Chapter 6

Having spent the night on straw pallets in the cozy cottage belonging to Bess MacIver's brother, Sorcha and Sidony were up with the dawn's light. Wolfing a hasty repast of oatcakes, bramble jam, and mugs of warm milk provided by Bess's cheerful sister-in-law, they set out on foot with Rory for Loch Sunart.

" 'Tis but a mile," he said. "Up yonder ridge and down again."

The ridge proved steep and wearing. As they approached the shore of the flat, calm loch an hour later, Sidony said, " 'Tis easier walking in these clothes, but do you still think they make us safer? In truth, I don't think we can fool anyone for long."

"I don't mean to try to fool anyone up close," Sorcha said, well aware that it would be foolhardy to do so. "Rory must ask our questions for us. We'll keep our hoods up, our heads down, and our mouths shut, Siddy. If anyone asks why we behave so, he can say we are shy or stupid." Shooting a glance at the generally stoic gillie, she noted a twitching lip. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Nowt, m'lady," Rory said, his eyes twinkling.

"Tell me," she demanded.

"Well, I've no seen ye since we was bairns, mind ye, but I'm thinking that if I was daft enough t' call ye stupid, ye'd hand me me head in me lap and never spare a thought t' whether anyone did see ye do it."

Sorcha chuckled. "Aye, sure, you may be right. I've a bit of a temper."

"Ye'd a fierce one then, and ye still do. Or so I ha' heard."

"Faith, what else have you heard?"

"Nobbut that ye slapped a nobleman hard enough t' leave the mark o' your hand on his face most o' yester-morn," Rory replied. "Ye ken fine how quick gossip gets about, m'lady, and we did hear that ye had a sizeable audience then."

"And doubtless everyone who saw what happened feels obliged to chatter about it," Sorcha said. "But he deserved it."

"Aye, sure," Rory agreed amiably, adding, "There be me cousin's cottage yonder, so we'd best think on what ye want me to say to him. I ken fine we'll need horses, since we've nae wind and willna want to row me cousin's fishing coble all the way to Strontian. But will ye keep silent, or shall I tell him who ye be?"

In the event, he had only to ask for ponies, and the elderly cousin assured him he had three stout ones they could take. More to the point, in Sorcha's opinion, when Rory asked if he had heard of strangers in the glens, the man scratched his grizzled head and said, "Aye, then, our cousin Ian were by yestereve. He did say he'd seen some Sunday near Kinlocheil. Said they was a mean-looking bunch, too, for all they dressed fine and carried fine weapons. The lass wi' them were quiet enough, Ian said, but he'd nae trust the others." He glanced at Sorcha and Sidony, but when both remained mute, he politely refrained from addressing them directly.

"Did Ian chance to hear the men say aught o' their business?" Rory asked as they all headed to the byre to saddle the horses.

"Sakes, lad, they didna confide such stuff t' the likes o' Ian," the old man said. "Just said they was making for somewhere south o' Edinburgh—in Lothian, I think, but I canna say more than that. If ye're seeking them, I'd advise ye t' leave them be. Ian said they didna encourage conversation, but he says he can smell evil when he be in its presence. Said he thought the lass must be kin t' the leader, since she rode pillion wi' him. She didna open her mouth whilst they was there, he said."

Sorcha ground her teeth together to keep from saying what she thought of this Ian person, who could not tell an innocent victim of abduction from a villain's kinswoman. Surely, he must have seen that Adela was terrified out of her wits. What sort of man did nothing to help someone so obviously in need of help? But she could not ask such questions without revealing more about herself than she wanted to reveal, so she held her tongue, and they soon bade the old man good day.

Bess's sister-in-law in Shielfoot had packed food for them, but it occurred to Sorcha that it might be wise to get more if they could. Accordingly, she asked Rory if they might perhaps beg some from his kinsmen in Strontian when they got there.

"Aye, they'll spare a bit for us, I warrant," he said.

The cousin in Strontian proved generous but not without cost, as he had decided to take advantage of unseasonably dry weather to replace his roof. He and his wife had removed the old, soot-encrusted thatch, now piled beside the cottage, and they had new thatch nearly all in place. But they needed help carrying the old stuff to mix with the manure pile beside their byre to produce a nourishing mixture that they could spread on their fields.

"If the three o' ye lads dinna mind helping," he added with a minatory look.

Knowing no acceptable way to refuse, in view of the promised food and their own lack of means other than manual labor to repay his generosity any time soon, for the next hour and more, the three hauled thatch reeking of damp soot and mold and helped mix it with manure. Since the man and his wife worked beside them, Sorcha could not even express her feelings about the repellent task, but she was able to congratulate herself on her foresight later when the track they followed proved to be nearly barren of habitation. They rode until Sidony fell asleep on her horse.

It was midafternoon by then, so Sorcha called for a respite and sent Rory to fill a jug with water from a nearby burn. Sidony dismounted, still half asleep.

"My gloves are ruined, I reek of manure, my hands ache from carrying that horrid thatch, and we've not seen a soul since we left Strontian," she grumbled.

"Your hands will recover, we've plenty of food, and we washed as much off ourselves and our clothes as we could in the first burn we came to," Sorcha pointed out. "This part of the Highlands is just as rugged as Glenelg, so there are few farms or clachans, and thus few people to meet. But at least we can be sure that the men we follow have not taken another track."

"Nay, for there have been no other tracks," Sidony said with a long-suffering sigh. "The fact is that I did not know we would have to act as common laborers. Nor did I consider how much riding we would have to do in this pursuit of yours."

"Then you simply did not think," Sorcha retorted. "I did not bargain for the labor either, but how ever did you think we could follow them to Edinburgh without long hours of riding? It is days from home, Siddy, and although we got a good start by beginning at Glenancross instead of Glenelg, Edinburgh is still a very long way."

"I know," Sidony said. "But I did not know how tired I'd be. And what would we do if we caught up with them? You could hardly ride back to Strontian for help." She sighed. "I'm thinking that neither of us thought this through before we started."

"We are doing what we must," Sorcha said firmly. "When the time comes, we will know what we must do then, too. You'll see."

Sidony sighed again but made no further protest, and when Rory returned with the water, she ate the food Sorcha handed her, and afterward assured them both that she felt better. Even so, the day seemed to lengthen as they rode until even Sorcha began to wish something interesting would happen.

An hour later, not long after they entered the Great Glen, they met a man and his dog herding six shaggy brown-and-white Highland cows across the track. Sorcha made Rory ask him if he had seen a group of horsemen with a woman, but the man shook his head, said, "Nay, lad, nary a soul since I left home this morning."

That evening, finding no MacIver kinsmen in the area to which they had come, they sought shelter with a hospitable crofter and slept in clean straw in the byre that occupied one end of his croft. The family end was thick wattle and daub, flexible hazel rods woven together and daubed with a mixture of clay, heather, and straw. But the byre for the animals was no more than a woven hazel framework with no further insulation against the nighttime chill of early spring.

Rory, who had remained cheerfully uncritical, objected to the arrangement with more vigor than Sorcha had expected.

Clearly trying to keep his voice from carrying to the family end of the croft, he muttered, " 'Tisna fittin' ye should sleep in straw wi' the beasts, m'lady, or that I should sleep in the same wee byre wi' ye. Me mam would throw up her hands and give us both the rough side o' her tongue for such doings."

"Hush now, for we can scarcely ask the crofter to let us sleep with his family," Sorcha said. "He thinks we are three lads."

"I ken that fine," Rory said. "But I ken, too, that I ha' nae business t' be sleeping wi' ye. Can ye tell me the laird your father would ha' nae objection to it?"

"I cannot say that," Sorcha said. "But I know that he would not look kindly upon your abandoning us here, either."

"I've nae intention o' doing such a cowardly thing," he said with grave dignity. "I'll just stir up a pile o' that straw and sleep on the other side of it."

"Thank you, Rory," Sorcha said more graciously. "If anyone remarks upon the arrangement, be sure that I will accept all the blame. We are most grateful for your protection. I'll not let you suffer for having provided it."

When he said no more, merely arranging his nest to his own satisfaction while she helped Sidony settle in for the night, Sorcha began to think she was turning into an excellent manager. She would find Adela, rescue her, and show others—unspecified—just how such things ought to be done.

Once again, Adela had no idea where she was. They had been following much the same narrow track since disembarking from the longboat, but the territory was wholly unfamiliar to her. Whenever they neared a cottage, croft, or clachan, they rode well off the track and skirted it, taking care to keep out of sight, so the only people she had seen for the past three days had been at a considerable distance.

In some ways, her fears had increased. In others, they had eased, for her captor seemed more at ease with her now. Although he was still often brusque or uncivil, he had not spoken again of cutting off her head. Instead, he occasionally invited her to ask questions and then, half the time, refused to answer them. It was as if he teased her on purpose, so she would never know what to expect.

Since he allowed her to speak to no one else and had kept her separate from everyone else after hanging his henchman, she found herself eager to converse with him whenever he was willing. She told herself that talking could only put him more at ease with her and reduce the likelihood that he would kill her.

At least, she hoped so.

She still missed having her own horse, but at least riding pillion provided opportunities to talk to him. That very afternoon, when she had asked him to explain more clearly what he was doing for the Roman Kirk, he answered readily, "The Sinclairs, and others, have stolen something from the Kirk that must be returned. His Holiness, the Pope, expects me to find it and see it safely to the Vatican."

"Mercy, sir," she exclaimed softly. "What manner of thing is it?"

"That is not for you to know," he said. "You need know only that I'll not rest until I find it. I am a soldier of Christ—a hand of God, if you will. So I will do whatever I must to reclaim that which was lost through trickery and wicked deceit."

He seemed so confident, so certain of the rightness of what he did, that she was beginning to think he was not an evil man at all but merely a dedicated one. While she found it hard to imagine that Sir Michael Sinclair, Prince Henry, or even Sir Hugo would do anything so wicked as to steal from the Holy Kirk, she understood that his lordship sincerely believed that they had.

She knew he told her only what he wanted her to know, and that Sir Hugo and others would likely produce equally strong arguments in opposition. Since neither they nor any others who dared disagree with him were at hand, she could not know what those arguments were. But if what he said was true, then perhaps his position was just, even if abducting her was not.

As the afternoon neared evening, they approached a clachan of four cottages but left the track as soon as the clachan came into sight. Riding well around it and deep into a nearby wood, they came to a clearing suitable for making camp.

His lordship's tent was soon up, and the cook fires lighted. Half an hour later, delicious smells of rabbit stew and roasting venison filled the air.

Adela realized she was famished. Even so, as had become her habit, she watched his lordship carefully, trying to judge his mood as he strode about the campsite, giving orders to his men. So far, he had made no move to have his way with her, but if he intended to teach her a woman's proper place, doubtless he would do so, and she still had not the slightest notion how she could prevent it.

He glanced at her from time to time and glanced, too, at the men as they tended their chores. Not one cast an eye in her direction. They had learned the lesson he'd meant to teach with the hanging, as had she. Just thinking about it knotted her stomach. Still, when he gestured to her, she went to sit beside him on a log, accepted the wooden trencher piled high with stew, and took the spoon he gave her. Although she dipped it into her stew, she did not think she could eat.

"We'll retire early, I think," he said casually as he settled himself and dug into his own food.

His words stopped the breath in her throat and the motion of her spoon halfway to her mouth.

Each of the past two nights he had hinted that he would sleep in his own bed, but each night he had sent her to the bed of furs alone and slept elsewhere. Once again she tried to think how she could stop him if he had decided the fateful night had come. Then a new, more frightening thought struck. What if her refusal was all that he sought as his excuse to lop off her head and send it home to Glenelg? Or worse, what if her body did not satisfy him and he killed her because of that?

Although she had wanted nothing more than to leave the onerous duties that had fallen to her at Chalamine since Cristina's marriage, and had been prepared to marry Ardelve because marriage to him would ease that load, she wished now with all her heart that she could magically whisk herself home again.

Since she could not, she forced herself to eat and went with him without objection when he had finished his supper. He showed her first to the privy area in the woods, and then escorted her to the burn from which they had taken their camp water, so she could wash her hands and face and clean her teeth. He did not speak as she tended her needs, but afterward he followed her into the tent, which he had not done since the first time she had found herself there.

Drawing breath, she faced him and said, "If you intend to ravish me, my lord, I wish you would say so and tell me what you want me to do."

"Nay, lass, for now I want only to talk with you. I find it helps me think, because you are the quietest woman I've ever met, and a good listener."

It was the first compliment he had paid her, and to her astonishment, she felt herself warming as if he had caressed her. Or, suggested a voice in the back of her mind sternly, as if she were a bitch that had been several times kicked and yet went running to lick its master's hand the moment it saw him.

Steeling herself, she said with forced calm, "If you do mean to ravish me, I wish you will get it over with. It is needlessly cruel to keep me guessing like this."

"Mayhap it pleases me to keep you guessing," he said, pulling up a small cushion for himself and gesturing for her to sit on the pallet of furs.

So lightly had he spoken, and so nearly did the words match her thoughts about his behavior, that she almost made a spirited retort. But something in his expression stopped her. Reminding herself that her emotions and instincts had become sadly untrustworthy, she seated herself on the bed instead, tucking the skirt of her once-new wedding dress neatly around her.

He regarded her for a moment, then said, "I have no intention of forcing you to couple with me. Indeed, I feel no lust for you, nor should I."

"You don't?" Realizing how that must have sounded, she added hastily, "I mean, you don't intend to compel me?"

"Nay, for God has made it plain that I must not."

"I thought you said He would forgive you anything you do in His name."

"Aye, well, I expect that means anything I believe is necessary to accomplish the task He has set me," he said. "He made it clear, however, that ‘ravishing,' as you call it, is neither necessary nor acceptable to Him."

"Mercy, how did He do that?"

"He let your sister Isobel push me off the ramparts of Roslin Castle."

"Isobel!"

"Aye, did she not tell you?"

Adela shook her head. "Such a thing seems most unlike her. I cannot imagine how someone so much smaller could have done that to you."

He grimaced. "For once, you did not listen. I admit I provoked her, but she could not have done it had God not lent her the strength."

"You attempted to ravish her?"

"I threatened to, to force her to tell me about things I thought she knew."

His expression warned her not to ask about those things.

"I did want her, though," he said. "I'll not deny it, since God kens the truth, and that wanting was my error. Fear is an excellent weapon, as He kens fine, and a wench as seductive as Lady Isobel would tempt the strongest will. But sithee, I vowed to sacrifice all worldly pleasure to serve His needs, and thus swore chastity. So whilst the threat might have proven useful, I risked breaking my vow."

"But if Isobel did that to you, why abduct me? I'd expect you to seek your vengeance against her. Not that I want you to do that, of course. Vengeance should be left to God."

"I am His arm," he said. "As to why I took you, you are dear to her, and in truth, your wedding afforded me an opportunity to set my plans into motion."

"And you learned of it through my sister Sorcha's messages to Sir Hugo."

"Aye, your younger sister is an impulsive, headstrong lass. I'm glad you show better sense."

"I still do not understand why you took me."

"To draw the others in, of course. Michael and Henry Sinclair, and your Hugo, have all annoyed me, and they must all suffer the consequences. And do not think that I have forgotten Isobel."

"She is eight months with child!" Adela exclaimed.

He shrugged. "You will know what to do," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"When the child comes, of course."

"Then you do mean to let me go," she said with nearly overwhelming relief.

"Nay, why would I? I'll bring Isobel to you."

Hugo, feeling no less impatience after making his decision, had left for Duart Castle soon after dawn Tuesday morning to do his waiting for news of the abductors with Lachlan himself. Discovering upon his arrival that the High Admiral already had received pertinent information, the bulk of which indicated that the abductors were indeed making for Edinburgh, Hugo revealed his intent to intercept them.

"I'll want to take at least a score of our men and leave from Oban," he said. "Will we find enough horses there to accommodate us?"

"Hector keeps his own in Oban, as do I," Lachlan said. "His grace's flotilla will sail to Glasgow, so what horses we have in Oban are yours if you need them."

Thanking him, Hugo took his leave, intending to depart from Lochbuie by dawn's light the next morning.

Although from one cause or another, he did not manage to get away so early Wednesday, he was on the point of leaving after enjoying a solitary breakfast, when a guard from the ramparts reported that one of Macleod's boats had returned.

"Should we rouse the master, sir?"

"Nay, for the Laird of Glenelg is expecting his boats, although I do not think he expected them until tonight. I'm going down to the wharf anyway. If they have need of Hector Reaganach or Macleod, I'll see to it."

To his astonishment, Macleod's chief helmsman met him halfway and insisted on waking Macleod, who was, as far as Hugo knew, still abed. The man's distress was so great that he walked back with him to hear what news he had brought.

"It is not about Lady Adela, is it?" he demanded of the man as they went.

"Nay, sir," the man replied. "I only wish it were good news I bring."

"Then what?" Hugo demanded as they entered the hall to see Macleod striding into the chamber from the other side.

Clearly, he had been awake and had learned for himself that his boats had come early, for he greeted his man with a blustery demand to know what was amiss.

"It be the lady Sorcha, laird," the unhappy helmsman told him. "She took sick on the way to Glenelg Monday afternoon, so we put ashore at Glenancross, meaning for Bess MacIver to look after her."

"Indeed," Macleod said, apparently reserving judgment about such an arrangement. "Bess would ken fine what to do for her—if the lass really was sick."

"Aye, and so I thought," the helmsman said, looking miserable. "The lady Sorcha did say we ought to go on to Glenelg without her, there being nae good place nearby to provide for so many men. I didna like it, so I said I'd come right back wi' one boat to be sure all were well wi' her. Which I did, laird, only to learn that she and the lady Sidony had left Glenancross soon after they got there."

"A pox on the wicked lass! Gone where?"

"I dinna ken, laird. I came straight on here to tell ye they'd gone. The winds failed us, or I'd ha' been here yestereve." He hesitated, then added bravely, "Bess MacIver did say they was wearing lads' clothing, and they took Colin MacIver's boat, laird, to Shielfoot. Bess said that when she saw her ladyship had got her mind made up in her old way, she knew there'd be nae stopping her."

"Bless me, she should ha' tied her to a bedpost," Macleod declared angrily.

"Likely, they dinna ha' bedposts in yon cottage, laird, nor do I think Bess could hold her ladyship long enough to tie her to anything. She's a temper on her, her ladyship does. Bess did say, though, that she'd persuaded them to take her Rory wi' them, and he's a lad wi' a good head, that one. He'll look after them."

Hugo grimaced and exchanged a look with Michael.

Macleod said, "If they went by way o' Shielfoot, 'tis because the wicked lass believes the men who took Adela be making for the Great Glen and Edinburgh." He looked bleakly at Hugo. "I'm told ye mean to look for Adela yourself."

"I'm leaving straightaway for Oban, sir, with a score of men. I'll find them."

"I'd be that grateful to ye," Macleod said. "Take a good stout strap wi' ye."

Hugo nearly said he would not need a strap but instead just assured the older man that he would find his daughters and do his best to bring them all back safely.

Taking leave of the others and walking with Michael to the harbor, Hugo said irritably, "That lass needs a firmer hand. Just what do you suppose she thinks she can accomplish, riding about like a heathen, not to mention subjecting her younger sister to such a dangerous enterprise. I'd wager all I own that it would never have entered the lady Sidony's head to do such a thing."

"Nay," Michael said. "Isobel told me it is always Sorcha who leads and Sidony who follows. But she said, too, that although Sorcha often landed them in the suds, she always got them out again." He grinned. "I doubt the lass is as intrepid as my lady, but at this point I'm just hoping she isn't as curious. I swear, in the same situation, Isobel would follow Waldron to his lair just to see what it looks like."

"And I wager that you'd just tell her to mind her head," Hugo said dryly. "I've yet to see you shorten rein when she takes the bit between her teeth."

Michael smiled. "You won't see it, either. I don't do so when others are about, nor do I need to do so often. She's a sensible woman, my Isobel."

"Well, her wretched sister is not," Hugo said grimly. "When I find her, I'll send her right back to her father, most likely with a sore backside—at least, I will if she hasn't run into Waldron before I can catch her. If he has her, I'll have three to rescue instead of one. And, believe me, if I have to do that, I'll make her even sorrier for putting me to the trouble."

Laughing, Michael said, "Aye, well, I wish you joy, cousin. But my experience with Macleod sisters is that they are not as predictable as one might hope. Take care that she does not end up having to rescue you."

"She won't," Hugo said. "Nor should I have to rescue her, come to that. Just tracking her down will considerably delay my efforts to rescue Adela, though."

"Aye, but pray recall that you're tracking Sidony, too, not just Sorcha," Michael said, still grinning. "I doubt you'll have any trouble finding them, either, because by now, if everyone in the area is not talking about the abductors and Adela, they will certainly be gossiping about the two pretty lads who are following them."

Hugo groaned.

When Sorcha saw darkening clouds in the west late Wednesday afternoon, she cast a measuring glance at Sidony, knowing well that her sister had bargained even less for bad weather than for carrying thatch or long hours of riding.

Sorcha was certain they still followed Adela and her abductors, because they had passed only local tracks that seemed to lead to farms and tiny clachans. She thought the riders must still be two days ahead, perhaps more if they had means to change horses and could thus ride faster than she and her companions could.

Therefore, it was with mixed feelings of surprise, relief, and dismay that she discovered when they came to a clachan of four cottages an hour later that a group of some twenty riders had made camp the night before in a nearby forest clearing.

The elderly, rather deaf man who relayed that information admitted in answer to Rory's shouted questions that he had not seen any of them himself, but assured them that one of the lads had caught a glimpse of a large tent and well-accoutered men striding about the site. No mention was made of a woman, he said, but Sorcha was sure by then that no other men of such description were in the area.

That the group really had enlarged so much was daunting, but she could not be surprised that someone daring enough to steal a bride from her wedding might have a large force at his command. The surprise was that she, Sidony, and Rory were catching up despite traveling at a speed dictated by having only the three horses Rory's cousin had provided and no means to hire more.

They could no longer ignore the piling black clouds, some of which started spitting at them as Sorcha was saying in a voice low enough that she hoped the old man would not hear that they must lose no time in pursuing the riders.

Sidony instantly protested. "You cannot mean to ride into the teeth of a storm without having the least notion where we can find shelter ahead. Where will we sleep? How will we build a fire to keep warm?"

"Don't fret," Sorcha said, casting a warning look in the old man's direction. "We'll build our own shelter, and I'm sure Rory knows how to make a fire in the woods even in the rain. Men do it all the time when they hunt or fish or go to war."

"But—"

"We'll be fine, Siddy. We don't want them to get too far ahead of us. Had I known they were so close, I'd have urged a faster pace."

Sidony cast a pleading look at Rory.

He was already shaking his head. "It won't answer, m'lady," he said to Sorcha. "A spring storm wi' clouds like them black ones yonder could fair drown all three o' us and the ponies. We'd do better to take shelter here."

The spitting turned to drizzle, and lightning crackled in the distance as Sorcha opened her mouth to protest. She shut it again, knowing that although Sidony was the most biddable of sisters, she was afraid of thunderstorms.

Highland rules of hospitality being what they were, the clachan's residents welcomed them as guests for the night. Indeed, so welcome were they that, despite thunder, lightning, and pelting rain, two large families who did not live there showed up at suppertime with baskets of food, resulting in an impromptu ceilidh.

With people crowded into the largest of the four cottages to sing, eat, drink, and tell bard's tales around its small central cook fire, Sorcha found it impossible to sustain her masculine guise. She was sure Sidony fooled no one, and a sudden silent hope leaped to her mind that word of what they were doing would never get back to her father or to any other unspecified person before they had rescued Adela.

No one was so impolite as to question them, however, and when the visiting families departed during a lull in the storm, and the rest of the company dispersed among the four cottages, she reassured herself that no one thought them anything but what they appeared to be. She was able to enjoy a good night's sleep on her pallet in a snug byre and to waken to a bright morning, the air smelling crisply clean and fresh after the rain. However, the sun was higher than she had expected.

Startled to realize that they had slept hours longer than she had intended, she hastily woke the other two, straightened her clothing, and went with Rory to collect their horses from the clachan's enclosure, leaving Sidony to see to her own needs and make sure that they left nothing behind.

After helping Rory saddle their mounts outside the byre, she went to find the housewife to request food to break their fast, only to stop short when she saw what looked to be at least twenty riders approaching the clachan, the last leading a string of six or seven extra horses and at least four sumpter ponies.

Even at that distance and with the bright morning sun glaring at her, she had no difficulty recognizing their leader as Sir Hugo Robison.