The room didn't reveal much. Arabella had a prodigious wardrobe to travel with — there were at least a dozen gowns unpacked and hanging up, in various rich shades, as well as an enormous jewelry collection laid out on her dresser that made Scarlet's fingers itch. No, she told herself firmly — no stealing. This was strictly recon. The last thing she wanted to do was tip Arabella off that something was afoot… she had to be strict with herself. But there was nothing else in the room to incriminate the woman — no damning letters, no bloodstained murder weapons… then again, what had Scarlet been expecting? A signed confession? No, she decided as she slipped out of the room and away down the hallway again. She'd need to work a little harder than that.
She bided her time as the day slipped past. A lot of the time she spent in her little hidey hole, unwilling to risk too much traipsing about early on in case the sudden appearance of an extra servant raised suspicions. The lunch meal passed, as did supper… and something occurred to Scarlet. There was a room off the dining room, a comfortable, cozy little sitting room that had a fireplace, a bookshelf, and a few bottles of brandy on a low shelf. She could just picture Weatherby settling in there after dinner… and what was more, it had an infrequently used hallway running behind it, if she remembered correctly. Crossing her fingers that Weatherby and his sister were in the mood for a nightcap, she hastened down there, grateful that night had fallen, and the hallways were dark and dingy — the servants she passed barely looked up at her, clearly exhausted from their day's work and keen to get to their own quarters for rest.
Scarlet loitered in the corridor, pretending to be polishing an ornate silver candlestick that stood on a low table in case anyone chanced upon her… but really, she was listening intently at the door. For a while, she was worried that she'd misjudged the architecture, somehow … or worse, that the doors were more soundproof than she'd expected. But then, the unmistakable sound of Lord Weatherby's rather posh accent came through the door, muffled by the thick wood but clear enough to pick up. Her heart in her throat, Scarlet leaned against the door, listening intently… and punched the air in silent triumph when she heard a woman's voice come through, clear as a bell.
"Really, Reginald, you ought to have let me bring along a group of Godly men to hunt down this restless spirit."
Scarlet wrinkled her nose, already disliking this woman — her accent seemed even more snobbish than Weatherby's, if that was even possible, and there was a droning whine to it that set her teeth on edge.
"I told you before, Arabella, the people of this area have had a rather rough time of it with witch hunters and the like. I'm interested in keeping the peace for once."
"Witch hunters! Good Lord, Reggie, what kind of company do you think I keep? I'm speaking of priests, for God's sake. Men of the Lord. Men who have experience with ghosts. My lads will do their best once they find her, of course, but they'd be a lot more effective if they had a proper expert with them —"
"She's not a ghost, Arabella. She's a regular flesh and blood woman." He sounded exhausted… but Scarlet was thrilled. They were talking about her — about Emily, and about her. Did Arabella really think she was a ghost? She'd thought the woman would be more sensible than that, somehow. But superstition was good… superstition could be a useful tool…
"Then how exactly did you let her slip through your fingers?" Arabella demanded frostily.
Weatherby sighed. "We've been over this, Arabella, my dearest sister. The girl doesn't remember a thing. She's not Emily — far from it. She's just a girl who looked like Emily. It's a coincidence and nothing more. If you'd waited for my letter before coming all the way out here on some whim —"
"It wasn't a whim, Reginald," Arabella said sharply.
Scarlet was itching to catch a glimpse of the woman — she was building a mental picture of the gowns she'd seen and the woman's voice, but she wanted to know how close she was to the real thing. "This girl could destroy us. You know that as well as I do."
"She doesn't know a thing, Arabella. Trust me."
Scarlet was leaning close to the door, holding her breath. What did she mean, Scarlet could destroy them? What memories did Arabella think the 'ghost' of Emily MacClaran could bring to bear against them? She hoped against hope that one of them might elaborate on what they were talking about… but she was out of luck, it seemed, as Arabella heaved a sigh.
"Well, my men are coming up empty-handed," she said huffily. "And I think we both know why."
A measured pause — she imagined Weatherby taking a sip of brandy. "Do we?"
"It's those wretched Scots!" Arabella snapped, and Scarlet heard a thump — the woman had brought her fist down on the table, perhaps? "They're holding her in their draft old moldering heap of a castle, you mark my words. Ungodly people. You know they're harboring witches in that castle, don't you?"
"They aren't," Weatherby said simply, in a tired tone that threatened to make Scarlet giggle. "They simply aren't. I can't count the number of packs of witch hunters who've come through making similar accusations, and every time have found not a shred of evidence —"
"What about that girl they burned?"
"Innocent," Weatherby said, shaking his head. "Everyone in the village knew she was innocent —"
"Nonsense," Arabella said briskly. "Reginald, you need to ride straight up to that castle, knock on their door and insist the girl is handed over to our custody at once."
"And I have told you at least a dozen times that I will not endanger the tentative peace I have built with the locals here to do that, Arabella."
"Are you really going to make me do it myself?"
She heard a threatening silence, and bit her lip, wishing she could see what kind of look the siblings were giving each other. The threat sounded serious… and a real pang of worry went through Scarlet as she followed that thought through to its natural conclusion. Arabella and her men, riding up to the Keep to demand a hostage be handed over… would the MacClarans know that it wasn't Lord Weatherby who was behind it? This was his sister, close family… surely he'd be tarred with the same brush. It could be war.
And just like that, the two of them changed the subject. Scarlet ground her teeth as Arabella started on some long, waffling tangent about the gown she was wearing and how poorly it was faring in the 'dreadful Scottish climate', whatever that meant. Could it really be so different up here than it was down in England? Scarlet lingered at the door for another half hour, but to her dismay the conversation didn't turn back to either her — or her unfortunate ancestor. Eventually, she slipped away into the house, weary of Arabella's tedious stories… but grateful at least for what she had gleaned.
Back safe and sound in her storehouse, she settled into the nest of blankets and pillows she'd made, taking a few deep breaths to settle herself as she dug out a hasty meal pieced together from stolen leftovers from lunch and a few unfinished plates of dinner she'd managed to raid before the kitchen staff had swept them into the trash. It was good food, even if she was basically living on table scraps, and she was pleased to at least be stopping a little waste.
She wished she had a notebook to keep track of her findings. What was most interesting about what she'd just overheard though, was Weatherby's part in things. He seemed to be desperate to defuse his sister, to stop her from this determined campaign against Scarlet… from what she could tell, he hadn't even told Arabella about the curse, about the true nature of Scarlet's presence here. If he had, Scarlet suspected Arabella would be calling her a witch. So Weatherby was… well, if not an ally, at least less of an enemy than she'd feared. That was good.
But what Arabella had said… none of that was good at all. She wanted to capture Scarlet, to interrogate her personally… and she had a suspicion that after that interrogation, nobody would see or hear from her again. So, it was very important that she keep out of sight, remain hidden… she giggled a little as she realized what would happen if Arabella marched on the Keep, demanding her as a hostage, and then her smile faded.
No doubt the people of the castle were worried about her by now.
Well, they'd have to worry a little longer. She was making progress here. She just needed a few more days to finally crack the case… to find out just why it was that Arabella was so determined to get her hands on Scarlet.
Then she could go back with the information and hope that it would be valuable enough to trade for the MacClarans' forgiveness.
Chapter 28
The next day dawned gray and rainy, and she lay in her nest of blankets for a long time, gazing through the window at the misty garden below her. More creeping around today, that was the plan… she was hoping to overhear a few more of Arabella's conversations, to see if she might let something slip about Emily and what had happened to her. But before she could even start planning where she might lurk to make that happen, a commotion in the yard outside drew her attention. Frowning, she rose and opened the shutters cautiously, peering out toward the gate that was standing open. There was a figure on horseback, half a dozen guards gathered around them… and there, the figure of Lord Weatherby hastening across the garden toward the gates, a black-clad figure that could only be Baldric striding along at his side.
A guest, she realized with a shock. A guest at their doors… causing no small amount of consternation, either, if Weatherby was going out to meet them himself. She leapt to her feet and hastened into the hallway, mind racing. Where was Weatherby likely to greet the guest? Probably in the entrance hall… she hastened there, remembering that a small storage cupboard under the great staircase in the entrance hall was large enough to hide a whole person. Quickly, she secreted herself away in it, leaving the door open just a crack so that she could see a little of what was going on… and just in time, too, because as she settled herself into her hidey-hole, the doors to the manor burst open.
There were Weatherby and Baldric, both of them dripping with rain. She caught a flash of Baldric's expression, amused but carefully neutral, and Weatherby's, confused and angry. And then her heart stopped beating. There, standing in the doorway in proud MacClaran tartan, stood none other than Kieran himself. His face was wild, his blue-green eyes full of determination, and the expression on his face made her stomach twist with guilt. He looked worried — more than worried. He looked terrified. And she had a suspicion she knew just what had prompted that emotion in him.
"I'll ask you one more time, Weatherby," he said, his voice shaking with fury. "You show her to me unharmed this moment or the wrath of Clan MacClaran will fall straight upon you, truce or no truce."
"And I'll tell you again," Weatherby said, his voice quaking a little with what was clearly intended to sound like anger, but that Scarlet recognized undeniably as fear, "there's nobody here who isn't supposed to be."
"Oh, aye? Is that right? So you'll be more than willing to take me down to your basement dungeons — that's right, I know about that."
"It's not a dungeon," Weatherby snapped, looking irritated. Scarlet hid a smile as she realized how deliberately Baldric was refusing to get involved in this conversation — the straight-laced man would probably be able to sort the situation out in an instant, but he clearly enjoyed seeing his Lord flustered. "It's simply a basement that we have, in the past, used to keep undesirables —"
"Don't you dare call her an undesirable, you —"
"What is the meaning of all this commotion?"
That voice was new to the conversation, and it came from straight above her — Scarlet's eyes flicked upwards as she pictured the scene. Arabella Weatherby, appearing at the top of the stairs, that grand, imperious tone suggesting that she was no doubt striking some kind of intimidating pose. Scarlet heard her footsteps as she descended the stairs, hoping against hope that the women would position herself somewhere where she could get a glimpse of her — she wanted a face to put to the voice of her nemesis. But to her dismay, Arabella stayed on the stairs. Probably enjoying the height advantage.
"It's you," she said coolly, and Scarlet could hear venom in her voice. "Didn't learn your lesson the first time?"
"Arabella Weatherby," Kieran said, and Scarlet had never heard him speak in that tone — low and grinding, full of a fury that sent a shiver down her spine. "I should have known you were lurking about," he spat. "Where's Scarlet? Bring her to me now, or I swear I'll —"
"I'd be very careful about making threats on Weatherby land," Arabella snapped imperiously, and Scarlet winced, imagining how much anger that would have prompted in Kieran.
"I'll say what I like," Kieran snapped. "I didn't fight hard enough for Emily when you took her away, and I'll live with that regret until the day I die. But I won't let you take Scarlet the same way. I won't let you —"
"Emily's fate was incredibly unfortunate," Arabella snarled. "I live with that grief every day, Kieran MacClaran. The grief of losing my dear cousin, that bright young girl with a beautiful future… stolen from her by the cad who lured her away."
"That's how you see it, is it?" Kieran growled.
"That's how it was. She was a sweet, innocent, clever young girl who unfortunately had her head turned by an undesirable. Now she's dead and gone. I hope you're happy with yourself for despoiling her, for tarnishing our family's good name —"
There was a roar that sounded more like it had come from an animal than a man, and Scarlet tensed up, fighting the urge to shove the door open and run out into the fray. The scraping of metal told her that Kieran had drawn his blade, and Weatherby's panicked shout — followed by the crash of furniture being toppled — further told her that Lord Weatherby had stumbled backwards in fear. She heard Baldric shout for guards, his voice dispassionate, and Arabella's high, terrified shrieking echoed over the scene. Scarlet bit her lip as she heard the door slam open, and several pairs of heavy footsteps indicated that the guards had been waiting nearby — she heard the sounds of a scuffle, her heart in her throat as she prayed that Kieran wouldn't make things too difficult for them — or worse, get badly hurt in his struggle to reach Arabella. Then there was a sickening thump — and quiet.
"Right," Lord Weatherby said, his voice shaking a little. "Well done, chaps. I think he'd be best locked away for a little while, until he's calmed down a little, what do you think?"
Baldric was breathing hard. "Right you are, sir. We'll get him set up in a guest room?"
"The dungeons, I think," Lady Arabella said, voice cold and cruel. "Such barbarism hardly warrants our best hospitality, does it? Lock him in the cellars until he's had a good long think about what he's done."
Scarlet bit her lip, feeling guilt twist at her belly as the sound of Kieran's presumably unconscious form being dragged away got quieter and quieter. She knew she should wait here for a little while for safety, but she suddenly hated the little cupboard under the stairs — hated that she'd been so powerless to intervene in an altercation which, she had to admit, was absolutely all her fault. Why hadn't it occurred to her that Kieran would assume that she'd been captured if she simply disappeared from the castle? And of course he wouldn't trust either Weatherby when they promised she wasn't at the manor.
"This isn't good."
That was Lord Weatherby's voice — she tensed in surprise, peering out through the slight gap in the door. Sure enough, he was standing there with Baldric at his side, and the small part of his face she could see was lined with worry.
"Holding a MacClaran captive in the cellars? I'd say it's not ideal, politically speaking," Baldric said drily. "I'd advise we release him as soon as he's come around."
"He thinks we've got that blasted woman here," Reginald said, shaking his head. "God knows why. I told her to stay in the damned castle."
"And she seems exactly like the kind of woman who always does what she's told," Baldric said, and Scarlet suppressed a laugh, despite how wretched she felt about what was happening with Kieran.
"Arabella's not going to want to release him," Weatherby said. "She'll want some kind of punishment for him. She still blames him for Emily."
"So she does," Baldric said, and Scarlet could hear him keeping his voice deliberately neutral. "But this is your manor, my Lord. The decision regarding MacClaran is yours."
"I think we'd best keep him here for the time being," Weatherby said, shaking his head. "I don't like it any more than you do, Baldric, but I'd rather not antagonize Arabella while she's still in such a state over this Scarlet woman."
And with that, they ambled away into the rest of the house, speaking in low voices that Scarlet couldn't overhear. But she didn't need to. Her heart was thumping sickly in her chest as she reflected on what her actions had brought about. Poor Kieran, probably hurt, imprisoned down in the cellars like a criminal… with no release in sight. What was going to happen when his family realized he was gone? Would it be war between the English and the Scottish? Had she unwittingly brought about a much bigger conflict than she'd ever dreamed of?
No, she told herself firmly, slipping out of the room and hastening up the stairs before she could be spotted. It wasn't going to come to that. She was going to break Kieran out, show him that she was okay and that the Weatherbys weren't responsible for her being here. Then she was going to get the truth out of these people about what had happened to Emily. Then she was going to ensure her own safety, somehow… that particular point was a tricky one, but she trusted that she'd work out a way as she went. So, a jailbreak, an interrogation, and… well, whatever tactics she needed to use to get Arabella to back off. Easy. She could do this. But maybe not in that order.
First things first… she needed to get more information. She no longer had the luxury of time, of hanging around just hoping she'd be able to overhear a convenient conversation that exposed the information she needed. It was time to take a more active role in proceedings… and that just might mean revealing herself to the Weatherbys. It was dangerous, of course, and just might end badly… but she couldn't let Kieran keep languishing in that cell downstairs, couldn't risk more tensions between the MacClarans and the Weatherbys.
Highlander Guarded: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 10) Page 19