Amanda Scott (40 page)

“And where might I find Katherine Maccoll?”

“Och, our Katherine be off home tae see her dad for the nicht,” the woman replied. “What would ye be wanting with her, my lord?”

Rory saw that despite her glib response she was nervous, and he sought to reassure her by explaining that he was in fact looking for Sir Neil Maclean.

“Och, weel, I’ve no laid eyes on that lad the day,” she said with visible relief.

Taking his leave of her, he rode back toward the clachan near the mouth of the glen. As he approached the alehouse, he saw a group of riders and men on foot closing in on it from the opposite direction.

Recognizing his uncle and Duncan among them, as well as Patrick Campbell, he spurred Rosinante and rode to meet them. “What is going on here?”

“James of the Glen is said to be inside,” Balcardane said with satisfaction.

“Aye, so his wife told me, but why do you need all these men?”

“To be sure the villain don’t escape, of course,” Balcardane said.

“Escape? You cannot be arresting him!”

“That we are, on a charge of murdering Colin Glenure.”

“But, I told you, a warrant for murder must be issued from Edinburgh.”

“Aye, and I’ve sent to the lord justice clerk for one this very day.”

“You can’t arrest the man until you’ve got the warrant.”

“Odrabbit it, lad, don’t be difficult,” Balcardane snapped. “If we wait, we’ll find he’s fled to France with that murdering Allan Breck. This way, we’ll have him and whoever’s with him safely tucked up at Fort William when we want them.”

“But that’s against the law!”

“In these parts, I
am
the law,” Balcardane snapped. “If you think Argyll will tell me to wait for some damned official piece of paper before clapping a murderer into a cell where he belongs, you take it up with him.”

Having no doubt that the duke would support Balcardane’s position with every ounce of his considerable power, Rory reluctantly held his tongue.

T
HE WOMEN AT MACLEAN
House learned about James’s arrest the following day from the man who delivered a cask of ale from the alehouse at Inshaig.

“How could anyone think James could commit murder?” Lady Maclean demanded when the ale-man had departed. Her cold was gone, and her usual energy had returned. “James would never have shot Colin in the back.”

“I don’t think they believe he pulled the trigger, Mam,” Diana said. “Calder told me they believe the murder is part of a larger conspiracy, maybe even the start of a new uprising. They could think James a part of that, even its leader.”

“He is no such thing,” Lady Maclean said, stamping her foot for emphasis. “James went out in the Forty-five, but his participation was so small that he was one of the first men the authorities pardoned. Moreover, he was confident that we would prevail against Colin, so he had no reason to kill him. And why arrest his servant? The poor man did nothing but accompany James to the alehouse for a drink!”

“Duncan’s men have gone,” Mary said, who had been standing by the parlor window looking into the yard.

Diana was sure the younger girl had been watching for Ian, because they had not seen him since the murder. “Do you see anyone at all?” she asked.

“No, and they were making no effort to conceal themselves before, so I’m sure they’ve gone now.”

Diana frowned. “Either they no longer expect Neil or Allan to come here, or they have stopped looking for them now that they’ve arrested poor James.”

“Where did they take him?” Mary asked.

Easily deciphering the intense look in her cousin’s eyes, Diana said thoughtfully, “To Fort William. Do you think—?”

“No,” Lady Maclean said flatly before she could finish. “Don’t even think of trying anything, Diana, or I swear I will lock you in your room for a month.”

Diana smiled. “That did not serve any purpose when I was a child, Mam, so I doubt that it would now, but they will guard James too well for us to help him, I fear. None of the plans we have used before would work to get him out.”

Lady Maclean breathed an audible sigh of relief, but it was plain that she was still worried. “I wish Neil would come home,” she said.

They still had not seen or heard from him on Monday, however, when Sheriff Stonefield arrived in Appin. Thanks to Rory’s warning, Diana was not as surprised as she might have been to learn she was one of the first people the sheriff wanted to question. She was not at all pleased by the news, however.

Stonefield sent two of his men to escort her to the command post he had set up in Inshaig, at the very alehouse where they had arrested James. The sheriff met her cordially and said that he would question her himself.

A corpulent man with a strong air of vitality, he had been sheriff of Argyll for decades. His blue eyes twinkled when he greeted Diana, but when he began the questioning, he did so in a shrewd, businesslike manner. Still, he treated her with dignity and respect, so she found it relatively easy to follow Rory’s advice and be truthful. She had half-expected him to be present, and was disappointed that he was not, although she did understand that he could not look as if he were protecting her.

“You say you saw no one lurking in the shrubbery, mistress,” Stonefield said thoughtfully after she had answered what seemed like a multitude of questions.

“No, sir, no one,” she said. “When I heard the shot, I ran toward the sound. Then I heard Colin cry out, but I saw only Mungo and your agent, Kennedy.”

“Ha’ ye knowledge of aught else that might aid us in our duty, mistress?”

“No, sir,” she answered steadily. She did not know what might aid him, but she knew better than to offer any facts that he had not specifically requested, and she told herself firmly that learning of Allan’s visit to Maclean House would not lead him or anyone else to the truth.

Stonefield dismissed her when she had signed the precognition that his clerk had written as she spoke, and she did not tarry. She went straight home.

Late that evening, after Morag had gone to bed, Lady Maclean, Diana, and Mary sat quietly in the parlor. None of them had felt much like going to bed, but Diana was just closing the book she had been reading when Neil came in quietly from the kitchen, startling them all.

“Lord bless us,” Lady Maclean exclaimed, clapping a hand to her breast. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, round and about,” he replied casually.

Feeling a surge of anger now that she knew he was safe, Diana cast aside her book and sprang up to confront him. “We want to know where,” she snapped, hands on her hips. “We have been frantic, Neil. People think you and Allan had something to do with Red Colin’s death, and they have arrested poor James.”

“I know all about James,” Neil said. “The devil of it is that they won’t let anyone in to see him, to find out just why they think he was involved.”

“Goodness, how do you know that?” Mary asked. “Did you try to see him?”

“No, but others have. They let him speak to his wife after they arrested him, and he gave her a few pounds to give Allan, but Allan needs a good deal more. He also needed his uniform, which he left at Aucharn when he borrowed other clothes from James after escaping from Stalker. His regimentals made him too conspicuous, of course. He had given me a letter to take to James, you see, and—”

“When?” Diana demanded.

“Friday, I think it was or—No, it was Saturday morning, because he wrote it right there in the field where we met.” He chuckled, adding, “He used a wood pigeon’s feather for a quill, and water mixed with powder from that old horn of his for the ink. I took his letter to Aucharn and gave it to James, and he said he would do what he could, but they arrested him that very night, probably just about the time we—” He broke off abruptly and knelt to stir up the fire with the poker.

“About the time you what?” Diana prompted.

“Oh, nothing. I don’t remember what I was going to say.”

She did not believe him, but Lady Maclean said, “But, Neil, for goodness’ sake, what have you been doing all this time?”

“I told you, I’ve been out and about. You keep reminding me that I am a chieftain of Clan Maclean, and although I have little to show for it, I did know that I had to do what I could to protect our people and Allan Breck.”

“Even so, you could surely have sent word to tell us you were safe. You must have known we would be worried about you.”

“I saw men watching the house and thought I’d better stay away. I did not think I could send anyone else without putting them in danger, too.”

“Do you think you are safe now?” Diana asked.

“I don’t know, but at least I no longer know where they can find Allan. While I did, I couldn’t chance being questioned about him. They’ve clearly decided he’s their killer, but he isn’t any such thing, of course.”

“Are you certain of that?” She hated asking and could see that it made him angry. She did not even glance at her mother.

With forced patience, Neil said, “The man they saw running away wore a dun-colored jacket and trousers, Diana. Allan has been wearing James’s blue checked trews and black jacket ever since he put off his regimentals.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“Of course, I am. Do you think our cousin would shoot even a damned Campbell in the
back?”

“No Maclean or Stewart would do such a thing,” Lady Maclean said flatly.

“The lines are drawn now,” Neil said, directing a stern look first at Mary and then at Diana, a look that made him appear suddenly older, more mature, and a bit intimidating. “The Campbells stand on one side, we on the other, so I forbid the pair of you to have more to do with any of them. Do you understand me?”

Seeing tears spring to Mary’s eyes, Diana felt an overwhelming sadness, but she knew Neil was right. Even if he had not been, he was the head of the family and they owed him their obedience. The abyss had grown wider than ever.

Rory learned the details of Diana’s precognition soon after she had given it, and to his relief Stonefield, unlike Duncan, seemed not to doubt that she had spoken the truth. Balcardane did not react one way or another.

The investigation was in full force now. Letters crisscrossed Argyll as speedily as messengers could deliver them, summoning law officers, Campbell relatives, and the military to help the investigators. Rory knew that such a huge infusion of manpower to hunt down the killer or killers of one minor official was due solely to continuing rumors that Glenure’s murder warned of a potentially more broad-based rebellion ahead. Authorities in London and Edinburgh, like Balcardane and so many others, feared the worst.

The sheriff had taken rooms at Inshaig, but accepting a cordial invitation from the earl, he spent Wednesday night at Balcardane. As the men lingered over their port after dinner, discussing what little they had learned thus far, Duncan said abruptly, “To my mind, the notion that Diana Maclean was in those woods for any innocent purpose is laughable.”

Ian said instantly, “She rambles everywhere! You know she does, for she is forever visiting folks to take them food or clothing, or Mary’s remedies. Not just Macleans or Stewarts either, Duncan. Everyone likes her.”

“Not everyone.”

“You don’t like any Maclean or Stewart, but nearly everyone has a kind word for Diana. If she says she visited Granny Jameson, that’s what she did. And Granny is as much Campbell as she is Maclean. Her mother was born a Campbell.”

“This is no time for soft words or generosity toward our enemies,” Duncan said harshly. “If you know what’s good for you, Ian, you’ll take care to show yourself a loyal Campbell, because if I so much as see you near Maclean House, I’ll thrash you to within an inch of your life myself. Do you understand me?”

“Your brother’s right, lad,” Stonefield said. “These are dangerous times.”

Ian turned to his father, but Balcardane looked as grim as Duncan did.

“Well?” Duncan said.

Ian grimaced angrily, but he said, “I understand you.”

“Good. Do you mean to keep that decanter to yourself, cousin?”

Rory passed him the wine. He had been listening to them with only half an ear, heavily conscious of his growing dilemma. He was not concerned about his safety, but he knew that it would be foolhardy for him to champion Diana or any other Maclean in the presence of his volatile relatives.

As he tried to think how he could reassure Ian without infuriating Duncan and drawing more of that gentleman’s angry attention to Maclean House, help came to him from an utterly unexpected quarter.

Lady Balcardane, who had retired to the drawing room sometime before, opened the dining-room door just then and peeped in to say, “Forgive me, all of you, but I have scarcely had an opportunity to say two words, what with all the upset and excitement, and if we are to entertain largely within the next sennight, I simply must order in a great many supplies, and I—”

“Odrabbit it, woman,” Balcardane exclaimed, “what are you gabbling about now? More supplies! You spend more than any ten other women as it is. Would you beggar me? Not another penny shall you have. Run along now. This is men’s talk.”

“But, Cousin Archi—”

“Your cousin Archie can go to the devil for all I care, and take his wife and all his brats with him. A blasted limpet—a barnacle—that’s what that man is.” Accepting the decanter from Duncan, he looked at Rory to add, “Her cousin Archie descends on us every year with his entire household and expects me to house and feed the whole damned lot of them all for a fortnight or more.”

“But, my dear sir, it is not my—”

“Out!” Balcardane roared. “We have
important
matters to discuss.”

Visibly reluctant, her ladyship departed, taking care to sweep her wide skirt out of the way as she shut the door.

“Women!” Balcardane snorted. “What were we saying?”

Rory said mildly, “My cousin was warning Ian to have nothing to do with the Macleans, but I cannot help thinking that avoiding them might be a mistake.”

“I don’t doubt that you would think so,” Duncan said scornfully. “Been mighty thick with them yourself, after all.”

“Aye, because I believe in knowing as much as I can about anyone with whom I must deal,” Rory said. “It seems to me that if we cut all ties with them, we shall be doing ourselves a great mischief.”