Chapter Ten

‘So, how exactly did ye come to be working in the mine, Finn?' Malcolm asked, taking care to keep his voice as genial as possible.

The boy stared at the faces around him and gave a small cough. The bonnie lady in the green dress was the one who'd first discovered him in the boat. The big man, the one who carried him back. But those two were not in charge. The younger Maister was the one in charge, even if he wasn't the one asking the questions. Mrs. Darroch said the Maister was the son of a Duke. Finn could hardly imagine what a Duke might look like, but his son was very handsome. And clean. He had stern features, but Finn could tell he laughed easily. Would that he'd had the same insights about the MacFarlane's arse-kisser when the bastart had come sniffing around the village.

In the end, Finn shrugged. ‘Naewhere tae gae. Said ah'd be gaen a hot meal wi' real meat. An we did too. Once.'

‘We?' Peter interrupted. ‘How many of you were there altogether?'

‘More an' all ma fingers and toes.'

Brendon swore softly. ‘Ower twenty bairns.'

‘Why is MacFarlane using children in a mine he supposedly closed years ago? Surely, they're too small to be of much use.'

‘It be too narrow fer the biguns,' Finn piped up. "They cannae get doon small enough.' He crouched down to show them what he meant.

‘There must be verra little gold left,' Brendon commented.

‘Harder to get to clearly,' Peter mused. ‘He must be desperate.'

‘How is it the children taken weren't missed?' Jennifer asked.

‘Do ye have parents, Finn?' The lad shook his head. ‘Any family at all?' Another shake. Brendon sighed. ‘Ye have your answer.'

‘And the others, were they orphans too?' the Reverend asked, an unaccustomed lump in his throat.

‘Aye, most o' em.' The lad gave another shrug. ‘Some wa' sold.'

Reverend Shackleford sagged. He was well aware that child slavery was widespread, especially in the big cities. But not on land belonging to the Duke of Blackmore. Nicholas Sinclair would never turn a blind eye to such horror. He looked after his own.

‘What be the name of your village, Finn?' Malcolm asked.

‘Ah'm frae Banalan, but th'others frae lots o' places.'

‘That gives us the excuse we need to act,' Peter declared, grim satisfaction clearly evident in his voice. ‘We can be certain MacFarlane knows Banalan is ours.'

‘He kens alright, but he dinnae want tae ken, if yer get ma meanin'.' Brendon shook his head. ‘Forgive me ma lord, but meetin' the MacFarlane whan ye be full o' anger – ye'll be playin' intae the bastart's hands.' The steward looked over at Malcolm. ‘Ye ken Alistair MacFarlane, be off his heid.'

Malcolm nodded. ‘I was there when he killed his brother. The varmint should have been cropped then.' He turned to Peter. ‘Have ye sent the missive to yer father, laddie?'

Peter shook his head. ‘I thought to wait until we'd spoken with the boy. My intention is to pen it as soon as we've finished here and send it immediately.' The Viscount turned back to Finn who was staring round the table, wide eyed.

‘Ye'll nae be makin' me gae back there, will ye Maister?'

Peter gave an emphatic shake of his head but softened it with a smile. ‘Can you tell us where you were kept when you weren't down the mine, Finn?'

The boy bit his lip. ‘Mostly we stayed doon thare.'

‘You slept in the mine?' Peter queried, aghast.

Finn nodded. ‘Thare's a wee chamber. Ah dinnae ken whare it be. It was ayewis dark.'

For a second there was a horrified silence, then Jennifer gave a small moan.

‘Gifford, would you take Finn back to the kitchen. I'm certain Mrs. Darroch will find him something special to eat. We'll speak with him again tomorrow.'

‘Aye, ah saw a bit o' tablet jus fer ye,' Gifford declared. Finn's eyes lit up, and he willingly went with the elderly steward.

‘I suggest we continue the conversation when Gifford returns,' Peter declared as soon as the door closed behind them. ‘Would anyone like more tea?'

Nobody wished for more refreshment, and a tense silence ensued while they waited for the elderly steward to come back. Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long.

‘We cannot simply sit on our hands while we wait for Father's reply,' Jennifer declared as soon as Gifford reentered the room. ‘How many more children could die while we're dithering?'

Augustus Shackleford sighed. ‘We're no good to ‘em if we end up decorating MacFarlane's flower beds.'

‘Ah ken yer concerned, ma lady.' Gifford said, ‘But like the guid Reverend said, we cannae help the bairns if we're deid. We'd be eejits tae charge in wi'oot a plan.'

‘Could we send in Chapman's men?' Jennifer asked Peter.

The Viscount thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘They are not an army. They are employed for our protection only. To send them against MacFarlane would be to risk outright war.'

‘Can the chucklehead be reasoned with?' the Reverend asked. ‘Perhaps he'll listen to a man of God.'

‘A Sassenach one? Ah doot it.'

‘Th'only thing we need tae ken is when the mine be empty o' MacFarlane guards so we can free the bairns,' Brendon announced. ‘We cannae risk walkin' intae a fight wi' his warriors.' He paused before adding, ‘Mebbe the Reverend can gie some excuse fer bein' in the area – tell the MacFarlane he be visitin' fer another purpose?'

‘The MacFarlane willnae gie him the time o' day,' Gifford scoffed.

‘But if he gaed wi' ma da? The MacFarlane haenae a quarrel wi' Dougal Galbraith.'

‘I will not be accompanying that … that beef-witted good for nothing anywhere,' Reverend Shackleford spluttered.

‘Was there bad feeling caused by your sudden departure?' Peter asked, ignoring his grandfather's dismay at being obliged to go somewhere with the elderly Scot.

‘There was nae bad feelin',' Brendon clarified. ‘Ah made sure tae gie a guid excu…' He trailed off before finishing the sentence and swore softly.

‘I take it your excuse willnae be helpin' us now,' Malcolm sighed.

‘Ah told the MacFarlane ma da haed hurt his leg.'

‘How bad?' Peter demanded.

‘Ah didnae say. Jus' that Da was abed.'

‘How long ago was this?'

‘Just ower three months back.'

‘So if it was merely a sprain, it's quite possible Dougal could be up and about by now?'

‘I absolutely refuse to be in the company of that bacon-brained imbecile…'

‘I'm certain we can dress his leg up a little. Could he produce a convincing limp, Brendon?'

‘Ma da could convince anyone he was the King o' bloody Scotland,' Brendon answered drily.

‘Under no circumstances will I spend even one second with that pudding-headed pig-widgeon…'

‘Do you think he would do it?'

‘No, absolutely not. I will not be giving that cork-brained grubshite so much as the time of day...'

‘Ah ken he'll be more an' delighted tae lie through his teeth tae the MacFarlane.'

‘We'd have to come up with a convincing excuse for them both being there? An English priest and a Scottish … err… farmer?'

Brendon frowned. ‘Aye, ah ken ma da might nae be so delighted tae trick the bastart wi' a Sassenach God botherer in tow.' He paused before adding, ‘An' anyway, jus' visiting wi' the MacFarlane willnae get them anywhere near the mine.'

‘If you think I'm telling so much as the smallest plumper to protect that lily-livered hornswoggler…'

‘What if Grandfather was on some kind of pilgrimage? Perhaps searching for a relic of some description? Would that give him an excuse to get closer to the mine?'

‘Ah'll hae a word wi' ma da an' see if he can come up wi' some ideas.' Brendon laughed ruefully. ‘That's another thing he be good at - tellin' stories…'

‘We dinnae want the MacFarlane to know the good Reverend is connected to Caerlaverock in any way,' added Malcolm. ‘An' the same fer ye, Brendon. If the chieftain knows ye be workin' fer the Duke o' Blackmore, he'll likely string ye up.'

Brendon nodded with a grimace. ‘Aye, the bampot hates the Sinclairs wi' a passion.'

Peter sighed. ‘Why don't we reconvene here on the morrow after everyone's had a chance to think about possible reasons for Grandpapa to be visiting clan MacFarlane and how he can get close enough to the mine to see what's happening?'

Jennifer turned to the Reverend who was slowly going a dark shade of puce. ‘All you need to do, Grandpapa, is find out what time the guards leave, and we'll be ready and waiting to ride to the children's rescue.'

‘Someone will,' Peter interrupted her drily, ‘but if you have any thought of involving yourself in the actual rescue, dear sister, be assured I will lock you in Caerlaverock's dungeon rather than risk your harm.'

‘We have a dungeon?' was all Jennifer asked, intrigued. Peter shook his head and climbed to his feet.

As the rest of them rose from the table, Brendon declared his intention to go immediately to his father. ‘While there's nae much likelihood o' him meeting any of the MacFarlane clan, ah'm nae aboot tae take any chances wi' his loose tongue, an we dinnae want him tae mention ma service at Caerlaverock.'

Jennifer bit her lip as she watched the handsome Scot stride from the room. She'd had no opportunity to thank him for his actions the day before. Indeed, they'd spent no time together at all. Mayhap when all this nastiness had been dealt with, there would be time for them to get to know one another a little better. As the thought popped into her head, another immediately followed it. Why on earth did she wish to get to know the steward better? She was to be in Scotland for barely a month. He was a steward and she the daughter of the house. He was an employee, nothing more.

Frowning, she pushed the ridiculous thoughts away and got to her feet. ‘I shall be in the library if anybody wants me. There might be a book containing information to help us with Grandpapa's disguise.'

The Reverend threw her a sour look which naturally went straight over her head. ‘If anybody needs me for any more deuced bacon-brained schemes, I'll be out with Flossy,' he declared huffily, picking the little dog up and stomping from the room.

‘What's wrong with Grandfather?' Peter asked with a frown, watching the Reverend exit the room.

‘I suspect he's less than happy with your choice of sleuthing companion,' Felicity commented drily. ‘I really do think he's missing Percy.'

Peter sighed. ‘I know how he feels. I can't help wishing Father was here.' He looked over at Malcolm and grimaced. ‘I hate to admit it, old friend, but I'm out of my depth.'

The Scot gripped the Viscount's shoulder. ‘It's a good man who can acknowledge such a thing. Ye're not on yer own lad. We're here tae help.'

Peter gave a rueful smile. ‘Believe me, I thank God for it.' Then, laying his used napkin on the table, he added, ‘I'll write the letter to my father immediately. If there's anything you wish to add, let me have it before two o'clock. I'd like the bearer to cover as much distance as possible before sunset.'

Malcolm nodded, before turning to his wife. ‘Do ye have anythin' ye'd like tae say tae her grace?'

‘Poor love is certain to be worried sick once she hears what's been happening,' Felicity returned. ‘I'll go and pen her a few words.' She looked outside with a sigh. ‘I was hoping to pay a visit to Banalan today, but I think perhaps it's better if we stay close to Caerlaverock, at least until we formulate a proper plan. Our presence will inevitably cause gossip.' She drank the last of her tea and stood up. ‘Once I've finished the letter, I believe I'll go for a walk along the edge of the loch.' At her husband's sudden indrawn breath, she put her hand on his arm and added, ‘Of course if you're concerned for my safety, dearest, you could always come with me.'

∞∞∞

By midafternoon, Jennifer was feeling grimy, but jubilant. She'd unearthed a tale of a rumoured hoard of treasure located near to Loch Lomand belonging to an English rector no less. According to the account she'd read, the gentleman by the name of Edward Colman hailed originally from Suffolk. His family had made a substantial amount of money from the cloth trade during the sixteenth century and rose to some prominence within the Suffolk gentry.

Colman's father had been a devout Protestant minister, but Edward himself converted to Catholicism and according to the records became a very enthusiastic preacher of his new faith. By 1673, he'd established himself as the secretary to Mary of Modena – a fellow Catholic and wife of James, Duke of York. The Duke was the younger brother and heir apparent to the Protestant King Charles II.

When the Duke and Duchess of York moved to Edinburgh, Edward went with them after selling the family's land in Suffolk and apparently investing the money in gold jewellery – mostly small items such as rings, necklaces and bracelets that could be easily transported.

The book was very sketchy about what happened next aside from the fact that Edward Colman was embroiled in an alleged plot to assassinate King Charles and ended up being hung, drawn and quartered in 1678. Jennifer shuddered, making sure to skip most of the gorier details. Just before he was arrested, Colman seemingly made the journey from Edinburgh to Loch Lomond but there was no record of exactly where he went or why.

According to the book, since Colman died a traitor's death, all he owned was subsequently appropriated by the Crown. However, it seemed that not so much as a gold ring had been found when his lodgings were ransacked. The entire hoard of jewellery was missing.

Fearing for his life, could Edward Colman have hidden his wealth?

Sitting back, Jennifer closed the book and hugged it to her in satisfaction. This was exactly what they needed. Colman had been an English rector. Grandpapa could quite easily pretend to be a descendant of the family who'd unearthed some information about the missing jewellery. If what they were saying about MacFarlane was true, the clan chief would certainly be interested in what her grandfather had to say.

‘Ye look like a wee cat who's just stolen the cream.' The deep voice of Brendon Galbraith had her jumping out of her chair in shock. At her panicked reaction, the handsome Scot held out his hand as he came towards her. ‘Och, forgive me, ma lady, ah didnae mean tae startle ye.'

With a breathless laugh, Jennifer waved his apology away. ‘I was deep in thought is all,' she answered nervously. ‘Have you spoken with your father?'

‘Aye, an' it gaed just how ye'd imagine. His words as ah was leavin' were, Ah'm nae takin' a baw heided Sassenach God walloper tae visit wi' the MacFarlane an' that be the end o' the matter.

‘I cannae think ye hae a problem understandin' his meanin', ma lady.'

‘Perhaps they'll warm to one another eventually,' Jennifer suggested ruefully.

‘Aye, when hell freezes ower accordin' tae ma da.'

Jennifer sighed. ‘Do you think you'll be able to persuade him to help us?'

‘Aye, he'll dae the business. Even if ah hae tae drag him there.' His grin did strange things to her stomach.

Abruptly, Jennifer realised they were actually alone in the library. ‘I think I've found something that might help us,' she declared, pleased to note that her voice sounded firm and decisive.

He stared at her enquiringly as she held the book aloft. ‘There's a story about an English rector who apparently hid a large cache of gold jewellery before being put to death as a traitor.'

Brendon raised his eyebrows. ‘Story be the right o' it. Ah've heard tell o' treasure in the bottom o' the loch. But there also be stories aboot a monster or some such.' He shrugged. ‘Ah reckon nane o' the twa be true.'

‘They don't have to be,' Jennifer grinned, her shyness forgotten. ‘Grandpapa is excellent at shamming it – according to my mother and all my aunts anyway – I'm entirely certain he'll be able to play the part of a treasure hunting rector with ease.'

‘Can ah see the tale ye read?' Brendon asked, his interest clearly sparked. Nodding, Jennifer laid the book on the small desk she'd been using and opened it at the appropriate page. ‘It says here…' she began, swivelling round to face him, only to stop with a small gasp as her nose almost touched his shirt. Swallowing, she instinctively looked upwards and stilled.

The blue of his eyes was deepened by the light streaming in through the window, but it was the intentness in them that had her heart pumping wildly. Indeed, she felt as if his eyes were about to devour her, such was their absorption. The warning signals in the back of her mind went unheeded as she felt his hand slide up between them, leaving a trail of white-hot sensation where his fingers skimmed her bodice. What seemed like a lifetime later, his fingers reached her cheek. Gently, he used two fingers to brush an errant lock of hair behind her ear while his thumb lightly rubbed against her soft skin. ‘A wee bit o' dust,' he whispered hoarsely making no move to lower his hand.

The feel of his fingers set Jennifer's pulse to racing. An unnamed sensation flooded deep in her belly, so strong, she had to fight the urge to squirm. Unconsciously, she pressed herself forward, desperate to feel the length of him against her body. She felt, rather than heard his indrawn breath, then suddenly, shockingly, he stepped back – so quickly, she almost fell over. He put out his hands to steady her, and she stared up at him wordlessly.

At the feel of his strong hands on her arms, the tingling deep in her core intensified, and with an incoherent murmur, she closed the distance between them and rose onto her tiptoes, her lips wantonly seeking his.

‘Dinnae!' Brendon's groaning rebuff just before their mouth's touched brought her crashing back to reality.

Fighting back a mortified sob, Jennifer stepped backwards as his hands dropped to his sides. For long seconds they stared at each other, chests heaving in unison. ‘I'm so sorry,' Jennifer whispered. ‘I…I don't know what came over me…'

Brendon shook his head violently. ‘Nae, ye did naethin,' he muttered huskily ‘The fault be mine. Ah…' he stopped and threaded his hand through his hair. ‘Forgive me, ma lady.' He paused again before adding, his voice so low she almost missed it. ‘God help me, ye be the bonniest lass ah've e'er laid eyes on.'

Then abruptly, he turned on his heel and left.