1635: A Parcel of Rogues - eARC (38 page)

Chapter 42

Balgreen
. Maybe a dozen buildings around a droving inn on the Glasgow road, where it detoured south of a hill with a castle on it. Coming up from the Ford, Julie noted that there was only one road out that Finnegan could have taken, the one heading west to Glasgow. The sun was definitely getting low in the sky; it was the kind of washed-out brightness that Scotland specialized in in autumn, but the light was good. It would be all the better with the sun at her back.

Fortunately, there wasn’t much in the way of hedges or walls around the village, and it was easy enough to lead the boys at a canter in a wide, quarter-mile arc around to a spot about three hundred yards along from where the road left the village. The inn was on the far side, so unless Finnegan was excessively smart, any time they spent preparing would be unobserved.

If they’d been spotted cutting across country, there was enough of a track through the dotted stands of undergrowth that cutting up and over the low rise that the road went around was a known shortcut. Anyone who spotted them would, she hoped, assume they were in a hurry to make as much of the remaining daylight as they could. Edinburgh to Glasgow was, at a quick pace, a day and a half, so they weren’t
entirely
obvious. It wasn’t much of a shortcut, as she found on the other side of it. There was a small and grungy looking lake there that meant you either had to go at least an extra mile around to the left or cut straight back into the road on the right.

That was to the good, actually. The road was clearly going through a choke-point. Alex and his soldier buddies looked for such things without really thinking about what they were doing. Cavalrymen all, most of their job was riding about between the main bodies of the armies they were with, scouting routes and supplies and all the other stuff an army needed to pay attention to, and trying to stop the other guys from doing the same. Finding good spots to set an ambush, spotting good ambushes before they rode into them. Julie had soaked it up by being immersed in it, noticing what kind of ground made Alex tense up when they were out hunting together.

Truth be told, when they reached the road, and cantered along it for half a mile or so, it wasn’t really much of a spot for ambushes. Centuries of stock being driven in to market in Edinburgh had cleared all the cover from either side of the road for a couple of dozen yards back. Trampled or eaten, made no odds, it was gone. Centuries of hoofbeats meant it was worn nice and smooth, just occasional tussocks. That meant Thomas and his kid—one day she was going to remember the boy’s name, for sure—would be well out of the line of fire with the horses, when they took them to cover. And, of course, no cover went for everyone. Julie had the advantage of range and rate of fire and shooting skill.

The perfect terrain, really, would be flat as a pancake for miles and miles and miles. They could run, and die tired, or charge, and die with their wounds in front. Not that she, personally, gave a damn. So long as they were fucking
dead
. Oh, there was a little bit of a nagging thought in the back of her mind about law enforcement, but there wasn’t a lot of that, hereabouts. If you murdered someone, it was friends and family and neighbors of the victim who hauled you before the courts. Finnegan had none of those. If the powers-that-be wanted someone arrested, they had to find someone with the muscle to do it and grant a commission of justiciary. By the time that was done, Julie was going to be back in the good old USE. Had they even
invented
extradition treaties yet? Not a big deal. She was still a bit hazy on the precise legal details, but she knew that as a feudal vassal of the king of Sweden she could count on Gustavus Adolphus to back her up on this one. The fact that they got on on a personal level was just the cherry on the top. And if there was anyone who was willing to understand that sometimes you just had to tell the written law to go pee up a rope while you did what was
right
, that was the man.

Darryl was already off his horse, the reins in Thomas’s hand, and had taken a knee to clear the action on the rifle she’d lent him. It was the one Alex had been learning on, not that he’d made a lot of progress. It had some down-time parts in, but was an old reliable her dad had picked up secondhand back when. It was dependable and low-maintenance. Hopefully, Darryl would get a few shots she couldn’t. And if anyone hereabouts could manage a quick fix if there was anything amiss with the weapon, it was him.

“All good,” he said, after a moment. “Where you want to shoot from?”

She dismounted, handed off her reins, and looked around again. She’d not seen anything promising in the right area from horseback, but maybe the change in perspective would help.

“Julie, love,” Alex said, “Andrew and I will go a wee way toward Corstorphine hill there. The hill will mask us, I see bushes. Do they pass you, that is the way they will go. The higher ground is a good vantage. When they take to their heels, we’ll have clear sight of them.”

“Corstorphine,” Julie repeated, liking the sound of the name. “Is that the name of the castle, or just the hill?”

“Both,” Alex said. “I presume you’ll be south o’ the road, outside this bend?”

“I will,” Julie said. Alex knew her preferences. She decided there wasn’t any natural shooting spot, so began to gauge angles and distances.
The only restriction is not having the village backstopping the bastards, and we’re a good ways away anyway, so
… “’Bout there, Darryl. Pile up some brush and such, we’ll shoot from prone.”

Hamilton unhooked his big billhook-thing from his belt. “I’ll get to brishing,” he said.

Darryl drew his bowie knife. “Stack of turf to shoot over?” he asked.

“Works,” Julie said. A little something to rest elbows on never hurt. Digging in would be more than a bit muddy, if she was any judge of ground. Kind of rich, too, with this being a drovers’ road. The cattle in particular would’ve been making contributions for generations. “Spot for me until they get close. You prefer a spotting scope or binoculars? I brought both.”

* * *

“South or the water, Chief?” Tully asked, once the boyos were busy getting packed and the horses tacked.

“Water,” Finnegan snarled. “Sure I am south isn’t healthy, nor is it.”

Tully shrugged. “We weren’t to know there’d be a riot.”

“Like his earlness will give a spoonful o’ watery shite. And we’ve killed too many of the man’s failures for me to care to try and explain. All the horses. We sell the remounts at Glasgow, sell the rest at Greenock, take whatever’s floating to Dublin or Belfast. Think when we’re back home. Steal a few cows, get a stake together and listen for rumors of war. Spain, possibly. We’ve modern guns and arms, such as us will always find work.”

Tully nodded. “As long as the devil’s not in charge of our luck for good, we’ll do.”

Finnegan nodded. “Get in and see they’re shifting with our traps. I’ll go and boot some arses in the stables. Rob the moneybox on your way out. Most of it’s our coin anyway.”

* * *

“Oh, I reckon we got something,” Darryl said. There’d been movement for the last fifteen minutes, horses and men moving in the village. Just about visible through gaps in the houses.

Julie allowed herself to hope. They’d been here nearly half an hour, setting up a shooting position, Alex and Andrew riding off to cover. Skilled cavalrymen both, they’d demonstrated that it was entirely possible to hide two men on horses in plain sight. They’d ridden in among the stands of bushes and trees at the base of the hill and simply vanished. She’d looked over a couple of times and thought
maybe
she could tell where they were. Dead ground, greenery, and good horsemanship. As the afternoon wore on, it would get colder. She’d be able to pick out the fog from the horses’ breathing, but that only because she knew where to look. The few battles Julie had fought in, there was a defense going on. Either she was on it, or shooting at the guys on the other side. She’d asked them, before they rode off, if they were sure they could hide that well. They’d both grinned, wide and toothy. Clearly, they knew
their
kind of war well enough to be confident.

“What do you see?” she asked, ducking her head and wiggling to get comfortable.
Shame Alex ain’t there to enjoy the view.

“Eight guys, mounted. Column of twos. Front guy, our left, he’s yelling over his shoulder. Finnegan, I reckon. Two more guys bringing up the rear, they’re leading the remounts, looks like they’ve got the baggage on some of the remounts. Figure those guys first?”

Julie paused to consider a moment. “Yeah. If we can spook the remounts to running, the horses they’re riding might spook too.” She raised her head to take in the view. The sun had dropped a little more; her targets were beautifully lit. If she’d been shooting with a camera, it would be
perfect
. Four hundred yards, give or take, and there was enough shade that she could pick out details. And it was cool and brisk, so heat haze wasn’t even slightly a problem. What little breeze there was was blowing from behind, more or less. Perfect shooting conditions would include her having remembered to bring a tarp or something, this ground was cold and damp, and there being a handy shooting bench set up, but she’d take what she could get.

“Right to left or left to right?” Darryl asked.

“Right to left,” Julie said. She as comfortable either way, most of the time, but the ground under her wasn’t quite level. It was going to be easier to traverse the muzzle from right to left, and once she let the first round go down-range, she was going to need to get ten rounds off good and fast. And a good few more after that. She had four magazines waiting, in order of how good shape they were in, plus one in her rifle and an extra round chambered. There was a box of loose shells within arm’s reach.

“Horses first,” she said.

“You sure?” Darryl sounded concerned. Like he wasn’t happy about shooting horses either. “Dead horses are cover, I seen enough cowboy movies to know
that.
”

“If they’ve got cover, they’re going to hold still to be shot,” Julie said. It was what had occurred to her on the ride over here, when she was trying to decide how to do this. She didn’t like shooting animals, never really had. But then she’d remembered that one guy she’d shot outside Sir Pedley’s place, back in England. He’d died, but they only found out about it later, after he’d ridden off to do his dying well out of sight. Today, she wanted to see all of these fuckers die. She’d apologize to the horses later. And there were plenty of poor folks hereabouts wouldn’t say no to a healthy portion of horse in the pot.

“Three hundred yards,” Darryl said. “I guess they’re heading out for a long ride, they’re still walking the horses.”

“Figures,” Julie said. “I went over this with Alex and Andrew. They had to come here to get their stuff. They might have gone back into town to pick up a road south or east, but west is more likely. There’s roads south from Glasgow, and they can re-supply there or get a ship, not that they’re going to have the chance to do either one.”

The column of horsemen was getting close enough that the horses were easier to pick out details of. The horses she’d been used to had been cleaner-lined, bolder-colored. More like picture-book horses. The
actual
horses you got in the seventeenth century were shaggy, brown, and kind of small. If she wanted to put them down without causing any suffering, she needed fairly close shots. She ran her sights back and forth over the column. “…and on that farm he shot some guys,” she sang to herself.

Darryl snorted. “No
way
are you old enough to have seen that. Two hundred yards.”

“Nope,” she agreed. “Came down-time on VHS. Kinda liked it, but it’s Alex that likes movies with all clever twists and stuff. I liked the bit with the sniper, though.”

Darryl was outright chuckling now. “
Not
what generally went through my mind when I seen cheerleaders, have to say. Did they change up the auditions some since I quit school?”

She reached over and poked him in the ribs. “Darryl McCarthy, you are
shallow.
Wait’ll I tell Vicky.”

“Hey, I was a teenager!”

“So was I, uh, bit less than three years ago. Didn’t mean I had my mind in the gutter.”

“Whatever, two hundred yards, they’re into the first bend.” He worked the action on his rifle, gently so as not to make much noise.

“Start shooting when I do,” she said. “I reckon it’s close enough I don’t need you to spot, the light’s real good. I’ll start at the back, you start at the front. Stay with the main group, I’ll get any runners.” The desire to just open up and not stop shooting, ever, was bubbling up in her. To shoot and shoot and shoot and then run into them and smash their faces with the butt of her rifle—

“Gotcha,” Darryl said. Only a few hours ago she’d been concerned about
his
nerves. Now it was him grounding her, the calm tone of his voice reminding her that she had a plan, he was part of it, and was ready to follow through.

She took a deep breath, held it, let it out. God
damn
it, she was not going to get buck fever, not now.

* * *

“That’s richt, lassie, haud it aye a moment mair,” Lennox crooned, standing in his stirrups to peer over the shrubs they were using as concealment. The leaves were beginning to turn, but only a few had fallen, and the wild tangle of old brambles that looped out of the mass gave them something to peer through and break up their outlines still more. With the higher ground behind them with its jumble of rock and small scrub, if anyone spotted them here, it was between him and the devil how he did it. After sneaking men into ambush by the troop and squadron, finding a spot for just the two of them had been child’s play.

Mackay was sat down on his saddle. No sense putting two faces above the greenery when one would do. He chuckled. “Still the auld sergeant, Andrew?”

“Commission or no, they’ll lay me tae rest wi’ three stripes oan ma coffin,” Lennox answered, “and yon wife o’ yours has the makin’s o’ a fine killin’ officer,” he added.

“And the pair o’ us ken’ the inclinations o’ a sergeant faced wi’ a wee sprig o’ an officer, aye?”