Chapter 6

H aving put away their stitching to eat their midday meal, Lina and Lizzie had no sooner sat down at the little table than Lizzie said, “We must talk, Lina. I know you said you won’t let Dougal take you away. But how can we stop him?”

“I don’t know, Liz,” Lina said mildly, drawing on the patience so often required with her sisters. “I do know that we must be ready for any opportunity that may come our way. For now, though, I think we must close the shutters. The wind has shifted again and is blowing the rain in. Forbye, those black clouds are so low and moving so fast that I fear we shall soon be in the midst of them.”

“I’ll close the shutters if you will put more peat on the fire.”

Lina agreed. She also lit candles from the fire, so they could see what they ate. Then, feeling a strong draft despite the closed shutters, she suggested moving the table nearer the hearth. Settled at last with the stew still warm enough to be edible, they ate quietly until Lina looked up to see tears trickling down Lizzie’s cheeks.

“Oh, Liz,” she said softly. Setting down her spoon, she reached across to touch Lizzie’s hand. “Prithee, dear one, try not to fret about things that have not occurred. We are still together. So try to think as you did when we arrived, as if this were an adventure. Think about how Mag would act—or Patrick, if he were the prisoner and you were aiding his captors.”

“I’d cut off the villains’ heads and boil them,” Lizzie snapped. “Even though Patrick is my least favorite brother, I’d do what I had to, to set him free!”

“I believe you,” Lina replied, thankful to see the tears stop flowing. “I don’t understand men like Patrick. I’d do anything I could to aid either of my sisters in such a fix. Faith, I worry more now about them and what they might do than what even Dougal might do next.”

“But Andrena and Murie don’t even know where we are,” Lizzie said. “Mag can’t know, either. If he did, he’d be taking this castle apart to find us.”

“People do know where we are, Liz.” Wrestling with the instinct that had warned her all along not to tell Lizzie anything that she might repeat to Dougal or to MacCowan’s lad, Lina decided that keeping quiet any longer was unfair. No matter what might come of revealing the truth, Lizzie needed to know that they had hope. “Can you keep a secret, Liz?” she asked.

Lizzie cocked her head. “From whom?”

“That was the rub until now, aye,” Lina admitted. “Sithee, I feared you might reveal this secret to Dougal if you thought that telling him might help us.”

“I would not tell that villain anything ,” Lizzie said fiercely. “If he were on fire, I would not spit on him, let alone give him water enough to save himself.”

Amused despite herself by the vision Lizzie’s angry words produced, Lina said, “Then I’ll tell you. Do you remember the peat man who came the first night?”

“Aye, sure,” Lizzie said, frowning. “How could anyone forget him?”

“He is the proof that people know where we are.”

Glancing at the door, Lizzie leaned closer. “How can you know that?”

“Because I know him,” Lina said. She explained, omitting her usual opinion of Sir Ian’s recklessness and letting his actions speak for themselves.

When she finished, Lizzie stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Lina waited for the bitter reproaches she expected to hear.

Lizzie said in a low but vibrant tone, “How brave of him! Oh, Lina, don’t you think he must be the bravest man who ever lived to do such a thing?”

Easily controlling any desire to agree with that statement, Lina said dryly, “I fear I am too practical to see such behavior as aught but dangerous, Liz. I am sure that Sir Ian will be pleased that you think he is brave, though.”

“But he must be! Had he not done that, how could anyone else ever have learned where we are?”

“You forget our gillie, Peter Wylie. Peter must have had the good sense to ride to Dunglass and tell the Colquhouns what happened to us.”

“Perhaps,” Lizzie said. “But it was Sir Ian who came to see us for himself.”

“Aye, he did do that,” Lina agreed, aware that the strange sensations that often accompanied her thoughts of Ian warmed her as she spoke of him. “I suspect he could not resist the challenge,” she added firmly. “But remember, Lizzie, you must not mention even the name Colquhoun whilst we are here. If Dougal or James Mòr should learn that the Colquhouns might aid us, they’ll surely stop them.”

“I won’t say a word,” Lizzie promised. She fell silent again, and her face grew so solemn that Lina nearly asked what she was thinking.

She finished her meal in silence instead and had her reward when Lizzie said reluctantly, “In troth, Lina, had you told me that before, I might have told Dougal.” She paused as if she expected comment, but Lina just cocked her head a little.

Grimacing, Lizzie added, “You were right about him. But I was so sure I was right that, had I known, I…” Pausing, she added in a rush, “I might have tried to scare him by telling him the Colquhouns would save us. Do you think they can?”

“I know Sir Ian well enough to know that he will try. But I also know the laird and your brother Mag, Liz. They are more practical than Ian is, and the plain truth is that this castle is the most invincible in Scotland. That Sir Ian was able to slip in and out is one thing. An army trying to do so would certainly fail.”

“I know,” Lizzie said with a sigh. “But it is nicer to hope that an army may come than to fear that only Dougal MacPharlain will.”

Lina wished she could agree that thinking about either of those options would be helpful. The trouble was that, despite her practical nature, her hopes had fixed themselves on Sir Ian. She prayed that, for once, he would put his daring to a truly useful purpose. Even so, every time the tantalizing mental image of his rescuing them arose, she rebuked herself for her hypocrisy.

It might be different, she decided, had she dwelt on Ian’s looks alone, for he had grown to be a tantalizingly handsome man, certainly far handsomer than Dougal MacPharlain would ever be. How Lizzie could think… But Lizzie had seen Ian only as the raggedy peat man and did not know him, she reminded herself. In any event, to be making such comparisons was as hypocritical as the rest.

The rain penetrated the forest canopy, giving Ian good reason to ride bent over his mount and let the hood of his oiled leather cloak conceal his face. Colquhoun’s men and Rob’s carried weapons but would leave them with the horses.

The MacAulay man riding beside Ian had recognized him but would say naught of his presence. Six of Ian’s own men rode with Alex Buchanan.

The first mutterings of thunder had been distant enough for the horses to take them in stride. Now, louder growls of thunder made their withers tremble, and some ponies tossed their heads. But they all were well-trained.

Ian knew his suggestion that they take extra horses might well have stirred his father to suspect he was up to something. If so, when he had to face Colquhoun afterward, just having had that suspicion would likely increase his anger.

Ian had kept most of his thoughts to himself, telling Rob and Alex only what each needed to know. He wanted to spare them from as much of Colquhoun’s wrath as he could. But while the Dunglass men were mounting, Rob had asked him why Dougal was so determined to have the lady Lachina MacFarlan.

Ian had shared his own belief that Dougal hoped to use Lina in some way to force Andrew Dubh to surrender Tùr Meiloach to Pharlain, the man who had seized the rest of the lands of Arrochar. Originally, those estates had included Tùr Meiloach, but for two decades, Andrew had managed to keep that one for himself and his family. He should not have to relinquish it now through more villainy.

Ian was still sorting his thoughts, trying to imagine how he could get inside Dumbarton Castle from the courtyard, when the forest darkness lightened. Looking through the dense trees ahead, he could just make out, through the heavy downpour beyond the forest, the looming gray shape of Dumbarton Rock and the forbidding stronghold on top of it.

The short hairs on his nape tingled as forks of lightning split the roiling dark clouds and haloed the castle. Deafening cracks of thunder accompanied them, putting to shame all the mumbling, muttering, and growling that had preceded them.

Horses skittered, reared, and otherwise expressed their unease, and Ian briefly had his hands full, calming his own. When Colquhoun signaled for them to dismount, Ian did so, taking care to keep his head down as he did and while he stroked and tethered his horse.

The cracks of thunder startled Lina and Lizzie while they were trying to position an extra blanket to block icy drafts slithering in between the slats of their shutters. Standing on a tottering stool, Liz held one end of the blanket in place atop both half-open shutters while Lina tried to close them on it. When the thunder clapped, Lizzie abruptly let go of the blanket, and only Lina’s swift hand to the younger girl’s hip kept her from falling.

The last rolling reverberations had scarcely faded when the door opened, startling them again as Gorry MacCowan hurried in with his ubiquitous minion.

“Here, here, m’lady,” MacCowan said to Lizzie as he slammed the door shut behind them and strode toward her. “Get ye doon from that stool afore ye break your wee neck. Begging your pardon for the liberty,” he added with a wary glance at Lina. “But that lass doesna belong on sich a rickety stool. Nor do ye. Lad, stir up yon puny fire. Then run doonstairs and fetch more candles for their ladyships.”

As the boy hurried to obey, MacCowan helped Lizzie down, took the blanket corner that Lina now held, reached up, folded a few inches of it over the top of one shutter, and pressed that one closed. Then he repeated the process on the other side.

Lina thanked him with a smile, adding, “You came just in time, Gorry MacCowan. Neither of us can reach so high. In another few minutes, both of us would have been soaked.”

“We came tae clear away the leavings o’ your meal, m’lady,” he said, glancing toward the door where his lad was just leaving.

“You have news, Gorry,” Lina said, when the door had shut behind the boy.

“Only tae tell ye that James Mòr and some o’ his lairds be a-meeting wi’ the Laird o’ Colquhoun later today. Seems Colquhoun requested the meeting tae—”

“Oh, Lina,” Lizzie exclaimed, “he is going to make James Mòr release us!”

“As tae that, I canna say, m’lady,” Gorry told her sternly. “But I ha’ me doots ye should be settin’ up sich a screech about it.”

“He is right, Liz,” Lina said. “What if Dougal had heard you or should see you looking as if you eagerly expect release?”

“ ’Tis true,” Gorry said, nodding. To Lina, he added, “I tell ye, though, me lady, I never seen that stairway below as busy as it be the noo. See you, it all be a show for yon meeting wi’ Colquhoun. I ha’ me doots that any man could get up or doon now without someone demanding tae ken his business.” Pointedly, he added, “Even were a man used tae visiting ye on any whim what struck ’im.”

Lina knew without question that MacCowan meant Dougal MacPharlain.

She also knew, though, that so many watchers must affect any plan that Ian might have to save them, assuming that Colquhoun had not forbidden him to act.

The principled laird might look dimly on any scheme that Sir Ian suggested to him. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine Ian flying to her rescue. All she could summon up was his handsome face and the mischievous way his eyes danced.

It would be helpful, Ian thought, if he could devise a complete plan—or better yet, put one into successful action—before his father caught sight of him.

He and the other men were following Colquhoun on foot across the river plain, slogging through mud as the rain pelted down on them.

The high rock and steep road up to the castle gates sheltered them from the worst of the wind. It had come from the northeast earlier but now came from almost due west. When they reached the foot of the road, the wind caught them broadside, and everyone had to fight to retain his cloak and hood. The track was slippery, too, but at last, the gates opened to admit them. The first face Ian saw as the men ahead of him passed through the gateway into the castle yard was Jed Laing’s.

“Gorry be by the door, master,” Jed murmured as Ian passed him.

Other men besides their own milled in the castle yard, so James Mòr or his captain of the guard had set Stewart men and perhaps others, as well, to watch the visitors. More horses were in the yard than he had seen on his previous visit, too.

He had no complaint, though. Thanks to the rain, the more men there were, the easier it would be for him to walk amongst them, especially dressed as he was.

While he scraped mud from his boots on the gravel and stones of the yard, an immediate obstacle presented itself. Three men stood by the door that led into the tower that housed Lina and Lizzie’s room. The service stairway inside it was the only way Ian knew to reach them quickly and get them out.

As he watched, two more men went up the steps and three others emerged.

Recalling that Jed had said that Gorry was by that door, Ian hoped he had a plan to get them inside, one they could discuss without drawing notice.

He certainly could not follow Colquhoun and Rob in at the main entrance.

At that moment, a firm hand gripped his left arm.

Concerns about Dougal MacPharlain had eased, thanks to Gorry’s assurance that the busy stairway would prevent Dougal’s mischief. So Lina had finished her cloak and had begun repairing a tear in one of the shirts.

Lizzie, having put her faith in Sir Ian, hummed a tune as she sewed. When she stopped humming, she said, “I used to think that living at Tùr Meiloach as you do, with Pharlain fain to seize your land, it must be dangerous for you to travel. But you have traveled much more than I have, and farther.”

“I expect we have, aye,” Lina said. “My mam has many kinsmen in many places, and she thought it was her duty to visit them and take us to meet them.”

“I wish my sisters would take me places,” Lizzie said wistfully.

“Perhaps they will when you are older.”

“I’m fourteen. How old were you when Lady Aubrey first took you?”

“Eight,” Lina admitted, remembering the first time she had met Ian. “It was about this time of year, too, because Dree had just turned ten. Sir Ian—he was Master Ian then—teased us mercilessly until Dree threatened to tell his father.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “ Did she tell?”

“Nay, but she wished she had when we reached Glasgow and she found a live frog amidst the clothes in her sumpter basket. But, Lizzie,” Lina added, “now that Mag and Dree have married, they will likely take you places with them.”

“They did not invite me this time. And they went to visit my sister.”

“Aye, but that was by way of being a bridal visit. Forbye—and you must keep this to yourself, too, Liz—I think Andrena is expecting a child.”

Lizzie gaped. “Mag never said a word!”

“I don’t think he knew,” Lina said.

“How could he not? It is his child, too.”

“Dree may not have told him. She did not tell me or Murie, either.”

“Faith, can you read Dree’s thoughts, the way she reads others?”

Lina was about to deny that suggestion when her quick hearing again caught the approach of hasty footsteps on the stairs. Something about them differed from the sound of Gorry MacCowan coming upstairs with his lad. Her skin tingled.

The hand on Ian’s arm had gripped tightly enough to make him wonder if the next thing he heard would be the declaration of his arrest for trespassing on property belonging to the House of Albany.

Instead, when he turned his head, carefully looking down as he did, he heard Gorry’s low-pitched voice: “Come along wi’ me, master. I’ve much tae tell ye.”

“Tell me this first, and quickly,” Ian muttered back. “D’ye ken if James Mòr will agree to treat with Colquhoun for their ladyships’ release?”

“He will not, for he said so,” Gorry said. “I were tending the fire in yon great hall when James Mòr told his lickspittles that Colquhoun were a-coming today. He said unless he drowned on the way, mayhap he meant tae declare hisself at last for Albany against the King. One o’ them so-called nobles what laps at his heels said ’twere more likely he were a-coming on account o’ the lady hostages. James Mòr laughed then and said if it were so, ’twould be a fool’s errand.”

“You’re certain he won’t give them up?”

“Aye, sure; he says they be too valuable, the pair o’ them. But the lady Lachina tellt me that Dougal MacPharlain be for taking her away right soon.”

“Then I must reach them straightaway, Gorry. Can you get me inside?”

“Easy as breathing wi’ such a mob in this yard and servants coming and going tae attend them in the hall,” Gorry said. “What’s in yon bundle?”

“Oilskins to cover them and breeks,” Ian replied in an undertone as they wended their way toward the service-stair door.

“Oilskins be a good notion,” Gorry said. “I didna ken what tae do about their skirts, and ye couldna verra well spirit them away in them. Am I tae leave wi’ ye?”

“I should take you, because it will be gey dangerous for you here when the lasses are gone,” Ian admitted. “But if we can arrange for you to stay safe, you’ll be more valuable to me when I think of a way to force the rebels out of here.”

“Aye, sure, when ye take back the castle. But willna James Mòr ken fine that Colquhoun had summat tae do wi’ the ladies’ disappearance?”

“If you or one of your friends can help, I mean to cast suspicion on Dougal long enough for me to get their ladyships safely to Dunglass.”

Gorry glanced at him, eyes agleam. “We can help wi’ that, for Dougal’s awa’ doon tae the harbor. What must we do?”

“I’ve scrawled a message on a scrap of vellum that I mean to drop in their ladyships’ chamber,” Ian explained. “I brought matching vellum with me, too. If you can hide it amidst Dougal’s effects and then have someone spread word of his too-frequent visits to their ladyships, even that he discomfited them…”

“Aye, sure, we’ll do that,” Gorry said. Striding up the steps to the service-stair door, now open to admit others, he muttered, “Keep your head doon,” and preceded Ian to follow them in.

Inside, Ian saw with astonishment that the stairway was alive with cloaked and uncloaked servants going up to rooms on other floors or down to a kitchen, bakehouse, or storerooms below the entry level. They carried jugs, trays, and other objects, doubtless meant for the great hall on the next level or chambers above it where James Mòr and his noble followers would have their private chambers.

The narrowness of the service stairway made passing others awkward. But the gillies and men-at-arms using it paid no heed to them. Each man clearly had his mind on his own task. And with duties taking them into and out of the weather, the majority of them wore cloaks of one sort or another over livery or mail.

Gorry kept to the narrow part of the wedge-shaped steps, near the stone center post, allowing those coming down to hug the wall as protocol demanded. He moved up with practiced ease as men coming down with empty jugs, trays, baskets, linen, or other paraphernalia pressed past him.

Following him, Ian held his oilskins bundle close, so no one would knock it from his grip. When they were past the great hall, Gorry moved faster.

No one questioned their presence.

At the next-to-last landing, the flight above loomed dark and vacant.

“No guard?” Ian murmured.

“None needed,” Gorry replied. “I ha’ the key. Dougal keeps another in the wee purse on his belt. Since he’s the one as ordered me tae keep others away and see tae their ladyships m’self, I’ll be the first one he suspects o’ this.”

“There must be more than two keys to that chamber,” Ian said.

“Aye, sure, the castle steward had one. So did the captain o’ the guard.”

“If one or both of those keys should vanish for a wee while…”

Gorry chuckled, “Aye, and so I thought m’self,” he said. “That be how them keys did go a-missing. I dinna think their keepers ha’ missed ’em yet.”

“You’re aye a canny man, Gorry,” Ian said, grinning.

Taking advantage of the unusual activity within the castle wall to slip down to the harbor, and believing that his immediate goal was within reach, Dougal had ordered his crew to prepare to depart soon for Arrochar despite the heavy rain.

Wrapped in an oiled leather cape over his plaid and a simple saffron sark, his rawhide boots soaked through, he was heading back to the castle, certain that Colquhoun must have arrived by now.

The lightning and crashing thunder had nearly undone his plan, because some of his men were superstitious, others terrified of lightning, especially on the water. But, unlike the fashious wench, they would obey him. He had never heard of lightning striking a vessel on the Loch of the Long Boats. It struck the nearby peaks instead. And the lightning had moved on. Only distant, growling thunder remained.

“This damnable rain,” he muttered through his teeth. The wind had dropped, but his stiff cape had provided only slight protection while it blew, so he was wet.

Their journey later would be unpleasant, but he had an unexceptional reason now for leaving. Having found it impossible to secure the Firth of Clyde, James Mòr feared a siege and had asked him to learn who amongst the west Highland clan chiefs would be most disposed to aid him if he needed an escape route.

So, Dougal would take the lady Lina as soon as he could and leave.

Lina had finished darning the shirt, so when the latest set of footsteps reached the landing, she snipped her thread free and set the garment aside.

“Someone’s coming, Liz. Two men.” She realized that the difference she had discerned in the footsteps was that they were of equal tread.

The lad’s steps had always been lighter and quicker than MacCowan’s.

Her heart was beating faster, harder. Her skin felt as if lightning were still in the air. She fought to keep her composure, to look natural when they came in.

Lizzie was staring at her, squinting in the flickering light of the candles.

With little more noise than a few clicks, the door swung inward and Gorry MacCowan filled the doorway. By then, Lina knew who stood behind him. Her body had recognized Sir Ian’s approach with more confidence than she had.

“M’lady,” MacCowan said, “Ye should—”

“Watch the door, Gorry,” Ian said, stepping past him into the room. “I’ll explain, but we need to hurry if we’re to succeed.”

His peat-man rags, gray cloak, and stiff oilskin contrasted oddly with words spoken in the crisp tones of a noble knight accustomed to command.

Lina glanced at Lizzie, who was staring at Sir Ian with her mouth open.

Gorry shut the door and stood with an ear against it as his lad had earlier.

Collecting her wits, Lina said, “What must we do, sir?”

“I’ve breeks for each of you,” Ian said, revealing his bundle. “Put them on and stuff your skirts into the waists. Can you do that by yourselves?”

“Aye, sure,” she said, taking the leathery pair of breeks he handed her. “Quick, Liz. Put down that shirt, and do as he bids.”

“But—”

“I’m a friend of your brother Mag’s, lass,” Ian said to her. “I’ve come to get you out of here. So, be quick. We’ve nae time for debate or modesty.”

Lina donned her breeks easily, although they reeked and were too big. Wondering who might have worn them before and what vermin they might contain, she looked at Ian, saw his eyes light with humor, felt her body respond, and hastily attended to her skirts.

Lizzie eyed with distaste the pair Ian had handed her. But after a glance at Lina and one at him, she pulled them on. When she had stuffed what she could of her skirts into them, she looked like a plump lassock in lad’s clothing.

“Turn around,” Ian said to her. When she did, he loosened her long red plaits and tied her hair at her nape with a string. “Now put this oiled cloak over you, lass.”

“Nay, sir, not yet,” Lina said. She had no need to tie back her hair, coiled rather untidily at her nape. But she removed her veil as she said, “Oiled skins will keep off rain, but they are stiff and unwieldy. Going downstairs, we would find it impossible to keep our stuffed-in skirts and our hair hidden from those coming up.”

“Her ladyship be right, master,” Gorry said. “We’ll ha’ tae go doon the way we came up. Gillies and the like will still be a-using them stairs.”

“Sakes, man, they cannot wear their own cloaks,” Ian said.

“We have others,” Lina said. Picking up her blanket-cloak and handing it to him, she said, “We fashioned hoods, and we slit fitchets in the sides to slip our hands through, so we can hold them round us as we go. They look rather monkish. But when we are outside, with your oilskins over them—”

“They should serve, aye,” he interjected, his light blue eyes brimming with amusement as he draped the cloak around her. “I thought sure you’d balk at this reckless escapade, my lady. I did not expect you to prepare for it.”

“Any captive should try to plan for an escape,” she said. “But this is no time to quibble, sir. We must go if we are going. Art ready, Liz?”

To Lina’s relief, Lizzie nodded without a word as she adjusted her bulky middle to more appropriately resemble a stomach than a roll that bulged all around her. Then she let Ian help her don her blanket-cloak. Its hood, like Lina’s, fit in loose folds that concealed much of her face and all of her curly tresses.

“The message, master,” Gorry said as they turned toward the door.

“Aye, sure,” Ian said. Pulling a scrap of vellum from his rags, he dropped it to the floor. You had best take the other portion now, Gorry, lest I forget later.”

Watching him hand a small roll of vellum to Gorry, Lina wondered what message he had left. Whatever it was, she just hoped they would get away. Moving to the door, she assured herself that if someone did catch them and bring them back, she and Lizzie would still be as valuable to James Mòr as when they had arrived.

Ian startled her with a light hand on her arm, a touch that stirred the tingling again. So strongly did the sensation affect her that he sounded far away when he said, “Let Lizzie go first, lass. We’ll keep you two between us. And keep your heads down. Both of you must look as meek as you can.”

“Wait, master,” Gorry said, crossing the room to pick up the noisome pail and then a tray from the table. “Let the lassie carry this pail. They’ll mistake her for me lad, and nae one will trouble her. And, m’lady, if ye’ll carry this tray, ye’ll look as if ye’re doing your chores, too. Look slippy now, master,” he added. “Four of us a-going down may set some’un tae thinking summat we dinna want him tae think.”

“No one will heed us,” Ian said, gesturing for him to lead the way. Then he put a hand to the small of Lina’s back, sending new tremors through her.

“Move along, lass,” he said when she stiffened.

Making her way down the twisting stairway, she was glad that those coming up kept to her left, giving her the wider footing. She did not need to shift the tray to watch her feet, but even so, she had all she could do to keep everything in place when she had to pass someone. At the door to the yard, so determined was she to keep her head down that when the deluge struck her, she nearly cried out.

Ian’s hand was at her back again. Gorry kept Lizzie with him as they wended their way through the sodden crowd milling in the courtyard, but men they passed seemed too concerned with their own misery to pay them heed.

They were nearing the gates when Ian said quietly, “Stop.”

When Lina did, she saw that Gorry had vanished into the crowd.

Lizzie stood beside her.

They stood so until Ian said, “Here they come now.”

Following his gaze, Lina saw the Laird of Colquhoun striding toward them.