hills. “You are bluffing, whoever you are.”
“Seven.”
Four guns lay side by side on the road and three men stood with their arms raised above their heads when Rebecca’s voice was in the pause between nine and ten.
Rebecca raised both arms and the gatekeeper’s hands shook visibly. “My children,” she said, raising her voice to be heard among the hills, “I see before me a gate that is obstructing the free passage of your mother and your brothers and sisters. And three men who have thought to defend it. They are doing what they are employed to do. They will not be harmed. They will leave the scene now, and you will come down, my children, when I lower my arms and destroy this gate and this house.”
The three men below looked about them uncertainly and then lowered their arms and turned to disappear into the hills on the far side of the road.
“Let them pass through the line unmolested,” Rebecca called. After allowing them a few minutes to make their escape, he brought down his arms.
Everything went smoothly after that. The guns were gathered up by two men who had been directed to the task, and piled beside the road to be removed later. And the gate and the house were destroyed as quickly and efficiently as usual.
Geraint sat and watched. But a sound different from the usual hubbub of voices and tools had him turning his head sharply when the job was almost completed. It was the high-pitched, piping voice of a child calling him. Calling Rebecca. And then the child was beside him, reaching to clutch his boot and gazing urgently into his face.
Idris Parry.
Geraint leaned down. “What is it, child? What are you doing here?” He felt anger well in him.
“You have to leave,” Idris called. He was gasping for air and his eyes were wild with excitement and panic. “They know where you are. They are coming for you. They will have you trapped.”
Geraint did not doubt the boy for a moment. He knew from experience that children like Idris Parry saw and heard a great deal more than anyone else would ever guess.
“They are coming,” the child cried, pointing back in the direction of Tegfan. “I ran on ahead.”
Geraint did not waste time asking questions. He did not know quite who they were or how many there were. But they would undoubtedly have guns. His men would be in danger. He looked at Aled.
“Fetch this child’s father,” he said. “Quickly.”
But Waldo Parry must have been close by and had heard his son’s voice. He was grabbing him by both arms even as Geraint spoke, fury in his face and his whole bearing.
“He has come to save us all,” Rebecca said firmly. “Treat him gently. But get him out of here. Fast.”
He raised his arms wide and called for attention. It seemed that it would be impossible to achieve when the work of destruction was hardly completed, but such was the power of his presence, it seemed, that silence fell by some miracle almost immediately.
“There are armed men on the way, my children,” Rebecca said loudly and distinctly. “Go now quickly and be careful.”
Men scrambled away in all directions. Rebecca stayed where she was.
“Go!” he commanded Aled when his friend hesitated and then stayed beside him.
But there was someone else too at the side of the road, not running with everyone else.
“Go quickly,” she yelled at him. “It is you they will want more than anyone.”
He would have waited until the last of his people were safely out of sight. But he had to get her to safety. He spurred his horse, scooped Marged up when he was already in motion, deposited her on the horse’s back in front of him, and galloped up into the hills, Aled close beside him. With any luck none of the fleeing men would run into whoever it was that was coming to catch them red-handed as they destroyed a tollgate. And even if any of them were caught, unless it was himself or Aled or one of the other disguised daughters, it would not be easy to prove that they had participated in the destruction.
The danger was not past, but he drew a deep breath of relief anyway and spared a glance for Marged, who was clinging to him with both arms. But a sudden thought had him reining in hard and turning in his saddle to look back down at the road, bathed in moonlight again. Damnation, but