Chapter 11

Not until Sidony was fast asleep did Sorcha stir from the makeshift bed they shared in the little tent. Having taken advantage of a few moments when duties on the other side of the encampment occupied Hugo as they prepared for the night, she had complained to one of the men who erected the tent that moonlight shining through its opening would keep them awake. He had obligingly shifted it nearer the woods and had turned the open end toward the trees so their height and a few long branches would continue to block the moon's light as the night progressed.

Congratulating herself on her cleverness, Sorcha crept cautiously out on her hands and knees, then eased into the dark shadows of the nearest large tree and around it into the shelter of the woodland before she looked back.

The camp was quiet, but embers still glowed in the stone circle where the cook fire had burned, and she knew that sentries stood watch somewhere. She had bundled her brown leggings and saffron shirt under an arm, and had put on her dark-gray hooded cloak over the shift and bodice she'd worn to bed. She had also tugged on the hide boots Rory had given her, to protect her bare feet.

In the deepest shadow behind the big tree, moving with extreme caution and watching for sentries, she donned the rest of her lad's clothing, then shoved her shift and bodice into a space between two boulders. As she finished the latter task, a footstep nearby startled her nearly out of her skin.

Hunching low, hoping her dark cloak would blend into nearby undergrowth, she held her breath and waited.

The man passed within a few feet of her, clearly walking his area while keeping inside the tree line. That way, she knew, he could see anyone entering the camp and could also surprise anyone trying to sneak up on them.

Silently thanking whichever of the Fates had allowed her to avoid discovery, and listening carefully to the slight sounds of his retreat, she inched away from the route he had followed, hoping he would not be able to see into her tent easily enough to realize that only one person now slept there.

She also hoped Hugo was a heavy sleeper.

Having taken careful note of several landmarks before going to bed, and having learned as a child to find the North Star, she had expected to maintain a westward course without difficulty long enough to find the crossing they had passed shortly before stopping to make camp.

Having heard one of the men refer to that crossing as the Glasgow road, she hoped that by going back to it, she could elude Sir Hugo's inevitable search for her and still find the village of Ratho.

Unfortunately, first she had to find her way out of the woods, which proved more difficult than expected. She could see starlight and moonlight through the trees, but she could not see the North Star, and the dense canopy blocked all but an occasional clear view of the moon. Her sense of direction was generally excellent. However, having to wend her way among the trees, she was horrified ten minutes later to see that the moon had somehow shifted from her left to her right.

She stopped and listened, aware that she was heading back toward the camp and in dire peril of walking right into one of Hugo's sentries, if not Hugo himself. She wanting to shriek in frustration, but she could not stay where she was. Staying lost in the stupid woods all night would do neither Adela nor herself any good.

She could not hope to persuade Hugo that she had lost herself looking for the privy pits, since he would certainly wonder why she had changed into leggings and a shirt to look for them. And what he would do to her when he deduced that her destination had been the village of Ratho did not bear thinking about.

Her strongest impulse was to sneak back into the tent and lie down beside Sidony, but she could not do that either.

Since they had seen no sign of reinforcements from Roslin or Lochbuie by the time darkness fell, Sorcha doubted that they would arrive before the next morning at the earliest. Hugo had clearly expected to meet the ones from Roslin on the road, after all. But she had a dreadful feeling that if anything delayed them, Adela might forfeit her last chance to survive. In any event, she meant to do all she could to force Hugo into action as soon as possible.

He was being cautious, she knew, in wanting to send them to Roslin, but too much caution with Adela's safety in the balance was naught but foolishness.

She knew he would follow her as soon as he discovered she was missing, and she doubted that this time she would escape his retribution. But he could do as he liked to her if she could assure Adela's rescue.

The woods were eerily silent. Deciding that since she had seen no further sign of any sentry she could risk keeping a closer eye on the moon's position long enough to find her way out of them, she began to do so. She also increased her pace.

The eerie silence reminded her of Rory's haunted wood, but when a rustle of leaves nearby made her turn her head sharply, she scolded herself for a surfeit of imagination and hurried on, certain she was going the right way at last.

When brighter moonlight ahead assured her that she was near the edge of the wood, she slowed again and took particular care not to make any noise. It occurred to her that if she just stayed hidden, Hugo might still assume she had gone to Ratho and go after her with his men. But she quickly dismissed the notion.

Not only would hiding from him be cowardly, but she had no idea how large the wood was, and he might well find her easily by daylight. Worse, she would not be at hand to comfort Adela. And, too, she told herself ruefully, she had already sealed her fate where Hugo was concerned. Her punishment would likely be as harsh whether she hid in the wood or faced the villains alone.

One might as well be skelped for the whole deed as for its mere intent.

As her mind presented the image of what Hugo would look like and what he would probably do to her, the night darkened, an odiferous cloth engulfed her, a heavy hand clapped over it hard against her face and mouth, and a muscular arm wrapped tight round her waist.

She struggled fiercely against the strength of that arm as it lifted her from the ground. Kicking and squirming, she tried to bite the hand over her mouth through the thick cloth as whoever held her began to run. Alarm shot through her. If he tripped over a root, he might easily fall on her and squash her flat.

She told herself that if the man who held her was Hugo, as she both hoped and feared, he would take care not to harm her. Not that that would help her much in the end, she knew. That thought made her kick harder, and one foot connected solidly enough to elicit a loud grunt of pain from her captor.

The sound stopped the breath in her throat, for by no stretch of imagination could she believe any longer that Hugo had caught her. No grunt from him would sound like that. She realized then that he would not have run as this man was running, either. He would have tossed her over his shoulder as he had done before and, also as he had done before, would likely have smacked her for her furious struggles long before she could have kicked him hard enough to hurt him.

She tried to believe that an ordinary ruffian had caught her, but plain logic insisted that it was one of the men who had hurt Rory. If that was true, she could only hope he did not discover her sex before she could escape.

That hope died when the man carrying her slowed in response to another voice calling softly, "Here, Fin. Did ye get the lass?"

"I got one o' them," the man holding her muttered back. "I dinna ken which, but she's got a fine, lovely body, this one. I watched her change clothes, and I'm telling ye now that if the master says we can enjoy her a bit before he's nae more use for her, I'm for it. The wee vixen kicked me, and I dinna doubt but what she'd bite me hand right off did I give her the chance, so she owes me summat nice!"

Sorcha was certain the lout had not seen much of her, because she had been crouched in heavy shadows at the time. He still held his hand and the heavy cloth tightly across her mouth, and she was beginning to feel faint from lack of air.

The thought that she might lose consciousness made her think of Rory again and the awful stuff they had given him that had made him sick. Perhaps it would be better, she decided, if she did faint from lack of air.

Accordingly, she slumped as limply as she could in the villain's arms.

"Sakes," he exclaimed, "I think I've suffocated her."

"Ye'd best hope ye havena done any such thing, Fin Wylie," the other speaker said. "Carry her into the light here and let's ha' a look at her."

When they pulled the cloth off, she had all she could do to remain still. She was frightened of them but more frightened that they might try to tilt some of their awful potion down her throat.

"She's just gone off into a swoon," the second man said. "We'd best find the other lads and get back afore the master sends someone t' find us."

The impulse to draw a deep breath of fresh air into her lungs was nearly more than Sorcha could control, but she managed to breathe evenly until the two found their companions and mounted horses.

When they lifted her to a saddlebow to lean against the one they called Fin Wylie, she nearly lost control again, because the idea of riding any distance with such a man holding her around the waist was abhorrent.

Only when the one who had done most of the talking warned him that he'd best keep his hands to himself unless he wanted to explain himself to the master was she able to relax and hope that Waldron had imposed his extraordinary beliefs about the hereafter on his men.

Finally able to fill her lungs with fresh air, albeit carefully so as not to alert Fin Wylie to the fact that she was conscious, she soon began to feel more herself again and to wonder how long it would be before Hugo discovered her absence.

Although the possibility had occurred to her that she might fall into the hands of the villains, she had assumed it could not happen before she found their camp, at least several hours after she had slipped away from her own.

She had hoped Hugo would not learn what she had done until dawn, but then even her best-laid plans rarely came off as expected. One had only to remember Adela's wedding to realize that. And dawn certainly seemed a long way off now.

Their journey was shorter than she had thought it would be, because surely less than an hour passed before they rode into the enemy camp. She had kept her eyes shut nearly the whole way in fear that one or another of the men would notice if she opened them. From time to time, though, she had opened them to narrow slits and peered through her lashes, but she had seen little to tell her where she was.

When Fin Wylie drew rein, the temptation stirred again to open them, but she resisted and was glad she had when two strong hands gripped her waist and lifted her from the saddle. She found it impossible, however, to maintain her limp posture. When her feet touched the ground and the man holding her let go, she automatically opened her eyes and caught herself.

"Well, well," the man said. "What have we here?" He was as tall as Hugo, with a similar look about him, making her certain she faced Waldron of Edgelaw.

"She's a wee vixen, master," Fin Wylie said. "Kicked me, and tried to bite me."

"Did she?" Waldron said. "Are these your customary clothes, lass?"

Sorcha gave him a blank stare but did not reply, seeing nothing to gain by it.

"I will ask you one more time," he said with enough menace in his voice to make her shiver. "Do you customarily dress in male clothing?"

"No."

"No, what?"

"No, I do not customarily dress like this."

Peripheral awareness of the four men who had captured her looking at one another told her she had answered incorrectly, but she continued to gaze at their master, straightening her shoulders as she did.

He was silent for a long moment before he said, "You want manners, my lady, and I think I shall enjoy teaching them to you. But for the moment you will come with me. There is someone who will be eager to see you."

Gripping her upper arm, he urged her to a nearby tent and shoved her inside. Expecting to see Adela, she stopped short at the sight of Isobel, wide awake, lying awkwardly on a pile of furs with her wrists bound to a tent post.

"Sorcha!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Searching for Adela, of course. But how did you get here?"

"They captured me when I walked a short distance from the castle after Michael and the others left with the flotilla," Isobel said. "I thought I heard a child crying, so I went farther than usual, but it was a trap. They were waiting for me."

"But if his grace and the others left before you, why are they not here yet?"

"Because they went around the Mull of Kintyre so others from the south could join them, whilst we came across the isthmus from West Loch Tarbert." Isobel tried to sit up, then said in frustration, "Can you untie me?"

Sorcha took a step toward her, but the hand that had so recently released her caught her arm again.

"You will ask my permission first," Waldron said.

Sorcha looked up at him. "Why should I when you will simply refuse it?"

"Because you do not know I will," he replied calmly. "Until you know me better, lass, you would do well to tread lightly. I hold two of your sisters, after all. 'Tis they who will pay the price for your insolence if you try me further."

"Sakes, would you hurt a woman big with child? Only a mons—"

"Sorcha, be silent," Isobel said sharply. "You do not know him."

"Wise advice, Lady Isobel. Let us hope your insolent little sister accepts it."

Gritting her teeth, Sorcha inhaled deeply and exhaled before she said, "Very well then, may I untie her hands?"

"Certainly," he said. "I doubt she will try to escape whilst you and Adela are here, or that she can get far if she does."

Isobel said, "I would like to have a few minutes of privacy outside, if I may."

"You just went an hour ago," he said.

"Aye, but women in my condition require frequent relief," she said.

"I'll have one of my men take you then."

"That's barbaric," Sorcha said. "I'll take her. If you like, I'll give you my word that we won't try to escape. We are not going anywhere without Adela."

To her surprise, he smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile, and she had no wish to ask him what he thought was funny. Expecting him to refuse permission, she was surprised again when he nodded. "Take her then, but do not stay long."

Outside, he directed them to the area they wanted, and when they had found a suitable place, Isobel moved to brace herself against a tree, murmuring so that her words barely reached Sorcha's ears, "Is anyone with you or close behind?"

"I don't think so," Sorcha said quietly. "When Hugo finds out that—"

"So Hugo found you?"

"Aye, yestermorn, but I doubt he knows yet that I've left camp. He is expecting some of Hector's men, and likewise some from Roslin, but I do not know when they will arrive. He'll come, though, as soon as he learns that I've gone. He'll know I meant to come here. That is, he will, if we are near the village of Ratho."

"Sakes, I haven't a notion where we are," Isobel said.

"I don't, either, but Rory MacIver heard them say the name, and Hugo said it lay somewhere hereabouts."

Isobel made a sound then that sounded like a groan.

"Are you ill?" Sorcha demanded. "It cannot have been good for you to travel so far, as big with child as you are. You must have made all speed, too, if you left after Michael and his grace left. That was likewise yestermorn, was it not?"

"Aye," Isobel said, straightening again with the support of the tree. "The men had a galley, doubtless the one Michael thinks they used to take Adela south from Glenelg to Loch Ailort. He believes they had it from the wicked Green Abbot of the Holy Isle, who has helped Waldron before. You do know that Waldron is a cousin to the Sinclairs, and thus also cousin to Sir Hugo."

"Aye, Hugo told me."

"Another galley waited for us in East Loch Tarbert, so we walked across the isthmus, made Dumbarton by morning, and reached this place late this afternoon."

"If he managed to summon up two galleys, even from the Green Abbot, he must have planned this venture carefully beforehand," Sorcha murmured.

"Aye, sure, but what else did Hugo tell you? Nay, never mind," Isobel added hastily, looking around as if she expected the very trees to have ears. "But do take care not to infuriate Waldron, Sorcha. He is a demon, believe me."

"Did you really push him off the ramparts at Roslin? Hugo said you did."

"I did, and by rights he should be dead, but demons don't die easily."

She spoke more loudly than before, so Sorcha was not surprised to hear Waldron say, "Come, ladies, it is time to go back to your wee tent."

Exchanging a look with Isobel, Sorcha wondered, just as her sister clearly did, how much he had heard them say.

He gave no indication that he had heard any of it as he guided them back to the tent, saying only, "You will sleep here with your sister, Lady Sorcha."

"I want to see Adela first," Sorcha said.

"Not tonight," he said. "She is asleep."

Sorcha would have protested, but Isobel pinched her arm, silencing her.

When they were alone in the tent, Isobel said, "Adela will not thank you for being here, Sorcha. She was absolutely furious to see me."

"Well, she should have been furious," Sorcha said. "The very idea that Waldron and his louts would force a woman in your condition to travel all the way from Lochbuie to this horrid place should infuriate any civilized person."

"Aye, sure, but she seemed angry with me, not him. And I suspect that she will be just as unhappy to see you."

Adela was too angry to sleep. She had lain awake, mentally flaying everyone she could think of, especially Isobel. What, she wondered, had Isobel been thinking to let herself be captured? And where was Michael, that he'd allowed such a thing?

Although she tried, she could not seem to ease her fury. Since no one could have abducted Isobel from inside the walls of Lochbuie, she must have done something stupid to get herself captured. Not only had she thus put herself and her baby in danger, but she had also spoken the name Waldron aloud. Since that moment, Adela had been unable to think of him any longer as simply his lordship, a man with sincere beliefs whom she might eventually persuade to be more civil. That image had evaporated in the horror-stricken moment when Isobel's very presence had reminded her of how evil he could be and the threats he had made. What would he do now?

Between them, Isobel and Sorcha had always been her two most troublesome sisters, with Isobel's unending curiosity and Sorcha's headstrong defiance often leading each into mischief. Had it not been enough that Sorcha had interfered in a matter that was none of her business? Adela was still angry with her, too, so angry that at one point in her reflections she thought that she heard Sorcha's voice.

Then, realizing that her thoughts had taken her full circle, she tried to bring herself up short, to remind herself again that Waldron was the one at fault. But she dared not rail at him, for by no means could she persuade herself that he would not react brutally if she did. And who would he use then to teach her a lesson?

She believed he had come to like her a little. Had he not said she was a good listener? Did he not speak civilly to her? He had not even lost his temper when she'd said he should take her at once if he meant to take her at all. In fact, he had not done anything brutal since the hanging Monday night, four whole nights ago—a lifetime.

But capturing the pregnant Isobel had hardly been civil. Adela tried to push the nagging reminder away, but she could not, because something inside told her that only a thoroughly evil man could do such a thing. Still, she tried to persuade herself that Waldron could not be thoroughly evil. Although evil men or evil thoughts must have influenced him to act as he had, only the devil himself was evil clear through.

Waldron served God, and God was not evil. God had a purpose in all He did.

On that thought, Waldron entered the tent without warning.

"Good, you're awake," he said.

She gazed blankly at him, wondering why he had come to her at such an hour. Could he mean at last to break the vow that he had made to God and to her?

"I couldn't sleep," she said warily.

"You'll have to get up. I'm having them move this tent into the woods. We'll leave the other where it is for now, but from any distance, I want this area to look as if no one else is here."

"Then you mean to use Isobel as bait to catch Michael and Hugo," she said, forcing herself to speak matter-of-factly as she thrust off the blanket. "She ought never to have come here."

He shrugged. "She did not come by choice. I needed her."

Without thinking, she snapped, "But how could you? To have endangered her baby—" She broke off, furious with herself and terrified that she had stirred his anger again, anger that could now endanger Isobel and her baby even more. "I beg your pardon, my lord," she said hastily, wondering what demon had taken possession of her tongue. "I know I should not speak so to you."

To her astonishment, she thought she heard a trace of defensiveness as he said, "Until you told me, I did not know her time was so near. By then it was too late to do anything about it, but no harm has come to her, and I needed her."

"To set a trap so you can kill her husband and Sir Hugo."

"I won't kill them," he said. "Not straightaway. First, I must learn all they can tell me about the treasure."

"Treasure?" She barely said the word aloud, but although he had tolerated her earlier plain speaking, his eyes narrowed ominously now.

"Surely, you know that anything stolen from the Kirk must be thought of as treasure," he said. "Heretics held it, and when the Pope ordered its return and disbanded their unholy organization, they fled with it. The Kirk has been searching for it since the early years of this century, and as I have kinsmen amongst the family chiefly suspected of concealing it, I became one of the chosen."

Drawing breath to steady her voice, she said, "I agree that if the Sinclairs have taken something that does not belong to them they must return it, but you must not use Isobel to bait your trap. If a fight breaks out, she could easily be hurt."

"Aye, well, I'll think about that," he said. "I've no wish to harm any babe unless it becomes necessary. Mayhap the lady Sorcha will suffice as my bait."

"Sorcha!" She remembered the voice she had heard.

"Aye, she came to pay us a visit just before the moon went down, and I've no doubt that Hugo must be close on her heels. So pick up all you can carry and bring it with you. I want to get everyone out of sight straightaway."

Two hours before dawn, Hugo awoke to darkness, fully alert and aware that someone stood silently nearby, just beyond his view. The moon had set, the black sky above was full of stars, and the air felt cold and damp. He lay perfectly still, relying on his senses for further information before he reacted.

Whoever it was was neither large nor heavy, for although he detected faster than normal breathing, it was soft, not labored or stertorous. With that awareness, a slight scent of lavender wafted to him. His first deduction was that it might be Sorcha, but the knowledge that she would not hesitate to wake him brought him swiftly to the obvious but less welcome conclusion.

Slowly, as though he still slept, he turned his head.

Discerning the slender shape huddled in a cloak in shadows nearby, he saw that it definitely was not Sorcha, and despite having already reached that conclusion, the disappointment he felt startled him with its sharpness.

Then he saw that Sidony was wringing her hands.

Knowing he could easily frighten her, he forced calm into his voice as he said, "What's amiss, my lady?"

"Oh, thank heaven you are awake, sir!" she said without coming a step nearer. "I could not decide if I should disturb you, but I am dreadfully afraid."

With every instinct now warning him to bring her quickly to the point, he said, "What has frightened you?"

"I… I truly do not know if I should tell you," she said.

"Why not?"

"I fear it will make you angry," she said. "Or perhaps it will…"

When she hesitated again, he sat up, fighting to keep his patience. "Or perhaps you believe it will anger your sister. Come now, where is she?"

"I… I do not know," Sidony admitted, and he heard tears in her voice.

Shoving back the blanket, he stood up, and although he kept his distance from her, he said more sternly, "Are you sure you do not know where she is?"

"I swear it, sir. The cold woke me, and I saw at once that she was gone."

"Mayhap she merely sought to—"

"No, sir. I waited long enough to be sure of that before I came to find you."

"Did you ask the men if anyone had seen her?"

She shook her head, looking horrified at the thought.

"By heaven," he said, "if she has—"

"Oh, please, Sir Hugo, I'm so afraid that she went to find Adela just as Rory tried to do. I know she was unhappy with your decision to send us to Roslin instead of taking us with you. But if they have caught her, as they caught Rory, they may do something horrible to her. Can we not go at once and find her?"

"Lady Sidony, your sister deserves whatever they do to her," Hugo said wrathfully. "And whatever they may have done by the time I find her, I promise you, I'll do more. But you are not going with me. I'm sending you to Roslin, where you will be safe. Then I'll collect your sisters, both of them. You have my word."

His promises did not seem to have relieved her mind. She readily expressed confidence that he would find them, however, so he knew she was only worried about what he would do to Sorcha.

And, indeed, he muttered to himself, she had every reason to be worried about that.