Chapter 9

Sir Hugo called a halt at sundown near the southern end of Loch Lubnaig, and as dusk washed over the rolling green hills and wide patches of forestland that flanked the narrow, mile-long loch, they made camp near its eastern shore on a grassy slope that led into a forest about twenty yards above them.

While Rory and some of the other men built the cook fire, laid out sleeping rolls, collected water, and erected the small tent that was to serve as Sorcha and Sidony's bedchamber, other men cast lines into the loch for fish. Still others skinned and gutted rabbits they had killed that afternoon for roasting. One man pulled a cloth sack from the small kist each carried strapped to his saddle, and produced bannocks for toasting over the fire and a pot of jam to share until it ran out. Others produced similar treats.

Sorcha enjoyed the hum of activity. The men had clearly traveled together often and enjoyed one another's company. When the rabbits were spitted and beginning to sizzle, several men adjourned to the edge of the camp nearest the track and began to polish weapons and tend other gear.

In the glow of the firelight as dusk faded to darkness, she watched Hugo drift from one small group to another. At one he talked quietly, at another he shared a joke, and at yet another, two men demanded that he settle a disagreement, which he did with laughter and a clap on the back for one of them.

"He moves like a cat," Sorcha said quietly to Sidony.

"That is what Isobel says about Sir Michael," her sister replied. "She says he moves so silently that he can be beside her before she knows he is nearby. I don't think Sir Hugo is like that."

"Nay, that he is not," Sorcha said, thinking of the powerful sense of energy the man radiated. "I think one would be aware of him even if he were silent and the place pitch black."

"He is a most attractive man, don't you agree?" Sidony said.

Sorcha did not answer, but watching him as he put back his head and laughed at something one of his men said, his strong, white teeth gleaming in the firelight, she was thinking the same thing. Why on earth, she wondered, had Adela not made a stronger push to attract the man, to encourage him to ask for her hand? She knew Isobel had invited Adela to visit Roslin, because she had invited them all, saying they might come together or perhaps one or all of her three unwed sisters might travel south with another family if Macleod did not wish to make the journey. And Adela had known that Sir Hugo would likely be at Roslin much of that time. Yet she had put off going until the early winter had made it impossible. Had it been Sorcha instead who had met him at Orkney…

She set that thought aside, unfinished. It would not do to be thinking that way, not when Sir Hugo was the only hope Adela had of restoring her reputation.

Realizing that Sidony had repeated her question, she said, "He is handsome enough, but in my opinion, he is like most attractive men, insufferably fond of himself."

That was so, she told herself, but he was far more amusing than most of his ilk, and she enjoyed talking with him. At least, she did when he was not flinging orders at her, or scolding her, or telling her to straighten her veil. But in truth he had not done much of that after they had left the clachan that morning.

Soon after she finished her excellent supper of roasted rabbit and bannocks, she detected a halo of light edging the hilltops east of them and realized the moon was rising.

Yawning, Sidony said, "I'm ready for bed. Shall we go?"

"You go ahead," Sorcha said. "I want to watch the moonrise."

"It is not even a full moon yet," Sidony protested.

Sorcha shrugged. "I like to watch it, even so. It will be full in a few days, so it is round enough to suit me."

Hugging her, Sidony bade her goodnight and walked toward their tent.

Sorcha got up from the boulder on which she had sat to eat her supper and began to wander along the loch shore, away from the firelight. She wanted to savor the moonrise without distractions. She had strolled for only a few minutes, however, before the hair on the back of her neck lifted. Even so, the light hand touching her shoulder gave her a severe start.

With a shriek, she whirled, ready to strike.

As he had before, Sir Hugo caught her hand easily, saying, "Nay, Skelpie, I told you, you'll not strike me again."

"I wasn't hitting you, exactly. You just startled me."

"Where are you going?"

She lifted her chin, wanting to jerk her hand away but not certain he would allow it and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of disallowing it. "Could you not simply suppose that I was seeking the privy pits, and leave me to find my way?"

"You are going the wrong way," he said. "We would never dig the pits this close to the water, as you should know. They lie yonder in the woods."

"Well, I wasn't going there, anyway," she said. Then, recalling what Sidony had said about Michael's silent movement, she said, "Do all men from Lothian walk like ghosts in the dark?"

He chuckled, and the sound warmed her. The hand still lightly holding her wrist warmed her, too. She swallowed, not sure what more to say when he did not answer her.

At last, in a voice that sounded strangely uneven, he said, "I just wanted to be sure you did not wander far. It would not be safe to go beyond sight of our encampment except at the pits. I have men posted around that area to guard against strangers. But I'm sorry if I gave you a fright, lass. I did not mean to."

"You didn't frighten me," she said. "You just startled me, and I don't like being startled. Do you mean to hold my hand all night?"

"Mayhap I should," he said, lightly stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb as he looked into her eyes, holding her gaze with his. "I've come to fear that you may fall into trouble if I don't watch you closely."

Although she knew the stroking was probably just an idle gesture of which he was unaware, added to the way he was looking at her, it produced an odd feeling deep inside that made it hard to think or to breathe properly.

"Why did you wander away from the rest of us?" he asked.

"I wanted to watch the moonrise," she said, wrenching her gaze from his. "See, there it comes now. It's peeking at us over that hilltop."

"Aye," he said quietly. "I see."

Silvery light began to spill down the hillside to the loch, touching its still water and turning it into a long, silver, serpentine ribbon between the dark hills.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she said.

"Aye," he agreed.

She glanced up. "You're not looking at it!"

"Nay," he said, capturing her gaze again. "I'm looking at a wee golden witch, and one I should not be alone with, staring at the moon." He hesitated, still looking into her eyes. A moment later, he said gruffly, "Where's your sister?"

"She's gone to bed," Sorcha said, tugging gently to free her hand from his. To her disappointment, he did not try to hold on to it. "But I don't want to go back yet," she said. "I want to watch the moon for a while, but you can go back if you like. I promise you, I'll go no farther."

"Nay, lassie, I'll stay."

In the silence that followed, she found it hard to concentrate on the moon. Although he did not say another word, his presence loomed beside her, making her more aware of him than she had been only moments before.

He did not touch her, but she could sense his strength and feel warmth radiating from his body. His clothing smelled of wood smoke, and she could hear him breathing. When he had looked into her eyes her heart had begun beating harder than the slight exertion of walking alongside the loch warranted, but she could feel its pounding easing. Her body began to relax.

When the rounding moon had risen free of the crest of the hill, knowing he would soon insist they return, Sorcha said into the stillness, "What does he want?"

"Who?"

She did not bother to reply, and after a long moment, he said, "I told you, he seeks vengeance."

"I know that is what you said, but I have been thinking, and if revenge is all he wants, why take Adela? And if he wants to punish her, why not send her back now that he has ruined her, to reap the horrors of her ruination? Why take her all the way to Edinburgh? What does he really want, and why does he think that holding her prisoner will get it for him?"

Again, silence followed before he said, "I cannot tell you the whole tale, because it is not mine to tell. But I will tell you this much. He believes the Sinclairs have something that belongs to the Roman Kirk, something he says he means to return to the Pope when he finds it. And he is certain he will find it."

"Sakes," she said, astonished. "What is it?"

"That is the part I cannot tell you. I have sworn an oath, lass, and I cannot break it, certainly not without greater cause than a woman's curiosity."

"Duty and your sacred honor again, I suppose."

"Aye, and you need not say it like that. Trust is always a matter of honor, and a vow can never be more than a matter of trust. That is why Michael and I, and so many others, support Ranald of the Isles. He is a true Celt. He could easily have raised an army and taken the Lordship into his own hands, and many would have supported him. But he did not do it, because he had given his word to his father that he would see his grace's wishes fulfilled and would see Donald of Isla installed as the new MacDonald. Ranald's word is as good as any legal document, and better than many. Because of that, all men who know him trust him completely."

"Are you as trustworthy as Ranald of the Isles?" she asked.

He hesitated, making her wonder what consideration she had stirred to delay his response. But then he said firmly, "If I give you my word, you may trust it."

"Then give me your word that you will marry Adela when we find her."

"Nay, I'll not do that," he said. "We've already gnawed that bone, and you should know that I meant what I said. It must be her ladyship's choice, not mine or yours. Now, though, I must return you to your sister."

He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the firelight, and she did not resist. Indeed, she enjoyed the warm feeling of him touching her and wondered again at Adela's stupidity. It occurred to her that he had not answered the part of her question about why Waldron had abducted Adela. But looking up at his strong profile as they walked, she decided she did not want to press the point. Likely, he would just tell her it was a part of the story he could not reveal. In any event, she did not want to break the easy mood between them.

For one flickering moment, earlier, when he had been looking into her eyes, she had thought he might kiss her and had felt a surge of disappointment when he had not. But thinking of it now, she scolded herself again for a fool, because common sense warned her that if he had kissed her, it would have stirred a whole new set of problems that she did not even want to contemplate.

Still, she was glad he had refused to promise he would marry Adela. If only she could think that Adela would be stupid enough to refuse his offer.

But Adela was not stupid. If she had accepted Ardelve, she would simply leap at the chance to marry Hugo.

Any woman would.

Walking back to the fire with him in companionable silence, she saw that Sidony had not gone to bed after all. Instead she sat near the fire, watching Rory toast a remaining bannock, talking earnestly with him. He glanced at her and nodded from time to time, clearly trying to keep one eye on the bannock dangling precariously from his slender toasting stick, and the other on Sidony as she talked.

As Sorcha and Sir Hugo neared the pair, Rory slipped the bannock from the stick, broke it in half, and gave half to Sidony. When she broke off a piece and put it gingerly to her lips, Rory said something, and she smiled, making Sorcha wonder what on earth they had been talking about.

Sir Hugo muttered abruptly, "How well do you two know that lad?"

Sorcha shrugged. "We've known him since we were all children at Chalamine together. His mother, Bess MacIver, was our mother's waiting woman. She stayed as our housekeeper for several years after Mother died, until her husband, Ranulf, was badly kicked by one of Father's horses. Father helped them buy the cottage in Glenancross, near her family, and they have lived there since."

"In other words, you don't know that lad well at all," he said. "I'm thinking he has designs on your sister."

"Rory? You must be daft," Sorcha said. "He would not think of such a thing. He has been very good to us, very protective, and he kens fine that his mother would have the hide off him if he were to hurt either one of us or seek aught from us that was unsuitable. He is an honorable man, too, Sir Hugo, and his honor means as much to him as yours does to you."

"Pax, lass. I meant no offense. I do not know him, which is why I asked."

Sorcha sighed. Once again, he had put her in the wrong without even raising his voice. She wanted to apologize, and at the same time, she wanted to smack him. She did neither, resorting to silence instead.

Sidony saw them and stood, bidding Rory goodnight before she hurried to meet them, saying, "I decided to wait for you, after all. They had a few bannocks left over, and Rory toasted one for me. I know I did not need more to eat, but it was delicious. Are you going to bed now, Sorcha?"

Wondering what demon possessed her usually bashful sister to babble on so, Sorcha agreed that she was indeed ready to sleep and bade Sir Hugo a dignified goodnight. The moment she and Sidony were alone in their tent, however, she said, "What were you talking to Rory about so intently?"

Sidony sighed as she turned to let Sorcha undo the lacing at the back of her borrowed bodice. "I was telling him how worried I am about Adela, that's all," she said. "She has been missing for days, Sorcha, days that she has had to spend with those horrid men. I don't mean to complain when I know we are doing all we can, but I keep wondering what they may be doing to her, and it frightens me."

"Then don't think about it," Sorcha advised bluntly. "It won't help Adela for you to torture yourself so on her behalf. Nor should you complain to Rory, dearling," she added in a gentler tone. "He can do nothing to help her either, you know—none of us can until we find her."

"No, I suppose not," Sidony said, sighing. "Still, it did make me feel better to talk to him. I just wish we could know she is safe."

"She will be soon. But no more burdening Rory with your worries."

Chastened, Sidony promised she would not do so again.

They went to bed, and curled up beside Sidony in bedding that Sir Hugo and his men had provided for them, Sorcha slept deeply and well.

But the next morning, when they emerged from their tent a short time after dawn broke over the hills, the first thing they learned was that Rory had disappeared from the camp and had taken his pony with him.

One of Sir Hugo's men approached them before they had walked more than a few yards from their tent. Explaining what had happened, he said that his master wanted to speak to them.

"We are going to break our fast now," Sorcha said. "Tell him we'll be glad to discuss it with him as we eat, though."

The man glanced over his shoulder, then leaned nearer to say in a brusque undertone, "I wouldna advise that course, m'lady. The master be in a rare temper, because he thinks ye kent fine that the lad were a-going, so unless ye want everyone to hear all he says to ye, I'd advise ye to go to him now."

"I'll go, then," Sorcha said firmly. "Siddy, you go on over by the fire and fetch us both something to eat. I warrant this will not take me long."

"Beg pardon, m'lady, but he said ye both should come," the man said.

Sorcha opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of that but shut it again without saying a word. She would not allow Hugo to bully Sidony, but neither would she allow his dictatorial ways to stir her to the even more inappropriate behavior of voicing her opinions about him to his minions. So, instead, she nodded her head regally and gestured for Sidony to follow her.

"Faith, he'll murder us both," Sidony murmured in a tremulous voice.

"No, he won't," Sorcha said. "I shan't let him. He may think he can bellow at us. Indeed, we cannot stop him if he does. But he will not do more than that, for all he may threaten. Just keep silent, dearling. I'll manage him."

One look at his face, however, was enough to shake her confidence. To say that he was in a black rage would not, she thought, be stretching the truth an inch.

Three of his men were with him, but to her relief he dismissed them all when she and Sidony approached. He did not, however, wait until the men were beyond earshot before he snapped, "Where the devil is he?"

"If you mean Rory, sir, we've no more idea than you do where he has gone," Sorcha replied. "We did not know he had left until your man told us, but I'm sure he'll return soon, so if that is all you wanted to ask us, we will go and eat now. Come, Siddy," she added, touching her sister's arm.

"Not so fast, lass," he said harshly enough to stop her in her tracks.

Sidony had not moved.

"Lady Sidony, do you know aught of that lad's whereabouts?"

Sorcha felt Sidony's arm tremble, but her sister just shook her head.

"Look at me," Hugo commanded.

Obediently, Sidony did so, but the sight of tears welling in her eyes fired Sorcha's temper.

"You're frightening my sister, and to no purpose," she snapped. "She knows no more than I do."

"Are you so certain of that?" he demanded. "I thought you told me Rory MacIver had a sense of honor. Honorable men do not disobey orders, nor do they abandon women they have sworn to protect."

Sorcha realized what he was doing and turned quickly to soothe her sister's predictable distress, but she was too late.

"Rory is honorable," Sidony said through her tears. "This is all my fault. I'm sure of it! Oh, Sorcha, you were right to scold me last night!"

"So, you did ask him to do something for you," Hugo said, moving to confront Sidony directly. "What was it?"

Sidony sobbed, and Sorcha stepped between them. "Leave her alone!"

In response, Sir Hugo moved her bodily out of his way and said curtly, "Don't interfere again. The lad's life may depend on how quickly I can get to the bottom of this." Turning back to Sidony, he said, "Tell me at once, lassie. I must know."

With another sob, Sidony wailed, "But I don't know where he is! I just know it's my fault that he left."

"Why is it your fault?" he asked, and this time, Sorcha noted, his tone was a more coaxing one. Reluctantly realizing that he was more likely to get the answers he wanted without her help, she kept silent.

Sidony glanced at her, but Hugo did not. When Sorcha said nothing, tears began to spill down Sidony's cheeks. She turned back to Hugo with another sob.

He said gently, "Come now, tell me."

She drew a long breath, then said, "I was so worried about Adela, sir. I told him that. But… but I also told him I would give anything just to know she was safe, to know for certain that those horrid men had not already killed her."

"Sakes, did you offer him a reward if he could produce such information?"

"No!" she cried. "My stupidity was in not realizing he might want to please me, might even take it upon himself to set out in search of her. I cannot imagine any other reason for him to have left us, Sir Hugo. But surely, he must realize that you and your men are much better suited to find her than he is."

Sorcha saw him grimace, but he said only, "If he has set out to look for her, he must be somewhere on the road ahead. Eat quickly, and we'll be on our way."

"Go on without me, Siddy," Sorcha said, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "Find me something I can eat as we ride. I want to speak with Sir Hugo."

Sidony nodded and, looking much calmer, walked away.

Sorcha had intended to wait until she was beyond hearing, but Hugo said abruptly, "If you mean to take me to task for that, you can save your breath."

"I don't," she said, glancing back at Sidony to see how far she had gone. "You managed her better than I would have, sir, but I want to know why you looked as you did when she said your men are better able to find Adela than he is."

He grimaced again, but his stern posture relaxed, and she detected a rueful glint in his eyes. "You are determined to find fault with me, are you not?"

"No," she said honestly. "I just want to know if Rory is truly in danger."

"Aye, sure, he is. No sensible man would go in search of Waldron without greater skill and more weapons than that lad has."

"But if he only wants to see if she is safe, he will hardly walk into their encampment. Moreover, I cannot see why that would make you look as if you'd been caught doing something you should not have done."

"Is that how I looked?" he asked.

She nodded, wishing he would not gaze at her so directly. It made her feel as if he was trying to see into her mind and read her thoughts.

"I did feel guilty," he admitted. "In truth, you've had that effect on me since the day we met. But in this case, it is not anything I've said or done. I just realized that the only way that lad could have ridden away without my sentries stopping him is if he rode with or after the three men I'd sent on ahead."

"You sent men to look for Adela?"

"Nay, although I did tell them that if they learned aught of her whereabouts, one of them should ride back and tell me. Otherwise they will go to Roslin to bring reinforcements, so if we should meet Waldron before we get there oursel—"

"Sakes, sir, you should have sent for reinforcements straightaway!"

"I had only twenty men with me, lass. Waldron has twice that many by now. Moreover, I sent two of mine back to Oban when I found you, to let Hector Reaganach's men know where you were and that we were going to Edinburgh."

Sorcha stared at him. "Do you mean to say Hector is following us?"

He chuckled. "That gives you pause, does it? Well, I cannot blame you for that. The man terrifies me, too. But nay, lass, Hector is committed to accompanying Donald—or MacDonald, as we should call him now—just as your father and Michael are. I merely wanted to let his men know, because he asked me to do so."

"Do you think we'll have enough men if they don't send some to help us?"

"I hope we have enough for our present needs, at least. I've sent lads ahead and behind from the first day to watch for trouble, but I dared not send them any farther than they could ride back each night. Now that we are nearing Stirling and Edinburgh, I decided it would be safe enough to send those three on ahead."

"And you think Rory went with them?"

"I don't know," he said. "I'm guessing, but I'm afraid their going may have given your young protector sufficient cover to slip away."

"Perhaps he persuaded them to take him with them," Sorcha said.

"Unlikely, since they know they'd face my wrath. He may have said that he had my permission, of course. I'll question the lads when they return, but I'm thinking he just slipped by my guards. Their duty is to watch for intruders, so they may not have paid any heed to an extra man leaving."

"Would your cousin really harm him?"

"Waldron is capable of anything," he said. "Remember that. And, lass," he added, giving her one of those straight looks that seemed to see right through her.

"Aye, sir," she said with a sigh.

To her surprise, he reached out and casually brushed a strand of hair from her cheek as he said, "Truly, I am not an ogre. Stop trying to paint me as one."

Hugo's fingertips still retained warmth from touching her cheek. In fact, they fairly tingled, and he knew that every time he touched her, he was venturing into treacherous territory. Just thinking of other places he might touch her wakened parts of his body that had no business waking in her presence, making him grateful for the shadowy darkness where they stood and for her maidenly innocence.

She smiled ruefully and said, "I do not think you an ogre, sir, merely a normal man who thinks he must order the lives of everyone he comes near. If you learn more about where Rory has gone, I would like you to tell me."

He agreed, because it seemed a small thing to ask, and he wanted to please her when he could, if only to avoid more fratching. He still had not told her that he intended to bypass Edinburgh and make straight for Roslin, although he had nearly let it slip when he said his lads had gone for reinforcements. Since he was certain Waldron would likewise skirt the royal burgh and head southeast to Edgelaw, he had no qualms about waiting until they reached Linlithgow to tell her.

Therefore, agreeing to share information he acquired about Rory MacIver seemed only fair. But in the event, he had no need to tell her about him, because three hours later, shortly after they passed through the town of Dunblane with its beautiful century-and-a-half-old, red-sandstone cathedral, they found the poor lad bound to one of several chestnut trees at the side of the road.

His body slumped lifelessly forward, and someone had put a woman's silver chaplet on his head.