Amanda Scott (9 page)

Another grunt was Thomas’s only reply.

“Push your face against the ground, man, or hook the cloth on a branch and pull it away,” he said, still taking care to talk no louder than necessary.

“Are ye hurt, lad?” Thomas asked gruffly a moment later.

“My dignity more than my body,” Rory admitted. “To be taken unaware because I let Patrick lull me into a sense of safety makes me feel like a damned fool, Thomas. I should know better than to let down my guard so easily.”

“Aye, ye should,” Thomas agreed.

“Thank you,” Rory said dryly. “What little Gaelic I remember from my boyhood proved insufficient to follow what they said. Did you understand them?”

“Enough tae ken their leader was Patrick Campbell’s missing prisoner, and that the lass stopped him from murdering us. She knows ye be kin tae his grace, and fears he would exact a vengeance equal tae Cumberland’s.”

“He would not,” Rory said with distaste. He had no use for the Butcher and had been at one with Argyll, for once, when the duke exerted every ounce of influence he possessed to force Cumberland’s recall to England from Scotland.

Thomas said, “The lass said, too, that she would have got away last night but for the ferryman. He refused tae take her off the islet.”

“Good for the ferryman,” Rory said.

“Aye, but they all seemed tae think the man ought tae have taken her. He’s a Bethune, they said, and one of them asked if she had told the man who she is.”

Rory frowned. He could think of no peaceful connection between the MacKissocks and Bethunes, although marriage between members of even the most contentious clans was not unheard of.

“Whisst now,” Thomas said. “There’s that whistling again. Like as not they are searching the woods tae the south near the castle, and they’ll soon be upon us. On this steep slope, we can roll tae the road in a pig’s whisper and—”

“We’ll do no such thing,” Rory said with a grimace.

“Ye’d rather lie here till we rot?”

“If you think I want Patrick to learn how easily they took us, you are very much mistaken. I doubt that our captors will brag of it to anyone, for they won’t want word to reach the authorities any more than I do, so keep still.”

Not only did he want to avoid Patrick’s gleeful mockery, but he intended to find and punish Mab MacKissock himself. Just thinking of her golden eyes and the way her skin had flushed when she realized he wanted her made his palms itch to touch her again. Only this time, he would put her right across his knee and—

The sounds of approaching horses and riders pulled him from what was rapidly becoming a most satisfactory fantasy. Irritated, he muttered, “Mind, Thomas, not a sound, or I swear I’ll turn you off without a character.”

“Just how do ye think we will free ourselves if ye refuse tae shout for help?” Thomas demanded indignantly.

“Fortune always leaves some door open, Thomas. Now, hush.”

Thomas growled but remained obediently silent while a party of four riders passed, and although it required more effort than Rory’s words had implied, they freed themselves not long afterward.

Walking along the road at a good pace, they soon came to an arched stone bridge over a burn. Having noted that until now the steep, densely wooded bank had made leaving the road nearly impossible, Rory decided the moment he saw the narrow glen formed by the burn that his captors had left the path there. He could tell little from tracks near the bridge, because the party of four had obliterated earlier marks, but by leaping from boulder to boulder across the brook, he soon found hoofprints in the damp, peaty earth on the far side.

Following these, giving a high-pitched whistle from time to time, it was not long before he heard Rosinante whinny in response. He whistled again, and the gray gelding soon appeared with Thomas’s mount trailing docilely behind it.

With ten miles to go before they would reach Loch Leven and Balcardane Castle, Rory set a fast pace. They reached Cuil Bay soon after noon, and Kentallen Inn a half hour later. Running into the party from Castle Stalker at the inn, he responded to their surprised questions by saying that he and Thomas had taken time to explore a small glen they had come upon along the way.

When one man pointed out that Glen Duror, not far from the inn, was much more worthy of exploration, Rory laughed and said, “We’ve dawdled enough for one day, I think. Is there not a short way to Balcardane that passes through Lettermore Woods? I seem to recall such a path from my boyhood.”

“Aye, sir,” the same man replied. “The turning be just past the village of Kentallen a mile yonder. Once in the woods, the right fork of the path will bring you out near Balcardane. That fork bypasses Ballachulish and the ferry, which, as you may also recall, takes one across the narrows where Loch Linnhe meets Loch Leven. The left-hand fork shoots right down to the ferry, so folks can get there—or get here from there—without having to wind all along the shore road.”

Thanking him for the directions, which he had elicited as a diversion and not because he required them, Rory was soon on his way again with Thomas.

Lettermore Woods—a dense forest of oaks, Caledonian pines, Scots fir, and larches, carpeted with bracken—was shady and peaceful, the only noise the distant cries of gulls and ospreys, a nearby twittering of forest birds, and the rustling of leaves disturbed by what little breeze slipped through the foliage. When they reached the ridge top, Rory got his first clear view of Loch Leven and Balcardane.

The great stone castle with its prominent square tower nestled snugly in a hazel grove on the hillside, overlooking the loch. Balcardane was a recent addition to the Campbell holdings, for his grandfather had acquired it only after the rising of 1715. Since most Campbell strongholds lay in country south and east of Appin, Balcardane, deep in Stewart country, provided a certain strategic advantage.

When they arrived at the castle, the porter guided Rory directly from the courtyard entrance through the great hall to a pleasant drawing room overlooking the gray waters of Loch Leven. A fire crackled in the white-marble fireplace, and the room smelled lightly of wood smoke and dried roses.

The room’s lone occupant, sitting near the window with her tambour frame, was a plump lady in a rather worn but fashionably wide-skirted pink and silver striped afternoon frock and a gaily embroidered white apron. Atop mouse-brown hair arranged in complex twists and side curls, her frilly cap twitched rhythmically as she plied her needle, oblivious of the interruption.

When the porter announced Rory by his title, she looked up in surprise over wire-rimmed spectacles that had slipped down her nose and said, “Lord Calder? Good gracious, Rory, is that you, my dear?”

“Yes, Aunt Agnes,” he said, striding forward with a smile to make his bow. “Did no one tell you that I was corning to visit you?”

“Oh, very likely they did, but I rarely recall what I’m told, as Balcardane frequently reminds me,” she said with a worried look as she pushed her spectacles back up where they belonged. “In truth, no one ever seems to tell me anything, or to listen to what I tell them, but then I so rarely ever talk to anyone that perhaps that is not a fair declaration to make, or a truthful one, for that matter. Oh, there you are, dear sir,” she added without pausing for breath when the fourth Earl of Balcardane entered the room, frowning. “Only look who is here, sir. It is our dear Rory Campbell, only he is Lord Calder now, of course.” To Rory she added sympathetically, “We were prodigiously sorry to learn of your poor papa’s death, my dear. Lud, but ’tis nearly two years ago now since he died, is it not?”

“It’s been three years,” Balcardane snapped. “Cease your prattle, woman, and let the poor man sit down.” Holding out a hand to his nephew, he said, “Good to see you, lad, good to see you. How is your mother getting on these days?”

“In excellent health when last I saw her,” Rory said, shaking hands with him. “I spent the winter between Edinburgh and London with the duke, however.”

“Splendid,” Balcardane said, “but dashed expensive company, I’ll wager.”

Wearing a brown frock coat, buckskin breeches, and top boots, he was a burly man of some fifty summers with graying hair, pale blue eyes, and what appeared to be a perpetual frown. As he sat in a chair near his wife’s and signed to Rory to draw up another, Balcardane inspected him with a keen gaze, but if Rory expected a polite compliment to follow, he soon learned his error.

“Those boots must have set you back thirty guineas or more,” Balcardane said with disapproval. “Ought to see that your man keeps them better polished, for they are all over mud—your coat, too. Your cousin Duncan will put you to shame, damned if he won’t. Dresses fine as fivepence, does Duncan.” He sighed. “Don’t know how he affords it. I don’t give him more than his due, I promise you.”

Lady Balcardane had returned her attention to her work, but she looked up over her spectacles again to say placidly, “Duncan always looks very fine, to be sure, my lord. But it is scarcely fair to scold poor Rory for having got a bit of mud on his clothes when he has only just arrived after a long journey.”

Balcardane said as if she had not spoken, “How long do you stay, lad? Hope you ain’t brought a large party. Costs money to feed folks, you know.”

“No party, sir, but I’d like to remain for a month or so, if I may. I have come from Inveraray by way of Kilchurn, Dunstaffnage, and Stalker, so I have an assortment of messages for you, as you might imagine. However, there is nothing so pressing that we need bore my aunt with them.”

“You still gracing the court?” Balcardane asked.

“Court?” Lady Balcardane looked up again. “Have you been to court, dear? Did you make your bow to King George? How prodigiously thrilling for you!”

“Don’t chatter of things you know nothing about,” Balcardane growled, shifting impatiently in his chair.

“Yes, dear,” she said, “but I do think it is unfair to say I chatter when as anyone can tell you, I scarcely ever say a word. As silent as a grave I am most of the time. Lud, sir, I don’t know how my vocal chords stay in order, so little use as they get. Oh, Duncan,” she added happily as her attention shifted to the doorway, “just see who has come to stay with us. ’Tis your cousin Rory, my dear.”

A tall, raven-haired man of approximately Rory’s age strolled into the room, nodded curtly at him, and said as he moved to stand with his back to the fire, “How do you do, cousin.”

“Rory has been to court, Duncan,” Lady Balcardane said. “Is that not thrilling? I have always thought it prodigiously unfair that they moved the court to London from Edinburgh, so we cannot enjoy court life to the extent that my dear mama did when she was young, and all her family, and your papa’s, too, I expect, whilst we have scarcely ever attended a court function—well, never, in fact—because the Union occurred long before we were married, you know—in fact, before I was born, I believe, in ought three or some such year.”

“May 1, 1707, to be exact,” Duncan said evenly. “You were but a babe in arms, ma’am.” Turning to Rory, he added, “So you have been to court, cousin. They just keep heaping one honor after another upon you. I daresay it is a wonder that you can still stand upright under such a load.”

Wondering at the edge in Duncan’s voice, and the man’s general surliness, Rory looked more carefully at him but said calmly, “It is true that I have been presented at court, thanks to his grace, but my aunt is laboring under a slight misapprehension. The court to which my uncle referred, ma’am, is the Scottish Exchequer Court. I have the honor to be one of five Barons of the Exchequer, you see, and have served in that capacity now for nearly two years.”

“Dear me,” Lady Balcardane said, putting down her work and removing her spectacles. “It is a law court then. I get them all mixed up, I’m afraid.”

“Most folks do,” Rory assured her, smiling. “My duties pertain for the most part to the estates forfeited to the Crown after the last rebellion. Not an onerous duty, I assure you, but I mean to take advantage of my visit here to assure myself that our administration is running smoothly in Appin, Lochaber, and Morven.”

“What makes you think it ain’t?” Balcardane demanded, bristling.

“Why, nothing at all, sir, but since it is my duty, I shall keep my eyes open. I don’t mean to puff off my consequence. Indeed, I’d as lief you not noise my status about, for I’m just here to observe. I don’t want to make anyone nervous.”

“You’re damned young for such duty, if you ask me, and if you’ve come to check up on Colin Glenure, I’ll have you know that I sponsored his appointment myself. And Argyll supported me, by God.”

“Yes, sir, I know, and if you have heeded recent judgments of the Barons’ Court, you will know that I have also strongly supported Glenure and that we recently reconfirmed him as factor here. I must speak with him while I’m here, of course, but I did not come here to spy on anyone.”

“I daresay you could have sent him a letter for a good deal less than it is costing you to bring the news yourself,” Balcardane said.

“I wanted to come, uncle. I seem always to stop at Inveraray or Kilchurn, so I have not seen Loch Leven or any part of the western coast since my last visit here when I was ten or eleven.”

“Eleven,” Duncan said. “You are a year older than I am, except for a few months of the year, when two years separate us. You came in June, I remember, when I was still nine, and I did not celebrate my birthday until just after you had gone. I remember thinking that most unfair at the time.”

“Since mine is next week, I’m afraid that will happen again, cousin,” Rory said with a smile, “but there, you see, sir. Clearly, this visit is long overdue.”

Lady Balcardane agreed with him enthusiastically—and at length—until her husband cut in to suggest bluntly that it was time to dress for dinner.

“If we are going to dress, that is,” he muttered, getting up. “Where the devil is your brother, Duncan? He ought to be here to welcome Calder.”

Duncan shrugged, his dark brows snapping together in a heavy frown. “How the deuce should I know where he is? Ian is long out of leading strings, sir, and in any event, I was never one to hold his leash.”