Amanda Scott (16 page)

“Very well,” she said. “But you need not think we have finished this conversation, sir, because I mean to have the whole tale out of you. In truth, I think you have much more explaining to do than I have.”

Knowing he could not tell her the whole tale and wondering how he could tell her enough to satisfy her without telling her too much, Hugo cursed himself for a fool and hoped she was not a prattler.

S
idony, thanks to Rory’s help and the ordinary Highlanders’ strong sense of hospitality, had indeed collected clothes for herself and Sorcha by the time Sorcha and Sir Hugo returned to the clachan. But she eyed her sister warily as they approached.

Sir Hugo said, “Lady Sidony looks as if she expects you to eat her, lass.”

“I wish you would address me properly.”

“Do you want me to announce to all and sundry that you are the lady Sorcha Macleod, traveling in borrowed clothing—or your own, for that matter—with a man she scarcely knows as her sole protector?”

“No, of course I don’t want that. But you could manage to show some respect for my rank if for nothing else.”

“Respect? My dear child, you have upended your own world and mine, not to mention Sidony’s and Adela’s. In
view of all that, I believe I’ve shown you exceptional respect by not following my first and strongest inclination when I found you this morning.”

She bit her lip, wishing she had held her tongue. Oddly, the fact that he had called her his dear child rankled more than his general refusal to address her properly. To be sure, they might have reason to avoid that when they met strangers, but such reason did not pertain when they spoke privately. She was tempted to tell him so but decided not to provoke him again, especially since she could not deny a certain truth in his accusation about turning worlds upside down.

He was right about Sidony, too. She did look wary.

“Don’t fret, goose,” Sorcha said lightly when they met. “I don’t care how awful the garments are. Sir Hugo has explained that we cannot wear the things we wore for his grace’s installation, since they proclaim our rank rather loudly. But I’m as tired as you must be of pretending to be male when anyone of sense can see in seconds that we’re no such thing. It was a stupid idea.”

“Not as stupid as all that,” Hugo said. “Unless I miss my guess, that clothing may have kept Waldron from suspecting that you have been following him.”

“But you told me just minutes ago that he knows exactly who is following him and how close we are,” she protested.

“I wanted to make it clear how dangerous he is,” he said. “And before you accuse me of lying to you, which I said I’d never do, let me explain. I may have equivocated by not explaining thoroughly, but I did not lie. My guess is his men have been riding about, watching his trail. If they have, they may know that three lads are on the track
behind them now, but I doubt they can have learned much about those lads by asking pointed questions of anyone they met along the way.”

“That’s true, Sorcha,” Sidony said. “They are all strangers, so unless they claimed to be Lord Ranald’s men or his grace’s, folks would tell them precious little. The likelihood that anyone would have voiced suspicion about our sex to a total stranger must be remote.”

Sorcha had to agree. Then she thought of something else. “What about you, sir? If they’re keeping watch, won’t they know you are hard on their heels now?”

“Very likely,” he admitted. “I reached Oban yesterday and Kilchurn Castle last night, so I have been traveling an entirely different route. However, although they cannot possibly be watching every glen betwixt here and the sea, I warrant they’d expect Hector Reaganach to be searching for his wife’s sister, so Waldron may well have the track from Oban under watch as a precaution.”

“We did not follow them from Glenelg,” Sidony said, brightening. “We did not meet their trail until the Great Glen. They may not know about us at all.”

“You came from Glenancross, near Mallaig,” he said.

Sidony looked surprised. “How do you know that?”

“Your father’s chief helmsman brought word to Lochbuie when he learned that you’d fled,” he said. “He told us you’d even managed to get to Loch Sunart.”

“We’ll go and change now,” Sorcha said, grabbing Sidony’s arm. “We want to get started just as soon as possible. Are our horses ready, Rory?”

“Aye, mistress. Sir Hugo’s lads gave me a hand wi’ them, and we’ve our dinner and supper packed, thanks to folks o’ the clachan. We’ll eat well today.”

“Why did we rush away?” Sidony asked as they changed in the largest croft.

“Because he looked ready to lecture us again,” Sorcha said, slipping a shabby russet skirt on over her head. “I did not want to hear it.”

If she thought the skirt, matching bodice, and gray cloak provided for her were not what she liked, at least the skirt was full enough to let her ride astride, and she told the crofter’s wife sincerely that she was grateful for them. She thanked the other donors, too. Highlanders rarely expected or requested recompense of any sort for their generous hospitality, but Sorcha vowed privately to send gifts to everyone in the clachan as soon as she and her sisters were safely home again.

Twenty minutes after they had left him, they rejoined Sir Hugo and his men, and were soon on their way. They traveled at a steady pace that seemed slower than what Sorcha had urged before. But she soon realized they had to stop less often to rest the horses and decided it was a more practical pace for their purpose.

For the first quarter hour or so, they rode in pairs without talking. But as they passed through a busy village, Sir Hugo guided his mount up beside Sorcha and Sidony and said amiably that the name of the village was Dail Righ.

“Robert the Bruce suffered defeat here years before Bannockburn,” he said.

“Did he?” Sorcha said. “I hope you do not mean to preach history to us everywhere we go.”

“I thought you would prefer history to scolding,” he said. “However…”

He let the word hang in the air between them.

She glanced at him, saw that his eyes were twinkling,
and said, “If I must choose, I suppose I would prefer history. But if you can talk sensibly, I’d rather talk of other things.”

“Then tell me about your family. I have met the ladies Adela and Isobel, of course, but I thought I’d heard that your father had eight daughters.”

“We’re only seven now,” Sorcha said. “Our sister Mariota died years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“It happened a long time ago,” Sorcha said. “Sidony and I were but wee lassocks then, and she never paid any attention to us, so we scarcely knew her.”

“Your mother died when you were young, too, did she not?”

“Aye. Siddy was still a bairn and I not much older. We don’t remember her. And I hope you won’t say as most people do that we must recall something,” she added, giving him a minatory look.

“I wasn’t going to,” he assured her. “Do people really say that?”

“They do,” she said. “They’ll say, ‘But you
must
remember her tucking you into your cot at night or singing you lullabies.’ ”

“When they say that,” Sidony said, “you often say you
do
remember.”

“Because I get tired of them looking at me as if I were a bit off. The fact is that I don’t remember her. I remember Aunt Euphemia telling us stories about Roman gods and goddesses and Father telling her she would make us as daft as she is. And I remember Cristina sitting by my cot when I was sick. One time she told me she had
wished
me well, and I believed her. Cristina was more of a
mother to us than anyone else, because she was the eldest and managed our father’s household until she married Hector and moved to Lochbuie.”

“I have met Lady Euphemia,” Sir Hugo said with a smile.

“She is sometimes a bit eccentric but always very kind,” Sidony said.

“Aye, she is,” Sorcha agreed. “I like her stories. She lived with us after our mother died, but when Cristina married Hector, she went to live with them. Isobel did, too,” she added. “We visit them once a year or so, but it is not the same as when they lived at home. We’ve missed them dreadfully.”

“You had others to look after you, did you not? And your father,” Hugo said.

“Adela looked after us, because it was her duty. She did not like it, though, and one can scarcely blame her.”

“No,” Sidony agreed.

“Maura and Kate did not attempt any mothering, because they married soon after Cristina did. And then Isobel married Sir Michael. As for Father”—Sorcha chuckled—“his notion of looking after us is to issue orders when it suits him, and warn us against breaking any of his silly superstitions. As if it would have been worse for Adela to marry Ardelve on Friday! If she had, she would be safe now.”

“If she had,” Hugo said gently, “Waldron would have taken her on Friday instead. That’s all.”

She sighed. “I suppose you are right. And, pray, sir, I know it was my fault. You need not say so again.”

“I won’t. I know how much you care about Lady Adela. And whatever else I may think about what happened, I know you meant it for the best.”

“Well, it did not turn out for the best,” she said. “But we
will
find her, and you will marry her. Then all will be well again.”

“Won’t you miss her when she marries?” he asked. “Even if she did not enjoy managing your father’s household, she must be the one who stands most in the place of a mother to you now. Perhaps she will not want to leave.”

“Oh, she wants to leave,” Sorcha said. “Father intends to marry again.”

“Aye, sure, Lady Clendenen. I forgot about her,” he said.

“She refuses to live in a household long managed by another female still living there. Nor does she wish to take our mother’s place. So he wants us to find husbands, and quickly. That is why Adela accepted Ardelve, but I do not mean to oblige him so easily. I want a man of sense, not one so puffed up in his own mind that he thinks God created Himself in
his
image rather than the other way round.”

She shot him an oblique look and saw him wince.

“I suppose I number amongst their ilk, do I not?” he said.

She grinned. “I’ll say this of you, sir. You are not stupid.”

“Nor am I fond of flippant females who delight in impertinent behavior,” he said mildly. “I tend to think of them as impudent skelpies.”

“You called me that before,” she said. “What’s a skelpie?”

“ ’Tis a lowland term for a naughty child who badly wants smacking,” he said. “Have you more criticism that you would like to offer me?”

“Not just now,” she said airily. “But I warrant I’ll think of more later.”

He smiled then, and she grinned back, deciding he was perhaps more likeable than she had thought. She would not tell him so, though. Since he was clearly unaccustomed to criticism, more could only benefit him.

They continued talking desultorily until they stopped to eat their midday meal. Sorcha had no idea where they were, and Rory confessed that he had no more idea than she did, so she applied to Sir Hugo.

“We’ve entered Glen Dochart,” he said. “We should make some miles beyond Lochearnhead by nightfall unless we encounter another thunderstorm.”

Clouds had gathered overhead, to be sure, but they seemed high and unthreatening. “What comes after Lochearnhead?” Sorcha asked.

“Strathyre Forest, a road through rolling green braes to Loch Lubnaig, the towns of Doune and Dunblane, then Stirling, Linlithgow, and Edinburgh,” he said.

“How long before we reach Edinburgh?” Sidony asked him.

“If we reach Loch Lubnaig tonight, we’ll make Stirling by midday tomorrow and mayhap Linlithgow by suppertime. Edinburgh lies fifteen miles beyond it.”

“Then we must press on,” Sorcha said. “They are but a day ahead now, and since they may not know we are so close, we should take advantage of that. The closer we can get to them before Edinburgh, the more likely we are to discover exactly where they go. All roads lead to Edinburgh, so clearly many roads must lead out of it. We would be foolish to risk losing them there.”

He did not comment. But he did order his men to
increase the pace until the time came to stop for their midday meal, so Sorcha assumed he agreed with her.