Amanda Scott (24 page)

Shoving back the blanket, he stood up, and although he kept his distance from her, he said more sternly, “Are you sure you do not know where she is?”

“I swear it, sir. The cold woke me, and I saw at once that she was gone.”

“Mayhap she merely sought to—”

“No, sir. I waited long enough to be sure of that before I came to find you.”

“Did you ask the men if anyone had seen her?”

She shook her head, looking horrified at the thought.

“By heaven,” he said, “if she has—”

“Oh, please, Sir Hugo, I’m so afraid that she went to find Adela just as Rory tried to do. I know she was unhappy with your decision to send us to Roslin instead of
taking us with you. But if they have caught her, as they caught Rory, they may do something horrible to her. Can we not go at once and find her?”

“Lady Sidony, your sister deserves whatever they do to her,” Hugo said wrathfully. “And whatever they may have done by the time I find her, I promise you, I’ll do more. But you are not going with me. I’m sending you to Roslin, where you will be safe. Then I’ll collect your sisters, both of them. You have my word.”

His promises did not seem to have relieved her mind. She readily expressed confidence that he would find them, however, so he knew she was only worried about what he would do to Sorcha.

And, indeed, he muttered to himself, she had every reason to be worried about that.

H
ugo wasted no time. Shouting to waken his men, he ordered a party out to search the nearby woods while others prepared for a hasty departure. A member of the search party returned minutes later with Sorcha’s bodice and shift.

“That is what she was sleeping in!” Sidony exclaimed. “You don’t think they can have stripped—”

“What I think is that she put on the clothing she was wearing when I found you,” he interjected harshly. “If you look, I’ll wager you’ll find it’s missing.”

She ran to the tent as men were about to dismantle it, plunged inside, and emerged again with a bundle that proved to be her male clothing and Sorcha’s russet skirt and jerkin. Sorcha’s shirt, leggings, and cloak were all missing.

Hugo lingered only long enough after that for his men to finish their search and find evidence of standing
horses, boot prints, and some sort of a struggle near a track leading toward a glacial ridge to the south. Aware that the village of Ratho lay beyond that ridge, he gathered his men and gave them their orders as they hastily wolfed cold food to sustain them through the next few hours.

Selecting the best warriors to go with him, he sent two men back toward Linlithgow to guide Hector’s men to Ratho if they met them, then sent a third with Rory to escort Sidony. “Take the extra horses with you and follow the road to Torfinn’s Crossing,” he said. “Turn south there toward Roslin, and when you meet our reinforcements from the castle, speed them on their way to Ratho.”

They agreed, and watching them go, he realized that he had only thirteen men left to him and wondered what Macleod would say to the number. He also wondered how many men Waldron had amassed.

Nearly an hour had passed since Sidony had wakened him.

He spent the twenty-minute ride up the ridge pondering what strategy would serve him best. His men, though few, were highly trained, seasoned warriors. Most had learned as he had to fight in the open if possible but to employ skillful stealth if openness would not serve. A frontal attack would be out of the question. Not only did Waldron very likely now hold two defenseless women as hostages, but he doubtless also knew how many men Hugo had, and expected him to ride straight into his trap.

It occurred to Hugo then that if his cousin had set up an ambush, he might have moved the women out of harm’s way. Waldron would not hesitate to threaten them or even to hurt them if he thought doing either would
force Hugo to lead him to the treasure, but Hugo doubted that he would harm either woman unless he believed such action would serve his primary purpose.

He tried to imagine a way that he and his men might skirt Waldron’s camp and come on it from behind but realized such a tactic would prove futile. His cousin would not be waiting for him anyplace where they could so easily surprise him.

It had grown light enough by then to reveal that the glacial ridge was mostly granite with scattered, windblown shrubs and scrawny trees, which Hugo knew would provide scant cover as they rode up the slope, or when they reached the top. By the same token, there was scant cover for watchers above. That they had seen none seemed to indicate that Waldron was confident enough of their coming that he felt no need to set a watch at any distance from his trap.

When they neared the crest, Hugo signaled a halt and dismounted. Leaving his men, he strode ahead to the crest on foot. Once there, despite the still-shadowy twilight, he kept low and took advantage of any black shadow he found. Scanning the area below, he tried to think as Waldron would.

He saw no sign of anyone moving down the southern slope, but below and to his right lay patches of woodland and the village of Ratho, consisting of a steepled stone kirk, a dozen or so thatched cottages, a few shops, and a smithy, all arranged around a small market square.

To the east, a thick stretch of woodland gave way to a long oval clearing, then more woodland extending into low hills. Beyond those hills lay Roslin and Edgelaw. He could discern the track Waldron’s men had followed from
the ridge to the woods. He also saw a small tent centered near the south edge of the clearing.

Slipping back down the north slope to his waiting men, he said crisply, “Einar Logan, Tam Swanson, and Wat MacComas, you’ll stay with me. Fergus Mann, you take the others and ride into the village, where you’ll ask if anyone has seen riders or women, and anything else it may occur to you to ask.”

Fergus Mann, whose thick torso belied the fact that he was one of Hugo’s finest swordsmen, raised an eyebrow and said, “Ye’re no coming with us, sir?”

“You are going to provide a diversion,” Hugo said. “The village lies a half mile to the west of us. A half mile east of us lies a clearing with a single small tent in it. If you see any activity there as you descend from the crest, ignore it and continue toward the village. If, as I anticipate, his watchers decide I have split my forces even more than I have, they’ll believe I’m with you and will be too far away to see otherwise. My intent is to divert their attention, perhaps delay things a little, and hope reinforcements arrive. So let it be known in the village that you’ll ride to the clearing from there, so that anyone coming from the north to help can find us.”

Fergus said lightly, “And what will ye be doing, sir, if a man may ask?”

Hugo grinned. “We four will be afoot, scrambling downhill into the stretch of woods on this side of the clearing. We’ll try not to draw attention, but it is quickly growing light and that slope has no more cover than this one does. Still, if they are watching you, we can hope they’ll not see us. I’ll wager that if we can slip into those woods and make it around to the south side, we can
handle any trouble we meet there and might manage to even things up a bit for our side.”

“How long d’ye need?” Fergus asked.

“As long as you can manage,” Hugo said. “When you leave the village, ride slowly and take care to search any woodland you pass through on your way to the clearing, but keep your eyes open for trouble.”

“Aye, we’ll do that, right enough.”

“I’ll wager that at some point, an incident will occur to direct your attention wherever Waldron wants it directed,” Hugo added. “When that happens, use your own judgment.”

“I warrant ye mean that if Waldron captures Wat, Einar, Tam, and yerself, and looks about to hang ye all, ye’d like us to interfere,” Fergus said, shooting a grin at Einar.

Einar just shook his head, but Hugo said, “Aye, Fergus, that’s it exactly.”

He and the three men he had chosen to stay with him tethered their horses and hurried eastward, keeping out of sight near the top of the ridge until the others had made their way halfway down the south slope. Then, putting distance between themselves to be less noticeable from below, they made their way swiftly but cautiously down the slope toward the long patch of woods.

Minutes later, Hugo saw movement in the clearing. A man stepped out of the woods on the south edge of the clearing, walked to the tent, and ducked his head inside. Then he straightened, pulling two figures from the tent. One wore skirts, the other a man’s shirt and leggings, and Hugo’s heart clenched at the sight of the latter. Although her hair looked pale and colorless in the lingering twilight, it was unmistakably Sorcha. Then the other one
turned, and he saw clearly that it was a woman big with child. The shock of recognizing Isobel shook him to his core.

Hastily signaling to Wat MacComas, some yards to his right, Hugo met him behind a clump of shrubbery. “Do you see them?” he asked.

“Aye, sir, a man, a lad, and a woman.”

“I cannot say for sure that the man is Waldron, but the other two are the lady Sorcha and Sir Michael’s lady.”

“Lady Isobel?” Wat looked again, but the women had disappeared.

“Aye,” Hugo said. “They are the bait to draw us in. He showed them so we would see them, but the lads will ride on to the village as I bade them. Still, Lady Isobel’s presence alters things. I want you to go back to the horses, Wat, and wait for our reinforcements. Warn any that come that Lady Isobel is one of his hostages. We must take the greatest care to see that neither she nor the babe suffers any hurt.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll go straightaway.”

Hugo stayed where he was until Wat had got well away, then made his way quickly down to the wood.

Sorcha was furious. “The nerve of that horrid man,” she muttered angrily.

“Hush, dearling,” Isobel said. “He will hear you.”

“I don’t care if he does,” Sorcha declared. “Did you hear him? He has archers in the woods, he said, with their arrows aimed right at this tent! They will let fly, he says, if we make any attempt to leave it.”

“I heard him,” Isobel said, gently rubbing her belly.

“Did the baby move?”

“I think he wants out,” she said. “I just hope he can be patient until we are all safe again.” She paused, then added, “They won’t shoot us, you know.”

“Not until Hugo comes, or Michael,” Sorcha said sourly.

“Not then, either,” Isobel said confidently.

“Then we should just leave.”

“Nay, he’d put us back and tie us as he tied me before. He’ll want us at hand so he can threaten us, to force them to tell him all he wants to know.”

“Do you know what that is?”

“I know what he wants,” Isobel admitted. “I don’t know where it is.”

“What is it?”

“What did Hugo tell you?”

“Just that Waldron thinks the Sinclairs have something belonging to the Roman Kirk.” She paused, hoping Isobel would tell her more. When she did not, Sorcha said with a sigh, “He said he cannot tell me what it is because he has sworn an oath not to. But you cannot have sworn any such oath, so tell me what you know.”

“I promised, too, Sorcha. I must not.”

Fairly groaning with frustration, Sorcha said, “Men play the game of life with stupid rules, and you are doing the same thing. Here we are, our lives at risk because of such a game, and you will not tell me even the little you know.”

“Would you, if you had sworn not to talk about something important?”

“Aye, sure… nay, perhaps not,” Sorcha said, realizing that if she had made such a promise to Hugo, or to
Michael or Hector Reaganach, she would feel obliged to keep her word. With another sigh, she said, “No, I wouldn’t in such a case, but this is different, because we are sisters. You should know you can trust me.”

“I do know that. I can even trust you not to press me further now that I have explained why I cannot speak.”

Recognizing defeat, for the moment, Sorcha gave up.