The Firebrand (3 page)

“But I haven’t said a word about her latest misdeed.” She raised an accusing finger and pointed at the corner of the castle where the Englishwoman’s cage was hanging outside. “Two days ago, Adrianne Percy burst into the cloister of the monastery, her hair unbound and her skirts flying about her ankles, screaming ‘Fire!’ and nearly giving old Brother Brendan apoplexy!” The abbess leaned over the table and lowered her voice to a whisper. “‘The Rule of Ailbe be damned!’ the vixen kept shouting. ‘There’s a fire!’”

“From what we heard from the lads bringing stores aboard from the village, the incident at the monastery was--”

“You mind your maps, Alan.”

The shipmaster reddened to the roots of his prematurely gray hair, but pressed his lips together in a thin line and looked back down at the map.

The nun turned her fiery gaze back on Wyntoun. “There was
no
fire…to speak of. Her purpose is to ruin us. To ruin the peace of the people living on this blessed island. To ruin God’s work here.”

The Highlander sat back, pushing the maps away from him. “Very well, Aunt. I hear your complaint. What do you wish me to do?”

There was a pause—and a quick flash of surprise in the old woman’s wrinkled features.

“I...well, there is the question of her mother’s wishes. Nichola Erskine Percy. Her wishes were for the daughter to stay here until such time as she would be sent for.” A note of pique quickly crept back into the woman’s tone. “But the Lady Nichola did not mention a word of Adrianne’s unruly disposition. Nay, there were no warnings, at all, in any of her correspondence. Truly, if there were
any
hint of this, I would never have--”

“What do you wish me to do, Aunt?”

The repeated question silenced the old woman for a moment. She walked to the hearth and stared into the leaping flames. She then turned back to her nephew.

“I want you to take her away. Return her to her mother. Take her back to England or wherever ‘tis Nichola is residing now.”

“Done!” Wyntoun abruptly pulled the maps close again. Alan began pointing out the likeliest route along the coast.

“You are not mocking me, now, Wyntoun? This is not a jest?” she persisted. “You
are
taking her away!”

The knight’s green eyes flashed like emeralds in the light of Great Hall’s torches. “You know me, Aunt. I never jest.”

The abbess nodded, but she did not retreat as the two men turned back to the map. The serving lad ran in again and replaced the pitcher of ale on the table. Another appeared carrying huge chunks of peat, which he proceeded to stack high in the blazing hearth. No fire, though, would be hot enough to disperse the chill from the Hall.

“And my decree of punishment for her?” she asked after a pause.

“‘Twill stand...if you insist on it.” Wyntoun put one map away as Alan unrolled another, spreading it on the surface of the wooden table. “But I warn you...when the ship’s stores are restocked and the weather clears, we will be setting sail. And if the time I choose to leave precedes your release of the English lass,” a deep frown challenged the abbess’s, “then you may have to keep her until spring. I do not know when I will be sending another ship that can convey her back to her mother.”

The abbess pursed her thin lips with displeasure.

“I will not trust another crew and ship,” she said finally, eyeing both men. “And I say this as much for Adrianne’s sake as for my own.”

Alan glanced quickly at his leader, but Wyntoun fixed his eyes on the map.

“She is hell’s fire on earth, Wyn. She’s a firebrand in a grain barn.” The abbess turned and stared at the hearth. “‘Tis a miracle the ship bringing her here didn’t sink at sea. I don’t understand how that crew was able to keep her under control for the journey from England.”

“And you want
us
taking her back?” Alan pushed his cup of ale away. “What are you trying to do, Aunt? Get rid of us all?”

The abbess dismissed the sailor’s comment with a wave of her hand. “You can handle it, Alan,” she replied, coming back to the table. “You’re my own kin. And if anyone trusts my opinions, ‘tis my own family. But you must be warned. She has the ability to charm both man and woman into believing what she says...into following her disruptive impulses...”

“I’ve seen her ‘charm’ in action, Aunt.” Wyntoun looked up, his face serious.

“Nay, Wyn,” she persisted. “She has something special in her. She can speak sweetly enough when she cares to. People follow her, I tell you...and men are the first to fall before her bonny looks.” Neither man moved nor showed the slightest curiosity. After a long moment, the abbess nodded with satisfaction. “There we are, then. Adrianne stays in her confinement until you are ready to set sail.”

“As I was coming ashore, the rain was changing to snow.” Alan addressed Wyntoun instead of the abbess. “Would it not be better for you to put her in the prisoner’s hole...or even hang her cage here in the Great Hall?”

“I’ll not have it.” The abbess shook her head adamantly at the two men. “We’ve done that. Two days ago, when we first brought her down from the abbey, I had her cage hung right there from that rafter. Why, in a few moments, the brazen creature was amusing herself entertaining everyone below with her wicked tongue. And I do not mind telling you that I myself was the butt of most of her impudent mockery. Nay! That will not do, at all. Why, inside of an hour, she’d managed to win a number of those listening to take her side against me!”

Again Alan directed his words to the master. “Half-Scot she might be, but the lass was raised an English lady. She may not survive the night out there.”

“I had blankets put in the cage for her. She’ll survive.” The nun wrapped both of her hands around the ornate silver cross hanging around her neck, and a small smile broke across her thin lips. “I am pleased, though, that my prayers have finally been answered. Once and for all, we will be ridding Barra of that wee scourge.”

Sudden shouts coming from the courtyard drew everyone’s eyes to the doorway as the burly steward ran into the Hall.

“The cage, m’lord!”

Wyntoun shoved the map in Alan’s direction. “What about the cage?”

“The cage fell. The thing is crashed on the rocks. The rope must have given way.”

“What of her?” Wyntoun walked around the table and quickly crossed the floor with Alan and the abbess on his heels. “What of the Englishwoman?”

“She went down, too, m’lord...on the rocks. The men heard her scream. And that was that. By the time we got out there, the tide had washed away most of her...Lord bless her soul.”

The steward made the sign of cross, and Wyntoun glared back at the ancient nun.

“It appears your prayers have been answered sooner than you expected, Aunt.”

The night wind, black and bitter, tore at the flaring torches, threatening to extinguish them and...at the same time...snuff out Wyntoun’s hopes. Still, though, the old woman continued to rail at the knight.

“Get back to your ship, I tell you. You need to be ready to set sail with the tide.”

Wyntoun swung the smoking torch abruptly around and glared with annoyance at the face of the nun looking on.

“We set sail when
I
am ready, Aunt.” The mix of rain and snow driven by the wind stung his face, but as he looked at her, the aged nun seemed oblivious to the storm. He frowned, gentling his tone. “I advised you to stay indoors and leave the search to the men.”

“I am telling you, Wyn, you have to go.”

The Highlander turned and faced the roiling surface of the bay. His ship—not an arrowshot from the castle—was riding the waves easily. From the rise and fall of the torches, though, he could tell that the small boats working just beyond the castle’s rocks were clearly struggling to keep stay afloat and still continue the search. Men on the shore, waist deep in the frigid waters, clung to half-submerged boulders and looked for the young woman’s body. “We are not leaving. At least, not until we find some trace of her.”

A shout came from one of the boats. Wyntoun moved into the water himself, edging closer to where the torches flared in the wind.

“A blanket, m’lord!” One of the men shouted to Wyntoun.

“More pieces of the cage.” The call was from Alan on the right.

The Highlander turned in that direction.

“Listen to me, Wyn,” the abbess called from the shore. “You’re wasting your time here.”

The knight disregarded the abbess’s comment and raised his torch higher in the air.

“By the saints! ‘Tis her hair!” The steward’s shout was almost a moan. “Och, the blessed lass. Here’s a lock of her hair caught between these slats.”

Wyntoun waded back to the shallows and climbed up to where the steward stood with a handful of long wet curls. The abbess reached the spot ahead of him and snatched the hair out of the man’s hand.

“I do not care to repeat myself, Wyntoun, but in this case I am making an exception. Take your men this instant and get back to your ship.”

A flash of temper crossed the Highlander’s expression.

“Look at it.”

Wyntoun’s anger quickly subsided as he glared at the hair the nun held up for him to see. He took it and, studying it in the light of the torch, frowned at the straight cut of the tresses’ ends. Hardly the look of hair that had been torn out.

“In the abbey I have some documents and correspondence regarding Adrianne that I need to get for you...before you sail.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Nay!” The woman shook her head vehemently. “If you do not get back to your ship immediately, she’ll be arranging for your men to sail that vessel to sea without you...and with herself at the helm!”

***

As the narrow door of the shipmaster’s cabin opened, the tiny windows at the stern of the ship swung wide. Wyntoun crossed the cabin, pulled them shut, and latched them before turning to his man.

“She’s aboard, Wyn...just as you said.”

The Highlander turned and gave a satisfied nod to Alan.

“And you left her in hiding?”

“We did. Not an alarm raised. We did not even touch the wet clothes she must have tucked into a coil of rope on deck when she first climbed aboard. She’s a game one...I’ll give her that.”

“You’re having her hiding place watched.”

“Aye, she’s in one of the empty water barrels...Coll heard her moving about inside. And we’re keeping an eye on her.” Alan closed the door behind him. Muffled shouts from above deck told Wyntoun that the crew was readying the ship to set sail.

“How did she get out here? Swim?”

“Aye. She must have.”

Wyntoun hung his sword belt on a peg across the cabin. “Any word from the abbess?”

“They tell me she still insists on coming aboard, rather than giving Ian whatever ‘tis she has of the Englishwoman.”

The knight’s green eyes couldn’t hide his satisfaction as he reached into a traveling bag he’d dropped on the cabin bunk. Removing a folded parchment, he carried the letter to where Alan had seated himself at a small worktable by the narrow cabin door.

“I had my doubts, Wyn. But it all worked out well.” Alan picked up the letter and glanced at the contents. “You were right in not mentioning to the abbess the real reason behind taking the Englishwoman from Barra.”

“The less anyone knows, the better.”

“When do you intend to tell the lass?” Alan folded the letter again and put it back on the desk. “Or rather, how long are you planning to let her hide in that barrel?”

“For as long as she wishes. ‘Tis much easier to keep her there in her barrel than anyplace else on this ship.”

"Surely, she's wet to the bone."

"Once we set sail, we'll lure her out."

“So far, everything she’s done has played right into your hand.”

“And we have to make sure that all her future moves, as well, work to our advantage...until we reach Duart Castle.”

“Are you going to send word to her sisters?”

“Not just yet.” Wyntoun crouched beside the worktable and slid open a secret panel on the side of the desk. With a satisfied glance at his cousin, he placed the letter in the chamber and slid the panel closed again. “Of course, everything I plan is subject to change, depending on the contents of these precious documents our aunt is entrusting me with on behalf of the Percy lass.”

“I believe she’s here.”

Alan had no sooner come to his feet when there was a knock. At Wyntoun’s command Ian, one of MacNeil warriors, pushed open the door and stepped back, letting the abbess squeeze by him before following her in.

“Well!” The nun’s critical eye took in the neatly arranged furnishings of the cabin. “I have to give you credit, Wyntoun. Your sense of order even shows in this wee closet you call home for a few days of the year. Put that chest here, Ian.”

As the warrior placed a small wooden chest on the table, Alan headed for the door. “I’ll leave you two. I want to be ready to sail at first light.”

“Ian, wait outside for the abbess,” the knight ordered. “Our business here shall be quick. My guess is the abbess has no desire to sail with us.”

The woman snorted and sat with a sigh on the chair as the door closed behind the departing men. “Have you found her?”

“We have, Aunt. She is resting comfortably in one of the empty water barrels we’ll be refilling when we reach Mull.”

“I knew it.” She reached inside the neck of her woolen dress and produced a heavy key hanging on a chain. “You might not think six months is enough time to get to know someone well, but I tell you, having witnessed this young woman’s antics, having observed how determined she can be, I knew in my bones that she had already found her way to this ship.”

“But why the ship?” Wyntoun asked, watching the nun’s long fingers as they put the key into the lock of the wooden chest. “What made you so certain that she would come here, rather than hiding in the keep...or in some crofter’s hut on the island?”

The lock clicked dully and the abbess pushed open the top of the chest. “I knew she’d come here. From the first week that she arrived on Barra, she has been trying to leave. To escape this island.”

“But where did she want to go? From what you’ve told me, she has no one else near.”