Amanda Scott (35 page)

“But I am curious, too,” Sorcha said. “Moreover, if I must outwit Waldron to rescue Adela, it would help to know exactly what he believes.”

“A very sound argument,” Isobel said, adding sweetly, “Try it on Hugo.”

Emitting a near growl of exasperation, Sorcha rolled her eyes.

“Or mayhap you should marry him,” Isobel suggested. “I warrant he may tell you then, if only in hopes of keeping you from flinging yourself into the suds again.”

“Marry him! Don’t be such a noddy. Not only must he marry Adela to restore her reputation, but he would not suit me at all as a husband. Indeed, Isobel, I am surprised you would suggest it. Did you not often say you would never marry, because
all
men are too quick to scold and command?”

“I was wrong,” Isobel said with a softer smile. “Michael is not like that.”

“Mercy, why ever not?”

“I think ’tis because Isabella is a countess in her own right,” Isobel said. “And if a lad does not see his father giving his mother orders at every turn, perhaps he grows up to be different from other men. Can you imagine any man commanding Isabella? Henry will inherit Strathearn and Caithness, but she rules both regions now.”

Sorcha frowned. “Hugo means to tell her she must not send for Waldron.”

“To come here? Sakes, why would she do that?”

“Because he has committed dreadful crimes, Isobel. It cannot be lawful to go about abducting young women.”

“I’m sure it is not, but since I’d thought him dead until I saw him with my own eyes, I did not consider any consequences he might face. I doubt he’ll come here simply because she summons him, though. In any event, Michael will be here tonight or early tomorrow morning. I warrant he will side with Hugo.”

“But if Countess Isabella always goes her own road…”

The baby began to cry, and Sidony said, “I think he’s hungry again, Isobel.”

“Then bring him to me, dearling, and I’ll tend him. Perhaps, then, you could send someone to fetch his nurse.”

“How often does he suckle?” Sorcha asked curiously.

“Every two hours,” Isobel replied with a laugh. “I warrant he is trying to see how quickly he can grow to be as big as his father.”

Watching her take the baby into her arms, Sorcha
found herself idly wondering what Hugo’s sons would be like.

Realizing with a jolt just where her thoughts had taken her, she told Sidony abruptly that they should leave mother and child to enjoy each other’s company and find someone to fetch the nurse.

Adela, having wakened to the same gray morning, had neither kirk nor child to occupy her time. She had much enjoyed her bath the previous night, however. Afterward, to her relief, his lordship had given her a thick wool robe and had taken her to a larger chamber than the gate-tower room. Nevertheless, when he left her, she heard a key turn in the lock again and knew she was as much his prisoner as ever, and more vulnerable than ever without her dress.

She had no needlework or other means of occupying herself, and for several hours after she awoke, she feared she would have nothing to eat. Bored, hungry, and inexplicably sleepy, considering that she had done nothing to weary herself, she lay down on the chamber’s narrow cot again and dozed.

When the key rattled in the lock again, she wakened, sat up, and swept hair out of her eyes, expecting to see Waldron. But the door opened to reveal two strange men, one with a wooden tray, the other clearly having unlocked the door for him. The man with the tray entered silently and set it on a stool near the bed. Then the two left and locked her in again.

The tray contained an apple, a mug of ale, and some bread. She picked up the apple and ate it slowly. Fearing
they might bring her nothing else, she saved the bread and lay down again, falling quickly asleep.

When she awoke again to the sound of the key, she assumed the same two had returned, and did not sit up. But although there were two, the one who entered with the tray was Waldron. He shut the door and set the tray on the stool.

“What hour is it?” she asked sleepily as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and pulling the robe closer around her.

He shrugged. “Nearly Vespers, I expect. I brought your dress and some good sliced beef,” he added brusquely.

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Well, you should be, so eat something. I want to talk to you.”

A shiver of fear darted through her until she recalled that he had said he needed her to do something for him.

Relaxing slightly, she broke off a small piece of bread and nibbled it.

“I’ve received a summons from Isabella of Strathearn,” he said.

“She is my sister Isobel’s mother by marriage,” she said, trying to decide if she ought to eat some beef.

“She has demanded my presence at Roslin,” he said. “Are you sick?”

“Nay, just tired,” she said. “I cannot think why I should be. I’ve scarcely stirred a step today.”

A look flitted across his face that in any other man she might have mistaken for concern, but he said only, “Well, pay attention. I’m no dog to run to Isabella’s whistling, or any woman’s, come to that.”

“Do you want to make her angry?”

“I don’t care if I do. Everyone at Roslin did mean to
attend the King’s court in Edinburgh on Tuesday, but if I know Isabella, she may come here to confront me instead if I ignore her summons. If she does, I’ll have another hostage, but in case she doesn’t, I want you to send a message to Roslin.”

“Me? What could I have to say to Countess Isabella or she to me?”

“Don’t be foolish. Your message is for your sister Sorcha, of course, but I want no one else to know what you say. I’m told all the Macleod sisters can read and write.”

“Aye, sir. My aunt Euphemia taught us until she moved to Lochbuie. Then, I taught my younger sisters. Father gives me calves’ vellum to record recipes for things he likes to eat, and for ointments, scents, and such that we make at Chalamine. That way, we do not have to remember them all.”

“You won’t have to write on vellum,” he said. “I have something smoother.”

“But what am I to say?”

“I’m going to send you to Roslin,” he said casually. “I want you to bid Lady Sorcha to come and fetch you.”

Stunned, Adela stared at him. She did not believe for a moment that he meant to release her, let alone allow her to go to Roslin. He just wanted to use her to bait another of his traps. But if she refused to do as he bade her, he would kill her.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll tell you exactly what to say. I could even write it for you if you like.”

“I must write it,” Adela said, collecting her wits with effort. “Sorcha knows my hand. But you may have to tell me how to spell some of the words.”

He nodded, his satisfaction a relief to see.

It occurred to her after he had gone, as she was changing back into her somewhat cleaner blue dress, that he might simply intend to kill her later and replace her with Sorcha. But she pushed that unbearable notion right out of her head.

S
ir Michael Sinclair arrived at Roslin an hour after darkness, while everyone still lingered at the supper table. At Hugo’s suggestion, they had not set up the privacy screens, so they were able to see Michael as he strode into the hall and thrust whip, gloves, and cloak at a gillie who hurried to assist him.

“Where is she?” Michael demanded as soon as he saw Hugo.

It was Isabella, however, who said, “Where else should she be but in her bedchamber with my new grandson, Michael? Have you forgotten your courtesy in your great rush?”

He smiled, made a perfunctory bow, kissed her, and greeted Sir Edward. Nodding to Sorcha and Sidony, he added, “Good evening to you, too, but I hope you will all forgive me if I do not linger. I want to see Isobel and our wee son.”

“Shall I order a tray for you there, or will you join us after you have admired him and tucked up your lady for the night?” Isabella asked.

“I suppose I ought to come down,” he said with reluctance, looking at Hugo. “I warrant we have much to discuss.”

“Aye,” Hugo agreed.

“Then order more food,” Michael said, casting an eye over the table, which by then was nearly empty of platters and bowls. “And fetch out the best claret, too.”

Grinning, Hugo sent a gillie to the kitchen and another to fetch the wine.

As Michael strode to the stairway corridor, Sorcha said casually to Hugo, “I’d like more of the wine in that jug by your elbow, sir, if any remains.”

Since he had sent the gillies away, he rose to pour it for her himself, catching her eye as he did. “Don’t expect to gain much by lingering, Skelpie,” he said with a teasing smile. “We’ll not invite you to take part in our conversation.”

“I did not expect that, sir,” she said with airy dignity. “That my safety and Sidony’s may be at risk because we do not know what is going on or what your cousin can hope to accomplish is of no account to me whatsoever.”

She saw him hesitate and knew a brief hope that he would see the danger to her and to Sidony as sufficient reason to explain everything, just as Michael had done for Isobel.

But Hugo only gave a slight shake of his head as if to clear it before he said, “You will be at no risk, lass, if you stay inside the castle walls as I bade you. Do you mean to join us for our talk, sir?” he asked Sir Edward.

“I doubt you need me,” Sir Edward said. “Moreover, I have promised to give the countess a game of chess. Shall we adjourn to your solar, madam, or play here?”

Resisting a strong temptation to get up and pour her wine over Hugo’s head, Sorcha followed Sir Edward’s gaze to Isabella and met a shrewd look from the countess. Feeling heat in her cheeks, she raised her chin and told herself not to be a noddy, that most likely the countess knew no more than she did about any of it.

Isabella shifted her attention to Sir Edward again, saying with a slight smile, “I am thinking Michael and Hugo should talk in the solar, whilst you and I stay here, sir. They will not want to talk out here, but they may want to confer with you. If so, it will prove more convenient for all of us if they need only step out here rather than return here from Hugo’s chamber or some other. Moreover, when Michael returns, if they serve him in the solar, he and Hugo can begin their talk straightaway, thereby allowing him to return to his wife and child the sooner.”

Hugo nodded. “As always, madam, your suggestion is an excellent one.”

Thus, when Michael returned, his supper awaited him in the solar, and he and Hugo adjourned there. As they left the dais, Sir Edward asked Isabella with a laugh if the chessboard and pieces were not stored in the solar, and when she agreed that they were, he followed the other two inside.

He returned moments later with the board and a wooden box. Removing the pieces from it, he began arranging them on the board’s inlaid-leather squares.

Sidony cast a pleading look at Sorcha, who said at
once, “Pray, excuse us, madam. We’ll leave you to your game, and visit Isobel and our nephew now.”

“Don’t stay long,” Isabella said, her attention already on the board. “New mothers and their bairns need their sleep.”

Hurrying up the stairway, Sorcha stopped at the half-landing and told Sidony to go ahead without her. “I’ll join you in a few moments, but I’ve just thought of something I want to do first.”

Sidony nodded and, as usual, displayed no curiosity. As soon as she had disappeared around the next curve, Sorcha peered down the stairway to be sure she was alone, then turned to the door in its tiny recess. Half expecting to find it locked, she was delighted when the latch lifted easily and silently. The door swung inward.

When she shut the door, the tiny chamber was dark inside except for a dim, rectangular glow revealing the laird’s peek. It was about six inches wide, perhaps two in height, and a good inch or more above her head when she stood on tiptoe.

Cursing herself for not finding time before to examine it, especially since she could hear only the murmur of their voices and not make out one word they said, she groped for one wall of the chamber and bent to feel about on the floor. When her hands met rough-covered padding, then the wooden frame and legs of a footstool or prayer stool, she gave mental thanks to Isobel, certain her older sister’s insatiable curiosity was responsible for the stool’s presence.