by Amanda Scott
Giff fought to think. If she had not guessed it all, she had guessed enough to be dangerous. If she knew still more . . . “Does this supposing of yours also suggest to you what that object might be?”
“I should think it must be some part of the treasure.”
As he fought to avoid revealing his shock, she added, “If Fife wants to lay hands on it, he will certainly make a nuisance of himself. Have you considered that the man in black who attacked you with the club might be Fife’s man?”
He had not considered that. He was still struggling to stay calm when what he wanted to do was to shake out of her everything she knew and how she had come to know it. Instead he said, “Why do you suspect that the man serves Fife?”
“Why, because you said Jake Maxwell had seen the men watching you, and Fife’s men do wear black, as he does. Surely you ought to consider the possibility.”
He glanced toward the house.
“Come over here,” he commanded, drawing her into the shadow of a shrub large enough to conceal them. Then, with his hands on her shoulders, meeting her innocent gaze, he said sternly, “What treasure are you talking about?”
She raised her chin but made no effort to free herself. Nor did she reply.
Impatient now, he gave her a shake. “Tell me.”
“Mayhap I should not have mentioned it. I think I should say no more.”
Gripping her shoulders hard enough to make her wince, he said, “Then I’ll carry you straight to Roslin, and you can explain this to Hugo, Rob, and Michael.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, yes, sweetheart, I would. I certainly would.”
Sidony’s heart pounded. She believed him, but she could not decide what to do and wished she had never mentioned the treasure. She had not expected to make him angry, and that she had done so stirred mixed emotions. To a degree, she wanted to placate him, but she found his anger oddly exhilarating, too—so exhilarating that she experienced a curious whim to see what would happen if she defied him.
The result, inevitably, was silence.
“Well?”
“You are bruising my shoulders.”
He released her, but he still stood much too close.
“Step back,” she said. “I can’t think whilst you’re looking about ten feet tall.”
“I’m not moving,” he said. “Which is it to be, to tell me or them? And don’t think I won’t just pick you up, put you over my shoulder, and take you to the stables whilst I saddle my horse—or that your sisters could stop me.”
She shook her head. The more he urged her to decide, the harder it was to think, let alone to make a decision.
“Tell me what you know about the treasure,” he said curtly.
That, being less encompassing, was easier. “Just that Hugo, Michael, Rob, and Henry—and you, I suppose—are guarding one. Also, that Fife wants it.”
“Who told you?”
She hesitated. That was harder to answer, but when he frowned, she said, “No one did, really.”
“Don’t take me for a fool. Someone told you.”
“No, sir. That is, no one told me intentionally,” she added hastily when he gripped her shoulder again. “I just heard them talking.”
“So you listen at doors, do you?”
“I do not!” she said. “They forget I’m there. Even if they remember, they just lower their voices, but I have quick ears. And they soon forget again, anyway.”
“Who is it that you heard?”
Shrugging, she said, “Different ones at different times.” Ticking them off on her fingers, she said, “Isobel, Adela, and Sorcha, of course, but also Michael and Henry.” She thought a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Rob or Hugo—”
“How the devil could you have heard such things from all of the others?”
“I told you, they forget I’m there. You know they do. You’ve made comments yourself about how they do.”
“That was when you disappeared into the garden at Clendenen House soon after you’d angered Hugo, not when you were in the same room with them all.”
“Aye, sure, but they forget whether I’m there or not there. They often make me feel as if no one can see me. I know they don’t mean to, but—”
“Of course, they don’t,” he said. He looked angrier than ever, but strangely, his tone was gentler as he said, “Who else have you told of this treasure, lass?”
“Why, no one,” she said, surprised.
“No one at all? Why did you not talk openly about it with your sisters?”
“Sakes, sir, I still remember the time I repeated something I’d heard my father say when he forgot I was within hearing. He skelped me so hard I could not sit comfortably for a sennight. I was eight. One does not forget such a lesson.”
“Evidently, one also learned to keep as quiet as a mouse when folks were talking secrets.”
“Aye, sure, because people get just as angry being reminded, as if it were my fault they’d forgotten me. And, too, of course, one does like to know things.”
“You’re sure you haven’t said anything about this to anyone else?”
“Who?” she asked. “I would never tell the servants, and in troth, it is better that my sisters not realize how much I have heard them say over the years.”
“Better for whom?” he asked, arching his eyebrows.
But he was no longer so angry, and she felt enormous relief.
Smiling back wistfully, she said, “I just meant that I’m no prattler. You are the first person who has seemed much interested in what I have to say. Now and again, the others ask my opinion of something they have chosen to wear or to serve for guests to eat, but even then, they usually just expect me to say that whatever they have chosen is wonderful and perfect for the occasion.”
She expected him to dismiss that observation, but he did not.
“We’ll walk a little farther, I think,” he said. “I have more to say to you, and although your sisters might think nowt of it if they look out once and don’t see us, if we stay out of sight for long, they will send someone to search for us.”
“Aye,” she said. “I heard what Adela said to you.”
She was not sure she wanted to hear what he would say to her, though.
As they walked, he said soberly, “The others will have to know about this.”
“All of them?”
“The result will be the same whether it is one or all,” he said. “Any of the men would be bound to tell the others, and likely they will all speak to their wives. You must prepare yourself for that.”
She nibbled her lower lip. “Michael may understand, and mayhap Henry, but Hugo won’t, nor Rob. They’ll think Sorcha and Adela were careless.”
“Sakes, lass,” he said impatiently, “they were all careless, the men, too.”
“Aye, sure, but they won’t see it that way. They are much more likely to blame me and my sisters.”
“If they do, they do,” he retorted callously. “That is simply the consequence of your actions and your sisters’ actions.”
“How like a man,” she said scornfully. “Why is it when women do something, it is a fault deserving punishment, but when men do it, it is still the women’s fault?”
“Is that the way you think it is?” He sounded amused.
“Don’t laugh at me! Far too often, that is the way things are.”
He faced her, stopping her in her tracks. “If you believe that,” he said, “then you should take more care to keep out of the path of your kinsmen’s displeasure.”
“I did not do this on purpose! Moreover, although I see that you believe you are obliged to tell them I know, surely you need not tell them how I know.”
“So you would have me lie to them?”
“You don’t have to lie.”
“Then, what would you have me say that would not be a lie when they ask how you came by this knowledge of yours?”
“Oh, well, I do perceive the difficulty when you put it like tha
t, but you will explain to them how it came about, will you not?”
“I’m going to explain something to you, my lady,” he said grimly. “You say you did not do anything on purpose, but you did. You made a purposeful choice to remain right where you were and listen to those conversations.”
“But I couldn’t just—”
“Of course you could,” he said ruthlessly. “You are not a child’s rag doll that has to remain where it is dropped until someone moves it. You are a young woman with a will of her own. Had you acted as you should, you’d have made your presence known the instant you knew the others did not intend their conversation to reach your ears. That’s the plain truth whether you want to hear it or not.”
“You don’t understand!”
“I do understand. You have persuaded yourself that you can’t make decisions, that you do what you do because of the expectations, actions, or wishes of others . . .”
“But—”
“. . . when the truth is that you make choices the same way anyone else does,” he went on. “Every choice is a decision, whether you choose to call it one or not.”
Her face felt hot, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Do you really think that?”
“I know it, and I’ll prove it to you,” he said, woefully oblivious to her distress. “Tell me again how you came to ride to Roslin Gorge yesterday.”
“Just as I told you before,” she said, dashing an arm across her eyes so she could see him better, then wishing she hadn’t, because he looked grim again. “I was going to go to Lestalric as Isobel had suggested, but when I reached the roadway, it just seemed better to go the other way. So, you see, it really wasn’t a decision at all.”
Hoping she had explained it clearly, she tried to read his expression but could detect no hint in it of acceptance.
Giff was doing his best to keep his temper. He could see that she believed what she said, and he knew he had already been hard on her, but he had come to realize that the others in her family had failed her abysmally by not recognizing what she thought of herself—and them—and correcting the errors long before now.
To that end, he said bluntly, “You did not, actually, tell me even that much before. You changed the subject several times, in fact, to avoid answering that question. And now that I hear your answer, I can understand why. I had thought you honest—more honest than most, in fact—but now I wonder.”
This time the tears that welled up spilled over, but he ignored them as he had earlier. It would not do to let them affect him now, or he would fail to make her see what he was certain she could see if she’d just let him explain it to her.
She was biting her lip, struggling to control herself, and he recognized signs of incipient breakdown. That would not do. Hoping he had judged her mettle accurately, he said evenly, “If you cannot control your emotions sufficiently to continue this discussion, perhaps we should go back inside.”
To his relief, her chin came up and she glowered at him. “Say what you will then, sir, although you have already made your low opinion of me quite clear.”
“Don’t be a fool,” he snapped. “If that were true, I’d not waste my time trying to make you understand the error in your thinking.”
She dashed her sleeve across her eyes again and sniffed so much like a child that he nearly put an arm around her to reassure her. He resisted and had his reward a moment later when she wrapped herself in dignity and looked straight at him.
Accusingly, she said, “You just told me you think I’m dishonest.”
“I did not,” he retorted, casting another look at the house and wondering how much more time they would have. “I said I’d noted your honesty. But do you expect me to believe you gave your horse its head yesterday and it just wandered of its own accord up the Canongate, onto the Cowgate, and all the way to the Roslin road?”
“Of course not. But when I realized what I’d done, I just thought that since Isobel would not expect me until supper, it would not make any difference if I rode to Hawthornden to visit Sorcha and . . . and perhaps see you again.”
“But even now, you are suggesting that you did not think any of that until you had already turned toward St. Giles instead of Lestalric,” he said. “So, try this tale of yours again, lass. Why did you turn toward St. Giles in the first place?”
“I just . . .” She grimaced, then visibly remembered something. “I saw Lady Clendenen’s woman talking to one of the gillies on the front step,” she said. “I . . . I was afraid they would tell her ladyship they’d seen me and I’d have to stop and talk. I like her very much,” she added hastily. “But I did not want to talk to anyone. So I suppose I did make a choice. I see that now, but at the time, I did not think it out. I just acted, and I never thought again about seeing them until now.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Now, tell me, if you rode on to see Sorcha or me, why did you turn tail when you did see me with the others in the gorge?”
“I did not turn back because I’d seen you. You know perfectly well that I rode on to Hawthornden. But then I discovered Sorcha had gone to Roslin, and having seen you with Hugo and Rob in the gorge, I thought I’d have to go there to see you, too. But . . .” She paused, then added uneasily, “Well, there was Hugo, but also if I wanted to get back for supper, I had no time for that.”
“Decisions, every one,” he said gently. “You see?”
“If decisions are just choices, then I do,” she said. “I’m not sure that is all there is to them, though. I tend to think of more momentous occasions and the way Sorcha and the others act when they make decisions about what I am to do.”
“I understand that,” he said. “But you need to understand that just making choices, which are decisions, nearly always affects other people. You must face up to that straightaway, too, because as you have realized, some of those people are going to be angry with you—and rightly so.”
“Must you tell Isobel and Adela now, before you tell their husbands?”
“I am not going to tell Isobel or Adela,” he said, remembering that he had already said nearly the same thing that day under very different circumstances.
She reacted much as young Jake had, heaving a sigh of relief as she said, “Thank heaven. I know Michael and Rob will tell them soon enough, and they will be as angry with me then as they would be now, but at least—”
“No, lass,” he said. “You must tell them, and without delay, because if you put it off, you will subject them to what you face, but without benefit of warning.”
She looked stricken but rallied quickly. “I ought to have thought of that,” she said. “How could I not? Have I grown so selfish that I now think only of myself?”
“Much less so than anyone else I know,” he said. “Put your chin in the air again, lass, for I prefer it so. And then we’d better go in before they look for us.”
“Aye, we’d best get it over,” she agreed.
They went to the solar, where they found both sisters sitting cozily near the fire. Giff watched Sidony, expecting her to hesitate with the moment of truth at hand.
But she walked straight in, leaving him at the threshold.
“Did you enjoy your stroll?” Adela asked.
“I have something to say to you, to confess,” Sidony said bluntly.
“Mercy, what?”
“I know about the treasure.”
Giff bit his lip to stifle his amusement. He knew what was coming, and just as he’d expected, Isobel and Adela both turned accusing glares on him.
Eyes shooting sparks at him, Isobel said, “Giff, surely you did not tell her!”
“No, he did not,” Sidony said. “You did.”
Chapter 10
Monday dawned bright and sunny with white clouds hurrying free from the west, their shadows skimming over houses and gardens along the Canongate.
Walking in the Sinclair garden after breaking her fast, Sidony imagined that she could detect the scents of Highland thyme and heather on the wind. For once, though, she
was not wishing she could waft herself homeward. She was thinking of her walk the evening before with Giff MacLennan, and wondering how a man so maddening, so quick to criticize, could occupy her thoughts as much as he did.
Her thoughts produced no answer.
By midmorning, although the wind still blew from the west, the clouds had slowed their journey eastward and begun to collect and to darken ominously.
When Sidony and Isobel sat to eat their midday meal, the sky had darkened so that a gillie quickly lit candles, finishing as rain began to pour down outside.
Isobel had scarcely said a word all morning, but she sighed as she looked out the window and murmured, “Truly dismal, is it not? I hope this is not one of those storms that lingers for days. It would spoil Adela’s supper tomorrow.”
“Are you still angry with me?” Sidony asked quietly. Both Isobel and Adela had been angry the previous evening, but in Giff MacLennan’s presence, neither had said more than to ask what she had meant by saying that they had revealed the treasure’s existence to her. After Sidony had explained and a fuming Adela had left with Giff for Lestalric, Isobel pleaded a sick headache and retired to her bed.
With only her own thoughts for company, and knowing that the men would be even angrier than their wives, Sidony had enjoyed little sleep.
Now, she waited anxiously for Isobel’s reply.
But Isobel helped herself to salmon fritters offered by one of the two lads attending them and said nothing. When the meat was on the table, she dismissed both gillies, assuring them that she and the lady Sidony would want nothing more.
When they had gone, she said, “I’m not angry, Siddie. Not with you. If I am vexed, ’tis with myself. I just wish I knew what Michael will say when he returns.”
“He does not ever seem to get angry with you,” Sidony said.
“Perhaps not, but when he is displeased, he can make me feel like the lowest form of creation with just a word or two. And this will displease him exceedingly.”
“Giff said it was my fault, that I should have spoken up to remind you of my presence as soon as I realized you were saying things you did not mean for me to hear. But, by my troth, Isobel, I am not certain I ever knew that. For as long as I can remember, my whole family has talked of private things without heeding my being within earshot. I did realize that this treasure is a subject I must not mention to anyone else, and you all taught me long ago that I’d suffer for talking out of turn. But, otherwise, no one has ever seemed to mind.”