“Thank you, Cathy,” she said at last. “I am better now and ashamed of my own weakness.”
“Dinae fash about being weak,” Cathy answered. “Let me unlace ye an’ lie ye doon until it is time for dinner.”
Iona did as Cathy suggested and, though she had no idea of sleeping, the long walk through the woods and the emotional disturbance of her interview with Lord Niall had taken their toll and she fell into a fitful slumber.
She was wakened by Cathy bringing her hot water with which to wash and laying out her evening gown.
“Ye must hurry, mistress,” Cathy said. “I guessed ye were asleep an’ left ye as long as I dare, but it will be wise no tae be late.”
“Worse than that, it would be exceedingly rude,” Iona said, and slipped off the bed.
She washed and then as she turned, towards the dressing table Cathy said,
“There’s a deal o’ talk downstairs the noo.”
“Of what?” Iona asked.
“O’ ma Lady Wrexham. The servants hae been gossipin’ with her Ladyship’s coachman an’ grooms an’ noo I hear tell that her Ladyship has come here tae spy.”
“How do they know that?” Iona asked.
“Saving yer pardon, mistress, but her Ladyship’s servants were boasting that she is under the protection o’ the Marquis o’ Severn.”
“And who is he?” Iona asked.
“Weel, we ken richt enough that the Marquis is the enemy o’ Scotland. The cruelty o’ the English soldiers has his approval an’ more, while ane o’ her Ladyship’s footmen avows that the Marquis has sworn afore many months hae passed that Prince Charles’s head shall lie in its blood on Tower Hill.”
Iona shivered.
“Is this true, Cathy?”
“I can only tell ye whit they’re sayin’, mistress.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Iona said at last. “Hear all you can, Cathy.”
“Indeed I’ll dae ma best, mistress.”
“But be careful,” Iona admonished. “You must run no risks. Are you the only one in the castle loyal to the Prince?”
“Nay, mistress, but we dinna speak aboot it, even amang oursels for the Duchess is English an’ the Governors o’ Fort Augustus an’ Fort William often call here.”
“I understand,” Iona said. “And the Duke?”
“We dinna ken what His Grace feels. If the English come tae the castle, he is polite tae them – but this English lady hae come the noo an’ she’s awfu’ bonny.”
Iona understood only too well the implication in Cathy’s words. She had had but the merest glimpse of Lady Wrexham through the open door of the Chinese Room, but it had been enough. Beautiful and the mistress of the Marquis of Severn, why should Lady Wrexham have come north unless her reason was much the same as her own?
There was something dramatic in the situation, Iona thought suddenly. Two women arriving within a few days of each other at Skaig Castle, one from France and one from London, each with her instructions, each determined on the success of her assignment.
Iona could see the situation so clearly that it was almost as if she watched herself and the personages at Skaig upon a stage and saw a plot unfolding act by act.
The Duke stood as it were at the crossroads. Which way would he turn? Which woman would succeed in gaining his support? Iona thought of the Prince far away in France, waiting for her return, hoping almost against hope that she might succeed where others had failed. Then she remembered that quick glimpse she had had of Lady Wrexham – an impression of beauty, of glamour, of youth, of loveliness and with it all the poise of an experienced woman of the world.
What chance had she against such weapons? And then Iona remembered with a sudden thankfulness that the ideals for which she battled were greater by far than the wiles of any woman, however desirable. It was the Cause that mattered, and it was impossible that the fate of Scotland should be altered by the contour of a woman’s face.
“I will not be afraid,” Iona told herself. “Lord Niall is bad and wicked, but the Duke is good.”
She was surprised at her own conviction that this was so. Only this morning she had not been sure, unable to make any complete diagnosis of His Grace’s character and personality. But now she knew with a conviction that could not be denied that the Duke, whatever his political sympathies, was good at heart.
Quite unexpectedly Iona’s depression left her. She felt revived and fortified. She felt also ready to fight for what she believed, however great the odds against her. She remembered Hector hiding in the woods and sent up a prayer for his safety. Strangely enough, it was comforting to know that he was not so far away. It gave her a sense of danger shared, of a renewed comradeship after she had felt so very much alone.
Cathy robed her in a gown of ivory satin. It was trimmed very simply with rows of narrow lace, but it had been cut by a skilled French seamstress.
Iona had no jewels, but her eyes seemed to blaze like emeralds and her white neck had the sheen of precious pearls. Cathy offered to powder her hair but Iona refused. She had never aped the fashions of the nobility and she knew it was safer to remain humble and unpretentious. Besides, she was feminine enough to realise that her hair was in fact lovelier unadorned.
She came slowly down the stairs, for despite Cathy’s fears it was not yet the hour for dinner. She reached the first floor and was about to enter the Crimson Salon when she heard voices below in the Great Hall. Curiously Iona paused to listen. A group of men were standing in the centre of the Hall, talking loudly. She leant over the stairs to look closer at them. Then her hands gripped the banister and it was with the utmost difficulty that she prevented herself from giving a cry of horror!
Standing in the midst of the men, his arms bound behind him, was Hector.
8
Without considering what she was doing, impelled only by her own horror at seeing Hector in such a plight, Iona ran down the staircase. She had, however, set but one foot onto the stone floor of the Great Hall when a stern voice asked,
“What is all this?”
The men who were gathered round Hector and talking amongst themselves turned hastily towards the Duke who unobserved had entered the Hall from a door on the far side.
Iona stood still.
She was nearer to Hector than the Duke and with a kind of hypnotised fascination she watched his approach. Dressed for dinner in a satin coat of silver grey embroidered with pearls, he was in strange contrast to Hector who was tousled and dirty, his coat torn, his stockings ripped from knee to ankle. Yet Hector faced the Duke fearlessly, his head held high, his shoulders braced despite the tightness of the rope cutting painfully into his wrists.
The clansmen bowed awkwardly but with an inborn reverence as the Duke approached. One amongst them who appeared to be better dressed and slightly more refined moved forward as their spokesman. He had a thin, cadaverous face and his eyes, in one of which there was an unsightly cast, were too close together.
The Duke glanced at him.
“Well, Sime,” he said sharply, “What is the explanation of this?”
“We found yon mon, Yer Grace, lurkin’ in the woods on the East shore. Wheen he saw us approachin’ he tried tae escape an’ fought lik a wild cat ’til we overcame him.”
The Duke looked not at Hector but at the men surrounding him.
“Why were you in the woods?”
“His Lordship’s orders, Yer Grace,” Sime explained. “He sent for me but twa hours back an’ told me he haed suspicions tha’ there was a stranger abroad.
‘Bring whoever ye may find tae the castle,’ his Lordship says, an’ here we are, Yer Grace – wi’ the prisoner.”
He jerked his head at Hector.
Iona, listening, felt paralysed with horror.
The man had said that it was two hours ago that Lord Niall had sent for him. That would be after her interview with his Lordship in the Chinese Room. She was sure now that he had guessed from where she had come when he had met her walking down t
he passage. He had noticed her windswept hair, the mud on her shoes, the dusty hem of her dress and had surely drawn his own conclusions.
At any rate, his suspicions must have been aroused enough for him to send his men to make a search of the woods.
Wildly Iona wondered what she could do, clasping her hands together in her agitation until the knuckles showed white and her nails dug into the soft palms.
Now the Duke was looking at Hector.
For a moment the eyes of the two men met and then the Duke said quietly,
“Unloose this gentleman’s bonds!”
The clansmen looked astonished and Sime protested,
“He’s a dangerous mon, Yer Grace – an’ exceedin’ powerful. It took half a dozen o’ us tae bind him, an’ Andrew’s jaw is broke frae the blow he gied him.”
“Obey me!”
The Duke’s command seemed to echo round the Hall.
Sullenly Sime took a knife from his belt and cut the thick rope. Hector shook himself, the ends fell to the floor, and he began to chafe the blood back into his wrists.
“I thank your Grace.”
His voice was resonant and light.
“You were in my woods?” the Duke asked.
“I was.”
“And your reason for being there?”
“I am on the way to Skye. I prefer to walk over the hills than trudge along the road.”
Hector’s tone was calm. He might have been conversing with the Duke from the comfort of an armchair.
“That sounds reasonable enough,” the Duke commented.
“If I have trespassed,” Hector said, “I owe Your Grace an apology. I was not aware that you had closed your territories to wayfarers.”
“I have not,” the Duke replied. “I have no objection to people passing over my land so long as they do no damage.”
“It would then be gracious of Your Grace to permit me to continue my journey,” Hector said, “these men sprang upon me unawares.”
“It appears that I should apologise for their action,” the Duke said.
“I see no reason for you to do that,” a voice said suddenly from the foot of the stairs, “for they are not your men, my dear Ewan – but mine.”
Iona started and turned round.
Standing just behind her, so close that he was almost touching her, was Lord Niall. She had not heard him approach and had no idea that he had been listening. Now he passed her without a glance and moved with a kind of languid grace towards the Duke.
All faces were turned towards him and Iona realised that at his coming the whole atmosphere changed. The clansmen seemed to stiffen, their embarrassment, which had been very obvious when the Duke was questioning their action in capturing Hector, vanished. Once again they believed themselves justified.
Sime moved forward to say,
“We found a mon as yer Lordship anticipated. We bound him an’ brocht him here as yer Lordship commanded.”
“You behaved correctly,” Lord Niall said.
He raised his quizzing glass and looked Hector up and down in an unpleasant manner, then very quietly in a dangerous tone which Iona knew well, he said,
“Perhaps the prisoner would care to tell us his name?”
It was then that Iona knew that she must act and act quickly before Hector could reply. She sped forward and reached Lord Niall’s side.
“This, my Lord,” she said in a clear voice, “is the gentleman who travelled in the same ship with me and who was kind enough to take charge of my possessions until we reached Inverness. His name, as I have already told your Lordship, is Mr. Hugo Thomson.”
She was well aware as she spoke of the changing expressions on Hector’s face.
First, she had seen a look of warning in his eyes and knew that he admonished her wordlessly to disclaim his acquaintance and take no part in what was happening.
Now that was superseded by a look of pure astonishment. At the same time she knew that he would be quick enough to understand that she had a reason for her interference.
“Mr. Hugo Thomson,” Lord Niall repeated, his lips curving in a sneer that made the words almost an insult.
“Yes, of course, and now I recall your face, sir, though I did but see it for a second in somewhat unfortunate circumstances.”
“I have already told his Lordship,” Iona said quickly, speaking to Hector, “of your kindness to me on the ship after you came aboard at Yarmouth. I told him how, for safekeeping, I gave you my money and possessions, which were of great value to me. Unfortunately on our arrival in Inverness you did not return to the hotel until after I had retired for the night. I was therefore forced to visit your bedchamber before the stagecoach left and ask you to return my property.”
Iona’s voice died away breathlessly, and then she became conscious that the Duke was at her side.
“I think, Niall,” he said, in a voice of cold authority, “these personal matters which concern Miss Iona and this gentleman need not be discussed further. Your men have my permission to go and it would be inhospitable not to offer Mr. Thomson a glass of wine before he proceeds on his journey.”
Iona felt both relief and gratitude, and she saw too, the sudden light in Hector’s eyes. But Lord Niall was too formidable an enemy to be so easily vanquished.
“I am afraid we are not in agreement, Ewan,” he said. “I have not yet finished questioning this fugitive, and my men will take him on my instructions to the dungeons.”
Iona gave a little gasp of horror and fright. Lord Niall turned to her and she shrank from the glittering darkness of his eyes.
“Hugo Thomson, did you say?” he asked. “Really, my dear Miss Iona, you must pardon my scepticism, but no Scot ever owned such an English-sounding name.”
Iona could only stare at him despairingly.
“Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what crime I have committed. Other than that of trespass?” Hector asked angrily.
“That is one of the points on which I shall question you,” Lord Niall said. “I have, of course, several ideas on the subject and it will be interesting to see if they coincide with yours. It is sad, of course, that your liberty should be curtailed so soon after your return to Scotland.”
“Return? What do you mean by that?” Hector demanded.
“I may, of course, be mistaken,” Lord Niall said, “but that too we shall discover in time. I said we – and I refer to the help I shall receive from the English governor at Fort Augustus – Major Johnstone is particularly adept at interrogation.”
Hector squared his jaw but said nothing.
“But why should you do this?” Iona asked wildly. “It is unjust, it is – ”
She felt the sudden pressure of the Duke’s fingers on her arm and arrested her words to turn her face despairingly towards him. He was not looking at her but at his half brother,
“I fail to understand your reasons for this, Niall,” he said frigidly.
Lord Niall smiled secretly as if at some joke which only he could understand.
“Why trouble yourself, Ewan?” he asked. “Let me assure you that my reasons are good ones and prompted only by my unswerving loyalty to King George.”
“I can well believe that,” the Duke replied, “but though, as you have reminded me, these men are your servants, this castle is mine and I do not permit gentlemen against whom no crime has been proven to be placed in the dungeons.”
“In that case,” Lord Niall retorted, “perhaps it would be better if I had him escorted forthwith to Fort Augustus.”
“As you will,” the Duke said indifferently, “but it is late, and I suggest instead that he is housed in the guard room of the Keep.”
Lord Niall hesitated, and then appeared to capitulate.
“If it salves your hospitable conscience, my dear brother, let it be as you say.” He waved a languid hand towards Sime. “Take this man away,” he commanded. “Give him neither food nor drink until after I have had time to question him in the morning.”
“Very guid, my Lord.”
There was an air of triumph about the man as he moved towards Hector and put a rough hand on his shoulder. With a sinking heart Iona watched Hector being marched away between the clansmen, then as they disappeared from sight Lord Niall laughed,
“You were nearly deceived by that rogue, Ewan,” he said. “If you are in a gambling mood, I don’t mind wagering you a monkey to a hundred pounds that he will prove to be a Jacobite, and if, as I suspicion, there is a price on his head, I will spend some of it on a gift for Miss Iona.”
“Do you think I would accept blood money?” Iona asked angrily. She felt the tears prick her eyes and added in a tone of contempt and utter scorn, “I didn’t believe that one Scot would betray another to their English masters.”
Blinded now, she turned towards the stairs, but only as she reached them was she aware that someone stood there barring her way. Hastily wiping her eyes, Iona looked up at the Duchess, resplendent in a gown of black velvet. She was standing about three steps up from the Great Hall, her fingers entwined in a diamond cross which she wore suspended from her neck on a chain of pearls. Iona curtsied, then realised that the Duchess had not even seen her. She was looking across the Hall, her eyes fixed on Lord Niall as he and the Duke came slowly towards the stairs.
Only as they reached them did the men perceive the Duchess and realise by her silence and the expression on her face that something was wrong.
“I am afraid we have kept Your Grace waiting for dinner,” the Duke began courteously but the Duchess seemed not to hear him.
Still staring at Lord Niall, she said in a strangled voice that seemed to burst tempestuously from between her thin lips,
“Why did you tell me you had not been to Inverness?”
If Lord Niall was discomfited, he showed no signs of it.
“My dear Belle mère – ” he began, but the Duchess interrupted him.
“Answer me,” she said. “Why did you lie?”
Now her voice was shrill and instinctively Iona looked up to see if anyone was listening on the landing overhead. It was the Duke who took command of the situation. He walked up the stairs to the Duchess’s side and held out his arm.
An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition Page 37