar and a coward or to think of himself and his own happiness in a situation such as this, but it was impossible for one who was a gentleman. Whatever it cost him in terms of Robert Fraser’s life or his own happiness, or Katharine’s grief, James knew what had to be done.
    â€œBe of good cheer,” Hugh called out to him. “Do it properly and she’ll never know it was you … No one can prove it, brother, and if she does find out later she’ll be married, and there’ll be little enough she can do about it then. Come, Murdoch’s a hundred yards ahead of us!”
    â€œShe will never forgive me,” James said. “But that can’t stop me now.”
    â€œIf you can’t make her fond enough to forget a mere brother, then you’re not the man I thought you,” Hugh mocked. “Besides, he’s a fair fighter, our canny Fraser. Who knows, he might kill you!”
    The Red Murdoch glanced back at the sound of Hugh Macdonald’s laughter. He was a superstitious man and it disturbed him; at Dundrenan it was whispered that the devil himself had got into the bed with Lady Jean and sired that terrible, evil, laughing boy …
    The light was just beginning to fade when they reached the bottom of Ben Mohire and here James took command, disposing his brothers and Murdoch and the second