Read Online Sound of the Heart by Genevieve Graham - Free Book Online
Authors: Genevieve Graham
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the uneven line of stones. It had taken weeks of dedicated effort and many split fingernails for the boys to have accomplished this. The opening was narrow, as they’d warned. But he was sure he could manage. Slow or quick? He decided it would have to be slow. If he moved swiftly, he was sure to catch someone’s eye. If his actions were hypnotic enough, any curious onlooker would get bored and look away.
Dougal slipped one leg through the hole in the rock. It was awkward, because the other side of the wall was lower than the yard. He held on to the wall so his body kept blocking the passage, then slowly, slowly lowered himself sideways and twisted his other leg through. At his feet, the boys crouched, piling rocks back into place with practiced ease, seeming to know exactly where each one fit. This was the trickiest part. It had to be done in a moment, so no one noticed the thin slice in the wall. That would buy them some time before the guards realised anyone had gone. While the boys worked, Dougal stared around him with disbelief.
Green. They had spent months in nothing but gray and brown. Green was the colour of life. Now it was the colour of freedom as well.
“Go,” Joseph whispered. “I’ll get the rest an’ follow.”
“I’ll no’ leave ye here,” Aidan hissed.
Joseph fixed his friend with a dark glare, forbidding him to argue. “I’ll be right there. I ken better than ye how these stones lie. Come on. Ye ken ye dinna run fast as I. Keep up wi’ Dougal an’ I’ll meet ye beyond that tree there.”
Aidan looked terrified at the prospect, but Dougal understood. One person was less likely to capture anyone’s attention. He grabbed Aidan’s arm and tugged him away. The land around them was mostly flat, the grass underfoot marshy from the downpour. Dougal aimed for a clump of tall grass, intending to wait for Joseph there. Aidan ran hard beside him, bare feet slapping through puddles. They had gone forty feet or so, and had just reached the hiding spot when they heard Joseph cry out. Dougal shoved Aidan hard so they both sprawled facedown on the long grass, chests heaving from the unfamiliar exercise.
The grass, as Dougal had imagined, was wet and cold on his cheek, and it smelled . . . of home.
Aidan squirmed under his hand. “Stay down, fool,” Dougal whispered, burying his own head as deep into the grass as he could manage.
“Let go!” Joseph shouted. “Get yer filthy sassenach claws off—”
A shot rang out and Aidan uttered a small, choked gasp against the ground. Dougal held the boy’s head down and slowly raised his own. He blinked away the rainwater that streamed over his forehead and tried to see.
Five soldiers. How they’d managed to spot wee Joseph through all that rain, Dougal would never know. But they’d come in force and shot him dead. The soldiers shoved aside the weakened rock wall and climbed through one at a time. They stepped over the small, lifeless body and peered around, clearly suspicious Joseph hadn’t been alone.
“Dinna breathe, lad,” Dougal whispered. “Else ye’ll no’ live past this moment.”
Aidan lay still and mute beside him, and Dougal wondered if he had, in fact, stopped breathing. He kept his palm on the boy’s back, holding him down, keeping him safe. The rain beat against their backs, cold and relentless as hammer strokes. Beneath his hand he felt a short jerk and shudder, then more rolling bumps as Aidan silently grieved.
CHAPTER 8
On the Run
The rain was both a refuge and a nightmare. It fell in frozen sheets, forcing Dougal and Aidan to cup their hands around their eyes so they could scout the land. They lay motionless for ten horrible minutes, during which they saw the solid lump of Joseph’s body on the ground by the wall’s opening. One soldier stooped and hoisted Joseph onto his shoulder then carried him back into the prison. Half a dozen soldiers still milled around the broken wall, pointing and stomping in the mud with
Dougal slipped one leg through the hole in the rock. It was awkward, because the other side of the wall was lower than the yard. He held on to the wall so his body kept blocking the passage, then slowly, slowly lowered himself sideways and twisted his other leg through. At his feet, the boys crouched, piling rocks back into place with practiced ease, seeming to know exactly where each one fit. This was the trickiest part. It had to be done in a moment, so no one noticed the thin slice in the wall. That would buy them some time before the guards realised anyone had gone. While the boys worked, Dougal stared around him with disbelief.
Green. They had spent months in nothing but gray and brown. Green was the colour of life. Now it was the colour of freedom as well.
“Go,” Joseph whispered. “I’ll get the rest an’ follow.”
“I’ll no’ leave ye here,” Aidan hissed.
Joseph fixed his friend with a dark glare, forbidding him to argue. “I’ll be right there. I ken better than ye how these stones lie. Come on. Ye ken ye dinna run fast as I. Keep up wi’ Dougal an’ I’ll meet ye beyond that tree there.”
Aidan looked terrified at the prospect, but Dougal understood. One person was less likely to capture anyone’s attention. He grabbed Aidan’s arm and tugged him away. The land around them was mostly flat, the grass underfoot marshy from the downpour. Dougal aimed for a clump of tall grass, intending to wait for Joseph there. Aidan ran hard beside him, bare feet slapping through puddles. They had gone forty feet or so, and had just reached the hiding spot when they heard Joseph cry out. Dougal shoved Aidan hard so they both sprawled facedown on the long grass, chests heaving from the unfamiliar exercise.
The grass, as Dougal had imagined, was wet and cold on his cheek, and it smelled . . . of home.
Aidan squirmed under his hand. “Stay down, fool,” Dougal whispered, burying his own head as deep into the grass as he could manage.
“Let go!” Joseph shouted. “Get yer filthy sassenach claws off—”
A shot rang out and Aidan uttered a small, choked gasp against the ground. Dougal held the boy’s head down and slowly raised his own. He blinked away the rainwater that streamed over his forehead and tried to see.
Five soldiers. How they’d managed to spot wee Joseph through all that rain, Dougal would never know. But they’d come in force and shot him dead. The soldiers shoved aside the weakened rock wall and climbed through one at a time. They stepped over the small, lifeless body and peered around, clearly suspicious Joseph hadn’t been alone.
“Dinna breathe, lad,” Dougal whispered. “Else ye’ll no’ live past this moment.”
Aidan lay still and mute beside him, and Dougal wondered if he had, in fact, stopped breathing. He kept his palm on the boy’s back, holding him down, keeping him safe. The rain beat against their backs, cold and relentless as hammer strokes. Beneath his hand he felt a short jerk and shudder, then more rolling bumps as Aidan silently grieved.
CHAPTER 8
On the Run
The rain was both a refuge and a nightmare. It fell in frozen sheets, forcing Dougal and Aidan to cup their hands around their eyes so they could scout the land. They lay motionless for ten horrible minutes, during which they saw the solid lump of Joseph’s body on the ground by the wall’s opening. One soldier stooped and hoisted Joseph onto his shoulder then carried him back into the prison. Half a dozen soldiers still milled around the broken wall, pointing and stomping in the mud with
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