Amanda Scott (11 page)

Diana said with a chuckle, “We have few friends on Rannoch Moor, Allan. Most folks there are a bit rough for our taste, and I daresay it is not safe for you to visit others nearer at hand with messages from us.”

He laughed and shook his head at her concerns. “Afraid for my safety, lass? You need not be. I can look after myself. Have done these six years past, after all.”

She knew better than to remind him of his recent capture. Nor did she point out that the authorities had hitherto been unaware of his visits until they were over, or suggest that Patrick Campbell was a more able commander than most. The truth was that she gave little thought to Allan or to Patrick, for in her mind’s eye she saw only Lord Calder. She did remember, however, that his lordship had excellent cause to want to hunt down Allan Breck, and perhaps one or two others, as well.

H
AVING WAKENED TO THOUGHTS
similar to those that had plagued him before sleeping—and plagued his dreams, as well—Rory had no sooner sat down to break his fast with his uncle and cousins than he said without preamble, “Are you acquainted with any MacKissocks hereabouts?”

His uncle frowned, but Duncan said sarcastically, “Are you interested in sheep farmers, cousin?”

“I am more interested in rebels,” Rory replied calmly.

Balcardane snapped, “Damme, lad, but the MacKissocks are a stout branch of the Campbell tree. If you mean to look into things here in Appin, I suggest you keep to your duty and look after the forfeited estates. Many belong to Campbells and their ilk, to be sure, but they came by them all fair and square.”

Recalled to his senses, Rory said tactfully, “Many clans had members who fought on opposing sides in the last rebellion, sir, even Campbells. I asked only because I thought the MacKissab—MacKissocks—lived mostly in Perthshire.”

Duncan gave a shout of laughter. “You nearly said Mac-Kissable,” he exclaimed. “It’s a wench, by God! But the MacKissocks are only a sept, so she’s likely not of noble birth. Taken by a serving wench, I’ll wager. Is that it, cousin?”

Ian’s eyes twinkled as he looked from one to the other, but he said nothing.

With a hope that the dim light filtered through the lingering outside mist would not reveal his discomfiture, Rory said evenly, “I asked because I thought I’d heard the name mentioned in conversation about rebel factions. However, if you know of no such rebel family hereabouts, doubtless I was mistaken.”

Duncan looked smug, but he said nothing more, and Rory decided there was no point in giving him further grist for his mill. Turning his attention to his plate, he remained silent, thinking about the first time he had laid eyes on Mab MacKissock. He had originally believed the little traitor to be a dupe, a poor innocent exploited by wicked Jacobites. Now that he knew she was one of them, was it not likely that Lady Maclean knew her personally? He recalled wondering earlier if the wench might have served as her ladyship’s maid and supposed there were odder things in life than a Campbell serving a Maclean.

Appin country contained a host of Macleans, he knew, but he knew next to nothing about her ladyship. Her case had fallen under the Exchequer’s jurisdiction, because Colin Glenure had ordered her arrest, but the judgment against her had taken place in a local baron bailie’s court, not in Edinburgh.

The bailie had ordered her incarceration in Edinburgh Castle because most female prisoners were held there, particularly females of rank, and had duly notified Argyll, the Lord Justice General. Argyll had approved. Rory had taken exception only because it went against his sense of chivalry to lock up a gentlewoman for doing no more than trying to keep her erstwhile tenants warm through a cold winter.

Argyll had called him some unpleasant names, but having known Rory all his life, the duke had not seemed surprised by his dislike of her arrest and subsequent confinement. Rory had gone to see Lady Maclean because he hoped to learn more to bolster his argument. Now he realized that he did not know precisely who she was or where she presently might be found. He knew only that she was the widow of a rebel Maclean chieftain and that the forfeited estate lay on the Island of Mull.

At one time all estates on Mull, and many others in Appin and Lochaber, had belonged to Macleans. Over time, either warring Campbells or the British Crown had seized a good many of them, but Appin and Mull were still Maclean country, and—not surprisingly, perhaps—most Macleans still supported the few remaining diehard rebels, if they did not actively abet them.

As these thoughts flitted through Rory’s mind, Balcardane was saying to Duncan that he wanted him to tell a tenant he would not soon get his cottage rethatched, due to the expense. Rory waited until they fell silent before he said casually, “There was an escape from Edinburgh Castle some weeks ago. I was there at the time, and it occurs to me that you might know the woman who got away.”

Duncan said, “So she really did escape. We heard as much but did not credit it. How the devil does a gentlewoman escape from the castle vaults?”

“She had help,” Rory said. “A laundry maid exchanged places with her.”

“How brave of them both,” Ian said with an approving smile.

“They ought both to be flogged,” Balcardane snapped, glaring at him.

Rory said, “The estate she supposedly plundered is on Mull, is it not?”

“Aye, and there’s no
supposing
about it,” Balcardane said. “She cut down six trees. But she’s not lived on Mull these past five years or more,” he added. “She is a Stewart by birth—Anne Stewart Maclean—sister to the rebel Laird of Ardsheal and widow of Sir Hector, a damned Maclean rebel and erstwhile chieftain of the Craignure Macleans. She presently holds tenancy of a house on her brother’s land at the south end of Cuil Bay, where she lives with her children and an orphaned niece. That’s Crown land now, I’m thinking,” he added. “Glenure said so, at all events.”

“Yes,” Rory agreed. “A recent act annexed certain forfeited estates inalienably to the Crown. Ardsheal’s was one of them.”

The conversation moved to Macleans and Stewarts in general, and the centuries-long, relatively unsuccessful struggle by both clans to keep Campbells from taking their land. Both the Craignure and Ardsheal estates had been forfeited after Culloden, but Rory knew that Ardsheal, at least, had had reason until recently to hope he might regain his estate in time. The annexation had ended that hope.

“And every acre taken over legally,” Balcardane added with righteous fervor.

Rory did not argue the point. He was thinking of Lady Maclean and wondering if she had been bold enough simply to return home. He asked no more direct questions, however. Not wanting to reveal his reason for speaking of her, or his deep interest in her rescuer, he took the first opportunity to call for his horse and announced his intention to refresh his childhood memories of Appin country.

“A fine notion, lad,” his uncle said bluffly. “Here it is, the first day of April, and the sun’s shining bright for once. I’ll have Duncan or Ian take you about and make you known to such folk as ought to be honored with your acquaintance.”

Duncan said testily, “I’ll arrange my own day if it is all the same to you, sir. Ian can take him.”

Rory said, “I’ll take myself, thank you. I think I can find my way about.”

“Can you now?” Duncan’s tone was sarcastic again. “Doubtless you lead such a charmed life, cousin, that you need not fear that one of our less loyal neighbors, seeing you alone, might snatch the opportunity to murder you.”

Balcardane chuckled, but Ian said diffidently, “You ought at least to take one of our lads along, sir.”

“I thought we’d disarmed all these people,” Rory said lightly.

“Well, that is the law, of course,” Ian said, but his doubtful tone confirmed what Rory had suspected. Clearly, Campbells and soldiers were not the only ones who had retained weapons, legal or otherwise, in their possession.

“I shall take my man with me then,” he said, “but I do not want an entourage. The less stir I make, the better I shall like it.” Shooting a thoughtful look at Duncan, he added, “I comprehend your meaning well enough, you know. I hope you know that I’ve got no quarrel with you.”

“Oh, aye, I know that,” Duncan said.

His manner belied his words, but Rory felt no inclination to smooth his ruffled feathers. He had already seen enough of Duncan to know he was the prickly sort who looked for offense where none was intended. Until he had taken the man’s full measure, he knew he would accomplish nothing by trying to reassure him. Ian was another matter. The lad was smiling ruefully, as if he hoped his expression would somehow ease the sting of Duncan’s behavior.

When Duncan’s footsteps faded away, Balcardane growled, “Pay him no heed. He’s always like that, but he’s a good man in a fight. I’ll say that for him.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Rory said mildly. “He seems a bit liverish, however, and at present, I have no need of a fighter. I’m more concerned about administering the forfeited properties efficiently, and that will prove difficult if Duncan and men like him act as if the remaining rebels hereabouts are of no more concern than a hive of bees to be stirred up at will for their amusement.”

“Well, I don’t say he does that,” Balcardane said doubtfully. “He’s not one to overlook insult, but he don’t go about looking for trouble either.”

Ian looked about to speak, but he held his tongue, pouring himself another mug of ale instead. Balcardane pushed back his chair and got up, but although Ian stood politely when his father did, he made no move to accompany him.

Rory also stood, since he was certain Balcardane expected it. But he watched Ian curiously and felt no surprise when the lad shot him a speaking look from under his long, curling lashes. “I’ll be along in a moment, sir,” Rory said to the earl. “If you are going to the stable, perhaps you might just tell my man that I shall want him to accompany me.”

“Aye, lad, I’ll tell him.”

When he had gone, Rory said, “Did you wish to say something to me?”

Shyly, Ian smiled. “I doubt you need warning from me,” he said quietly, “but Duncan is not quite so harmless as my father would have you believe him.”

“We are all on the same side, lad, all Campbells born and bred. I do not think I need fear your brother.”

“He is called Black Duncan hereabouts,” Ian said. “Folks have cause, for his temper is vicious, and he does not snap only at his enemies, I fear. He does not like to be crossed, sir, and he particularly dislikes you, you see.”

“But why? I have done him no harm. I scarcely know him.”

“Aye, that’s true, but from the time of that first visit you made here Duncan’s heard over and over what a paragon of virtue you are.”

“But that’s nonsense,” Rory protested, nonplused but beginning to understand at last what motive Duncan had had for putting him in what the other man must have thought was an inconvenient bedchamber.

“Oh, aye, I’ve no doubt that it’s nonsense,” Ian said with a lurking smile, “but my father is prone to compare one man to another, one lad to the next. All my life I’ve heard what a braw lad Duncan is, because I am not of a bellicose nature, myself. I’d as lief lie on my belly and watch a parade of ants building a nest as pick up a sword and spit someone with it.”

Rory chuckled. “I used to sit in the forest and hope a deer would come feed from my hand. I saw a few, but I never managed to feed one.”

“Good thing for you one never got close enough,” Ian said, grinning. “Deer are as like to slash with their hooves as to nibble politely from your hand.”

“I expect that’s true. Did your father want you to fight?”

“I was too young to take part in putting down the rebellion. Even he agrees to that, but he no sooner says so than he will describe the heroic action of some ten-year-old lad who saved an army. I did not want to go, mind you. Indeed, I expect I’d have been an even sadder disappointment to him had I tried to take sword or pistol in hand. Duncan did distinguish himself, of course. He is justifiably proud of his skills, and constantly harasses those of us who are less skilled to learn more. Since most folks hereabouts don’t dare to be seen bearing arms, his inferiors are legion.”

Rory smiled at him. “I doubt he is as superior as all that, lad, but thank you all the same for the warning. Do you care to ride with me for a while?”

Ian flushed. “I would be honored. Only I cannot in good faith spend more than a couple of hours with you, for I am promised elsewhere by noon.”

Rory stood. “Then suppose we start out together and when you have had enough of my company, you may leave me to my own devices.”

“I will then, and gladly,” Ian said, downing his ale in a gulp as he got up. “That will please Father, too, for I’ll have to take a horse if I go with you.”

“Indeed, you will, for I mean to gallop the fidgets out of Rosinante, and we would soon leave you behind. Do you not generally ride?” he added some minutes later as they strolled across the courtyard toward the stables.

“Not often,” Ian said, “for I can get anywhere I like nearly as fast on foot. The woods hereabouts are too dense to ride through, so on horseback one must keep to the paths. Afoot, if a man knows the deer tracks, he can move from glen to glen right speedily, but Father says it does not look well for me to run when he can well afford to mount me. What did you call your horse?”

“Rosinante—after Don Quixote’s skinny nag, in the book by Cervantes.”

“Do you tilt at windmills then, sir?”

“Not often,” Rory said, “but that book is one of my favorites. I don’t recall many of the tracks hereabouts,” he added. “What route do you recommend?”

“That depends on what you want to see,” Ian said with his lurking smile. “Appin country takes up the northern half of Argyll, so we have a wide choice.”

“I am content to ride where you wish. Whither do you go?”

Ian’s open gaze shifted as he said with a shrug, “You don’t want to spend the day riding around Loch Leven, I expect. We can go to Kentallen, or take the Ballachulish ferry across to Lochaber.”

“I want to see Appin first, and although I’d like to see Cuil Bay again, Thomas and I passed through Kentallen and the Lettermore Woods yesterday.”