Over the Hills

Jeffery Farnol

Description

Nineteen year old Adam Thursday, a foundling trapped in the cruel aftermath of the Old Pretender's rebellion, is forced to masquerade as a nobleman and marry the lovely Barbara MacGregor
Pawns in the sworn revenge of Sir Hector MacFarlane, the young couple are swept head long into danger as Adam seeks to uncover the mystery of his birth and prove that red hair's a fighting colour...
A memorable romance of the Highlands in the days following the Jacobite rebellion of 1715, which completly recaptures the passions and spirit of the time when the clans toasted "the King over the water."

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Thriller
• Romance historique
• Fiction
• Romance
• Regency
• Historical
• Romance policière

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 12 septembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781773238944
• Langue: English

Extrait

Over the Hills
by Jeffery Farnol

First published in 1930
This edition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
[e-mail]
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Over The Hills



by
Jeffery Farnol
ToWALTER BENYON-TYNKER WHO WAS HECTOR MACFARLANE'S FIRST FRIEND I DEDICATE THIS NARRATIVE OF HIS GRIEFS AND TRIUMPHS

CHAPTER I
IN WHICH THIS NARRATIVE BEGINS
I heard it first of a bright midsummer night in the dark coppice beyondthe Ten-acre meadow; a sound of faerie, marvellous wild yet very sweetlymournful; a sound that seemed to echo the sighing of wind amid desolatetrees, the gurgling sob of misty waters; a sound, indeed, that seemed tohold for me a magic and mystery, like stars and moon and the deep wonderof this brooding night—and yet this sound no more than a man'swhistling.
Presently, as I stood thralled by these tender, silvery notes, theplaintive melody changed to a happy, lilting measure that ended in amerry, flute-like trill; and so came silence, save for the rustle ofleaves astir in the soft night-wind. And then the whistle rose again, arun of bubbling, liquid notes oft-repeated, until, guessing this asummons to myself, I whistled them back as well as I might, whereuponwas more leafy rustling, and forth of the underbrush stepped a tall man.
I remember that despite his wild aspect and great size I felt nothingfearful of him, by reason of the merry glance of his eyes andgood-humoured curve of his lips. A comely-faced man he was, young, andof a grace and pride of bearing, for all his draggled garments, as hestepped lightly forth of the shadows into the full radiance of themoon.
"What, ma wee mannie," says he in voice methought vastly pleasing,"ye'll no hae aboot ye the noo aught a man may stay his hunger onwhateffer?"
"No, sir," I answered, pulling off my cap with due respect.
"Aweel, 'tis the waefu' luck o't!" he sighed. "But tell me hae ye bychance spied a man hereaboots the day, a slim, quick, dark-eyedgentleman in a Ramillie wig and braw, green riding-coat?"
"No, sir," I answered again. "No indeed!"
"Hum!" quoth he, glancing furtively round about. "Then will ye hae heardmention o' sic a name as Keith, or, say—Weaver or Weir?"
"No, sir, but there were soldiers——"
"Ay, ay!" says he, with another keen glance up and around, "I ken thatright weel."
"Are you very hungry, sir?" I questioned, staring up into his haggardface.
"Laddie, I am that!" says he with whimsical look, "I'm sae empty that mapuir wame plays flip-flappit wi' my back-bane whilk is no juist a cannyfeeling—I'm sae clammed I'd gie a gowden guinea for twa-three bannocksan' a dish o' brose ... I'll be meaning," he explained in very exact andcareful English, "I would expend a whole guinea for a loaf of bread,crusty forbye, and a whang of cheese."
"A guinea is a lot of money, sir," says I, glancing towards the fardistant, twinkling lights of the village.
"Ay, it is so!" he agreed, very readily. "Dod, 'tis wise y'are, ma weemannie—mebbe I was ower hasty wi' my guinea! And yet, when a man'sclammed wi' hunger he's apt to be gey reckless."
"I might contrive to steal you my supper, sir——"
"Could ye so, laddie, could ye so?" cries he, clapping hand upon myshoulder, a gentle hand for all its size.
"I will, sir!" said I, the solitary, unhappy soul of me thrillingresponsive to that so friendly touch. "There's only old Betty, in thehouse to-night, this is why I was able to get away to this moonlight andthe wonder of it all."
"The wonder, ay!" he repeated. "There's aye the wonder o' moon and starsand silent woods as few hae eyes for—had I ma pipes I'd play 'em taeye, but I left 'em ower the Border—ay, ower the Hills and Far Away, andmysel' here famishing so—fetch me your supper and we'll ca' it aguinea, though 'tis a wheen o' money—aweel rin, laddie, rin—awa' wi'ye!"
Staying for no more, away I sped, nor stayed until I had reached thevillage and could descry the loom of that particular house, its darkgables frowning austerely upon its humbler brethren, which had everproved for me a place of misery, humiliation and suffering. Climbing thefence which enclosed its precise garden, I stole cautiously until Imight peep into the kitchen, clean and comfortless, where burned a smallfire, beside which old Betty slumbered in the elbow chair, as was hercustom at this hour. Hardby upon the table lay my supper, a flake ofcheese, a stale crust and tankard of small beer; beholding the whichmiserable viands, and minding the wonderful man for whom they weredestined, I felt myself glowing with shame and humiliation.
Silently I drew the latch and crept across the floor, then pausedtrembling in sudden joyous trepidation to see a certain door stoodajar—it seemed for once old Betty had forgotten to lock the pantry.Next moment I was inside breathing an air redolent of such delectablecakes as never came my way; here also hung divers baskets very proper tomy purpose. Stealthily, and with feverish haste, I began to fill one ofthese with such things as came to hand, objects hard to distinguish inthe dimness, thus whatsoever my hand chanced upon, that clutched I, andthrust into my basket; bottles there were and meat, with other shapelessthings—in they went pell-mell until the basket was full—and then Istood suddenly rigid, for old Betty, choking upon a snore, groaned,sighed and I heard the creak of her chair as she rose, mumbling toherself ... in another moment I should be caught, and bethinking me ofmy master's crab-tree staff, I shivered in a panic while ever oldBetty's shambling step drew nearer. Here then, in sheer desperation Isnatched an empty basket, clapped it over my head and, thus masked,caught up my burden and burst from the cupboard howling very horridly.
Through the meshes of my enveloping basket I saw old Betty staggerbackward to the elbow-chair wherein she fell heavily, goggling at me andgasping ... then I leapt across the kitchen and was out and away,pursued by the old woman's wailing outcries.
I found my wonderful man where I had left him.
"Aha!" cries he, perceiving my burden. "Wha' hae ye gotten there, mamannie?" For answer I thrust the basket upon him and sank panting uponthe grass.
"Bottles!" quoth he. "Oho, a bonnie lad!" and, drawing one from thebasket, whipped out a short, heavy knife, and, striking off the neckvery featly, raised the bottle to eager lips. What then was my horrifiedamaze to hear him choke suddenly, to see him cast away the bottle andspit wildly.
"Vinegar!" he gasped. "Vinegar, ye deil's imp!" At this I trembled, andnothing to say whiles he, having spit forth such as he had notswallowed, cautiously essayed another bottle, looked at it, shook it andhaving tasted, sighed, nodded and drank deep. He now proceeded to unloadthe basket, and seemed overwhelmed by the amount of its contents—asindeed so was I. First came a bone miserably scant of meat, whereat hescowled; next the better part of a ham, whereat he smiled; followedthree or four sausages (raw), a capon (the same though trussed for theoven); a jar of pickled onions; a loaf; a good-sized piece of cheese anda small pasty.
"Losh!" exclaimed my companion, staring at these many and variededibles. "Save us a'—d'ye always eat siccan vasty supper, ma bonnie weelad?"
"No, sir!" I answered bitterly, and recounted the manner of my theft, tohis no small joy, the which manifested itself in fits of strange, silentlaughter, though his keen eyes were continually glancing hither andthither. And now, his merriment subsiding, he insisted I must eat withhim, the which I did, something timidly, yet gladly enough. So thus,side by side upon the grass, we supped together, and the moon verybright above us. At last, his hunger appeased, he dived hand into pocketand, fetching out a net-purse (woefully light, by its looks), tookthence a guinea which, having looked at and sighed over, he tendered tome on his broad, open palm.
"'Tis an unco' deal o' money!" says he.
"Yes, sir!" I answered.
"And ye're but a wee bit laddie!" he nodded and back into purse went theguinea but, in the act of pocketing it, he paused to rub smooth-shavenchin and eye me askance:
"Aweel," sighed he at last, "a ham's a ham, a bargain's a bargain, andMcLeod o' McLeod is the McLeod!" and, seizing my arm in powerful gripe,he placed the coin in my unwilling fingers and fell to his supper again.
"Sir," said I, "pray take back your money, I—I don't want it."
"Hoots laddie," he exclaimed, "there's nought wrang wi' it, 'tis honestgold."
"Yes, sir, but ... please ... I won't have it."
"And why for no?"
"Because I fear 'tis your last and——"
"Ye leein' gomeril!" cried he, frowning. "D'ye tak' the McLeod for abeggar body wi' but ae guinea in's breeks?"
"No, sir, but pray take your money," said I, and laid the coin besidehis knee.
"Eh?" quoth he, staring at me. "The laddie'll no tak' it! Losh, it's nocanny!" Here, taking up the guinea, he fobbed it, and went on eating,eyeing me the while.
"Laddie," he questioned suddenly, "what might your name be?"
"They call me Adam, sir, because, like Adam, I had no father or mother."
"Dooms me!" he exclaimed, staring at me with a piece of ham on hisknife-point. "But we all hae parents——"
"No, sir," says I, miserably. "I was found on a Thursday under the hedgeof this very field by old Zachary Trent, the sexton, so they call meAdam Thursday. And they've bound me to Master Bragg, the attorney ...pens and ink ... and I would be out in the world doing great things ...teaching myself to be brave and bold to adventure.... Ah, sir, do youlaugh at me like all the rest?"
"Na, na, laddie!" cried he, his features comically twisted, however."I'm no juist