Marsaili glanced in through shutter-less windows to see inmates shuffling around an open space in front of what must be the holding cells. There were so many miserable faces, it was as if their collective despair was seeping out and into the street. She swallowed hard. Why had Sherringham brought her here? She soon found out as he rode down the line and stopped next to her and the man she’d been riding with.
‘You’ll await your trial here,’ he said curtly. ‘I like this place, the despondency quite lifts my spirits. I hope you’ll feel the full measure of it until it’s time for you to leave for a better place.’
Marsaili stifled a gasp. A better place? Surely he couldn’t have her hanged without any evidence whatsoever?
He must have seen her alarm, however, because his mouth turned up at the corners. ‘I’m talking about the penal colonies,’ he clarified. ‘If you survive the journey, that is.’ He turned away from her towards his men. ‘Take her away. I’ll go and speak to the warden.’
As she was led inside the stinking gaol, Marsaili felt her skin crawl with both fear and disgust. Not only was this place filthy, but it seemed to contain some desperate looking people.
How was she to survive in here?
Oh, Brice, where are you? she wondered. Would he come to her rescue, the way she had his, or was he already dead? She remembered the six, fierce-looking men, and realised he wouldn’t have stood a chance. Bile rose in her throat. She couldn’t bear the thought of him hurt again or worse … But if not him, then who could she turn to for help? Brice’s friend in Edinburgh? Or even Ailsa?
She had no way of contacting either one. She was on her own.
‘So are you going to try and find Sherringham and offer him another bribe?’ Iain asked, as they finally rode into Inveraray. ‘If Marsaili’s really here, that is.’
Seton had thought about this long and hard, but had decided talking to the Englishman was useless. He obviously had his own agenda now and Seton wasn’t even sure the man would keep their previous bargain. Although if he didn’t, he’d find himself with a dirk in his back, Seton swore. Lying, cheating bastard …
‘No,’ he said now. ‘Let’s go in search of the gaol and see whether it’s possible to bluff Marsaili out of there. A bit of gold greasing the right palms might smooth our way. Not that I have much left at the moment, since you allowed the laird to steal what was ours from right under your nose, but …’
‘Me? I didn’t allow him to do anything!’ Iain glared at his father. ‘I was busy with my wife, not watching Brice like a nursemaid.’
‘Aye, and therein lies the root of the problem,’ Seton muttered. ‘And stop calling him that. I told you.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean? Am I not to enjoy the married state like any other newly-wed? You denied us long enough.’
‘Well, what was to stop you from tupping the girl and have done with it?’ Seton didn’t understand his son’s attitude to females. The boy certainly hadn’t learned it from him. To Seton’s mind, women were there to be taken and enjoyed whenever the mood came upon him. Marriage was for gain, nothing else, and as for love, that was a load of nonsense.
‘Unlike you, I have principles,’ Iain informed him, tightening his jaw. ‘And Kirsty was worth waiting for.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Seton replied sarcastically, ‘but if you could stop thinking about her for just a moment, you can help me come up with a good story as to why Marsaili should be set free.’
Iain glowered at him, but thought for a while before suggesting, ‘We could pretend she’s my wife and that it’s a case of mistaken identity? Let’s say I have a cousin who’s a known Jacobite and Sherringham thought she was married to him? Perhaps if she has a sister who looks a lot like her or something?’
‘Hmm, yes, not bad. It’s a start.’
They were riding down another street now and came level with a big building which was obviously the gaol. A large number of wretched people were milling around a sort of courtyard behind unshuttered windows and it was clear from the state of them most had lost all hope. Some were emaciated, most were filthy and to Seton, they all seemed pathetic.
‘Dear Lord, would you just look at them,’ he muttered. ‘This is definitely the right place.’
‘Look!’ Iain hissed, pointing to one side. ‘There’s Marsaili, sitting in the corner. I’d recognise that hair anywhere.’
Seton scanned the prisoners until his gaze found her and something suddenly twisted inside him. It wasn’t right, a woman like her sitting among such misery. She had a queenly presence, by rights she ought to grace the table of a laird. No, not just any laird’s table, mine! She was like a jewel thrown into a midden heap, gleaming too brightly. ‘Damn it,’ he muttered, ‘we have to get her out of there. Now!’
Iain glanced at him as if he was surprised at the vehemence in his father’s tone. ‘I know. But do you really think our plan will work?’
‘I’m not sure. We’d better go and take a room at an inn first and perhaps have a drink or two with the locals to find out what’s what. It’s always best to be well informed.’
With a last regretful look at Marsaili, he turned his horse away. He would free her, if it was the last thing he did. Quite why he felt so strongly about it, he didn’t want to consider, but he knew one thing – she didn’t belong in there.
Marsaili sat with her back to the wall because somehow the sensation of cold stone behind her felt safer. She knew there was no such thing as safety here, but at least this way no one could come at her without her noticing.
She’d been accosted the moment she was pushed in through the door. Several miserable looking crones had rushed forward, pawing her and searching her pockets. When they came up empty-handed, they keened in frustration, but they’d left her alone since. Marsaili wasn’t sure whether to be glad or not that she had nothing of value for them to take. On the one hand, she would have been angry if they’d stolen from her, but on the other, they all seemed so desperate it might have been a kindness to be able to alleviate their suffering temporarily.
Either way, she thanked God she wasn’t wearing the jade pendant Brice had given her. She very much hoped it was still in the bowl where she’d put it and that no one else found it while she was gone and appropriated it.
It might be the only thing of his she’d ever have. If she even returned, that was …
The thought made her blink furiously to stem the tide of tears that threatened. She couldn’t endure the nightmare vision of never seeing him again, being held by him, kissed so passionately. His marriage proposal may not have been all she could have wished for, since he obviously didn’t love her the way she loved him, but she knew she would have said yes. No matter what, she wanted to be his wife.
She hung her head. There was no hope of that now.
Someone sank down next to her and squeezed her arm. Marsaili looked up into the kind face of a woman of about her own age or perhaps slightly older. It was hard to tell as the light was fading fast and the woman’s face was covered in grime. ‘There now, ye’ll get used tae it. It’s a wee bit of a shock at first, bein’ in here, but we women stick thegither. I’m Eilidh.’
‘Marsaili.’
‘What’re ye here for? Stealin’? Whorin’?’
Marsaili shook her head. ‘No. I’ve been told I’m a suspected Jacobite. That’s just a trumped up charge though. I’ve naught to do with such things.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you … do you know what the punishment for that is?’ She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know, but sometimes it was better to be aware of what was coming.
‘Well, depends on how involved ye’ve been, or wha’ they can prove. I’d say six months in here at the very least, but …’
Marsaili felt relief. If there was a chance of getting out eventually, she could stand anything. ‘So definitely not hanging then?’ she said.
‘No, no, shouldnae think so. Now come alang, I see the warden beckoning. It’s time tae go inside for the night. Stay close by me, ye�
�ll be fine.’
Marsaili wasn’t as certain about that as her new friend, but since it was the best offer available, she obeyed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Brice, I think it’s morning. We need to leave before too many people are out and about.’
Alex’s sharp hiss woke Brice from a half-slumber and he raised his head from the lumpy sack of grain he’d been leaning against. ‘How can you tell?’ He squinted into the gloom, but realised it wasn’t quite as dark inside the warehouse as it had been when they entered the night before.
‘Up there, see? A small window or opening. There’s pale light.’
‘Right, yes, well, you’d better wake Ramsay then. Let’s go.’
Brice stood up and stretched, trying to ease the kinks out of his back and neck which were both stiff as planks. His ribs still ached like the very devil whenever he breathed in too deeply, so he took it slowly, massaging the back of his neck with his hands. The aches and pains in his body were as nothing to the icy fear that gripped his heart, however.
What if we’re already too late? What if Seton has forced Marsaili into marriage somehow and had his way with her? Damnation, I’ll kill him with my bare hands!
Brice tried to steer his thoughts away from such thinking. It didn’t help and he needed to keep his wits about him, not mope around like a love-sick fool. He gritted his teeth and turned to his companions. ‘Are we ready? Then tell me who we’re looking for and I’ll find the way.’
‘How?’ Alex asked. ‘This is a large town, surely? It’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack, unless Ramsay remembers the way.’
‘No,’ came Ramsay’s voice, gruff with lack of sleep. ‘I stayed with the ship so I have no idea where to find them. Killian brought the merchants to see the cargo, which is how I met them, but that was all. Sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter, I’ll just ask until we find them.’
‘Oh, of course, I hadn’t thought of that. Brilliant!’ Ramsay clapped Brice on the back. ‘I’d forgotten you speak Dutch.’
‘Well, not quite fluently, but enough to ask something so simple. Who are we looking for?’
‘Johannes Bruggen and Willem Visser.’
They exited the warehouse as if they’d had every right to be there, and although there were people going about their business outside, this ploy worked. No one paid any attention to them as they made their way along the nearest canal towards what they hoped was the centre of the town.
Amsterdam reminded Brice of Gothenburg, since the latter had been built in imitation of the Dutch city, albeit on a much smaller scale. Whereas Gothenburg’s canals were more or less laid out like a grid, however, in Amsterdam they seemed to form concentric semi-circles which abutted the river Ij. In between the main canals were smaller ones, connecting the larger ones to each other. He’d heard it was a bustling commercial centre and he could now see that for himself. From the mixture of languages all around him, he also gathered there were lots of foreigners here.
There were bridges everywhere, and rows of neat brick houses, richly decorated with cornicing, faced the canals. Although no two houses were the same, most of them had distinctive looking gables, which were very attractive. Adding to the overall aesthetic impression were lots of trees that grew along the canal sides.
Brice stopped quite a few passers-by to ask directions and struck lucky with the fifth one.
‘Oh, you mean the merchants? Yes, you need to turn here, then …’
They memorised the convoluted instructions and somehow managed to find their way to the right straat. Here Brice stopped a maid on her way to market, and she pointed to a house on the right hand side of the nearest canal. ‘That one, over there, mijnheer.’
‘Thank you.’ Brice gave her his best smile, which made her blush, and they went to knock on the door. ‘I hope you’re right, Ramsay, and they remember you.’
Ramsay grinned. ‘What, you don’t think I’m memorable? Just you wait and see.’
‘Hmm, well, if you’re wrong, Alex is going to have to turn to his father’s former profession, because I’m not staying in this place a moment longer than I have to, nice though it may be.’
Marsaili didn’t think she’d ever be able to sleep in the crowded gaol. Fear kept her from relaxing and there were moans and mutterings all round which kept her awake the first two nights. On the third one, however, she was so exhausted that somehow she must have dozed off eventually, only to wake with a start when a heavy hand descended on her shoulder. She tried to jerk away from it, towards the safety of Eilidh who was next to her, but the fingers held fast.
‘Marsaili Buchanan?’ a deep voice whispered.
‘Y-yes,’ she stammered, trying not to let her terror show too much.
‘Come with me, your friends are waiting.’ Marsaili was just about to ask which friends, when the man continued, ‘They told me one word would make you believe me – Liath.’
Marsaili relaxed. She doubted Sherringham knew the name of her dog, only someone from Rosyth would. Scrambling to her feet, she felt Eilidh standing up beside her and realised she couldn’t leave the woman behind after she’d shown such kindness. ‘My maid is coming too,’ she stated boldly, in a tone that brooked no argument.
‘I wasn’t told about her. That’ll be an extra payment,’ the deep voice grumbled. ‘Oh, very well, come along then and be quick about it.’
Marsaili grabbed Eilidh’s hand and followed the man. There were some protests as she tripped over people’s legs and a few hands reached out to try and snatch at the hem of her skirts, but somehow they made it to one of the entrances to the prison. Outside, she saw two shadowy figures and as the gaoler hurried them through the doorway, these came forward.
‘That’ll be ten guineas. You didn’t say nothin’ ’bout a maid,’ the man hissed.
‘Ten? But …?’
Marsaili recognised Seton’s voice and her heart sank, but she definitely didn’t want to go back inside. Better the devil you know, she thought. ‘Pay it, please, I’ll reimburse you,’ she whispered. Muttering under his breath, Seton did so.
The other shadow turned out to be Iain, which made Marsaili feel slightly better although she wasn’t sure what his reasons for being there were. ‘Come on,’ he whispered, ‘we must leave immediately.’ Taking her hand, he pulled her swiftly down the street and since she was still holding onto Eilidh, she came too. Marsaili noticed Eilidh hadn’t said anything, but assumed she was too pleased to be away from the gaol to care where they were going.
On the outskirts of the little town, two ponies waited and Seton and Iain mounted one each. Seton held out his hand to Marsaili, ‘Here, you’ll have to ride behind me,’ he said. She hesitated only for an instant. This wasn’t the time or the place to argue about details. Iain took Eilidh up behind him and they set off.
‘How did you manage to bribe the gaoler?’ Marsaili asked as soon as they were away from the town.
‘It wasn’t all that difficult. Some of the townspeople take turns guarding the gaol and we met him earlier at the inn. Didn’t bat an eyelid when I offered him a small “reward” for helping us. Apparently lots of people escape from here. The judge isn’t too pleased about it, I hear.’
‘I imagine not.’ Marsaili breathed in deeply of the cold night air, revelling in the fresh smell of pine.
‘Who’s the woman?’
‘A friend,’ Marsaili said simply. ‘I couldn’t leave her behind, I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back, I promise.’
‘Aye, you will.’
His words seemed to hold a double meaning which made Marsaili shiver, but she had no regrets about going with him. Anything had to be better than Inveraray Gaol.
‘Thank the Lord for favourable winds!’ Alex was striding along beside Brice, away from the port at Leith and in towards Edinburgh. Ramsay lagged slightly behind, looking tired and worn.
‘Amen to that,’ Brice replied with feeling. ‘And for my father’s foresight in dealing with such efficien
t and kind people.’
The Dutch merchants, Bruggen and Visser, had proved very understanding and accommodating. As soon as Brice explained the situation to them, they’d acted quickly and decisively. Passage to Edinburgh on a ship leaving the same day was found for the three of them, clean sets of clothes lent to them and a bath arranged for each. Brice had felt like a new man. Mijnheer Bruggen had also taken him aside and handed him a pouch of money.
‘For any unexpected expenses during the journey,’ he said with a smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your father pays me back.’
‘I can’t thank you enough for your kindness.’ Brice had liked both men immediately, but this one in particular. Of about his father’s age, Mijnheer Bruggen was small and round with an almost completely bald head and a distinct twinkle in his eyes. He was calm and seemingly unperturbed by the arrival of three virtual strangers asking for help and Brice had the impression that behind the smiling façade lay a very shrewd brain. Killian had made a great choice of trading partner with this man.
As he strode towards Edinburgh now, Brice tried to emulate the Dutchman’s unruffled demeanour, even though inside he was seething with impatience. They were back on Scottish soil, true, but there was still a long way to go. And even when they reached Rosyth, they may be too late. He refused to admit defeat until he knew for sure though.
‘Do you have to walk so fast?’ Ramsay grumbled. ‘You may have slept for a while on that damned ship, but I didn’t. I feel sick as a dog.’
‘You know where we’re going,’ Brice flung over his shoulder. ‘Just follow me to Rory’s house at your own pace, if you want.’
‘No, I’m not losing sight of you now.’ Ramsay’s mouth tightened and he hurried to catch up. ‘We’re sticking together or there’s no saying what will happen. I just didn’t think we needed to hurry quite so much.’
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