The Rogues (22 page)

Above me swallows seem to laugh in the air, circling and diving. But I felt no such laughter inside. The Rogue's final words still rang in my ears, their bitter edge cutting as a knife. By now he'd had time to reload, and there was I, exposed on the bare hillside. If Dunbar wanted to stop me, I couldn't outrun a bullet. And he was, by his own admission, a fine shot.

I tried to pray but feared God would never listen to such a sinner as I. And if Dunbar fired, I doubted I would even hear the shot before it killed me. Forcing myself not to look back, I kept on running.

At the bottom of the hill I took a deep breath. Perhaps Dunbar's villainy had already reached its depth in the robbery and he wouldn't sink to cold-blooded murder. After all, he'd let the men at the still go free with no more than a fierce warning.

I had to find Josie and her mother and return their property to them. That and warn them about Dunbar and his thieving ways.

Wading the stream, I felt a pain in my heart. I knew what it was: I'd lost my only ally.

Worse
, I told myself,
I let him charm me into thinking him a better man than he is
.

Then I headed off to the right across the flat ground. There was no cover here, so I hunched over to make myself a small target and ran until my chest hurt with each breath. But by then I was in the trees. Safe at last.

Or safe as any trespasser on the laird's land can feel
.

I reached Bonnie Josie's Lodge by early evening, proud of how well I'd read the map of sun and sky to get there. Though I was slower than I might have been had I not had to make sure to stay hidden.

I remembered the last time I'd come to the Lodge, with the men and the English sheep. It had been in a spirit of adventure. Now I skulked among the rocks and bushes, as Dunbar must have done when he came to do his dirty work.

When I was sure it was safe to move, I tiptoed through the violets and bluebells in the back garden and glided beneath the branches of a pear tree. I found the back door unlatched and opened it, only enough to squeeze through into the kitchen. I was lucky that no one was about. Or perhaps we were all unlucky, because the Glendoun folk had clearly been moved on.

The memory of my time inside the Lodge made my head ache. I could hear a servant moving jars about in the pantry. By padding along the hallway on the soft carpet, I managed to sneak by unnoticed.

Pressing my ear to the sitting room door, I hoped to hear the voices of Josie and her mother. Bad luck. No one was speaking, but I did hear a rustling that let me know someone was inside. Of course it was always possible the laird might be visiting, so I opened the door cautiously.

I smiled at what I saw, for it was Josie seated alone at her desk. Her head was laid upon her arms, her eyes turned to the window and the grey sky beyond. Before I could speak, her back trembled and I heard her sob.

The theft of her things must have been even worse than I thought. No doubt Dunbar had stolen more than the few pieces I had with me and concealed the rest in another of his hiding places. Hearing Josie's grief made my blood hot against the Rogue all over again. Closing the door silently behind me and stepping closer, I spoke softly, not wanting to startle her.

“There's nae call for tears,” I said. “I've brought back what ye've lost.”

Josie sat up straight, turned and stared at me with red-rimmed eyes. She rubbed the tears from her cheeks and frowned.

“How could you do that, you daft boy?” she asked in a grave voice. “Have you gone weak in the head?”

I was taken aback to see her so low, with no sparkle in her eye, no laughter on her lips. I held the bundle out in front of me so she could see it plainly. “Look, I have it here. Or at least some of it.”

I laid the bundle down carefully on the table and pulled away the wrappings. I stood proudly by as Josie stared at her stolen property, reaching out to finger one of the plates.

She glanced up at me, looking more puzzled than grateful.

“I thought ye'd be happy,” I said feebly. “They must be worth a few pennies. Enough, I think, to eat for several months.”

Then it struck me what must be wrong. She surely thought I was the one who'd robbed her.

I put up my hands. “
I
didna steal it!” I protested. “I took it off the thief who did and brought it back to ye.”

“Of course I don't think you're a thief, Roddy,” Josie said.

“It was Dunbar took it!” I declared. “The Rogue. He sneaked in while ye were sleeping and robbed ye. It's him that's brought ye to these tears.”

“Oh, Roddy, Alan Dunbar's not the reason for me weeping,” said Josie. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Today I buried my mother, dead these two days past. I'm supposed to go off to my uncle's, where a party will be going on. But they won't be celebrating my mother's life. They'll be cheering her death.” She caught her breath. “Och—I canna stand it.”

My cheeks burned with the news. “Oh, that's sorry tidings indeed. And I'm a fool for bursting in on ye. I helped bury my own mother two years ago, and the hurt still sits in my chest all this time later.”

“No, Roddy, I'm sure you meant well,” Josie answered kindly, putting her hand out to me, “and that's a comfort. No one else has offered me as much. The servants are not even my own, but my uncle's spies. Still, what are you doing
here
? You and the folk of Dunraw should all be long gone.”

“My family are in Glasgow by now,” I said, “ready to take a ship to America. If I dinna get there soon, they'll be forced to leave without me. So ye see, it's just me that's come back.”

“Whatever for? There's nothing here for you.”

I replied cautiously, “There was … something. I came in hopes of finding it—and I did.”

She smiled a thin smile. “It sounds like you've a story to tell. Maybe it will lift my spirits to hear it.”

“The way it's come out won't lift anybody's spirits but yer uncle's, but I'll tell ye anyway.”

Josie sat me down by the fireplace, which had a roaring fire even though it was spring. Then she went and fetched oatcakes, cheese and a bottle of cordial from the kitchen. She closed the door firmly behind her and locked it from the inside. “I told the servants I was not to be disturbed. They think it's more mourning. So no one will know you're here. But we have to speak quietly.”

She refused to hear a word till I had eaten and drunk my fill, but when I started my tale, she leaned forward to catch every detail. The words came faster and faster as I spoke, till my story was rushing like a river in spate.

She made me stop at the part where I'd found the Blessing.

“A brooch? From the Bonnie Prince?” she said. “It's like a tale out of olden times.”

“I've no made it up, I swear!” I raised my hand as if I was taking an oath. “It was passed down to my mother from her father, who had it from his father, Duncan MacDonald.” I put my hand over my heart.

“I believe you, Roddy, and I know that you and your kin have even greater need of such a treasure than I would.” She put out a hand again and this time patted my fingers where they lay on my chest.

“Ye speak as if ye have nothing,” I said passionately, “but ye've this fine house.” I looked around. The Lodge could house a dozen families easily. It had to be worth a fortune.

She took her hand off mine. “This fine house, such as it is, belonged to my mother, and with her death it passes to my uncle. The lawyers are making the transfer even now.”

“But surely yer mother's left ye jewels and the like,” I said. “She was a laird's wife, after all.” I leaned forward, wanting to take her hand to comfort her, but I didn't dare.

“She had little enough, and it's all long sold. How else could we feed the poor folk who took shelter on our doorstep?” Josie's face was so drawn in and grey, for a moment she looked years older.

“Have ye nothing else left?”

“Only the money my father left for me in a bank in Edinburgh, though that's a tidy sum.”

“There ye are, then!”

“It's not mine till I wed. And if I wed before my twentieth birthday—that's a year off yet—then it goes to my uncle Daniel to disburse on my behalf.” Some color came back into her face, and she was almost bonnie once again.

“If he gets his pasty fingers on it, ye'll see naught but a few coppers in change,” I warned her.

“Aye, I know it and you know it. And my uncle knows it best of all.” She sighed. “That's why he's been pressing me so hard to wed his tame beastie, Willie Rood, before the year's out. He doesn't guess, though, that I understand his plan. He thinks all women are dumb or daft.”

I hardly dared speak my thoughts now, but I took a chance. I whispered fiercely, “It's my aim to get the Blessing back from him.”

“I don't doubt you've the courage for it,” said Josie, “but where's the means?”

I shrugged. “That I havna thought all the way through yet. I've considered stealing it from his house.”

She shook her head. “No, no, Roddy, that's much too dangerous.”

I shrugged as if to say danger meant nothing to me.

But Josie suddenly brightened even more. “There
might
be a way, though it sickens me to think of speaking sweetly to that grasping miser.”

I almost jumped up at the hope in her voice. “Do ye have a plan?”

“Nearly. As I told you, my uncle is holding a party at his house tonight, to ‘honor his dear departed sister-in-law,' he says. In truth it's to celebrate getting his hands on the last of the McRoy land. Still, there
might
be a way I can—”

Josie's thoughts were interrupted by a knocking at the front door. She put her finger up to her lips to silence me. Moments later, a maid tapped on the door of the room we were in.

“Mistress,” she called, “it's that Willie Rood to see ye.” Her voice was scratchy and ended in a whine.

Josie pondered a moment, then said, “Show him in, Mairi.”

As soon as the maid had gone back to the front door to deliver that message, I jumped to my feet like a deer that's just heard a hunter's horn.

“Stay calm,” Josie whispered. “This calls for a cool head and a steady hand. Go hide behind that curtain and don't make a sound. There's a peephole about halfway up, so you'll see what's afoot. I put it there myself with my sewing needle when we lived in the big house and I came down here to spy on my uncle for fun.”

I did as she told me, and she waited till I was completely concealed before unlocking the door and letting the maid show Rood into the room. I breathed shallowly for fear of making the curtain move. The last time I'd seen Rood, he'd tried to murder me. I doubted he would hesitate finishing now what he'd started then, even in front of Bonnie Josie.

I began to sweat with fear till I found the little peephole. Josie was right. It
was
a good hole. I could see straight ahead and a little on either side.

Rood had his back partway to me. Josie had managed to maneuver him right into my line of sight. He'd taken off his hat and was evidently pressing it against his belly with both hands. His orange hair stuck out like the rays of an ugly sun.

“The laird yer uncle's compliments, Miss Josie,” he said in a softer voice than I'd ever heard him use before. “He'd be obliged if ye'd join him tonight at Kindarry House to celebrate yer mother's wake.” He took a deep breath, and I did so at the same time. “To dine with him and certain others as wish ye well, and I include myself in that number.”

Josie thought a moment, then sighed. “Tell him I'll come, but I'll not look a pauper among those fine folk. I no longer have jewels of my own to wear, so I'll thank him to provide me with some that are worthy of a laird's kin.”

Rood fidgeted with his hat. “The laird's not a man for giving things away.”

“Oh, tush, Willie Rood!” She looked up at him under fluttering lashes. “I'll not tax my uncle's generosity. Let him find me some bauble to wear for this night only and he'll have my gratitude for all the time to come.”

“Yer gratitude, ye say …” He shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

“Aye, and you'll have it too if you persuade him to do me this small favor. I'll need—let's see—maybe a set of pearls for around my neck or a tasteful brooch. And I only have these old bobs.” She touched her ears. “Or perhaps a small ring. Nothing ostentatious.”

His feet were shuffling again. “Ostentatious?”

“Nothing too ornate, Mr. Rood. I am not that kind of lass.”

He fidgeted with his hat, turning slightly sideways. “I've never known ye to ask anything of me before, Miss Josie.”

“I've been thinking on my position,” she said softly, moving to his right so he was forced to turn to look at her, which put his back to me once again. “A funeral prompts such sober reflection, don't you think?”

His head bobbed in agreement. As did the fire, which took that moment to crackle loudly.

Josie let out a huge sigh. “And I see my uncle was not wrong on
every
point. I understand now that a woman might face many a cold, unhappy winter with only herself for company. Now that my dear mother is gone …”

I was sure Rood was grinning at her, like a fox at its kill. “It's true what ye say, Miss Josie, truer than ye know.”

“Aye, and you'll be the manner of man that understands a woman's needs.” She looked down at her clasped hands, which were remarkably still.

“Well enough, Miss Josie. I've land of my own now, and animals, and the laird's favor to further my expectations.” He stopped fidgeting and drew his shoulders back.

“It's a comfort to know that, Willie Rood.” She looked up and stared right at him. “And all I ask is this one small thing so that I may hold my head high in genteel company.”