Amanda Scott (24 page)

The atmosphere was merry, and other men told stories, but it was Bardie Gillonie whose tales held everyone’s attention. Rory soon realized the dwarf had the gift of the ancient bards, and wondered if his name had derived in some way from an ancestor possessing the same gift. When he saw a man drop a coin into the dwarf’s mug, he realized it was probably one way Bardie supported himself, and he moved forward to contribute a couple of shillings.

Bardie looked up and grinned impudently at him. “Thank ye kindly, me lord. I see yer still amongst us, and all.”

“I am, indeed. That was a fine tale you told.”

“Shall I tell about Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Rock?” the dwarf asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “’Twould entertain Macleans and Campbells alike.”

“I’d not advise it,” Rory said, glancing at Duncan, a short distance away.

“Och, that one,” Bardie said with a grimace. “’Tis a pity he’s kin tae such a fine gentleman as yourself. A quick temper, has Black Duncan, and ’tis like tae get him murdered one day, does he no take care.”

“Well, you need not sound so pleased by the prospect,” Rory said sternly. “He is my cousin, I’ll remind you.”

“Aye, and didn’t I just say what a pity that is? But he’s left off watching us the noo, me lord. He’s got a mind tae hunt lesser prey instead.”

Following the direction of the dwarf’s gaze, Rory saw Neil Maclean. Feeling his heart leap, he quickly scanned the crowd until he saw Diana and Mary, chatting with a group of local folk, amongst whom he recognized only the parson.

Bardie clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Ay-de-mi, there’s trouble, that is.”

Still watching Diana, Rory said, “Why should it be?”

Irony touched Bardie’s voice when he replied, “Am I tae take it ye dinna ken the details of the late cattle raid, me lord, when I’m told it were yourself as chased a horseman fleeing on a bay horse with white stockings?”

“You hear a good deal,” Rory said, turning reluctantly back to look at him. “Is Duncan still trying to pin that raid on Sir Neil?”

“Ye ken yer cousin better nor I do, me lord.”

“Bardie, tell us a tale of the devil and his imps,” cried one impatient lad.

Rory leaned closer. “Mind now, rascal, don’t be telling tales of Duncan.”

“Och now, would I do that?” Bardie protested, adding in a louder voice, “The devil appears in all manner of forms, me bairns, even wi’ hair as black as Duncan Campbell’s. But ’tis me own belief that the Earl o’ Hell canna be a Scot.”

“And why is that?” Rory asked, willing for the moment to act as his foil.

“’Tis nae more than simple logic,” Bardie said with a comical look. “Even before the ban, did ye ever hear o’ the devil showing himself dressed in a kilt?”

His audience erupted into gales of laughter.

Bardie went on, “Most likely Auld Clootie’s an outlander and his visits tae these parts only temporary. Shall I tell ye about when the Mackay met up wi’ him?”

His audience clamored for the tale, but Rory saw Diana looking his way, and quickly made his way to her.

“I had begun to think you were not coming,” he said, glad to see that most of the others in her group had wandered off. “Good evening, Mistress Mary.”

“Good evening, my lord,” Mary said. “Did Ian come with you?”

“He did, and the rest of his family besides. He is yonder with the bairns, however, listening to Bardie Gillonie tell about Mackay and the devil.”

Mary chuckled. “I like that one. Ropes of sand.” She walked away toward the children and Bardie, still chuckling.

He stared after her, bewildered. “Ropes of sand?”

Diana said, “That’s how it ends. The Mackay learned all the devil could teach him and then turned rebellious. When the devil reprimanded him for his insolence, the Mackay gave him such a thrashing that, in order to get away, the devil promised he would leave him alone in future and provide him with a legion of workers to do his bidding unquestioningly and without any wages.”

“Sounds a good bargain for the Mackay, but I’ll wager there was a catch.”

“There was, indeed, for the legion of workers soon became a curse instead of a blessing. They could work so quickly, you see, that soon there was no work left for them to do. They howled for more and became such a nuisance that the Mackay, nearly out of his wits, drove them all to the seashore and set them to weaving ropes out of sand. It is said that they are still at it to this very day.”

Rory chuckled. “I was wondering if Bardie got his name because of his gift for storytelling.”

“The name Bardie,” said Duncan, moving between them out of the gloom, “means a gelded cat, cousin, nothing more.”

“That’s not true,” Diana snapped. “It also means bold and fierce.”

“Likewise pert; shameless; or insolent,” Duncan said with a wry smile. “Even you must admit such definitions fit Bardie better than yours, Diana.”

“I have never given you leave to address me so informally, sir,” Diana said. “I would prefer that you do not.”

“Would you? You seem to have lost the rest of your family. Where has your bewitching cousin got to, I wonder?”

“I am sure I do not know. She is perfectly safe here amongst our neighbors, however. Even Campbells dare not harm her here.”

Rory felt himself wince and was careful not to look at Duncan, but he found that he had underestimated his cousin.

Duncan said in a silky tone, “I hope she is not making sheep’s eyes at my brother, for that will not do. And speaking of brothers, have you misplaced yours again? The last time he strayed, he nearly got shot for a cattle thief, so perhaps you ought not to let him wander about alone.”

Hearing Diana gasp, Rory thought it time to take a hand. “No one would have shot him, cousin. The rule of law still applies in the Highlands, I believe.”

“You should know,” Duncan snapped, shooting him a speaking look.

“As you say. Someone is attempting to gain your attention yonder,” he added, gesturing toward a young lady who was shyly waving at Duncan. “No doubt she requires your assistance to turn the great bannock. I can smell it baking.”

Duncan glared at him, but Diana said, “If you have not taken a turn with the baking, sir, you won’t prosper this year. Or do you scorn all the old ways?”

When Duncan still hesitated, Rory said with mild exasperation, “Oh, go away, do. You don’t want to tempt the fates, my lad.”

“Is that a threat?” Duncan demanded, bristling.

Rory returned his belligerent glare with a look of light mockery. “Go have a whisky with your friends, cousin, or search for your brother if you’d rather do that.”

“He is more likely to search for mine,” Diana said bitterly when Duncan had turned on his heel and walked away.

“And what do you mean by that, I wonder,” Rory said, smiling at her.

“Why, nothing, sir,” she said, smiling back warmly.

“Odrabbit it, nephew, if the wench is going to look at you that, you ought to kiss her,” Balcardane said, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him brace himself.

Rory could easily smell whisky on the earl’s breath. Shooting him a look of amusement, he said, “You would have me kiss a Maclean, uncle?”

“What difference does that make tonight? She’s a winsome wench and right kissable, I’m thinking.” He hefted his mug as if he were toasting them. “Kissing is kissing, I always say, and if it’s festival time and a wench is pretty—” He shrugged, downed the last of his whisky, then said, “Must get some more. Mistress Diana is no enemy of ours, lad. If it weren’t for her and Mistress Mary taking care of my best herdsman last Candlemas, we’d have lost the man. Didn’t cost me a penny, either,” he added on a note of satisfaction. Then, peering down into his empty mug, he turned abruptly and left them.

Seeing Diana’s expression turn wary, Rory caught her gaze and held it, saying softly, “So I am not the first Campbell to owe his life to you, mistress.”

“It was not so bad as that,” she said. “The man needed our help, and no Christian women could do less, for goodness’ sake.”

“I know a few who would do much less,” he said, unable to resist reaching out to touch her arm. Cheered by the fact that she did not instantly draw away, he added, “I have heard many tales of Mistress Diana in my ramblings. You are much respected hereabouts, I believe, and not only by Macleans and Stewarts, either.”

“If that is so, sir,” she said in a low voice, “it is because of my mother. She taught us to care for anyone in need. She has often shared food from our table that we could ill afford, believing others needed it more than we did.” She licked her lips, and he found himself wanting to taste them.

“I think I want to meet your mother.”

“You nearly did once.”

“I know.” He held her gaze, looking deep into her eyes. One hand still touched her arm. Feeling rough wool beneath his fingertips, and mentally dressing her in silk, he moved his hand to her shoulder. When she did not resist, he grasped her other shoulder and pulled her toward him. “I have waited weeks to do this again.” He kissed her, gently at first, then harder, willing her to respond.

Her lips were soft against his, and a little salty, or perhaps it was yeast from bannocks she had eaten with her supper. Her hair smelled of violets and wood smoke, reminding him again of the evening he had found her at Castle Stalker. He heard her soft moan. Her lips firmed against his, then parted, and she kissed him back hungrily. For those few moments, it was as if they were alone in the world.

Raising his head at last, reluctantly, he looked down into her eyes. “I think you are more dangerous to me, Diana Maclean, than a whole army of rebels.”

“Am I my lord? I cannot think why.” With that, she slipped from his grasp and disappeared into the darkness.

He made no attempt to pursue her, and left Kentallen for Balcardane soon afterward. His thoughts and dreams had been full of her of late. Since he knew what his desire for her could lead to if he were not careful, by the time he reached the castle, he had convinced himself that he was enjoying no more than a light flirtation.

This mild deception sustained itself until Ian burst into his bedchamber an hour later, startling him while he was writing to tell Argyll that he had decided to remain in Appin for at least another fortnight. He had no wish to reveal his true reason—that he wanted to be sure the sist prevailed and Glenure did not turn the Maclean women out of their house—so his composition had required much thought.

“What the devil,” he exclaimed as ink spattered across the desk from his quill. “Have you not learned to announce your entrance like a gentleman?”

“Sorry,” Ian said, hastily using his shirt sleeve to wipe up the damage. “I thought you would already be asleep, sir.”

“That is your excuse for bursting into my bedchamber?”

“Well, it is nearly one o’clock in the morning, you know.”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I was writing a letter.”

“I’m glad, for Mary said I should tell you at once.”

“Mary Maclaine?” Rory’s breath caught in his throat. “What is it?”

“Danger, she said. Duncan has been acting strangely, saying he means to catch Neil at some sort of mischief. He also thinks you’re soft on Diana,” Ian added with a sidelong look, “and he’s said more than once that someone should make her less attractive to you. I warned Mary about that.”

“Did you now?”

“It is
not
disloyalty,” Ian said defensively. “If I can prevent bloodshed on either side, I’ll do what I must. Mary has tried to talk to Neil and Diana, to warn them, but they won’t listen to her. She says they mean to leave Appin tomorrow.”

“To go where?”

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t say, but she did say to fetch you. She is afraid Duncan will follow them, and she says you can prevent trouble. I’ll go with you.”

“Nay, lad, you will not,” Rory said firmly, getting to his feet and dusting his letter with sand. “You’ll get a good night’s sleep, and then you will see this letter of mine off to Inveraray in the morning. I’ll attend to Mistress Diana then, too. She will be asleep now and won’t be going anywhere before sun-up.”

“But Mary said
at once,
and she has the Sight!”

“Did Mary know, when she said that, that I had already left for Balcardane?”

“No,” Ian admitted, “and she had gone home before I realized why I could not find you, so I couldn’t tell her.”

“There then, you see. I don’t discount her feelings, and I’ll pay them a call first thing in the morning. But if you can imagine what Mistress Diana has to fear from your brother, your imagination is better than mine.”

That was not strictly true, for he suspected that Diana was going to her mother: If she was, and if Duncan followed Neil, hoping to connect him to someone else from the raid who might testify against the lad, Duncan might well discover that an even greater prize lay within his grasp. If he managed to track down Lady Maclean and turn her over to a magistrate in Fort William or Inverness, there would be little Rory could do to protect her.

Leaving Ian with protests still spilling from his tongue, Rory went to waken Thomas. “Get me up before dawn,” he said, “and put a clean shirt and a brush or two in a kit for me. I may only ride to Maclean House, but if I have misjudged things and the birds have flown, I’ll want another shirt with me.”

“If ye’ll need a shirt, ye’ll be needing me as well,” Thomas muttered.

Rory did not argue, although he thought both precautions unnecessary, but when he and Thomas reached Maclean House the following morning, an anxious Mary met them at the gate.

“They left two hours ago,” she said. “They’re bound for Glen Drumin. It lies off the old road General Wade built over the Corriearrack from the Great Glen.”

“I don’t know exactly where that is,” Rory said, “but I do know Spean Bridge, and we ought to catch them before they reach it.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I’ll deal with that problem when I meet it, lass. Have courage. I’ll see that no harm befalls them.”

They left her standing in the yard and made for the Ballachulish ferry. Once on the Lochaber side, Rory set a punishing pace. He did not believe Diana and Neil would ride fast enough to draw undue attention, but even if they maintained an ordinary pace, they would still be at least an hour ahead of him when he reached Fort William. Spean Bridge lay only eight or ten miles beyond the fort.