Chapter 12

Hugo wasted no time. Shouting to waken his men, he ordered a party out to search the nearby woods while others prepared for a hasty departure. A member of the search party returned minutes later with Sorcha's bodice and shift.

"That is what she was sleeping in!" Sidony exclaimed. "You don't think they can have stripped—"

"What I think is that she put on the clothing she was wearing when I found you," he interjected harshly. "If you look, I'll wager you'll find it's missing."

She ran to the tent as men were about to dismantle it, plunged inside, and emerged again with a bundle that proved to be her male clothing and Sorcha's russet skirt and jerkin. Sorcha's shirt, leggings, and cloak were all missing.

Hugo lingered only long enough after that for his men to finish their search and find evidence of standing horses, boot prints, and some sort of a struggle near a track leading toward a glacial ridge to the south. Aware that the village of Ratho lay beyond that ridge, he gathered his men and gave them their orders as they hastily wolfed cold food to sustain them through the next few hours.

Selecting the best warriors to go with him, he sent two men back toward Linlithgow to guide Hector's men to Ratho if they met them, then sent a third with Rory to escort Sidony. "Take the extra horses with you and follow the road to Torfinn's Crossing," he said. "Turn south there toward Roslin, and when you meet our reinforcements from the castle, speed them on their way to Ratho."

They agreed, and watching them go, he realized that he had only thirteen men left to him and wondered what Macleod would say to the number. He also wondered how many men Waldron had amassed.

Nearly an hour had passed since Sidony had wakened him.

He spent the twenty-minute ride up the ridge pondering what strategy would serve him best. His men, though few, were highly trained, seasoned warriors. Most had learned as he had to fight in the open if possible but to employ skillful stealth if openness would not serve. A frontal attack would be out of the question. Not only did Waldron very likely now hold two defenseless women as hostages, but he doubtless also knew how many men Hugo had, and expected him to ride straight into his trap.

It occurred to Hugo then that if his cousin had set up an ambush, he might have moved the women out of harm's way. Waldron would not hesitate to threaten them or even to hurt them if he thought doing either would force Hugo to lead him to the treasure, but Hugo doubted that he would harm either woman unless he believed such action would serve his primary purpose.

He tried to imagine a way that he and his men might skirt Waldron's camp and come on it from behind but realized such a tactic would prove futile. His cousin would not be waiting for him anyplace where they could so easily surprise him.

It had grown light enough by then to reveal that the glacial ridge was mostly granite with scattered, windblown shrubs and scrawny trees, which Hugo knew would provide scant cover as they rode up the slope, or when they reached the top. By the same token, there was scant cover for watchers above. That they had seen none seemed to indicate that Waldron was confident enough of their coming that he felt no need to set a watch at any distance from his trap.

When they neared the crest, Hugo signaled a halt and dismounted. Leaving his men, he strode ahead to the crest on foot. Once there, despite the still-shadowy twilight, he kept low and took advantage of any black shadow he found. Scanning the area below, he tried to think as Waldron would.

He saw no sign of anyone moving down the southern slope, but below and to his right lay patches of woodland and the village of Ratho, consisting of a steepled stone kirk, a dozen or so thatched cottages, a few shops, and a smithy, all arranged around a small market square.

To the east, a thick stretch of woodland gave way to a long oval clearing, then more woodland extending into low hills. Beyond those hills lay Roslin and Edgelaw. He could discern the track Waldron's men had followed from the ridge to the woods. He also saw a small tent centered near the south edge of the clearing.

Slipping back down the north slope to his waiting men, he said crisply, "Einar Logan, Tam Swanson, and Wat MacComas, you'll stay with me. Fergus Mann, you take the others and ride into the village, where you'll ask if anyone has seen riders or women, and anything else it may occur to you to ask."

Fergus Mann, whose thick torso belied the fact that he was one of Hugo's finest swordsmen, raised an eyebrow and said, "Ye're no coming with us, sir?"

"You are going to provide a diversion," Hugo said. "The village lies a half mile to the west of us. A half mile east of us lies a clearing with a single small tent in it. If you see any activity there as you descend from the crest, ignore it and continue toward the village. If, as I anticipate, his watchers decide I have split my forces even more than I have, they'll believe I'm with you and will be too far away to see otherwise. My intent is to divert their attention, perhaps delay things a little, and hope reinforcements arrive. So let it be known in the village that you'll ride to the clearing from there, so that anyone coming from the north to help can find us."

Fergus said lightly, "And what will ye be doing, sir, if a man may ask?"

Hugo grinned. "We four will be afoot, scrambling downhill into the stretch of woods on this side of the clearing. We'll try not to draw attention, but it is quickly growing light and that slope has no more cover than this one does. Still, if they are watching you, we can hope they'll not see us. I'll wager that if we can slip into those woods and make it around to the south side, we can handle any trouble we meet there and might manage to even things up a bit for our side."

"How long d'ye need?" Fergus asked.

"As long as you can manage," Hugo said. "When you leave the village, ride slowly and take care to search any woodland you pass through on your way to the clearing, but keep your eyes open for trouble."

"Aye, we'll do that, right enough."

"I'll wager that at some point, an incident will occur to direct your attention wherever Waldron wants it directed," Hugo added. "When that happens, use your own judgment."

"I warrant ye mean that if Waldron captures Wat, Einar, Tam, and yerself, and looks about to hang ye all, ye'd like us to interfere," Fergus said, shooting a grin at Einar.

Einar just shook his head, but Hugo said, "Aye, Fergus, that's it exactly."

He and the three men he had chosen to stay with him tethered their horses and hurried eastward, keeping out of sight near the top of the ridge until the others had made their way halfway down the south slope. Then, putting distance between themselves to be less noticeable from below, they made their way swiftly but cautiously down the slope toward the long patch of woods.

Minutes later, Hugo saw movement in the clearing. A man stepped out of the woods on the south edge of the clearing, walked to the tent, and ducked his head inside. Then he straightened, pulling two figures from the tent. One wore skirts, the other a man's shirt and leggings, and Hugo's heart clenched at the sight of the latter. Although her hair looked pale and colorless in the lingering twilight, it was unmistakably Sorcha. Then the other one turned, and he saw clearly that it was a woman big with child. The shock of recognizing Isobel shook him to his core.

Hastily signaling to Wat MacComas, some yards to his right, Hugo met him behind a clump of shrubbery. "Do you see them?" he asked.

"Aye, sir, a man, a lad, and a woman."

"I cannot say for sure that the man is Waldron, but the other two are the lady Sorcha and Sir Michael's lady."

"Lady Isobel?" Wat looked again, but the women had disappeared.

"Aye," Hugo said. "They are the bait to draw us in. He showed them so we would see them, but the lads will ride on to the village as I bade them. Still, Lady Isobel's presence alters things. I want you to go back to the horses, Wat, and wait for our reinforcements. Warn any that come that Lady Isobel is one of his hostages. We must take the greatest care to see that neither she nor the babe suffers any hurt."

"Aye, sir, I'll go straightaway."

Hugo stayed where he was until Wat had got well away, then made his way quickly down to the wood.

Sorcha was furious. "The nerve of that horrid man," she muttered angrily.

"Hush, dearling," Isobel said. "He will hear you."

"I don't care if he does," Sorcha declared. "Did you hear him? He has archers in the woods, he said, with their arrows aimed right at this tent! They will let fly, he says, if we make any attempt to leave it."

"I heard him," Isobel said, gently rubbing her belly.

"Did the baby move?"

"I think he wants out," she said. "I just hope he can be patient until we are all safe again." She paused, then added, "They won't shoot us, you know."

"Not until Hugo comes, or Michael," Sorcha said sourly.

"Not then, either," Isobel said confidently.

"Then we should just leave."

"Nay, he'd put us back and tie us as he tied me before. He'll want us at hand so he can threaten us, to force them to tell him all he wants to know."

"Do you know what that is?"

"I know what he wants," Isobel admitted. "I don't know where it is."

"What is it?"

"What did Hugo tell you?"

"Just that Waldron thinks the Sinclairs have something belonging to the Roman Kirk." She paused, hoping Isobel would tell her more. When she did not, Sorcha said with a sigh, "He said he cannot tell me what it is because he has sworn an oath not to. But you cannot have sworn any such oath, so tell me what you know."

"I promised, too, Sorcha. I must not."

Fairly groaning with frustration, Sorcha said, "Men play the game of life with stupid rules, and you are doing the same thing. Here we are, our lives at risk because of such a game, and you will not tell me even the little you know."

"Would you, if you had sworn not to talk about something important?"

"Aye, sure… nay, perhaps not," Sorcha said, realizing that if she had made such a promise to Hugo, or to Michael or Hector Reaganach, she would feel obliged to keep her word. With another sigh, she said, "No, I wouldn't in such a case, but this is different, because we are sisters. You should know you can trust me."

"I do know that. I can even trust you not to press me further now that I have explained why I cannot speak."

Recognizing defeat, for the moment, Sorcha gave up.

By the time Hugo reached the woods to the south, the sky had lightened considerably and a golden halo over the hills to the east announced the sun's imminent appearance. On his way, he had spied at least one man in the woods watching Fergus and the other horsemen, but the fellow had paused only long enough to get a good look at them before turning away. He showed no sign of having seen Hugo, Einar, or Tam Swanson making their way downhill on foot.

To his right, Hugo saw Tam flit like a wraith among the trees. To his left, barely visible in the shadows, Einar stood against the wide trunk of a tall beech. Even as Hugo watched him, the smaller man seemed to blend into the bark of the tree and disappear, and he reflected that Einar was almost as skilled as Michael was at moving silently on unfamiliar terrain.

Hearing a sound to his right, he looked back at Tam to see him stretch overhead and pull himself hand over hand into the spreading branches of an ancient oak. It was not Tam who had made the sound, though. Another man crept through nearby foliage, a long dirk in one hand, peering about as if he hunted game.

Slipping behind the nearest tree, Hugo caught Einar's eye and gestured.

When Einar nodded and disappeared, Hugo turned back to see the hunter pass beneath Tam's tree.

Tam dropped lightly behind him from the branches, caught him by the jaw with one hand, and slit his throat in a swift move with the dagger he held in the other before the man could lift his own weapon.

Hugo went to help Tam drag the body under a bush, and as they turned from that task, Einar appeared from the shadows, holding up a finger and pointing west with his other hand. When they joined him, he murmured, "I dealt wi' one yonder, creeping about wi' his pig sticker like that one, but others be set nearby to ambush our lads—near a score o' them. Some ha' bows already fixed with arrows."

"And likely another score lining every side but the one from which they expect our approach," Hugo muttered in reply.

"Aye, and they'd close that side behind our lads were they so foolish as to ride into such a trap," Tam said.

"Did you catch sight of Waldron?" Hugo asked Einar.

"Nay, I did not. Likely, he'll be conferring somewhere wi' his captains."

"Then let's dispatch a few more strays before they miss these two," Hugo said. He had no need to tell them to remember where they had stowed the bodies of any men they killed. They knew his ways and knew they'd not leave before giving each dead man a proper burial.

With any luck, they'd have more than two villains to put underground and could let whatever prisoners they took dig the graves.

No sooner did Adela step outside after restoring Waldron's things to their proper places after his men had repositioned the tent a short distance inside the woods than he gestured sharply for her to go back. But with only her turbulent thoughts for company, she could not wait patiently in the tent.

She wanted to vent her feelings, to scream her fury, but she could not. And although the tent was larger than the one in which he had put Isobel, it was not large enough for pacing. Thoughts of his evil ways soon returned to haunt her.

If only Isobel were not pregnant! If only Waldron's men had not found her! But Adela had long since learned the futility of "if only," and found no comfort there.

As for Sorcha, what was that impetuous, disobedient child doing in such a place on her own? And how had she managed it? Waldron had made no attempt to conceal the fact that he had somehow induced Sir Hugo to follow them, but by no stretch of Adela's imagination could she imagine Hugo saddling himself with Sorcha. Nor could she imagine Macleod or anyone else allowing her to set off on her own.

But she could easily imagine Sorcha defying them all and setting out to look for her without anyone's permission. Such behavior would be just like her, so doubtless she deserved whatever happened to her now.

Adela said the same things to herself over and over, but no matter how many times she did, she could not feel anything but sorrow for what would doubtless happen to both Sorcha and Isobel. What Waldron was doing was evil! No matter what his reasons or how thoroughly he believed in the rightness of his cause, to kill innocent women to further that cause could be naught but evil. She could not think straight from one minute to the next, could not predict her own behavior, and could not imagine how a holy mission could be evil, but she knew evil when she saw it.

But she could do nothing to prevent it. She was still standing there, staring bleakly at the fur pallet that served as her bed, when she heard a distant shout.

Thought ceased, and she darted to the entrance to peer outside.

The men near the tent had vanished, as had Waldron. But she saw movement at the clearing's edge and knew that some of them must be there. Moving as warily as she knew how from one tree to the next, she sought a hiding place from which she could see the little tent where he had put Isobel and doubtless Sorcha, as well.

Adela had noted that he had not promised to move Isobel to safety but had said only that he would think about using Sorcha for bait. And doubtless he had forgotten those words as soon as he had left her. Even so, she kept glancing over her shoulder lest he return with Isobel and find her missing.

Under the circumstances, she knew that if he discovered her absence, no excuse would shield her from his anger. He would kill her without a second thought. After all, he would have Isobel, her baby, and Sorcha as his hostages. Moreover, he would believe killing her would teach them a lesson in how they must behave.

The increasing confidence she had developed in her ability to manage him vanished at the thought, but as it did, her fear for herself seemed to ease as well. She soon found a place that would conceal her from the few men she could see, yet provide a view of the tent. As she cautiously took her position, she saw Waldron stride to the little tent and peer inside. Perhaps he did mean to protect Isobel.

He seemed to be speaking to someone inside, and hope leaped that he was telling Isobel she could come out. Poised to run to her own tent, even if it meant casting caution to the wind, Adela waited to see what he would do next.

To her disappointment and frustration, he straightened and walked back amid the trees. When she lost sight of him, she stopped breathing, fearing he might walk straight to her. Then she saw him again, moving away along the perimeter, murmuring to men who waited there for their quarry to appear.

Nothing had explained the shout she'd heard, but when she looked toward the tent again, she saw horsemen approaching from the west, perhaps a dozen, riding slowly. They paused where the clearing widened before them, and she saw that they carried no banner. The few of Waldron's men that she could see grew more alert, drawing swords and fitting arrows to bowstrings.

The little tent sat right in the line of fire, and the big-sister part of Adela, the part that had taken care of her family for years, wanted to run and snatch Isobel and Sorcha to safety. The rest of her, the small, still-terrified part, wanted to run to her own tent and curl up tight with her hands over her ears.

As she stood hesitating, a large hand clamped over her mouth and an arm snapped around her waist. Terrified to her bones that Waldron had sneaked up behind her and meant to throttle her for her disobedience, or cut off her head and fling it into the path of the approaching horsemen, she fainted dead away.

When Waldron had walked away from the tent, Sorcha watched him go, then went back inside, where she knelt at the rear and lifted the tent's edge to look out.

"He's right, Isobel," she said. "Horsemen are coming, but barely half of Hugo's force. Although Waldron said he's leading them, I don't see him."

"Well, they wouldn't be here without him," Isobel said.

She lay awkwardly on the fur pallet that had served them as a bed. Her face was too pale for Sorcha's liking, and she was clearly in great discomfort, although she steadfastly insisted that she was fine, that the babe was merely restless, as it had been all through the night.

Sorcha squinted, trying to see more clearly. "They are still a good distance away," she said. "But I'm sure Hugo is not with them. For one thing, he nearly always rides Hector's Black Thunder, and I don't see a single black horse."

A muffled groan was the only answer.

Turning her head, she saw that Isobel had curled onto her side and was clearly trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Can I help?" she asked, moving swiftly to her side.

Isobel managed a smile. "Nay, I'm just—" Breaking off, she gasped to choke off another cry of pain, then closed her eyes for a long moment before she said, "Mercy, that was the strongest yet, and they're coming closer and closer together."

A jolt of fear surged through Sorcha. "It's too soon!"

"Aye, it is, but I think this babe wants to be born."

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Sorcha said, "Then, pray, tell me quickly what I must do if it does come, for I haven't a notion."

"Sakes, do you think I know?" Isobel demanded. "I was two when you were born, three for Sidony. I thought Cristina would be at hand when he came, and Mairi. Between them they have borne eight children, but I hadn't even been at Lochbuie long enough to discuss it with them before those men caught m—"

Again her words ended in a cry of pain. This time the episode lasted longer.

"Isobel, what's happening? Tell me! Tell me what to do!"

"Don't do anything," Isobel gasped. "You might do something wrong. If this babe is coming, he's coming, and we'll just have to figure out what to do when he does." She gasped again, then seemed to find it easier to breathe normally. She eased herself back to her earlier, supine position on the pallet of furs.

"Maybe Adela knows," Sorcha said. "I'll ask someone to send for her."

"Has she ever attended a birthing?"

"I don't think so, but she is older. She must know more than we do."

She stood and turned toward the tent entrance, but before she got there, Isobel cried out, "Wait, something's wrong! Something horrible is happening!"

She tugged her skirt up, and even before she pulled it past her knees, Sorcha saw blood mixed with other fluids and did the only thing she could think to do.

She screamed as loudly as she could.

Hugo heard Sorcha scream as he was trying to cope with Adela's dead weight in his arms. He had stolen up behind her and taken the precaution of silencing her, because he could not count on her to keep quiet if she saw him or he startled her. But the wretched lass had swooned in his arms.

Lowering her to the ground and signing to Einar to watch her, he ran toward the tent from which the scream had come. In the distance, he saw his men urging their ponies to a faster pace and wondered if Waldron had somehow forced the scream to draw them into his trap.

Experience warned him that he should move cautiously, but his feet wouldn't listen. She was screaming for help, and now he could hear Isobel's cries as well. He was running as fast as he could, so when Waldron leaped from the woods in front of him, sword drawn, Hugo nearly impaled himself before he managed to leap back and snatch out his own sword.

As Waldron's men rushed from the woods toward the oncoming horsemen and Hugo set himself to meet Waldron, Sorcha appeared in the opening of the tent and screamed, "Isobel's having her baby, and something's wrong. She needs help! Please, she may die unless you can fetch someone who knows about birthing."

Hugo did not take his eyes from Waldron. "Do you want that babe's death, or Isobel's, on your conscience when you meet your Maker, cousin?"

Waldron's gaze flicked toward the tent, where Sorcha stood, arms akimbo, glowering at them both equally.

"Don't just stand there like posts," she snapped. "Get help!"

Waldron looked at Hugo. "How many other men have you in these woods?"

"Two," Hugo said.

Waldron smiled. "Then go and help her if you must. We'll have our contest afterward. My men will have defeated yours by the time the child comes, so I am willing to wait, if only to spare us both distraction. I would not want you or anyone else to think I'd bested you because of a woman's screams."

Hugo thought of Adela, still in the woods, but he did not mention her, hoping she had got safely away. He had left Einar to watch her, but since that left only Tam to deal with the other archers they had seen, Einar might not have stayed there.

Glancing toward his horsemen and Waldron's men racing to meet them, he saw that his lads were still beyond reach of any but the most skilled marksmen, but unless Einar and Tam could prevent it, arrows soon would be flying.

When Sorcha screamed, "Hurry!" he ran to the tent but kept his sword in hand, knowing he could not trust his cousin to keep his word.

"What are you doing?" Sorcha demanded, blocking the entrance. "Get help!"

"I'll help her, lass," he said gently. "You can help, too."

"But what can you know of birthing? She wants a woman!"

"She wants someone who can help her," Hugo said. "Now, either come outside and leave her to me, or stay and help us. But get out of my way."

"Sorcha, don't leave," he heard Isobel say, gasping. "If Hugo says he knows what to do, we can trust that he does."

"In troth, my lady," he said, pushing past Sorcha and ducking into the tent, "I have birthed many newborn animals, but only two babes. Still, you are healthy and strong. I warrant we shall do the thing easily together."

"She's bleeding, Hugo," Sorcha said behind him, clearly striving for calm despite her evident fear. "And our… our mother died in childbirth."

He turned his head to smile reassuringly at her as he said, "Lass, birthing is a messy, noisy, and sometimes scary process, but 'tis a natural one for all that. All manner of women have given birth since time began with little or no help. Now, I'm going to need room, so see if you can get behind her and help support her. She'll not want to lie flat, and I need to see if the babe is visible yet."

Sorcha looked as if she would protest that need, but Isobel winced and cried out louder than before, impelling her to move quickly to her side and try to prop her up. The result was that when the next pain came, Isobel nearly knocked her flat.

"Would it not be better for her just to lie down?" Sorcha asked him as she helped Isobel sit up again.

" 'Tis said to be easier if she can sit up a bit to push the babe out," Hugo said. "If we had a birthing stool, it would be easier yet. Try sitting behind her, back to back, and letting her push against you. This may take a good while."

"I don't think it will," Isobel said, still gasping from the last pains. "This laddie wants to be born. He has not inherited his father's patience."

Hugo did not argue, but he knew a first child could take a long time to be born even if all went well. And if it didn't go well, tragedy could lie ahead. He wished that his abilities matched the confidence he was trying to display. Sending up a prayer that he would be able to pay attention to what he had to do and would not let the noise of the battle raging outside distract him, he set to work.

The baby's head was well in view, which was good. It was not coming feetfirst and might come quickly. He looked at Isobel, whose face was bright red with the contraction she was suffering as she gave a mighty effort to push the babe out.

"Breathe, my lady," he said. "Try to think of something other than the pain. Think of Michael and—"

"A pox on Michael," she snapped. "He did this. He should share the pain!"

"Then just concentrate on breathing as you decide how to punish him," Hugo said, repressing an urge to laugh. "The child needs the air as much as you do."

He glanced at Sorcha, who sat as he had recommended, bracing Isobel as she strained to push. Sorcha looked over her shoulder at him, and he saw that despite her worry, the tantalizing dimple showed and her eyes were twinkling.

Sorcha had to exert every muscle to support Isobel. A tent with nothing for furnishing but a few furs piled together to make a bed was no place to birth a baby. They needed pillows to support her properly and blankets and water for washing.

Hugo had been right to say the process was a messy one. It made her queasy to look at the blood, so except for glancing back at Hugo now and again, she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead and tried to ignore all the noise outside.

She had always known Isobel was strong, but as she tried to support her in a half-sitting, half-lying position, she had all she could do not to be flattened again when the pains struck and her sister fought to push against them. And where, she wondered, was Adela? Surely, she had heard them screaming. Why had she not come to help? Her presence would be of greater use than her absence was even if she didn't know more than they did.

She was glad Hugo was there and glad she had stopped the fight between him and Waldron, but she knew that others might be shocked to learn he had delivered Isobel's babe. For that matter, despite Isobel's insistence, to have a man who was not her husband doing such a thing must be most trying for her.

She glanced at him again and saw that he was concentrating on his task, his hands between Isobel's legs. Moments later, Hugo held a tiny, moist baby in those hands. As he turned him and gently wiped a huge hand across his tiny lips and nose, the baby began to cry, and then to squall lustily.

"You have a fine wee laddie, Isobel," Hugo said. "He's clearly got a fine, strong pair of lungs, too, which augurs well for the rest of him."

His sparkling gaze met Sorcha's as she shifted position to see better. When she saw that his delight equaled her own, her heart turned over.

Adela returned to consciousness to find herself lying on the ground under a large bush. She had a dim, disorienting memory of a voice shouting at her to wake up, then hands pulling her, but she decided it must have been a dream. Gazing up at the thicket of branches just over her head, she lay still for a long moment, staring at dust-mote-strewn rays of sunlight that pierced through here and there, before the shouting, clashing of swords, and other noises of battle reached her ears.

Memory swept back, and she scrambled to her feet. She saw no sign of who had grabbed her and dragged her under the bush. The woods seemed empty.

Hurrying toward the noise, she saw that the battle was fierce between the horsemen she had seen and Waldron's men. Then the tent came into view, and she saw to her shock that he stood outside it, pacing back and forth as if there were no battle. Beyond, the two forces seemed more nearly matched than she had expected.

Waldron still had more men than Hugo, but a number of men lay wounded or dead on the field, and some of the archers she had seen earlier were lying quite still under trees at the edge of the clearing. But if the outcome of the battle remained in question, why was Waldron not with his men?

She saw him stiffen and take a step toward the tent, sword in hand.

Then she heard a baby squalling.

Chills swept over her, and terror.

He stopped. He was staring at the tent. Had he just been awaiting the birth of Isobel's child so he could kill it? Would he kill Isobel and Sorcha, too? And if that was his intent, whatever could they do to stop him?

Looking toward heaven, as if God Himself might write a message to her on the sky, she saw riders swarming over the ridge to the north, dozens of them. Without thought for her own safety, she dashed out of the woods and ran as fast as she could toward Waldron.