Amanda Scott (59 page)

When he sat down on the window bench and pulled off his wet stocking, she took courage in hand and said, “Please, my lord, I didna mean tae offend ye. I ha’ been affrighted the whole day long, since they learned of that rebel’s escape. I ha’ been here less than a sennight, ye see. I feared they would think I had helped him.”

“As I thought,” he said, watching her. “But you say you did not.”

Though he spoke the words evenly, his tone did not fool her. With a deep sigh, she looked at her feet and said sadly, “Och then, ye dinna believe me. ’Tis but a matter of time now before Patrick Campbell sends for me, and I warrant he’ll no believe me neither. These Campbells, they do be a fierce lot, ye ken.”

“I do. I am a Campbell myself.”

The admission shook her, though she ought to have known, she told herself, keeping her countenance with difficulty. The authority he displayed in Edinburgh ought to have told her. He was clearly a Scot, not an Englishman, and nowadays in Scotland, the only men with his air of distinction and authority were Campbells or their ilk. And here she was, pretending to be one of them. No wonder he had asked about her father. She nibbled her lower lip, trying to think how best to respond.

He said gently, “I thought you said you were a Campbell yourself.”

“Aye, sure,” she said, “but not from the same branch as Patrick. And not all Campbells be as fierce as these,” she added, glancing at him from under her lashes.

“What do you want, Mab MacKissock?”

Hesitantly, as though she feared to anger him—which, in fact, she did—she said, “I didna ken what manner of household this were when I came. I hoped tae get work, but I did think Patrick Campbell’s wife were a-living here with him, and would look out for the maids. Being amongst all these men frightens me, my lord. I doubt any lass could keep her innocence if she remained long beneath this roof.”

“I repeat then, what do you want?”

“Do ye mean tae stay long at the castle, my lord?”

“I leave at dawn,” he said, “for Balcardane.”

“Balcardane?”

“Aye, my uncle is the Earl of Balcardane. Do you know his estate?”

She did, but she said thoughtfully, “’Tis a castle on Loch Leven, is it not? I ha’ family hereabouts, too, ye see. If I could but travel wi’ ye as far as”—she thought swiftly—“as far as Glencoe … mayhap ye could explain tae Patrick Campbell that I be afeared tae tell him I want tae go. I ken weel that if I just up and leave before my half day, he will think ’tis because of that rebel escaping. And just the thought o’ them asking me questions …” She looked into his eyes, widening hers as innocently as she could. “I’d be ever sae grateful if ye could, sir.”

He stood up again, and suddenly she felt smaller and not nearly so confident. Her throat tightened, and she had all she could do to maintain eye contact with him. Then it occurred to her that she would be wiser not to maintain eye contact. No maidservant in her right mind would do so. With relief she looked down, forcing herself to breathe evenly, waiting to hear what he would say.

It surprised her to hear amusement in his voice when he said, “If we burn the place down, Patrick’s not likely to listen to either of us.”

Her gaze flew to him again, and she saw that he was looking at the floor behind her. Glancing back, she saw the scattered coals. Only one still glowed, and she stepped hastily upon it, saying, “I’ll fetch the hearth broom.”

He said nothing while she swept the coals into the fire.

When she straightened, he said, “I’ll take you to Glencoe on one condition.”

“Condition?” A tingling sensation shot up her spine.

“Aye, that you stay here with me tonight.”

“But—” The tingling increased.

“No buts.” With a crooked smile, he said, “I’ll do your bidding but only if I can do it without having to answer to Patrick’s mockery. He will never let me hear the end of it if you leave now, because he will know that you refused me and that I allowed it. He will wonder why I did, and indeed, I wonder at that myself.”

“Ye said ye wouldna take me against my will,” she reminded him.

“I meant it, but that does not mean I will enjoy hearing Patrick fling my generosity in my teeth. He will call it a want of resolution.”

“He would dare?”

“He would. We went to school together. He lacks all proper respect.”

He held her gaze, and as if he had said the words aloud, she knew he was thinking that she also lacked proper respect. To keep him from dwelling on the thought, she said, “I can sleep by the hearth, sir, if ye wish.”

“I don’t wish that at all.” He hesitated, but glancing at the narrow bed, he frowned. “A pox on Patrick for not providing a larger bed for this chamber.”

“I dinna care,” she said. “It is no the first time I ha’ slept on the floor.”

“Where do you usually sleep?”

“On a pallet by the kitchen fire.”

He frowned for a moment, then pulled the top quilt off the bed. “This will make an excellent pallet.”

“I couldna!”

“Oh, yes, you can, and don’t be thinking I shall freeze, for I won’t, even if we leave that shutter open. There are two more coverlets on the bed, and I sleep warm.” He began to unbutton his waistcoat, and when it occurred to her that he likely slept naked as well, she turned hastily away.

“I must fetch summat tae scrub that brandy from the floor,” she said.

“Use the towel on the washstand,” he said.

“I will not. ’Tis a perfectly good one, and scrubbing the floor will ruin it.”

“Damn it, wench, stop arguing with everything I say, and do as I bid you!”

Without another word, she fetched the towel and ewer from the washstand, poured water onto the brandy, and wiped the floor. Sighing for the ruined towel but contenting herself with the thought that she would be beyond Patrick’s reach before he discovered the infamy, she wrapped herself in the quilt and curled up on the hard floor, facing the fire. Watching the flames dance, she tried without success to keep images of the man behind her—doubtless naked now—from stealing into her mind.

Rory watched her. Clearly, she was no laundress or serving maid, despite what he had believed, for she had slipped more than once from rough dialect into more genteel tones. Perhaps she had served as a lady’s maid to Lady Maclean. That would explain her willingness to risk her life for the Jacobite widow.

He wanted to confront her, even to shake the truth out of her, but since she was to leave Stalker with him, he could afford to be patient. Moreover, if he forced her to speak now, only to learn that she had served more than the token role he suspected in Allan Breck’s escape, he would have to turn her over to Patrick for punishment. And Patrick, knowing he already had Argyll’s wrath to face, would not be lenient. Rory doubted that Patrick would hang the wench, but he could not be certain, and even the small chance that he might was too great to risk.

To his surprise, he fell asleep at once, and to his consternation, he did not waken until Thomas shook him before dawn the next morning. Since Rory did not instantly recall the events of the night before, Thomas’s grin caught him unaware.

“What’s so funny, damn you?”

The wiry little man grinned wider. “I never knew a lassie tae choose a hearthstone over your bed afore. Ye mun be losing your touch.”

“A blot on thy ’scutcheon to all futurity, Thomas. Fetch my boots.” He picked up the linen shirt he had cast aside the night before and drew it on.

Thomas said, “Shall I wake her first, and send her about her business?”

Rory did not look at him. “She goes with us.”

“Does she now?”

Looking at him then, Rory saw that one of his eyebrows had arched upward comically. “Hush your gob, Thomas,” he said sternly. “I’ll have no disrespect today. Exert yourself instead to remember my position and the deference due to it.”

“Aye, sure, master.” But Thomas was still looking at the girl, who lay curled up like a kitten on the hearth, her dark curls tumbling over her face, one hand fisted beneath her softly rounded chin, and his response was almost offhand.

Sighing, Rory said, “I hope you’ve broken your fast, and that you’ve brought us something to eat. I want to leave within the hour.”

“Aye, there’s bread on the tray there, and ale in the flagon. And I brought fresh ruffles for your shirt.”

“I don’t want them.”

“Ye’ll no be going tae Balcardane without them,” Thomas said indignantly. “Tae be puffing your consequence one minute and dressing like a commoner the next. I ask ye, what of the respect due tae me? Ye’ll wear a proper wig and all, too.”

“I will wear my tie-wig, plain ruffles, and no powder, Thomas, so there’s an end to it.” Realizing that the girl had wakened, he added, “Good morning. Forgive us for waking you, but I want to be away before sun-up.”

She sat up. “I am usually up long before now.” Then, casting a wary look at Thomas, she added, “When must you be at Balcardane?”

“I wondered that m’self,” Thomas muttered.

Rory shot him a warning look, but his henchman had already turned to take a pair of cambric ruffles from the box where he kept them. Looking at Diana, Rory said, “It won’t take much above two hours to reach Balcardane, but Patrick is busy, and once I’ve made up my mind to leave a place, I’d as lief do so at once. Moreover, I’ve learned never to depend upon Highland weather, particularly at this time of year, and at the moment, it is neither raining nor snowing.”

She nodded, getting up and shaking out the quilt. Ashes stirred on the hearth as she did, and she glanced at the remains of the previous night’s fire. Thomas had not replenished it, knowing his master would want to depart at once.

“Have you things to collect?” Rory asked her.

She nodded. “One or two.”

He knew she would want to attend to personal needs, too, as did he. “Run away and fetch what you need,” he said, “and tell anyone who tries to stop you that you are following my orders. I will speak to Patrick when I have dressed.”

She nibbled her lower lip, and he thought how kissable her lips were. Giving himself a mental shake, he added harshly, “Don’t be long. We’ll not wait for you.”

When she had gone, he used the chamber pot, finished dressing, and wolfed a large chunk of bread from the loaf Thomas had brought. Then, downing a mug of ale, he said, “Have you ordered our horses?”

“Aye,” Thomas said. “The lad went across an hour ago.” Stalker’s stables were on the mainland, the islet being too small to contain more than the tall towered castle. Few of the men possessed horses of their own, in any case, so the stables ashore were generally for the use of the captain, his family, and his guests.

Leaving Thomas to finish his chores, Rory sought out Patrick, finding him in the hall. His men, too, were up, and many had already gone to renew the search.

“You’re off then,” Patrick said, smiling at him.

“I am, and I’m taking the lass with me.”

“You must have been more successful with her than I expected.”

“She claims to have kin near Glencoe.”

“I did not think she would stay. She’s not like the other wenches.”

“No.”

Patrick fell silent, and Rory waited, knowing what was coming. Patrick was no fool. “You know,” he said, “she has been here just a short while.”

“Less than a sennight, she said.”

Patrick nodded, holding Rory’s gaze. “Someone helped Breck,” he said.

“Aye, but you know well that his help came from outside,” Rory said. “He did not push those bars out unaided, even if the stonework is soft.”

“Someone had to tell them where to find him.”

“Has she left the island since she arrived?”

“No, and that is the only reason I haven’t interrogated her yet. No stranger has set foot inside these walls, what’s more.”

“Then I suggest you let me take her to Glencoe. I can keep an eye on her, learn where she goes and whom she meets, and then I can set someone to watch her afterward. If she knows aught of rebels, we’ll soon discover it.”

Patrick smiled wryly. “I should have known you were ahead of me.” He held out his hand. “I’ll see you again before you leave Appin, I trust.”

“You will. I’ll ask Balcardane to invite you to spend a night or two with us.”

“I’d enjoy that. I visit Fort William from time to time, so perhaps I can stop at Balcardane on the way. As to your journey, my men have searched from here to Kentallen along the Loch Linnhe shore road, and east to Glen Creran. They will work their way south today, so you should encounter no rebels.”

Rory smiled. “Do you think they would molest us if we did?”

“Most likely not,” Patrick said. “We keep hearing rumors of trouble ahead, but things have been peaceful enough. Still, as the weather improves, who can say what will happen? We don’t know precisely why Allan Breck has come, after all.”

“His usual reason, I’m told, is to drum up more malcontents for the French.”

“Aye, and to collect the so-called rents for Ardsheal and the other lairds in exile,” Patrick said bitterly. “That alone might put a spark to the tinder if rebellion is in the wind. It’s no wonder the folk hereabouts protest when they have to pay two landlords, their own and the government. They won’t welcome you, Rory.”

“I aim to keep my head low,” Rory said. “I don’t generally go about reciting my titles to folks, in any case. If you’d like to help, just mention now and again that I’ve come to visit Balcardane and renew my childhood acquaintance with the area.”

Patrick nodded, and the two made their farewells. Soon afterward, as the ferryman took Rory, Thomas, and the girl across to the mainland, the sun splashed its first golden rays of the day across the deep-blue waters of the loch.

The girl protested briefly when Rory told her to ride pillion behind Thomas.

“I can quite easily walk behind you,” she said. “You won’t go too fast.”

“Would you rather ride with me?”

Without another word, she allowed Thomas to pull her up behind him, and they rode in silence along the well-traveled but presently deserted dirt road that followed the shore of the loch. A steep, thickly wooded hillside, carpeted with lush green bracken, sloped up away from them. Stout oak and beech trees, beginning to show new spring leaves, mixed with thick evergreens overhanging the road. The woods were silent, as if the inhabitants had not yet wakened. But as that thought crossed Rory’s mind, a squirrel chattered angrily, and another answered it. Their angry debate made him smile.