Amanda Scott (8 page)

Anne stood still, giving him look for look. Her horse twitched nervously, but she maintained her steady gaze until the man
blinked and glanced uncertainly at his companions.

“Let go of her.”

The deep, calmly authoritative voice came from none of the men gazing down at her but from nearer the trees amongst which
they had hidden.

The man gripping her arm released her at once. Looking anxiously past the other horsemen as they made way for the one who
had spoken, he sputtered, “I didna mean the lass nae harm, sir. Ye ken fine, we wouldna—”

“Step away from her.”

“Aye, I’m steppin’ straightaway,” he said, suiting action to words as he added, “but ye’ll agree that that be a fine piece
o’ horseflesh she be riding.”

“Take yourselves back into the trees, lads. I’ll deal with the lass,” the newcomer said evenly.

No one argued. The riders vanished back into the thicket, leaving Anne alone with her unknown rescuer.

“Who are you?” he asked, still sitting at his ease in the saddle.

“Anne Ellyson,” she replied, gazing up at him as she stroked her horse to soothe it. She could see little other than his shape
and size. He seemed very tall, though, especially on horseback, and he was broad across the shoulders.

“Ellyson,” he said thoughtfully. “Would you be kin to Armadale?”

“He was my father.”

To her surprise, a choke of laughter escaped him before he stifled it and said soberly, “I am truly sorry for your loss, Lady
Anne, but although you may not realize it, this situation contains an element of humor.”

“I thought your men were reivers,” she said.

“They are.” He dismounted, standing much too close to her.

He seemed somehow even taller than before. Anne frowned at him, feeling as if she had to look a very long way up to do so.
“But you speak like a gentleman.”

“Some say that I
am
a gentleman. I used to be one, anyway.” With a slight bow, he added, “My name is Christopher Chisholm. My friends call me
Kit.”

S
hock swept through Anne. “But you can’t be Sir Christopher. He’s dead!”

“I’ve heard as much from others,” he said, “but I assure you, I’m no ghost.”

“Faith, but this is marvelous then,” she exclaimed. “If you are truly Sir Christopher Chisholm, you are the solution to our
greatest problem!”

“I doubt that, my lady. I have problems of my own with which I must deal, not the least of them being my promise to help those
lads yonder in their mission tonight. As soon as the moon rises—”

“Do you truly mean to help them steal someone’s cattle? But whose?”

His amusement plain now, he said, “Why, yours, Lady Anne.”

“Mine?”

“Aye, for we were told that with Armadale having passed to his reward, Ellyson Towers has no master, so the reiving will be
particularly good there.”

She stared at him, bereft of words.

“It is time you returned home, I think,” he added blandly, putting a hand to the small of her back. The sensations his touch
stirred in her addled her thoughts. For once in her life, she was unable to think of a single thing to say.

“Willie,” he said sharply, “lend me your horse. I’ll see her ladyship home.”

An unhappy voice muttered,
“My
horse?”

Anne said swiftly, “There is no need for you to do any such thing, sir. I can see myself home.”

“You were going the wrong way,” he pointed out gently.

She felt no fear of him, but something in his manner made her wary, and she wished she could read his expression more clearly
in the fading light. Nonetheless, she stifled her annoyance and said reasonably, “I now reside with my aunt, Lady Carmichael,
at Mute Hill.”

He was silent for a long moment, but when his man rode up to them through the shadows, he repeated the name Carmichael thoughtfully.

“Yes, that’s right,” Anne said. “Lady Carmichael of Mute Hill House.”

“Why d’ye need me pony, Kit?”

Anne could not make out the lad’s features, but he was much shorter and slighter of build than Sir Christopher. He also sounded
younger.

Sir Christopher said, “I’m going to put her ladyship on my horse, because I know his manners are more what she is accustomed
to than that beast of yours.”

Before the lad could reply, Anne interjected, “But, really, sir—”

“Don’t argue with me, my lady,” he said in a tone stern enough to put her forcibly in mind of her father.

“But—”

“If you mean to tell me that you will be perfectly safe by yourself, I’d advise you to save your breath for a more useful
purpose. Even if that horse of yours had four good legs under him, we have already proven that you are not safe on your own.
Moreover, I’m in no mood for fratching.”

“But what about my horse?” she asked.

“We’ll lead it, of course. It can easily keep up if it need not bear weight.”

“What about me?” the lad demanded. “What am I tae do?”

“You will await my return here with the others, if they still want me to ride with them,” Chisholm said. “Talk to Sammy. The
moon won’t rise for another hour or more, and I should return shortly after that. If the others decide to ride on, you wait
here and try to persuade Sammy before he leaves to let me meet with him and his lads later to have our talk.”

“Och, aye, but he willna like it,” Willie said. “As for me sitting here in the dark waiting for ye if the others ride on,
I’ll no like that. There be boggarts about!”

Quietly, Anne said, “You might tell your friends that despite what they have been told, the cattle, sheep, and horses at Ellyson
Towers are well guarded.”

“Are they now?” Willie said. “And how would a slip of a lass like yourself be knowing aught about that?”

“Because they are my beasts.”

“Are they now?”

“They are,” Sir Christopher said, chuckling. “She is Lady Anne Ellyson, Armadale’s daughter.”

Willie gave a low whistle. “An ye do say, m’lady, that… ”

He fell tactfully silent, but Anne did not hesitate.

“I say there are plenty of men guarding my beasts,” she said, “and prime sleuthhounds as well, eager to catch the scent of
any reiver foolish enough to think my father’s death might have undone his careful guardianship. Would you have dared to attack
the Towers whilst Armadale lived?”

“Nay, never!” Willie exclaimed.

“Then have a care now,” Anne said.

“Aye, your ladyship, I’ll tell them. Thank ye kindly.”

As they watched his shadowy figure dash back and disappear into the thicket, Sir Christopher said on a note of laughter, “I
commend your methods, lass. You handled that with great aplomb. Are your cattle truly so well guarded?”

“Do you think I would tell you if they were not?”

He chuckled, and she realized she had been hoping to hear the sound again. Before she was aware of his intent, two strong
hands caught her around the waist and lifted her to his saddle, leaving her feeling strangely breathless.

“Can you settle yourself, or do you require further assistance?” he asked.

“I’ll manage,” she said. “Your saddle is larger than mine, but I’ve often used my father’s or brother’s saddle.”

He swung onto Willie’s horse, steadying it as he did. “You have a brother?”

“Sir Andrew Ellyson was my brother,” she said. “He died last year at Carter Bar in a clash with some of King Henry’s men.”

“So you are doubly bereft,” he said, all humor gone.

She swallowed, caught off guard by a wave of grief. “M-my mother and two little sisters d-died, as well, of the same horrid
fever that took my father,” she said, striving to keep her voice under control even as she wondered what had stirred her to
reveal so much.

He was silent for a long moment before he said quietly, “I have a notion that I’d risk offending you if I expressed my sympathy
as strongly as I’m feeling it, lass. Likewise, instinct warns me that I’d be wiser not to say that I think you must be a remarkable
young woman.”

The warmth in his voice nearly undid her, and she drew a deep breath, trying to ignore the tears pricking her eyes. Exhaling
slowly, she said with commendable calm, “Thank you for your sympathy, sir, but many hereabouts lost their families just as
I did, either to the fever or to Henry’s soldiers. Our king and queen lost their precious sons to the fever, too, before it
swept its way south. So although my losses affected me sorely, I cope by trying to make myself useful to others.”

“Good lass,” he said. “I collect that Henry of England is becoming a damnable nuisance in these parts.”

“Aye,” she said, accepting the change of subject gratefully, “although it has been peaceable enough in this area for these
past few months at least.”

He nodded and turned his attention to the track ahead.

The horse she rode had excellent manners, and she easily guided it toward the ford in the brook, glad that she would not have
to get her feet wet. The night was turning chilly.

Chisholm led her lame horse, and as they forded the brook, he watched to be sure the animal’s bad leg would cause it no problems
on the slippery stones. Then, safely on the opposite bank, he turned toward her and said, “Are you sure you know the track
well enough to follow it by starlight?”

“Aye, and you will not have difficulty finding your way back, either,” she said. “It is the only real track betwixt here and
Mute Hill.”

He was silent again for a few moments before he said, “Does no one hold you to account, mistress?”

“I cannot imagine how that can concern you, sir,” she said, raising her chin.

“Suppose I should prove to be even less of a gentleman than your brief acquaintance with me has already suggested?”

A shiver raced up her spine at his grim tone, but she suppressed it, saying in her usual calm way, “I am an excellent judge
of character, Sir Christopher. I believe I can trust you to see me safely home.”

“You can trust me,” he agreed, “but you are a fool to trust your instincts in such a case, lass, and if you were my daughter
or sister—”

“Have you got a daughter or sister?” she asked curiously.

“No, but that is not the point.”

“That is precisely
my
point,” she said. “You have no authority to scold me, sir, and none to force me to your will. We should do far better, I
think, to discuss a matter of greater importance that does concern you.”

“What matter is that?”

“Why, my cousin, of course. Since you are betrothed to her—”

“The devil I am!”

Anne swiftly crossed herself. “There is no need to swear. Surely, you must know that you are betrothed to Fiona Carmichael.
Indeed, I am sure that you do, because I saw how you reacted when I first spoke my aunt’s name.”

“It is true that I was apparently betrothed to Mistress Carmichael at one time,” he said. “My astonishment is due to the fact
that you seem able still to consider her betrothed to a man that everyone hereabouts believes is dead.”

“But you
were
betrothed,” Anne insisted.

“My father certainly wrote to inform me of some such arrangement,” he said. “But that was over eighteen months ago, and I
never replied to his letter, so how anyone can have thought—”

“But what kind of son fails to reply to such a letter?”

“You should not interrupt me,” he said. “Surely, your parents taught you better manners than that.”

“They did,” she admitted, “but I grow impatient when I want to know something and the other party persists in … ”

“In what?”

His tone seemed ominous, but she replied calmly, “Well, in truth, I was going to say ‘prevaricating,’ but I have no evidence
that you are doing that, so perhaps I should say when the other party appears to be avoiding a direct answer. If your father
informed you of your betrothal… ” She paused tactfully.

“If you must know, he commanded me to return so that the matter could be formally completed, or to understand that he would
attend to the details by proxy.”

“You did not come home, however.”

“No, because circumstances intervened that were beyond my control. I have been unable to return until now.”

“Nonetheless, the arrangement between your father and my aunt was a legal one, was it not?”

“One must suppose so, although I was scarcely a minor at the time. Nor did I ever sign anything.”

“Still, your father, as head of your family, had full authority to act as proxy, I should think. My aunt and my cousin certainly
believe the betrothal was legal.”

“You appear to be well versed in the matter,” he said.

She did not miss the undertone of sarcasm but said tartly nonetheless, “Do you think women cannot understand complex matters,
sir?”

“I never said that. I warrant you must be of greater age than I first judged you, however.”

“I am nearly nineteen,” she said. “My birthday is two days after Christmas.”

“Then I wonder that you are not yet married with a family of your own,” he said. “You certainly seem eligible enough, and
despite your tartness when you misunderstood me, you do not seem to possess a shrewish disposition.”

“I apologize if my tone seemed disrespectful,” she said sincerely. “I cannot think what made me speak as sharply as I did.
As to my single state, my father was indulgent enough to allow me to reject suitors that presented themselves if they did
not appeal to me. None did.”

“Indulgent, indeed,” he agreed. “I wish that my father had been so indulgent. Still, I reckon your suitors were numerous.
Are you so particular?”

She nibbled her lower lip, hesitant to say the words that sprang to her tongue, but when he waited patiently, she decided
to risk it. “In truth, sir, I do not want a husband who would marry me solely for my family name and connections. I’d prefer
one who would value my opinions, but although I have heard that such men exist, I have never met one.” She did not mention
that, deep in her heart, she harbored a wish to meet one who would give his life, if necessary, for love of her. Such wishes,
she knew, were merely self indulgent and unworthy of her.