Amanda Scott (8 page)

Hugo stood staring into the distance at the weird volcanic mass the people of Eigg called the Sgurr. It was the most notable feature on the south half of Eigg.

Tall and narrow, not quite a column, and visible for miles, it provided a landmark for sailors and landsmen alike. He admired its strange beauty and could easily imagine ancient folk treating it with awed reverence. Staring at it was not helping him much at the moment, however.

He felt guilty, and the feeling was not a familiar one. Not that he never made mistakes, for he did. And when he did, Michael, Henry, or his own father would be quick to tell him so. But although it annoyed him to be called to account, his mistakes were rare, and he had long since come to realize that the men he respected most also
respected him. They merely did their duty when they pointed out his errors. And since he was not careless or incompetent and his errors were honest ones, he rarely had cause to feel guilty.

But he felt guilty now, and he didn’t like it. Nor did he like the fact that the lass had shown no respect for him, not one whit.

Damn her and all her relations!
He decided to damn Michael, too, while he was about it, for nudging his thoughts in this uncomfortable direction.

Knowing only too well what his cousin would say if he were foolish enough to repeat his curses aloud, he smiled at the image that leaped to his mind.

“Something about that pile of rock amuses you?”

Hugo started and turned, instantly on guard when he saw that Hector Reaganach was addressing him.

“Stand easy, lad; I won’t eat you,” Hector said. “I would know more about this business with Lady Adela.”

“Apparently, four men abducted her from her wedding, sir,” Hugo said, knowing that he had better tread lightly.

“Macleod tells me that his next-to-youngest daughter, Lady Sorcha—” Breaking off, he added with a wry smile, “You’ve met the lass, I hear.”

“I have,” Hugo said dryly.

Hector’s blue eyes twinkled. “You’ll be relieved to know that her handprint is no longer visible on your cheek.”

Hugo groaned. Doubtless, that handprint had been visible for at least an hour if not longer. He had thought the quickly hidden smiles he’d seen were merely hints of the amusement others had felt at seeing him smacked.

“I mean to improve my acquaintance with her at Lochbuie,” he said.

“Then I’m sorry to tell you she won’t be there,” Hector said. “Macleod ordered her home, and the lady Sidony insisted on going with her. But he tells me that like their sister Isobel, whom you know well, our Sorcha is a spirited lass with a mind of her own. She is also, he said, deeply concerned about Adela.”

“I did observe that,” Hugo said, surprisingly disappointed to learn that he would be unable to cross verbal swords with her again at Lochbuie.

Hector nodded. “Then you’ll understand Macleod’s concern that, left to her own whims, she might impulsively set out to find her sister.”

“Surely not!” For once in his life, Hugo was truly shocked.

Shaking his head at him, Hector said, “You have much to learn about women, lad. I’ve no doubt that Cristina and Isobel are even now urging Macleod to go in search of Adela, and that before any of us are much older they will be exerting themselves to send his grace’s entire armed force to find her. To be sure, if we knew who had taken her, or where they were headed, I’d have men after them now.”

“If only Macleod had set someone on their trail straightaway!”

“Aye, but recall that as he thought you were the abductor and she went willingly he had no good reason to follow. Moreover, he was furious with the pair of you for stirring scandal.”

“He did have cause,” Hugo admitted ruefully. “The lass was right to say I should have replied to her message.
At the time, I thought she had no business interfering in her sister’s affairs, let alone mine, and did not deserve a reply. I never expected anything to come of it other than Adela’s marrying Ardelve.”

“An outcome, apparently, that caused you no distress.”

In light of Hugo’s recent recognition of his own arrogance, Hector’s gentle tone did not deceive him. But he had no desire to share his new awareness with the older man, who would doubtless disapprove of it even more strongly than Hugo did himself. Neither, however, would he prevaricate with a man he greatly respected.

“What I thought at the time bears no repeating, sir,” he said, meeting Hector’s stern gaze and feeling guilt wash over him again. With a sigh, he added, “Meeting Lady Sorcha has had a salutary effect on me. I own, sir, I am not proud of my actions or their lack.”

“Good lad,” Hector said, clapping him hard on the back. “You must be sure to thank her for the lesson when next you meet.”

“I’d rather wring her neck,” Hugo said with feeling.

Hector laughed. “I’ve felt that inclination myself with more than one Macleod sister.”

“I’ll warrant you have,” Hugo said, aware that Hector was not only married to Cristina but had fostered Isobel. “So what is to be done now?”

“We’ll wait until we know more,” Hector said. “As doubtless you are aware, my brother, the admiral, is the best-informed man in the Highlands and Isles, thanks to his vast network of informants. He has made it known that he seeks information about this business, so we should have news in a day or two.”

“Can we do nothing straightaway?”

“As to that, Sorcha told Macleod she overheard Lady Gowrie of Glen Finnan mention well-equipped men riding through the clachan of Kinlocheil with a beautiful woman riding pillion. They apparently said they were riding to Edinburgh.”

“Macleod got no more details?”

“As you may suspect, he is angry with Sorcha, and with Adela, too. He told Sorcha he did not want to hear more about the matter. I’m guessing he feels a fool for allowing them to ride off with Adela. Any man would. Moreover, he wants to avoid scandal, since he means to take a new wife soon.”

“One, I surmise, who also dislikes scandal.”

“No one likes it,” Hector said. “But Gowrie and his lady had departed by the time Macleod shared that information with us, so if you are eager for action, you might seek her out to discover what more you can learn.”

“I’m told that news flies quickly hereabouts,” Hugo said. “Tracking a rumor to its source could eat up a great deal of time.”

“A good point,” Hector agreed. “I prefer to let Lachlan call the tune myself, because the more information one has the less likely one is to dash off in the wrong direction, and his men provide him a continuous flow of news from all over Scotland. Still, I understand your impatience, and if Lady Gowrie knows anything more, I warrant you’d get more information from her than even Lachlan’s minions could.”

“I’d certainly try, sir, but I must consult with Michael first, because my first duty is to him.”

“He is on the wharf,” Hector said. “I told him I’d find you, but as everyone is trying to leave at once, there can
be no hurry. If you want to stand here staring at that rock for another half hour, I am sure he will not mind.”

Hugo grinned. “If that is your belief, you don’t know him at all.”

They strode down to the harbor together, and as Hugo had expected, found Michael impatient to be off. Hugo soon cleared their way, and as their oarsmen rowed out of the harbor into the stiff wind, he looked northward, realizing that like themselves, Lady Sorcha was unlikely to reach her destination before nightfall, although Glenelg lay much closer than Lochbuie.

The pitching and rolling of Macleod’s longboats on the windblown waves had increased so much that when Sorcha threw up nearly all the bread and mutton Sidony had provided her over the polished oak decking of the lead boat, she could be nearly certain that no one had seen her stick a finger down her throat.

Sidony shouted for the helmsman to put in to shore quickly.

That worthy signaled to his counterpart on the second boat, and at speed, both longboats made for the North Morar coast of the mainland.

While some men moved to help the stricken Sorcha, and others to clean up the mess, Sidony said anxiously, “What are we to do? She is very sick!”

Una, quick upon her cue, said, “My mam and da live nearby in Glenancross. Mam will know what to do for her ladyship can we but get her to their croft.”

“Aye, sure, we must go there, Una,” Sidony said,
having learned her lines just as efficiently. To the helmsman, she said, “Bess and Ranulf MacIver will know what to do for her ladyship, but they cannot accommodate all your men.”

“But, my lady, your lord father did command that we take ye straight to Glenelg. He’ll be gey wroth that we’ve stopped at all.”

“Nay then, he won’t,” Sidony said. “You ken well that Bess took care of us before she married Ranulf MacIver. Afterward, too, till one of our horses crippled him and she brought him here where her family can help her look after him. My father would trust Bess to know what to do, and you can see for yourself how sick the lady Sorcha is. Do you think my father will be pleased if, by following his instructions and dragging her all the way back to Chalamine, you let her die?”

“Nay, m’lady, I never said that,” the helmsman said.

“Then what do you suggest?” Sidony asked.

“Please,” Sorcha said weakly, “do whatever you must, but do it with haste. I think I am going to be sick again.”

“Nay, then, you won’t, my lady,” Una said. “We’ll have you in a warm bed with Mam looking after you in no time. We will, aye?” She glared at the helmsman.

Defeated, he said, “I’ll ha’ me lads carry her ladyship to yon croft o’ the MacIvers then, but ye’ll ha’ to show ’em the way, Una MacIver.”

“I’m going with her,” Sidony said, her tone firmer than usual.

“Aye, m’lady, it wouldna be right for ye to travel alone wi’ us men. But what’ll I do about me lads? We didna plan to spend the night on the water, ye ken.”

Sorcha felt obliged to take a hand again, sure that
making two decisions in a row would confound her sister. “Go on to Glenelg, of course. You cannot expect the folk here to feed and house you, and you can be home in a few hours. I warrant I’ll be quite well again in a day or two. Then you must come back and collect us.”

“Aye, sure, we can do that,” he said. “But I’m thinking I’d best fetch ye tomorrow, since we’ll ha’ to take ye back to Glenelg afore we can collect the laird.”

“You must do as you think best,” Sorcha said, knowing if she insisted on two or three days to recover, he would suspect the worst, because she was never sick. “Do recall, though,” she added, “that he means to stay at Lochbuie until his grace departs for the court at Edinburgh. You’ll be left to kick your heels until then.”

“Aye, ’tis true,” he agreed. “But the laird will no be happy do we keep him waiting, and I’d as lief no ha’ to answer for a longer delay.”

“Indeed, m’lady,” Una said, “ye’ll surely be well again by morning.”

“ ’Tis right, she is,” the helmsman said. “I ha’ never known ye to be sick for more than a few hours. We’ll fetch ye in the morning then.”

Knowing better than to argue, Sorcha leaned heavily against Sidony and said she was feeling worse. She was sorry and a little amused moments later when she realized the man carrying her feared she might be sick all over him at any moment.

At the MacIver croft, Una took charge, finding her mother and quickly explaining that Lady Sorcha had fallen ill on her return journey from Eigg.

That spurred Bess MacIver to inform the boatmen sternly that they could take themselves off to Glenelg at
once and return for her ladyship when she was feeling better. If they chose to come back the following day, that was their business.

“But ye ken fine,” she added, “that I’ll no let her ladyship go anywhere till she be feeling gey hardy again.”

After that, the helmsmen seemed happy enough to depart, leaving Sorcha and Sidony to Bess MacIver’s capable ministrations.

“We’ve only the one bed, m’lady,” Bess said. “But we’ll ha’ ye in it in a trice, tucked up wi’ a hot brick to warm ye, for I warrant ye’re chilled through after being out on the water in this oorlich wind.”

Peeking through the tiny window in the main room of the croft to be sure the boatmen were gone, Sorcha said in her usual crisp way, “No one is going to take your bed, Bess. I am perfectly stout, I promise you.”

“Bless me, then, what is this?” Bess demanded, looking at all three young women in much the same way as she had when Sorcha and Sidony were children in mischief. “I’m thinking now that despite your ages, all three o’ ye want skelping, so ye’d best tell me what ye’re up to. And be gey quick about it, too.”