Chapter 8

Sidony, thanks to Rory's help and the ordinary Highlanders' strong sense of hospitality, had indeed collected clothes for herself and Sorcha by the time Sorcha and Sir Hugo returned to the clachan. But she eyed her sister warily as they approached.

Sir Hugo said, "Lady Sidony looks as if she expects you to eat her, lass."

"I wish you would address me properly."

"Do you want me to announce to all and sundry that you are the lady Sorcha Macleod, traveling in borrowed clothing—or your own, for that matter—with a man she scarcely knows as her sole protector?"

"No, of course I don't want that. But you could manage to show some respect for my rank if for nothing else."

"Respect? My dear child, you have upended your own world and mine, not to mention Sidony's and Adela's. In view of all that, I believe I've shown you exceptional respect by not following my first and strongest inclination when I found you this morning."

She bit her lip, wishing she had held her tongue. Oddly, the fact that he had called her his dear child rankled more than his general refusal to address her properly. To be sure, they might have reason to avoid that when they met strangers, but such reason did not pertain when they spoke privately. She was tempted to tell him so but decided not to provoke him again, especially since she could not deny a certain truth in his accusation about turning worlds upside down.

He was right about Sidony, too. She did look wary.

"Don't fret, goose," Sorcha said lightly when they met. "I don't care how awful the garments are. Sir Hugo has explained that we cannot wear the things we wore for his grace's installation, since they proclaim our rank rather loudly. But I'm as tired as you must be of pretending to be male when anyone of sense can see in seconds that we're no such thing. It was a stupid idea."

"Not as stupid as all that," Hugo said. "Unless I miss my guess, that clothing may have kept Waldron from suspecting that you have been following him."

"But you told me just minutes ago that he knows exactly who is following him and how close we are," she protested.

"I wanted to make it clear how dangerous he is," he said. "And before you accuse me of lying to you, which I said I'd never do, let me explain. I may have equivocated by not explaining thoroughly, but I did not lie. My guess is his men have been riding about, watching his trail. If they have, they may know that three lads are on the track behind them now, but I doubt they can have learned much about those lads by asking pointed questions of anyone they met along the way."

"That's true, Sorcha," Sidony said. "They are all strangers, so unless they claimed to be Lord Ranald's men or his grace's, folks would tell them precious little. The likelihood that anyone would have voiced suspicion about our sex to a total stranger must be remote."

Sorcha had to agree. Then she thought of something else. "What about you, sir? If they're keeping watch, won't they know you are hard on their heels now?"

"Very likely," he admitted. "I reached Oban yesterday and Kilchurn Castle last night, so I have been traveling an entirely different route. However, although they cannot possibly be watching every glen betwixt here and the sea, I warrant they'd expect Hector Reaganach to be searching for his wife's sister, so Waldron may well have the track from Oban under watch as a precaution."

"We did not follow them from Glenelg," Sidony said, brightening. "We did not meet their trail until the Great Glen. They may not know about us at all."

"You came from Glenancross, near Mallaig," he said.

Sidony looked surprised. "How do you know that?"

"Your father's chief helmsman brought word to Lochbuie when he learned that you'd fled," he said. "He told us you'd even managed to get to Loch Sunart."

"We'll go and change now," Sorcha said, grabbing Sidony's arm. "We want to get started just as soon as possible. Are our horses ready, Rory?"

"Aye, mistress. Sir Hugo's lads gave me a hand wi' them, and we've our dinner and supper packed, thanks to folks o' the clachan. We'll eat well today."

"Why did we rush away?" Sidony asked as they changed in the largest croft.

"Because he looked ready to lecture us again," Sorcha said, slipping a shabby russet skirt on over her head. "I did not want to hear it."

If she thought the skirt, matching bodice, and gray cloak provided for her were not what she liked, at least the skirt was full enough to let her ride astride, and she told the crofter's wife sincerely that she was grateful for them. She thanked the other donors, too. Highlanders rarely expected or requested recompense of any sort for their generous hospitality, but Sorcha vowed privately to send gifts to everyone in the clachan as soon as she and her sisters were safely home again.

Twenty minutes after they had left him, they rejoined Sir Hugo and his men, and were soon on their way. They traveled at a steady pace that seemed slower than what Sorcha had urged before. But she soon realized they had to stop less often to rest the horses and decided it was a more practical pace for their purpose.

For the first quarter hour or so, they rode in pairs without talking. But as they passed through a busy village, Sir Hugo guided his mount up beside Sorcha and Sidony and said amiably that the name of the village was Dail Righ.

"Robert the Bruce suffered defeat here years before Bannockburn," he said.

"Did he?" Sorcha said. "I hope you do not mean to preach history to us everywhere we go."

"I thought you would prefer history to scolding," he said. "However…"

He let the word hang in the air between them.

She glanced at him, saw that his eyes were twinkling, and said, "If I must choose, I suppose I would prefer history. But if you can talk sensibly, I'd rather talk of other things."

"Then tell me about your family. I have met the ladies Adela and Isobel, of course, but I thought I'd heard that your father had eight daughters."

"We're only seven now," Sorcha said. "Our sister Mariota died years ago."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know."

"It happened a long time ago," Sorcha said. "Sidony and I were but wee lassocks then, and she never paid any attention to us, so we scarcely knew her."

"Your mother died when you were young, too, did she not?"

"Aye. Siddy was still a bairn and I not much older. We don't remember her. And I hope you won't say as most people do that we must recall something," she added, giving him a minatory look.

"I wasn't going to," he assured her. "Do people really say that?"

"They do," she said. "They'll say, ‘But you must remember her tucking you into your cot at night or singing you lullabies.' "

"When they say that," Sidony said, "you often say you do remember."

"Because I get tired of them looking at me as if I were a bit off. The fact is that I don't remember her. I remember Aunt Euphemia telling us stories about Roman gods and goddesses and Father telling her she would make us as daft as she is. And I remember Cristina sitting by my cot when I was sick. One time she told me she had wished me well, and I believed her. Cristina was more of a mother to us than anyone else, because she was the eldest and managed our father's household until she married Hector and moved to Lochbuie."

"I have met Lady Euphemia," Sir Hugo said with a smile.

"She is sometimes a bit eccentric but always very kind," Sidony said.

"Aye, she is," Sorcha agreed. "I like her stories. She lived with us after our mother died, but when Cristina married Hector, she went to live with them. Isobel did, too," she added. "We visit them once a year or so, but it is not the same as when they lived at home. We've missed them dreadfully."

"You had others to look after you, did you not? And your father," Hugo said.

"Adela looked after us, because it was her duty. She did not like it, though, and one can scarcely blame her."

"No," Sidony agreed.

"Maura and Kate did not attempt any mothering, because they married soon after Cristina did. And then Isobel married Sir Michael. As for Father"—Sorcha chuckled—"his notion of looking after us is to issue orders when it suits him, and warn us against breaking any of his silly superstitions. As if it would have been worse for Adela to marry Ardelve on Friday! If she had, she would be safe now."

"If she had," Hugo said gently, "Waldron would have taken her on Friday instead. That's all."

She sighed. "I suppose you are right. And, pray, sir, I know it was my fault. You need not say so again."

"I won't. I know how much you care about Lady Adela. And whatever else I may think about what happened, I know you meant it for the best."

"Well, it did not turn out for the best," she said. "But we will find her, and you will marry her. Then all will be well again."

"Won't you miss her when she marries?" he asked. "Even if she did not enjoy managing your father's household, she must be the one who stands most in the place of a mother to you now. Perhaps she will not want to leave."

"Oh, she wants to leave," Sorcha said. "Father intends to marry again."

"Aye, sure, Lady Clendenen. I forgot about her," he said.

"She refuses to live in a household long managed by another female still living there. Nor does she wish to take our mother's place. So he wants us to find husbands, and quickly. That is why Adela accepted Ardelve, but I do not mean to oblige him so easily. I want a man of sense, not one so puffed up in his own mind that he thinks God created Himself in his image rather than the other way round."

She shot him an oblique look and saw him wince.

"I suppose I number amongst their ilk, do I not?" he said.

She grinned. "I'll say this of you, sir. You are not stupid."

"Nor am I fond of flippant females who delight in impertinent behavior," he said mildly. "I tend to think of them as impudent skelpies."

"You called me that before," she said. "What's a skelpie?"

" 'Tis a lowland term for a naughty child who badly wants smacking," he said. "Have you more criticism that you would like to offer me?"

"Not just now," she said airily. "But I warrant I'll think of more later."

He smiled then, and she grinned back, deciding he was perhaps more likeable than she had thought. She would not tell him so, though. Since he was clearly unaccustomed to criticism, more could only benefit him.

They continued talking desultorily until they stopped to eat their midday meal. Sorcha had no idea where they were, and Rory confessed that he had no more idea than she did, so she applied to Sir Hugo.

"We've entered Glen Dochart," he said. "We should make some miles beyond Lochearnhead by nightfall unless we encounter another thunderstorm."

Clouds had gathered overhead, to be sure, but they seemed high and unthreatening. "What comes after Lochearnhead?" Sorcha asked.

"Strathyre Forest, a road through rolling green braes to Loch Lubnaig, the towns of Doune and Dunblane, then Stirling, Linlithgow, and Edinburgh," he said.

"How long before we reach Edinburgh?" Sidony asked him.

"If we reach Loch Lubnaig tonight, we'll make Stirling by midday tomorrow and mayhap Linlithgow by suppertime. Edinburgh lies fifteen miles beyond it."

"Then we must press on," Sorcha said. "They are but a day ahead now, and since they may not know we are so close, we should take advantage of that. The closer we can get to them before Edinburgh, the more likely we are to discover exactly where they go. All roads lead to Edinburgh, so clearly many roads must lead out of it. We would be foolish to risk losing them there."

He did not comment. But he did order his men to increase the pace until the time came to stop for their midday meal, so Sorcha assumed he agreed with her.

Hugo did not think it was a propitious moment to inform her that he did not mean to take her to Edinburgh. For one thing, he was certain Waldron was heading for his own easily defended lair at Edgelaw. For another, he wanted reinforcements.

He had increased their pace because it would prevent further discussion of Edinburgh. She was right in saying that nearly all roads led there, but he knew of at least one track from Linlithgow that skirted the royal burgh and would take them south. He was certain Waldron also knew it. In any event, he meant to see his two charges safe at Roslin before he went after Adela and her abductors.

He felt guilty about not sharing those intentions with her, but he was tired of fratching with the lass, and he was certain she would fly into a fury again when he told her where he was taking her. He enjoyed crossing swords with her, but he realized that he wanted even more to win her good opinion. That he was unlikely to do so stirred an unfamiliar shadow in his mind that he found hard to identify.

He glanced at her, admiring the proud tilt of her head. She had pulled off the tattered headscarf the crofter's wife had given her, and her hair gleamed like polished gold whenever the sun's rays danced out from behind the fluffy but ominously graying clouds to shine on it. She looked as calmly confident in the croft woman's clothing as she had in the more elegant garments she wore at Kildonan.

She caught him watching, raised her tip-tilted little nose into the air, and pushed a strand of raggedly cut hair from her cheek. A lustful jolt stirred his loins. He had never known his emotions to be so unpredictable, making him yearn to kiss her one moment and beat her the next. God knew, she deserved skelping for nearly all she had done in the past sennight, but most of all for cutting her beautiful hair.

He remembered how he had responded when she had said he was not stupid, chastising her as if she had been six years old. But he remembered, too, the impudent way she had made him laugh afterward. She was certainly different from other women he had met. He wondered briefly if he could tame her but shoved the tantalizing thought out of his mind, recalling that he had no business to be thinking such thoughts of anyone, let alone the sister of the woman he would most likely have to marry as soon as he rescued her.

A shower of rain caught them a few minutes later and lasted until just before he called the halt for their meal. They ate quickly, conversing desultorily until his men began readying the horses again. Neither Sorcha nor her sister seemed to mind the rain, although he had thought Sidony seemed tired before they stopped. Now, having eaten, she seemed as eager to go on as Sorcha was.

The clouds began to thin, and glancing at them, Hugo reflected with little satisfaction that unless blacker ones began gathering and spat thunder, lightning, and rain at them during the late afternoon, they would easily make Loch Lubnaig by sundown. The end of their journey together was fast approaching.

Tuesday night, learning of his lordship's vow not to rape her had acted on Adela like a mug of heady brogac, but the sensation lasted only until he spoke of Isobel and her babe. With that new fear added to her old ones, she had all she could do to maintain her air of false calm through Wednesday's journey.

They had risen before dawn and expected to put a great distance behind them until a thunderstorm in the late afternoon forced them to seek shelter in the woods again and make camp. By then they had come to a more heavily populated part of the countryside, but his lordship evidently knew the area well. Despite the bad weather he easily found an isolated place for their encampment.

Another storm struck just before they stopped for their midday meal on Thursday. Ahead of them, Adela saw Stirling Castle on its high, craggy perch. As they remounted half an hour later, one of the men said casually that they were likely to make Linlithgow by sunset.

Adela had never been to the royal burghs of Stirling or Linlithgow, but as shabby as she was, she felt no disappointment when they skirted Stirling. She was tired of riding, tired of being terrified one minute and flushed with gratitude or dizzy with relief the next. And she was especially tired of the clothes she had worn for five days. She had hoped the rain would wash away some of their odor but feared it had only made things worse. She knew she must smell as bad as most of the men around her, and some of them were disgustingly rank.

From the moment his lordship had mentioned bringing Isobel to her, she had desperately wanted to ask just what he had meant. But she knew she would not like the answer and might make him angry simply by asking. Nor could she prevent his behaving as he chose. Furthermore, having noted that men departed the camp as often as new ones arrived, she had deduced that he must have arranged some form of communication similar to the one she had heard Cristina say Lachlan Lubanach used to keep himself informed of news throughout the Highlands and Isles.

That thought stirred her to wonder if Lachlan knew where she was. Surely, although they had rarely stopped in villages or clachans, folks would talk of these men and the direction they rode. Despite her persistent dreams of magical rescue, the possibility of a real attempt stirred not hope but fear.

What if Lachlan and Hector were following, just waiting for an opportunity to strike? What if they struck and his lordship's men were ready for them, as he had promised they would be? If that happened and they killed everyone, including herself and Isobel, she decided grimly that it would be Sorcha's fault just like all the rest—and Hugo's, too.

What manner of man was Hugo that he had not replied to at least one of Sorcha's messages? Had he been present at the wedding, if only to smile that crooked smile of his and say he was sorry he had led anyone to believe he held a tenderness for her and had come only to wish her well, it would have been enough to prevent her abduction. Of that she was certain.

Was he not an accomplished warrior? Did not Sir Michael depend on him to keep safe from harm all that the Sinclairs held dear? Had he been there, instead of only a few villagers and a minimal wedding party, his lordship would have seen the deterring sight of Sir Hugo and at least twenty men-at-arms. She was certain Hugo never went anywhere without such a tail. He was too important, and if any man knew his own worth, Hugo did.

So, it was entirely his fault and Sorcha's that she was where she was, and if his lordship succeeded in capturing Isobel, it would serve Hugo right, because he would see then that the world did not turn just to suit his notions and needs alone.

That last thought stirred prickling tears and a choking sensation that warned her she was about to cry. She could only be grateful that his lordship's men rarely paid her any heed and that she was facing his back, clinging to his waist with her cheek against his cloak. Struggling to compose herself, she wondered how she could even think such wicked thoughts.

What had happened to make her feelings and reactions so unpredictable, so apparently unmanageable? She had always been able to control herself, and to manage those around her, for that matter. Unlike Sorcha, for example, who never even tried to manage anyone, including herself, Adela had exerted herself to deal with her blustery, temperamental father, and her equally unpredictable sisters. But even more, she had worked to control herself, never to reveal her most private feelings to anyone else, lest they somehow use the knowledge to plague her.

But no matter what Sorcha had done, blaming her for his lordship's wicked actions was unfair, so why could she not dismiss the notion from her mind? Sorcha had certainly done nothing to make him go after the very pregnant Isobel.

If his lordship did capture Isobel, surely, Adela told herself, the babe would be in no jeopardy. Only a truly evil man could believe God would approve of killing an innocent bairn. And she herself ought to be safe enough if she did not anger him again. He had ruined her reputation. That should be enough punishment to satisfy any man.

Suddenly doubting her logic, she wondered if it might help if she offered to persuade Hugo and Michael to meet with him, and to help him explain his position so they would understand why they should help him fulfill his holy mission. Whatever it was, she believed more strongly each day that he believed it was right. If the Pope believed in it, too, who was she or anyone else to say they were wrong?

In any event, she hoped she was learning to read him, to see things more clearly through his eyes. He was not really a bad man, just a normal one with determination to do what was right no matter who got hurt in the process. Surely, knowing all that, she should soon stop feeling so much on edge with him. And then, if she could just help him fix everything, all would be well.

When they stopped at dusk for the night, well off the main road and some miles short of Linlithgow, she thanked him quietly for helping her dismount, and then, when the men had the tent up and his gear unpacked, she went to tidy things and arrange her fur pallet. She would have bartered her soul for clean clothes and a comb. Although she had long since lost the flowers Sorcha and Sidony had gathered for her, she still had her veil and chaplet and could manage to plait her hair with her fingers. But oh, how she longed to be truly clean and tidy again!

He entered the tent without ceremony just as she heaved a deep sigh.

"Art tired, lass?" he asked brusquely, handing her a jug when she turned.

"Aye, sir. Oh, thank you," she added, smiling as she took the jug and saw that it was full. "I was longing for a wash. After we eat, with your permission, I mean to go right to bed. I believe I'll sleep well."

"Good, because you'll need your rest. I'm going to want your help soon."

"Oh, yes, my lord. I'm sure I can help you. Thank you again for being so kind as to bring me this water yourself."

"I need your chaplet," he said.

"My chaplet?"

His frown reminded her that he did not like her to question him, so she reached at once to pull it off, saying, "Of course, you may have it, although I cannot imagine what you can want with it."

He took it from her and left without another word.

Adela heaved another sigh of mixed relief and bewilderment, soaked a cloth with water from the jug, and began to scrub her face and hands for supper.