An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition

by Cartland, Barbara

  “Yes, there are some quite interesting things in the East Keep, and one day perhaps you will be interested in seeing them. It is strange that I never realised before that the keys are interchangeable.”

  The Duke opened a drawer.

  “Here is my own key – you can see the cut is the same.” He put the second key back in the drawer of his desk and laid the other down on the table. Then after a second or two he took it up again.

  “I think I hear the guard with the prisoner’s food,” he said.

  He went out into the passage, leaving the door only slightly ajar. A moment later Iona heard him speaking to someone. Swiftly she moved from her chair across to the writing table and took the second key from the drawer. She placed it in the bosom of her dress and felt the iron strike cold against her skin. She had re-seated herself in the chair and remained motionless for some seconds before the Duke returned.

  “I have seen to it that the prisoner has both meat and wine,” he said. “My brother will doubtless declare that I am soft-hearted, but it is distasteful to me that a gentleman who has befriended you should suffer unnecessarily from hunger and thirst.”

  Iona rose to her feet.

  “Your Grace is indeed gracious,” she said in a low voice. “Have I your permission to retire?”

  She dared not look up at him, she was too conscious of the heavy key pressing against her breasts. She swept to the floor in a low curtsey and the Duke crossed the room to open the door for her.

  “Good night,” he said with an impersonal courtesy. “I hope you sleep well.”

  “I thank Your Grace.”

  Iona met his eyes for one fleeting second and then she was gone, moving swiftly down the passage on feet winged with hope.

  9

  Cathy was kneeling on the hearth rug replenishing, the fire when Iona burst into the bedchamber, closed the door behind her and stood for a moment with her back to it, breathless from the speed with which she had run upstairs. Cathy started to her feet and dropped a respectful curtsy, but when she saw Iona’s excited face, she forgot all formality and cried out,

  “Whit has happened tae ye, mistress?”

  In answer Iona drew from the bosom of her gown the big iron key of the Keep. Cathy’s eyes widened.

  “A key!” she exclaimed in a low voice. “Is it – ?”

  “The key to the Keep,” Iona answered, and although the words came pantingly from between her lips, they were nevertheless spoken in an unmistakable tone of triumph.

  She put one hand to her breasts as if to still the tumultuous beating of her heart, then walked slowly across the room to Cathy’s side.

  “The key of the Keep!” she repeated, “but oh, Cathy, how are we to rescue him? You know who he is? He is Mr. Hector MacGregor, the gentleman your uncle took me to see this afternoon, but I’ve told Lord Niall his name is Hugo Thomson.”

  “I guessed it maun be Mr. Hector,” Cathy replied. “But I’ll mind he’s Mr. Hugo Thomson an’ I hae niver seen him afore the noo.”

  “But how am I to set him free, Cathy?” Iona asked. “Only you can help me!”

  Cathy clasped her hands together and her smooth brow was wrinkled in thought.

  “I’m a-thinkin’, mistress,” she said.

  There was silence while Iona watched Cathy’s face.

  “I hae indeed been puzzlin’ aul a’ the evenin’ of how tae rescue the poor gentlemon,” Cathy muttered at last. “Noo that ye hae the key it shouldna be impossible, but there are guards an’ – ”

  Cathy broke off suddenly and her face cleared as she gave an exclamation,

  “Dhé, but I had forgotten that ‘tis Eachann who is on guard. I met him but a short while ago whern I were fetchin’ wood for the fire. He was carryin’ food for the prisoner, or sae he told me.”

  “That was true enough,” Iona said hastily. “His Grace gave instructions that Mr. MacGregor was to be fed despite his Lordship’s command that he should go both hungry and thirsty until tomorrow.”

  “Aweel, if Eachann is on guard alane,” Cathy said, her eyes widening, “it shouldna be difficult tae find a way.

  “What do you mean?” Iona asked.

  “Would he help us?”

  Cathy shook her head.

  “Nay, never that. Eachann is ane o’ Lord Niall’s men an’ no tae be trusted, but – ”

  Cathy paused and looked down, the colour coming into her cheeks.

  “Yes, go on,” Iona prompted.

  “Eachann hae a fondness fae me,” Cathy said shyly, her cheeks crimson now with embarrassment.

  “In that at least he shows good taste,” Iona said. “Do you think you could entice him away from the door? But it might be dangerous.”

  “Nay, I couldna dae that,” Cathy replied. “He’d suspect an’ besides, I ken well he wouldna desert his post.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Iona asked a trifle impatiently.

  “’Tis but an idea, mistress,” Cathy said humbly, “but I thocht that if I went doon an’ talked wi’ Eachann an’ took him a bottle o’ wine, he wouldna tak it amiss, an’ if the wine were tae mak him sleep, weel then, we’d hae the chance tae rescue Mister McGregor.”

  “Cathy, that is a brilliant plan!” Iona exclaimed, “but what shall we put in the wine? I have no laudanum, for I have never needed anything to help me to sleep.”

  “I ken where Her Grace’s maid keeps a bottle hid.”

  “We could take some without being found out, I suppose,” Iona said reflectively, “but oh, Cathy, I cannot, allow you to involve yourself in this even for Mr. MacGregor’s sake. If it were discovered that you were a Jacobite, you might be imprisoned and your uncle with you.”

  “I’m no feart, mistress,” Cathy said stoutly, “an’ what I can dae I’ll dae gladly. Ma Uncle hae always luved Mister Hector an’ ye may be sure he’ll be a-wantin’ tae help himself. But he canna enter the Castle, so I maun dae what I can.”

  Cathy spoke simply and yet with so much courage that Iona felt the tears come into her eyes. She bent forward and kissed the girl’s cheek and then felt half ashamed at the look of admiration and affection Cathy gave her in return.

  Resolutely Iona returned to the task which lay ahead of them.

  “It is growing late,” she said. “We will wait until everyone has retired to bed and then you must guide me to the Keep.”

  “Aye, I’ll dae that,” Cathy replied, “but first I’ll gang an’ beg a bottle o’ wine frae the butler. I’ll nae say ’tis fae ye, mistress, but for the housekeeper, an’ indeed she ofttimes bids me ask for wine whern her legs are bad an’ the pain o’ them keeps her awake.”

  “Yes, it is best if they think the wine is for the housekeeper,” Iona agreed, but reluctantly for she hated this tangle of lies and subterfuge, and wondered where it would all end.

  But as Cathy hurried from the room, she envied her having something active to do rather than be forced to wait impatiently, companioned only by fears and apprehensions, for the time to pass.

  The minutes indeed seemed to tick by incredibly slowly when Iona was alone. She sat looking at the key of the Keep, wondering if it would enable her to rescue Hector or whether the attempt to use it would only arouse suspicions, if not worse, about Cathy and herself. It seemed to her that Cathy had been gone a long time, and then she realised that only five minutes had passed since the girl had left the room.

  Iona remembered hearing someone say that time was relative, and knew this was the truth. When she was happy, the hours flew as if they were on wings, but now every second was a long drawn out aeon of anxiety.

  To distract her mind she moved across the room and in doing so caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Nothing, she thought, could be more inappropriate for what lay ahead than her gown of ivory satin.

  Whatever part she had to play in the rescue of Hector, it would obviously be essential for her to be inconspicuous. Going to the wardrobe, Iona took out her morning robe of grey muslin.

  Quic
kly she divested herself of the evening gown and slipped on the muslin and its soft hue, mysterious as the evening mist on the loch, made her almost invisible when she moved beyond the golden circle of light thrown by the tall candles on the dressing table.

  But Iona was still not satisfied. Her neck and arms gleamed white in the shadows and her shining curls seemed to attract every glimmer of radiance from the candles and the leaping flames in the fireplace. She could see in the mirror the pale oval of her face and above it the shimmer of her hair.

  From a drawer in the bureau she drew out a shawl of fine black lace. It had been a Christmas present from her guardian and at the time she had been slightly disappointed with the gift, knowing that while it was both beautiful and valuable it was too old for her years and should in reality have been worn by someone more mature.

  She was glad now that she had not disposed of the shawl when badly pressed for money. She flung it over her head and it fell in graceful folds over her shoulders, the points of it reaching nearly to her knees. Once again she consulted the mirror and with satisfaction realised that she was practically invisible.

  Still Cathy had not returned. Iona’s imagination began to frighten her. Perhaps Cathy had aroused suspicion by her request, perhaps she had been taken to Lord Niall and had broken down under cross-examination and revealed everything.

  Iona went to the bedroom door, opened it quietly and looked out, but there was no one in sight. There was only darkness and silence – the heavy, pulsating silence of a house that sleeps after the noise and bustle of a busy day. Iona closed the door again, to pace to and fro across the room, every nerve and muscle of her body tense as she strained her ears for the sound of Cathy’s footsteps.

  At last, when she felt despair flooding over her, the door opened quietly and Cathy slipped into the room. Iona ran towards her.

  “Is everything all right?” she cried. “Oh, Cathy, I thought something must have happened when you were so long!”

  “Naething is wrong, mistress,” Cathy answered, drawing out a bottle from beneath her apron where she had carried it somewhat inadequately concealed.

  “It wasna the butler who detained me,” she explained. “He was exceedin’ affable an’ gied me the wine at once. He hae been drinkin’ himsel’ an’ there was a glass o’ brandy at his elbow, so I doot if he’ll ken ought about ma visit in the morn. But Her Grace’s maid was awake, an’ as the cupboard wherr the laudanum is kept is just ootside her room, I hae tae wait until she had extinguished her taper an’ I heard her snorin’ afore I dared tae open the cupboard.”

  “You have put the laudanum into the wine?” Iona asked.

  Cathy nodded.

  “A decent drap, mistress, an’ I gied the bottle a guid shake. Eachann will no taste it, and I swear that wine would make an army sleep the noo – ”

  “Are you sure that Eachann is the only one on guard?” Iona asked anxiously. “His Lordship may have placed two men outside the door of the Keep.”

  “Nay, Eachann is alane,” Cathy replied, “for I heard frae anither maid there was an awfu’ argument aboot it, an’ Sime said that, as Eachann was the youngest, he maun keep watch for the ither men who were tired. ’Tis always Eachann who has the dirty work tae do.”

  “We may be grateful for that,” Iona said. “Shall we go now – or is it too soon?”

  “I ken everybody is asleep,” Cathy replied, “for the footmen hae snuffed the candles in the passages. ’Tis lucky that I brocht a lantern oop here this very eve an’ hid it in the bottom o’ the wardrobe. I was thinkin’ that ye micht wish tae visit me uncle some time whern ither folks waur asleep. That was, o’ course, afore I heard that poor Mister Hector had been caught by his Lordship’s men.”

  “It was I who betrayed him,” Iona said miserably. “Lord Niall met me coming down the passage and insisted on talking with me. He saw my dusty dress, my muddy shoes and the shawl over my head. He knew I had been outside and had returned on the east side of the castle. He was shrewd enough to put two and two together and guess that I had been in the woods to meet someone – so he had them searched.”

  Cathy’s eyes darkened.

  “Theer’s little that escapes his Lordship,” she said bitterly. “He’ll be suspectin’ me uncle after this, but he’ll bide his time, watchin’ him like a cat watches a mouse sae that he can pounce whern nobody dinna expect it.”

  “Oh dear, I am sorry I have drawn you into all this,” Iona said.

  Cathy flashed a smile at her.

  “Dinna fret, mistress,” she answered. “I’d rather suffer for the sake o’ our Prince than grow fat an’ rich in the company o’ them as turns traitor tae their ain flesh an’ blood.”

  Cathy spoke passionately and Iona felt there was nothing adequate that she could say in reply. She pressed the other girl’s hand while a smile of complete understanding passed between them, then Cathy lit the candle in the lantern and blew out the tapers on the dressing table.

  The two women stood for a moment almost in darkness as the light in the lantern flickered a little, appeared to go out and then rekindled itself with an effort. Cathy watched it anxiously until it began to burn brightly, then she straightened her shoulders.

  “Are ye ready, mistress?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m ready,” Iona replied, “but wouldn’t it be wise for you to take off your apron and your cape? Being white, they would easily be seen.”

  Cathy considered for a moment, then shook her head.

  “Nay, mistress, it wouldna be wise. If we meet anybody they’ll think naught but I’m fetchin’ a hot brick or a glass o’ milk for a leddy who is indisposed or canna sleep. But if I’m wi’oot ma cap an’ apron, they micht be suspicious, thinkin’ I hae some unto reason for wanderin’ aboot the castle at nicht.”

  “Yes, you are right,” Iona agreed. “Above all things we must not arouse anyone’s suspicions, but pray Heaven that we do not meet anyone.”

  “Amen tae that, mistress,” Cathy said and without further words turned towards the door.

  Iona picked up the key of the Keep from her dressing table and pulled her lace shawl closer around her. She opened and closed the door of the bedchamber for Cathy carried both the lantern and the bottle of wine. As she had anticipated, Cathy avoided the main part of the castle and first led the way up a flight of stairs to the third floor, then wending their way down a long labyrinth of passages, they came to the west side of the great building where they discovered another small twisting staircase almost the twin of the one on the east side which they had crept down earlier in the day.

  Cathy moved slowly, for it was imperative for them to go silently and it was also difficult for Iona to keep within the small circle of light from the lantern. More than once she stumbled and it was with the utmost difficulty that she refrained from crying out on feeling herself fall forward into nothingness or bumping painfully against a wall or a piece of furniture.

  At last after what seemed to her a very long time they reached the ground floor and entered a high, broad passage. Here the walls were unplastered and they walked on bare stone so that every movement they made, however cautious, seemed to echo and re-echo into the chilly darkness. Not speaking a word, Cathy went ahead on tiptoe until unexpectedly she stopped abruptly. A little way ahead of them the passage curved.

  Cathy appeared to be listening, then after a moment she turned and flashed Iona a warning glance before she opened the lantern and blew out the candle. For a few seconds Iona could see nothing, but as her eyes grew used to the darkness she perceived a faint light ahead. She heard Cathy put down the lantern on the floor, and then she felt her fingers gripping hers to draw her forward.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Iona allowed herself to be led slowly along, her body close against the wall, until the light ahead grew brighter and brighter, the two women concealed from it only by a stone buttress. Very cautiously first Cathy and then Iona peeped round it.

  A dozen yards away a big lantern had been set on a wooden
bench. Beside it sat a big broad-shouldered youth of perhaps twenty-two years of age whittling at a piece of wood with a knife. His lips were pursed and as he worked he whistled tunelessly. His hair was long and fell untidily around his face. He had thrown off his coat and his shirt was open to the waist, showing a stalwart, hairy chest. This, Iona knew, must be Eachann.

  Beyond him was the Keep, its solid oak door with heavy iron hinges and a square lock reached by two stone steps. The surrounding walls, constructed of big square stones, were formidably massive. This part of the castle had been built as a fortress and had never been used as anything else.

  Cathy took a deep breath and Iona knew that she was about to step forward and speak to Eachann, when suddenly there was the sound of footsteps. Quietly purposeful they approached the Keep from the other direction. There was the sharp clink of heels on a stone floor growing louder and louder and Iona guessed that someone was crossing the Great Hall.

  Desperately she put out her hands and clung to Cathy. Both women pressed themselves close against the buttress so that Iona could feel the sharpness of the roughly hewn stone bruising her skin through the thin material that covered her.

  Eachann, who had looked up unexpectedly when he heard the footsteps, suddenly sprang to his feet. Someone came forward into the light of the lantern and Iona saw that it was Lord Niall.

  The diamond buttons on his coat of puce satin glimmered and glittered in the light from the lantern. He carried a candlestick of polished silver and the wax trickled thickly and lopsidedly over the stand. His face, dark and satanic, seemed strangely at variance with his powdered hair and the jabot of exquisite lace at his chin.

  The very gaiety of his clothes and the sparkle of his jewels seemed out of place because of an aura of virulence and venom about him. It seemed as if Eachann felt this, for he took a step backwards and there was something sheepish, yet apprehensive in his attitude as with lowered head he watched Lord Niall from under his eyebrows.