by Julia London
It was an awfully long trek, but they succeeded in reaching Glasgow in one piece. Ellen even managed to find suitable overnight lodgings for the two of them, complete with much needed hot baths.
It was the trek to Loch Chon that would, apparently, be an issue.
“Ye’re to where, miss?” the man behind the little fare window asked her when she attempted to purchase passage.
“Loch Chon,” she said, smiling.
That earned her a snort and a shake of his head. “Have ye the slightest notion where Loch Chon is, then?”
“Yes!” she said helpfully. “Just north, on the road to Loch Katrine and Ben Lommond—”
“I know where it is!” he snapped.
“Oh.” She gripped her reticule tightly and cleared her throat. “Well, then…about the fare,” she said, fearing suddenly that the maps in Cambridge might have been less than accurate.
He shook his head again, and looked as if he thought she was making some appalling mistake. “I can sell ye passage to Strathblane, no further. From there ye’ll have to hire someone to carry ye to Killearn and Balfron. And then, if ye be lucky, ye might find a body to carry ye on as far as Aberfoyle. If the snows haven’t come yet, that is.”
“To Aber…?”
“Aberfoyle!” he snapped. “Ach… and from Aberfoyle I canna help ye, lass. Ye’ll have to make do from there.”
There it was, that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach again, the one that warned her she had embarked on something terribly ill-advised. Nonetheless, she smiled brightly at the hateful man. “Well then! I should think I’ll just inquire at the Aberfoyle coach house—”
His snort of laughter sounded more like a bark. “There’s no coach house in Aberfoyle,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Ye’ll be lucky to find even a public house, ye will. Ah, but ’tis yer money, no’ mine,” he said as he wrote something down. He handed her two vouchers through the little window between them. “Two pounds per traveler. The coach to Strathblane leaves at eight o’clock on the morrow.”
Ellen nodded and handed over the four pounds, which he quickly tucked away.
“Good day, then,” he said, and pulled the window shade closed.
Ellen picked up the vouchers, stared at the closed window. “You’ve come too far, Ellen,” she muttered low to herself. “Do not allow yourself to be undone by some batty old man—”
“I canna see ye, but I can certainly hear ye!” the batty old man snapped from behind the window, startling Ellen so badly that she quickly retreated outside, into the cold rain that had begun to fall. Not a good omen, that. But it was too late to turn back now, and even if she tried, she rather thought Natalie would have her head for it. If Aberfoyle had only a public house, so be it. She would think of something.
As it turned out, even Strathblane had little more than a public house. Natalie clung desperately to her skirts, her blue eyes wide as she took in the rough-looking patrons as Ellen spoke with the innkeeper, who, finally, over the din of several drinking men, shouted “Seamus!”
A man in dirty clothing and a soiled cap appeared from the crowd, eyeing Ellen as the innkeeper spoke to him in something sounding a bit like English and a bit like he was choking. Seamus, whoever he was, nodded as he listened, looking at Natalie.
“Aye,” he said simply after the innkeeper had finished whatever it was he had said. “Ten pound.”
“I beg your pardon?” Ellen asked politely.
“He’ll take ten pound for the trouble of taking ye to Aberfoyle, then,” the innkeeper repeated.
“B-but…it didn’t cost me ten pounds to come all the way from England!” she stammered.
The innkeeper shrugged. “Seamus, he’s all we ’ave to carry ye. If ye’re desiring to reach Aberfoyle, I’d suggest ye agree to his price, miss.”
Ellen looked at Seamus, then at the innkeeper. Both of them returned identical, stoic looks, and Ellen could see that they cared neither one way nor the other if she rode or walked or flew like a bird to Aberfoyle. “Very well,” she said irritably, digging in her reticule. “But I’ll expect to be put down there as soon as possible, sir.” She held out the ten pounds to him.
Seamus casually took the money and shoved it into his pocket. “Aye,” he said, and grinned. With all three of his yellowed teeth.
And Seamus meant to leave immediately, it seemed, in spite of the relentless rain and increasing fog. Ellen wouldn’t have minded quite so much had Seamus had an actual carriage. But he had a wagon. A creaky old wagon pulled by a braying mule. And over the back of the wagon, he had strung a canvas tarpaulin, which was painted on one side with a foul-smelling oil to repel water.
“I beg your pardon sir, but it is raining,” Ellen said, gesturing to the sky as she and Natalie stood there, side by side, their bonnets getting heavier and drooping lower with the weight of the rain.
Seamus said nothing, just lifted the tarpaulin and gestured for them to crawl underneath. Ellen gaped at him in disbelief, then snorted. “You cannot be serious, sir! You expect us to put ourselves under that…that thing?”
“Suithad,” he said, gesturing again. “A bheil thu a’ dol?”
“He wants us to climb aboard, Mother,” Natalie said, as if Ellen hadn’t figured that out quite yet.
“Come!” he said, only louder.
“I think we should do as he says,” Natalie politely opined, and walked to the end of the wagon. The man leaned over, cupped his hands, said something in that strange language, and Natalie put her foot in his hand, as if she had understood every blasted word. He lifted her up; she landed with a bit of a thud on the back of the wagon, and crawled to the back. “There’s hay, and it’s quite dry!” she called to Ellen.
“Oh, for the love of God!” Ellen exclaimed angrily, and glared at Seamus. “You might have at least mentioned that for the princely sum of ten pounds there would not be a carriage!” He gestured at the wagon again. She stomped forward, and when Seamus leaned over, his hands cupped, she laughed derisively. “Oh, I think not, sir!” she said, and using both hands, her knee, and a lot of grunting, managed to climb onto the back of that atrocious wagon by herself. And she did not appreciate, not one tiny bit, the man’s smile when she began to crawl to the back of the wagon on all fours.
The ride was excruciatingly uncomfortable, in spite of Natalie’s attempts to assure Ellen that it was much more comfortable than a public coach, since they could stretch their legs all the way out. The girl did not seem to mind the definite smell of cow or horse that had last used this hay. And she pointed out that the canvas tarpaulin, oiled with whatever that foul-smelling scent was, did keep them quite dry. Ellen grudgingly admitted that it was a roomier mode of travel than the public coaches, and remarkably dry, given the almost wintry conditions, but the trails that passed for roads north of Strathblane were, to the average person, impassable. Not to Seamus and his erstwhile ass—they labored along until Ellen was aching in every joint of her body.
When the wagon did at last stop, she jerked the tarpaulin back—only to be hit square in the eye with a fat raindrop. “Are we in Aberfoyle?” she asked.
Soaked through, Seamus looked down at her as if she had lost her mind.
“Killearn,” he said simply, and disappeared from her view by jumping off the rider’s perch. A moment later, the tarpaulin was lifted from the back of the wagon, and Natalie scrambled forward. Ellen sighed, followed suit, exhausting herself with the struggle to keep her gown down around her ankles.
Killearn was little more than a few thatched houses and a mill of some sort, and she worried when Seamus motioned for them to follow him. The improbable but possible notion that Seamus was some sort of murderous criminal crossed Ellen’s mind, but instead of taking them behind the mill and killing them, he took them into the house of one elderly lady. She regarded them curiously as Seamus spoke with her for a moment. She nodded; Seamus handed her a few coins and then left, purposefully ignoring Ellen’s demands to know his exact whereabouts. The woman, sensi
ng her distress, waved her hand toward a darkened room that seemed to be the only other room in the entire little house, and motioned her to follow. Ellen was having none of that, but Natalie, terrifically unafraid, followed the woman
After a moment, she called happily, “It’s a chamber-pot, Mother!”
All right. Ellen had to admit that was indeed a rather happy bit of information.
When they finally emerged from the adjoining room, the woman motioned to a long crude table on which sat two steaming bowls. She smiled a toothless smile and motioned for them to sit.
“I wonder if our driver is coming back,” Ellen remarked in a whisper as she and Natalie sat themselves.
“Of course he is,” Natalie said authoritatively, and picked up a wooden spoon. She took a careful bite, wrinkled her nose a bit, and looked at Ellen. “It’s a bit odd-tasting. But I like it!”
Ellen looked at her bowl. It looked like stew, but it had a rather peculiar smell to it. Not wanting to offend the woman, she took a bite. Actually, it was rather tasty! Having eaten nothing but dry goods provisions for several days now, she and Natalie devoured the hot stew. In the end, Ellen smiled at the woman, made a gesture against her belly to indicate she was quite sated. “What is it?” she asked, pointing at the bowl.
“Haggis,” the woman said.
“We must remember that, mustn’t we, Natalie?” she remarked, to which the girl nodded her head enthusiastically.
As it turned out, Seamus had not left them there, just as Natalie said he wouldn’t, but returned an hour later, wearing dry clothes and a wide-brimmed hat. He spoke to the woman, then gestured for Ellen and Natalie to follow. Into the tarpaulin-covered wagon they went, and notably, without argument. Ellen hadn’t realized quite how exhausted she was, and in spite of the rough go, she and Natalie drifted off to sleep, snuggled down into the hay with Ellen’s cloak to keep them warm.
It was Seamus who woke them, lifting the canvas. A bright beam of sunlight struck Ellen’s face, and she came up with a start, sputtering. Seamus laughed. They had slept long enough for the rain to stop and the night to pass, and had awakened to a morning that was clear and cold. Moreover, they were in another small village of sorts. As Natalie scampered down, Ellen tried to make something of her hair.
“Aberfoyle,” said Seamus proudly.
Aberfoyle? Lord in heaven, the clerk at the coach station had been right. Ellen glanced around, grimacing inwardly, for there was hardly anything of Aberfoyle save a few shops. They disembarked from the odd wagon (causing quite a stir among the few inhabitants of Aberfoyle), and tried to straighten themselves as best they could as Seamus delivered their bags to Ellen’s feet, then proceeded to turn his wagon about. With a wave to the few onlookers, he started back the way they had come.
Ellen and Natalie picked up their portmanteaux, and walked into the first shop they saw, which, oddly enough, given that they were in the middle of absolutely nowhere, was a confectioner. The elderly proprietor confirmed what Ellen already knew—there was no ride to be hired from Aberfoyle to Loch Chon. But the confectioner took pity on Natalie (gave her sweetmeats), and suggested they could walk to Loch Ard, which was just south of Loch Chon. “No’ that ye’ll find anything there, mistress,” he said in heavily accented English. “Naugh’ there but a bunch of coos.”
“Oh,” Ellen said, uncertain what a “coo” was. “Actually, I’m bound for a place called Talla Dileas. Do you know it?”
The shopkeeper blinked. “Talla Dileas?” he repeated, disbelieving.
“Yes,” she said emphatically, nodding. “Do you know it?”
“Aye, everyone knows it. Do they no’ send a carriage for ye, then?”
“Oh…I, ah…Well, no. No, they haven’t. Perhaps because they aren’t expecting me, exactly. You see, I’ve something for him—er, them, that I’d like to deliver. Is it possible to get there from here?”
“Ach, what is wrong with ye, then, ye’d come all this way unannounced? Come on, gather yer things,” he said gruffly, and motioned them to follow. “I’ll no’ send a bairn to walking eight miles in high country, I won’t. I’ll take ye as far as Loch Ard, and ye can walk from there, God willin’. But ye shouldna come so far without making arrangements, lass, for ’tis wild country here.”
“I won’t do it again,” she quickly assured him.
But the shopkeeper continued to berate her for what he termed her foolhardiness all the way to Loch Ard. Ellen could hardly argue that, and she and Natalie nodded politely to his ranting, half in English and half in the language they had heard Liam speak. Really, they scarcely heard him at all; they were overwhelmed by the pristine beauty of the countryside. It was just as Liam had said—hills of purple rolling into streams and rivers and lakes so deep and dark and clear one could not see the bottom. Trees rose majestically to the sky, forming canopies of red and gold and yellow, absorbing so much sunlight that only the strongest rays made it down to the forest floor, giving it a sort of dreamlike look. Fallen leaves and pine needles formed a carpet throughout the forest on either side of the rugged path, and nothing could be heard for miles but the creak of the wagon, the occasional chirp of birds, and the rustling of the trees in the late autumn wind.
Natalie seemed just as enthralled; when the confectioner pulled aside and pointed to a path leading north, she eagerly jumped down. “Dileas, she’s up there, she is,” he said.
Ellen followed the point of his finger, saw a narrow path disappearing into the wood. “Up where?”
“There,” he said, jabbing a crooked finger at a mountain. The shopkeeper helped them unload their bags, warned them of the dangers of straying off the path, then ended with a cheery, “Kindest regards to the Lockharts, if ye please!” With that, he turned his wagon about and headed back down to Aberfoyle, whistling cheerfully.
Ellen and Natalie looked up the path he had indicated and exchanged a wary look. “Well. We’ve come this far,” Ellen said carefully.
“Yes,” Natalie agreed.
“We might as well go on with it and find Laria, don’t you think?”
“I think,” Natalie said, less certainly, but hauled up her bag nonetheless, and they set out for “up there.”
They walked blindly uphill, for the uneven, rocky path wound around, and the trees were so thick that they obscured any view of what lay ahead. Dragging their bags soon became something of an ordeal, and they began to walk a ways, then rest, then walk again for what seemed like an eternity. When Natalie began to tire, Ellen had no notion of how much farther they might have to walk. Feeling a little desperate, she made a game. They took turns naming all the rooms Talla Dileas had, both of them picturing a castle to rival any of the king’s.
They could not possibly have imagined the horrible monstrosity that awaited them as they rounded the last bend of the path, but there it was, suddenly looming before them in a large clearing, so horrible that Ellen came to a dead stop, gaping in disbelief. It was not at all what she had imagined, but a huge, monolith of a house, a hodgepodge of various styles and architectures, as if over the centuries different houses had been piled on top and beside one another. Part of it was castle—dark stone, turrets, and slivers of windows. Yet other parts looked almost Georgian, with pinkish new stone. Windows of various shapes and sizes glinted the sun back to them.
“There are sixteen chimneys, Mother,” Natalie said, her voice full of awe.
“And two battlements,” Ellen added, curious about that.
“It is Laria!” Natalie exclaimed happily. Ellen jerked her gaze to her daughter. How she could see something so foreboding and think it a kingdom of dreams…But never mind that, for Natalie was running toward the mansion.
Thirty
Mared found their only producing bull tied to a tree on Din Footh.
Seething, she stood there, debating whether or not to walk on to the Douglas’s house and surprise him with a fist to the nose or to untie the poor thing (actually, he didn’t seem to be in too dire of straits, since he was mun
ching quite contentedly on a patch of clover), walk home, and write another scathing letter to the Traitor to all Highlanders, Payton Douglas.
While she much preferred the former, she chose the latter, since the last time he had pulled such a prank she had gone to his door, only to find him entertaining Miss Hermione Lewis, who had just returned from Edinburgh and obviously thought herself rather grand. It had irritated Mared so very much that she had gone off in a wee bit of a pique and, in doing so, had stomped right into a rabbit hole and twisted her ankle. Letter writing seemed to be safer, really, and she could put an awful lot on paper that she couldn’t seem to remember when she was glaring at those gray eyes of his, and all in all, she’d just as soon not know who the Douglas was entertaining.
So there she was, in the old great hall, starting on her fourth attempt:
To the Odiously Objectionable, Highly Offensible,
Overbearingly Arrogant Laird Douglas
amid the clutter of the first three attempts, when Dudley walked in and cleared his throat.
“Yes, Dudley?” she asked, sighing testily, upset that she still could not seem to find the right words to convey her feelings.
“A strange thing, miss, and as the laird is nowhere to be found, nor her ladyship…a woman and wee lass at the door, desiring to speak with Captain Lockhart.”
Mared looked up from her letter. “To whom?”
“The captain, miss.”
Payton, that bloody scoundrel! He was up to something, she was certain of it, and was instantly on her feet. Ah, but wait…Payton knew full well that Liam was in England, as he was forever asking after him. Not Payton, then. Mared sat again. “What woman would come for Liam?” she thought aloud.