An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (48 page)

Standing just behind her, so close that he was almost touching her, was Lord Niall. She had not heard him approach and had no idea that he had been listening. Now he passed her without a glance and moved with a kind of languid grace towards the Duke.

All faces were turned towards him and Iona realised that at his coming the whole atmosphere changed. The clansmen seemed to stiffen, their embarrassment, which had been very obvious when the Duke was questioning their action in capturing Hector, vanished. Once again they believed themselves justified.

Sime moved forward to say,

“We found a mon as yer Lordship anticipated. We bound him an’ brocht him here as yer Lordship commanded.”

“You behaved correctly,” Lord Niall said.

He raised his quizzing glass and looked Hector up and down in an unpleasant manner, then very quietly in a dangerous tone which Iona knew well, he said,

“Perhaps the prisoner would care to tell us his name?”

It was then that Iona knew that she must act and act quickly before Hector could reply. She sped forward and reached Lord Niall’s side.

“This, my Lord,” she said in a clear voice, “is the gentleman who travelled in the same ship with me and who was kind enough to take charge of my possessions until we reached Inverness. His name, as I have already told your Lordship, is Mr. Hugo Thomson.”

She was well aware as she spoke of the changing expressions on Hector’s face.

First, she had seen a look of warning in his eyes and knew that he admonished her wordlessly to disclaim his acquaintance and take no part in what was happening.

Now that was superseded by a look of pure astonishment. At the same time she knew that he would be quick enough to understand that she had a reason for her interference.

“
Mr. Hugo Thomson
,” Lord Niall repeated, his lips curving in a sneer that made the words almost an insult.

“Yes, of course, and now I recall your face, sir, though I did but see it for a second in somewhat unfortunate circumstances.”

“I have already told his Lordship,” Iona said quickly, speaking to Hector, “of your kindness to me on the ship after you came aboard at Yarmouth. I told him how, for safekeeping, I gave you my money and possessions, which were of great value to me. Unfortunately on our arrival in Inverness you did not return to the hotel until after I had retired for the night. I was therefore forced to visit your bedchamber before the stagecoach left and ask you to return my property.”

Iona’s voice died away breathlessly, and then she became conscious that the Duke was at her side.

“I think, Niall,” he said, in a voice of cold authority, “these personal matters which concern Miss Iona and this gentleman need not be discussed further. Your men have my permission to go and it would be inhospitable not to offer Mr. Thomson a glass of wine before he proceeds on his journey.”

Iona felt both relief and gratitude, and she saw too, the sudden light in Hector’s eyes. But Lord Niall was too formidable an enemy to be so easily vanquished.

“I am afraid we are not in agreement, Ewan,” he said. “I have not yet finished questioning this fugitive, and my men will take him on my instructions to the dungeons.”

Iona gave a little gasp of horror and fright. Lord Niall turned to her and she shrank from the glittering darkness of his eyes.

“Hugo Thomson, did you say?” he asked. “Really, my dear Miss Iona, you must pardon my scepticism, but no Scot ever owned such an English-sounding name.”

Iona could only stare at him despairingly.

“Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what crime I have committed. Other than that of trespass?” Hector asked angrily.

“That is one of the points on which I shall question you,” Lord Niall said. “I have, of course, several ideas on the subject and it will be interesting to see if they coincide with yours. It is sad, of course, that your liberty should be curtailed so soon after your return to Scotland.”

“Return? What do you mean by that?” Hector demanded.

“I may, of course, be mistaken,” Lord Niall said, “but that too we shall discover in time. I said we – and I refer to the help I shall receive from the English governor at Fort Augustus – Major Johnstone is particularly adept at interrogation.”

Hector squared his jaw but said nothing.

“But why should you do this?” Iona asked wildly. “It is unjust, it is – ”

She felt the sudden pressure of the Duke’s fingers on her arm and arrested her words to turn her face despairingly towards him. He was not looking at her but at his half brother,

“I fail to understand your reasons for this, Niall,” he said frigidly.

Lord Niall smiled secretly as if at some joke which only he could understand.

“Why trouble yourself, Ewan?” he asked. “Let me assure you that my reasons are good ones and prompted only by my unswerving loyalty to King George.”

“I can well believe that,” the Duke replied, “but though, as you have reminded me, these men are your servants, this castle is mine and I do not permit gentlemen against whom no crime has been proven to be placed in the dungeons.”

“In that case,” Lord Niall retorted, “perhaps it would be better if I had him escorted forthwith to Fort Augustus.”

“As you will,” the Duke said indifferently, “but it is late, and I suggest instead that he is housed in the guard room of the Keep.”

Lord Niall hesitated, and then appeared to capitulate.

“If it salves your hospitable conscience, my dear brother, let it be as you say.” He waved a languid hand towards Sime. “Take this man away,” he commanded. “Give him neither food nor drink until after I have had time to question him in the morning.”

“Very guid, my Lord.”

There was an air of triumph about the man as he moved towards Hector and put a rough hand on his shoulder. With a sinking heart Iona watched Hector being marched away between the clansmen, then as they disappeared from sight Lord Niall laughed,

“You were nearly deceived by that rogue, Ewan,” he said. “If you are in a gambling mood, I don’t mind wagering you a monkey to a hundred pounds that he will prove to be a Jacobite, and if, as I suspicion, there is a price on his head, I will spend some of it on a gift for Miss Iona.”

“Do you think I would accept blood money?” Iona asked angrily. She felt the tears prick her eyes and added in a tone of contempt and utter scorn, “I didn’t believe that one Scot would betray another to their English masters.”

Blinded now, she turned towards the stairs, but only as she reached them was she aware that someone stood there barring her way. Hastily wiping her eyes, Iona looked up at the Duchess, resplendent in a gown of black velvet. She was standing about three steps up from the Great Hall, her fingers entwined in a diamond cross which she wore suspended from her neck on a chain of pearls. Iona curtsied, then realised that the Duchess had not even seen her. She was looking across the Hall, her eyes fixed on Lord Niall as he and the Duke came slowly towards the stairs.

Only as they reached them did the men perceive the Duchess and realise by her silence and the expression on her face that something was wrong.

“I am afraid we have kept Your Grace waiting for dinner,” the Duke began courteously but the Duchess seemed not to hear him.

Still staring at Lord Niall, she said in a strangled voice that seemed to burst tempestuously from between her thin lips,

“Why did you tell me you had not been to Inverness?”

If Lord Niall was discomfited, he showed no signs of it.

“My dear
Belle mère – ”
he began, but the Duchess interrupted him.

“Answer me,” she said. “Why did you lie?”

Now her voice was shrill and instinctively Iona looked up to see if anyone was listening on the landing overhead. It was the Duke who took command of the situation. He walked up the stairs to the Duchess’s side and held out his arm.

“Our guest will be waiting for us in the salon,” he said sternly. “Niall can answer your question after dinner.”

There was an authority in his voice which forced the Duchess to obey him. As if with an effort she turned her eyes from Lord Niall’s face and took the Duke’s arm. In a silence pregnant with repressed emotion they moved slowly up the stairs.

Iona followed with Lord Niall at her side and after a moment she realised that his eyes were searching her face as if he would ferret out her innermost secrets.

“You should have trusted me,” he said in a low voice. “I warned you that I was a dangerous enemy.”

“I am still not afraid of you, my Lord,” Iona replied defiantly, but even as she spoke the words she knew that they were untrue.

She was afraid of him, not for herself but for Hector – Hector who was now a prisoner and in this evil man’s power.

As she sat through the long meal that followed, as course succeeded course, she had no idea what she ate or drank. She could remember only the tales she had heard of English cruelties, of the tortures they inflicted on prisoners, of the horrors and privations of English prisons. How could she save Hector? The question presented itself to her over and over again as she sat at the table white-faced and silent.

On the Duke’s right hand Beatrice Wrexham, glittering with jewels, talked brilliantly, her laugh ringing out and proving so infectious that the men laughed with her. But the Duchess was almost as silent as Iona, her nervous fingers crumbling the bread placed beside her plate, while her eyes seldom strayed from Lord Niall’s face as he listened absorbedly to Lady Wrexham.

Beatrice was exerting herself to the full. Her beauty in the light of the great gold candelabra was almost breathtaking. Tonight her golden hair was powdered and arranged high in the very latest fashion. A chain of turquoises and diamonds was looped around her curls and the vivid blue of the stones seemed to echo the brilliance of her eyes. Similar stones set in a magnificent necklace encircled her neck while her shoulders and bosom were milky white against a low cut gown of rich brocade.

Yet nothing that Beatrice wore was of particular importance. The sinuous grace of her soft body was apparent beneath the most rigid hoops, bones and lacings. However elaborately gowned, ornamented, and bejewelled, she still made men think of her naked. Even when she was most formal, she managed to convey an impression of abandonment. There was a natural voluptuousness about her movements and a lasciviousness in the very perfection of her beauty.

It was obvious to anyone tonight that she was intent on capturing the attentions of the Duke. She leant against the arm of his chair so that the sweet intoxicating fragrance of her perfume rose from her hair and the rustling laces of her bodice. More than once she laid her long fingers, weighted down with many rings, on his arm as she accentuated some point in the conversation or laughed with him at some joke.

As she sipped her wine, she raised her eyes to his and no man could have mistaken the invitation in them or in the sensual fullness of her red lips. The Duke laughed and talked with her, but there was nothing more than a polished courtesy in the pressure of his fingers as he returned the tiny handkerchief she dropped deliberately as she rose from the table.

“Shall I see Your Grace again?” she asked in a low voice, as the ladies moved towards the door.

“My brother and I will not linger over our port,” the Duke replied. His tone was one of conventional politeness and Beatrice’s eyes were hard as she swept from the room.

Too miserable to think of anything but Hector hungry and thirsty in the Keep, Iona followed the Duchess and Lady Wrexham from the dining room, but when they entered the salon, she slipped away.

There was a fire in the anteroom, so she went there wanting only to be alone. It was a room which adjoined the Grand Salon and was used by the members of the household in the morning for writing letters.

Through the double doors leading into the salon Iona could hear Lady Wrexham’s voice and rippling laughter. She could not hear what was being said, but there was something intolerable in the mere sound of laughter whilst Hector was in danger.

Iona sat down on the hearthrug, her white dress billowing out around her. Hector was here in this castle and yet she could think of nothing that she could do to help him.

Should she go for Dughall? But even as the idea came to her she knew it was impossible. In all probability it was to save Dughall that Hector had taken to the woods. Perhaps he had seen Lord Niall’s men approaching, heard them searching among the trees.

Iona knew now that Lord Null suspected both her and Hector of being Jacobites, and bitterly she accused herself of ruining everything by one act of carelessness, one moment of forgetfulness. Fool that she had been to go to Hector’s bedchamber, more foolish still to have forgotten the letter and the packet in the first place!

Round and round in Iona’s head went her thoughts. She must find a way of escape for Hector, but how? And who could assist her?

She heard the gentlemen cross the landing from the dining room and enter the salon. She heard more laughter, then the sound of music and of a voice singing a love song. She pressed her fingers against her temples striving to shut out any distraction from the problem which confronted her.

At length, weary and despondent, she told herself that the only possible chance was to see if Cathy could help her. Maybe she could bribe one of Lord Niall’s men, but then Iona remembered how little money she had left after her journey.

She was well aware that Hector would be angry with her for trying to help him, and she knew that she should not jeopardise her own usefulness in an attempt to save him. But at this moment it seemed to her that nothing was of greater consequence than that Hector should not be handed over to English justice.

She wondered what tortures they would use on him. She thought of the thumbscrew, of the rack, and the dreaded instrument which, clamped down on a man’s forehead, could be screwed tighter and tighter until he screamed in agony!

She started to her feet in terror, she could not bear it – she could not. She must do something but what she had no idea.

She was suddenly fearful that the Duchess or Lord Niall might send someone in search of her. Her hands would be tied if she was forced to join the company in the salon and then later retire to bed when they did. She went from the anteroom out on to the landing. She crossed it, and passing the Chinese Room, went down the passage which lay beyond.