Amanda Scott (14 page)

“Well, ye said Claud falls in lust at the twitch o’ a skirt,” Fergus said defensively. “That be just what Eustace ha’ done.”

“Ye’d best think again,” Maggie advised him. “Claud does fall in lust more than be good for him, but he’d no trouble a lass
who didna want him, and sithee, Eustace ha’ been hot for Mistress Fiona for more than a year now.”

“Aye, but Eustace flirts wi’ anyone in a skirt, and I wager he’d take any willing lass tae his bed,” Fergus said. “So I still
think he would be the most likely one for Jonah Bonewits tae meld wi’ your Claud. ‘Twould be gey smarter than putting him
wi’ someone who’d seem suddenly different tae everyone.”

“Ye’ve a point there,” she said. “Still, it willna do tae leap tae conclusions wi’out more proof, so we’ll continue tae keep
our eyes skinned, me lad.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s Eustace, and I mean tae watch him,” Fergus said.

“Ye do that,” Maggie said kindly, ushering him out.

She returned thoughtfully to the fire, which had died down a little, and flicked a finger to refresh it.

“That lad’s not even warm, Mag.”

Whirling so quickly she felt dizzy, she found Jonah behind her, leaning at his ease against nothing in particular, arms folded
across his chest, his eyes twinkling mischievously. She had not been aware of his presence before he spoke, which meant that
Fergus’s suggestion had distracted her more than she had realized.

“What d’ye want now?” she demanded, exerting effort to conceal her surprise.

“Why, I just wanted to hear what the lad had to say,” he said innocently.

“Ye’re tae leave him be, Jonah,” she said. “He told me what ye said ye’d do an he vexed ye again. Ye’re tae leave his head
where it belongs.”

Jonah shrugged. “Ye should ha’ thought more on this matter, Mag.”

She looked him in the eye but said nothing.

“Apparently there be one detail ye’ve forgotten,” he said.

When he did not continue, she knew he was baiting her, but curiosity defeated her determination to remain silent. “What?”
she demanded.

He rolled his eyes, and their depths changed to myriad, multicolored rings that resembled spinning archery butts.

Holding her tongue firmly behind her teeth, she waited, because just as he had known she could not resist asking, she knew
that he was dying to tell her.

Softly, he said, “What’ll ye do if ye do find him?”

“I’ll bring him home, o’ course.”

“How?”

She hesitated. He had warned her that his plan contained traps, but she had concentrated on finding Claud, and now that she
was certain of his approximate location, she knew it could be only a matter of time before she determined which mortal contained
his entity. Then she would …

Her imagination lurched. If she knew how Jonah had created his so-called meld, she could undo it easily, but she had no idea
what he had done.

“Ye see, lass. Like I said, ye should ha’ thought more.”

“What ye ha’ done, I can undo,” she said confidently.

“Aye, perhaps, but it willna be so easy as that.”

Something in his tone warned her that he intended his words to have more than their usual meaning.

Frowning, she said, “Ye’ve done summat awful then. What is it?”

“I doubt it will trouble ye, Mag, as brilliant o’ mind as ye be, but ye’ll want to get it right the first time. Ye see, I’ve
put a wee spell on him to make the game more interesting.”

“What sort of a spell?” she asked, his confident air unsettling her at last.

“Why, ’tis the merest thing, lass. To free Claud, ye must kill the mortal I melded him to.”

This was it, then, the moment toward which he had so deviously drawn her. If she killed a mortal, any mortal, she would sacrifice
much more than her place in the High Circle. She would sacrifice, for all time, her membership in the Secret Clan, and that,
in turn, would expose her to be swept up by the Evil Host.

Members of the much-dreaded Host were spirits of mortals and others who had died sinfully. They flew about in great clouds
like starlings, sweeping up folks who had betrayed their own or broken the laws of the Clan. The Host forced those poor souls
to fly with them to atone for their sins, and since only the Host could decide how much time was required to satisfy their
requirements, that effectively meant forever. Maggie knew of no one who had won free of their control.

“What if someone else kills the mortal or the mortal dies a natural death?”

“Then Claud will die, too, I’m afraid. There’s a wee bit more,” he added.

She glowered, pressing her lips tightly together.

“If ye kill the wrong mortal, ye’ll still free the lad from his bond, but since his freedom will come at such cost, both o’
ye will ha’ to fly wi’ the Host.”

Maggie winced. Claud’s greatest dread had always been that the Evil Host would take him. Jonah knew that as well as she did.
What a dilemma he had set her!

But when she opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of him, he vanished in a whirl of multicolored sparks.

As Anne walked back to her bedchamber, she wondered just what Eustace had intended to do in Fiona’s room. Nothing she could
imagine made her think anything but the worst of him. He was truly a despicable man.

However, within moments, her thoughts had returned to the intriguing Sir Christopher. Even as she decided that she must forget
how intriguing he was and do all she could to end his horrid uncle’s hopes of marrying Fiona, the memory of Sir Christopher’s
parting words to her in the yard struck hard.

No man would lie about having been condemned to a prison ship for life, so what had he done to deserve such a fate, she wondered,
and had he escaped or been somehow set free? And what was she thinking, to want him to marry Fiona?

Even as these thoughts passed through her mind, however, she rejected them. Although she had barely met him, had barely been
able to make out his features in the dim light of the courtyard, and knew little more of him than what he had told her, she
had liked his infectious chuckle and his warm, deeply vibrant voice. And she certainly could not deny, to herself at least,
that she had also enjoyed that amazing, too-brief kiss. Every instinct told her she could trust him, and she had long since
learned to trust her instincts.

By the time she finally fell asleep, she had come to no understandable or logical conclusion, nor did any occur to her upon
waking the next morning, but her resolve to put a spoke in the dreadful Eustace’s wheel had definitely intensified.

When Peg bustled in to help her dress, Anne said, “Have we any additional visitors in the house today?”

Taking her meaning easily, Peg said with a grimace, “Nay, thank heaven, we have not. Sir Toby came home late with a couple
of new friends, to be sure, but that Ashkirk were still up, and he sent them packing. One o’ the lads that looked after them
told me Ashkirk said Sir Toby were a fool to think Lady Carmichael would accept any such drunken louts as eligible suitors.
But he and Sir Toby were both laughing, the lad said, and then they sat down and played Cent at a penny a game together whilst
they drank two whole pitchers of ale.”

Anne’s disgust matched Peg’s, but she was glad that on the day before Fiona’s wedding they would not have to deal with men
of the sort that Toby usually brought home with him. Although he said his purpose was to find a new husband for his niece,
one had only to witness Olivia’s reaction to the would-be suitors, and Toby’s glee, to understand that his behavior reflected
only his devotion to mischief.

As soon as Anne had broken her fast, she went in search of Fiona, knowing that Olivia would demand their presence soon and
would have lists of tasks for each of them to perform before day’s end.

Fiona was awake but still in bed, evidently having no interest in rising or dressing Her woman greeted Anne’s entrance with
relief.

“I fear she may be ailing, m’lady,” she said in an undertone.

Casting an experienced eye over her cousin, Anne replied, “She is exhausted, Molly, that’s all. ’Tis my belief that she should
rest again today, but I suspect my aunt will disagree with me.”

“Her ladyship has already sent for her,” the maidservant said.

Anne nodded. “Leave her to me, then. I’ll send for you if I need you.”

“Thank you, my lady. I’ll just be in the next room, where we be packing up her things tae send along wi’ her tae Hawks Rig.”

As soon as Molly had gone, Anne turned her attention to the bed, where Fiona lay with the covers pulled up to her chin and
her eyes squeezed shut.

“It is of no use to pretend to be sleeping,” Anne told her. “I know you are awake, and if you do not want to get up, I don’t
blame you, but you must if you are to get any breakfast.”

“I don’t want any,” Fiona said weakly. “I’m dreadfully ill, Anne. I’m sure I must be coming down with that awful fever everyone
died from.”

“No one hereabouts has contracted the fever for weeks now,” Anne said as she pulled the bed curtains all the way open. Gray
light came through the windows, for although the night’s storm had passed, a light drizzle continued.

Fiona lay where she was, eyes still shut.

“Come now,” Anne said more firmly. “Your mother will descend upon us the moment anyone suggests to her that you are ailing,
and I am sure you want to put some clothes on and fortify yourself with food before you must see her.”

Fiona’s complexion paled, and her eyes opened, but the look she cast Anne was resentful. “What would you do in my position,
Anne?”

“I would send Eustace to the right about and ask Aunt Olivia to find me another suitor.”

“You make it sound so easy, but you know that it is not, for whenever I try to behave as you say you would, I come to grief.
Indeed, if I am not sick now, I can promise you I soon would be if I were to attempt such a daft course.”

Anne had seen it happen before, whenever her cousin had tried to run contrary to Olivia’s wishes, so she knew that Fiona did
not exaggerate. Nevertheless, she wished her cousin were stouter of heart.

Knowing that nothing else would stir her from the bed, she said, “Then you had better get up, love, and prepare to obey her.
Molly said she has already sent for you, so you will have to see her soon.”

Sighing, Fiona sat up and threw back the covers.

As Anne helped her dress in the simple but elegant lavender gown Molly had laid out for her, the younger girl muttered, “I
should just run away. I could enter a nunnery. Indeed, that is exactly what I should do.”

Anne tried and failed to stifle a bubble of laughter. “Yes, indeed, that would be the very thing,” she said when Fiona eyed
her resentfully. “Certainly it would put a stop to the wedding.”

“Well, it would.”

“You precious ninny, you are an heiress of the first order, so although I warrant that any nunnery would be elated to accept
you, they can do so only if your trustees will agree to hand your inheritance over with you. And since your mother counts
herself as one of your trustees, that will not happen.”

“Are you plagued with trustees, too, Anne?” Fiona asked, sitting on a stool so Anne could brush her hair.

“Well, I’ve got two of them, if that’s what you mean, but they don’t plague me,” Anne said as she undid Fiona’s golden plaits
and began to brush them out. “One is Ben Scott, my father’s man of affairs in Hawick, and the other is the new Earl of Armadale,
who has not deigned to recognize my existence since I wrote to inform him of my father’s death. In any event, Mr. Scott told
me that most decisions require only to be authorized by one of them, and he never tries to act the guardian over me. He knows
me for a sensible lass, he said, so I’ve only to let him know what I want and he will see to it. I don’t imagine the new earl
will make difficulties either when he finally wakes up to his position.”

“But you must be as much of an heiress as I am,” Fiona said. “Surely your father had as much wealth as mine, or even more.”

“I don’t know if he did or not, but it does not affect me,” Anne said, setting down the brush to braid her cousin’s hair into
a single thick plait that she could then wind into a knot at the nape of Fiona’s neck. “Most of what my father left automatically
goes to his successor, you see, along with his titles and all the Armadale estates. I inherit only Ellyson Towers, which was
part of my mother’s marriage settlement, along with sufficient income to maintain the place and myself. Mr. Scott told me
the sum is sufficient to keep me in the style to which I am accustomed, but he clearly expects me to assure my future by marrying
well.”

“And so you shall, I’m sure,” Fiona said, inspecting herself in the glass Anne held. “As soon as I am married, Mother said
she would see to finding a husband for you. She said that your being an earl’s daughter would make the task an easy one.”

“With all due respect to your mother, who is an earl’s daughter herself, if one’s father is deceased and the new earl barely
known to one, one must lose a certain amount of desirability,” Anne said, exerting herself to conceal her dislike of the subject.
“Moreover,” she added in what she felt was an understatement, “I doubt that your mother’s taste would suit me. Are you ready
to go downstairs?”

“I suppose.”

Anne said no more, grateful only to have stirred her cousin to dress and agree to break her fast. Accompanying her down to
the hall, she sat beside her at the high table and watched as Fiona examined a basket full of manchet loaves and the soft
white rolls known locally as baps. Selecting a bap, she spread it with honey, and nibbled daintily. When she called for claret
to drink, Anne signed to the lackey to water it well.

Fiona glanced at her wryly. “Are you afraid I might grow tipsy, Anne?”

“I’m just thinking it would be as well to give Aunt Olivia no cause to complain about either of us today,” Anne said.

Her hope was dashed w ithin moments of entering her ladyship’s bower, however, for her aunt took instant exception to Fiona’s
attire.

“You must change that drab gown before you greet Ashkirk, Fiona,” she said as she gestured to Malcolm Vole to refill the goblet
on the table beside her. “You look pale and insipid today and should try more to show off your beauty.”