Merry knew the hardest part would be retrieving her mare from the stables, and distracting the Lindsay guard from their post of duty so she might ride out. Divine providence intervened that night, for one of the guards took ill from a stew made with tainted meat, and while Nell and the others scurried to tend the ill man, Merry was able to slip unseen from the keep and reach the stables without being questioned.
There she found the remaining mounts untended, for Brodie had already ridden out with the main body of Lindsay men, looking for Ran. Merry remembered her riding lessons at Ambergate and managed to secure the bit and bridle on her mare without incident. The saddle was more difficult, for although Orlaith was well trained, the three-year-old lacked the patience of an older horse.
After the first few attempts, Orlaith began side-stepping the irritated efforts of her mistress to heave the awkward saddle up on her back. Finally Merry managed to distract the horse and drop the saddle in place. Quickly she cinched the girth before Orlaith had second thoughts. The mare gave a disgusted snort, and nudged Merry’s shoulder as if to say, “Y’must needs practice this a bit, milady!”
Merry chuckled at the mare’s ire, realizing haste had made her clumsy. She paused to pat the sleek golden neck of her trusty mount, then quietly she led the mare out of the stables into the growing dusk. There was still one man on guard duty, but Merry saw him flirting with one of the young maids who was lingering by the gate. She watched and waited as the saucy minx finally lured the fellow from his post into the shadows behind the stables. The moment they disappeared, Merry dashed across the yard with Orlaith in tow, and there stopped to tug at the wheel mechanism. A moment later she closed her eyes in defeat. It was too heavy! She didn’t have the strength to raise the gate herself. She must risk ordering someone to do the deed, and pray he wouldn’t try to stop her.
A moment later, Merry heard a muffled hollering on the other side of the gate. One of the search parties who had ridden out earlier had just returned. Their leader sounded irritable.
“Damme,” she heard him curse. “Where’s Sullivan?”
“Prob’ly off porkin’ Agatha again,” sniggered another male voice.
“Sullivan! Get yer lazy arse up here!” bellowed the first man.
Merry managed to hide herself and Orlaith in the shadows near the well house just before the rumpled-looking guard hurried out from behind the stables and back to his post. Flustered, the young man hefted the gate up, his muscles bulging from the effort. He wasn’t paying attention to anything but the disgruntled party who rode through, and Merry seized opportunity to slip out just behind them. The leader of the party began berating the lackadaisical guard as the gate descended again. Soon their heated words were muffled by the solid thud of the wooden barricade hitting the ground.
Merry’s heart pounded furiously, and her mouth felt dry. Nevertheless, she managed to mount her horse, realizing too late she had forgotten to bring so much as a candle to light the way. She would be racing the sun’s fall in the snow. Judging by the dull reddish glow behind the gray clouds, she had little more than a half hour.
“Show me what you’re made of, girl,” she begged Orlaith, setting her heels to the mare’s sides. She turned the animal’s head in a northeasterly direction, remembering Hertha’s words. Orlaith lapsed into a smooth canter, Merry’s cloak flying behind her like dark wings. As they set out, she heard the distant rumble of thunder. Soon there might not only be darkness to contend with, but a storm as well.
The horse’s hooves were muffled by the thick carpet of undergrowth as she entered the forest’s edge. Quelling a pang of uncertainty, and fighting her own childish fears of the dark, Merry relentlessly pressed the mare for more speed. Something had unsettled Orlaith, as well, for the golden steed pranced and balked when Merry tried to urge her deeper into the cavernous gloom.
Merry brooked no disobedience from her mount. Ran was in danger, and that superseded any horse or human fancies. She slapped her palm smartly on the mare’s right flank, and with a snort of surrender, Orlaith plunged into the snow and shadows. Merry clung to the mare’s mane as they moved at a reckless pace through the woods. Childhood tales of evil trolls and woodland monsters rose to engulf her now; the ancient copse seemed alive with weird shadows and sounds.
“’Tis only the trees, Merry,” she rebuked herself as the mare raced deeper and deeper into the murk. “Only the trees.”
Time blended into one dark blur, punctuated only by the brief intrusion of nature when a mist drifted down through the canopy of firs. Merry was seized by a momentary panic when she saw the first tendrils of mist curling through the boughs above, as if bony fingers were reaching to pluck her from the saddle. She was seized by a sudden, violent shiver and was almost too panic-stricken to go on.
When Orlaith cleared a fallen log, nearly pitching her rider from the saddle, Merry was forced back to reality with a jarring thump. The mist inexplicably cleared, and she glimpsed a smoky orange glow ahead that appeared to be rising from a pool of water at the edge of the forest. She knew it must be Badanloch by Hertha’s description, and she drew the lathered mare to a halt. Her six senses were tingling, her scalp prickled with a nameless fear. There was no sign at all of other humans. Only the loch, glittering smooth and polished as a piece of black jet, utterly tranquil and yet somehow more frightening to her than all the dancing shadows of the woods.
Merry tried to imagine Siany and her lover sharing a romantic interlude here, but all she saw was the dark water sketched before her like some bottomless abyss, surrounded by the strange smoky mists. Merry’s palms dampened on the leather pommel. She remembered Nell’s stories of the Each Uisge, and shivered. Sensing her rider’s fear, Orlaith snorted and bobbed her head as if to say, “Aye, you little fool, ’tis dangerous. Let’s get out of here!”
Before she even considered fleeing, visions of Ran flashed before Merry’s closed lids, superseding the fear and uncertainty. Her husband was in danger. Only she could help him. She would wait. Sooner or later, whoever sent the note must come. She imagined they would hardly pass up the chance to make a passionate speech about their cause. What better opportunity than when they held the new Countess of Crawford as a captive audience?
Merry considered dismounting to stretch her cold, cramped muscles, but she was still far too wary. What if Orlaith should bolt and leave her here? She shuddered at the thought. She could think of a thousand places she’d rather be, even gloomy old Ireland.
Aye, Siany and the kelpies were welcome to Badanloch. Merry far preferred the comforting confines of Auchmull, and the man who had made it home for her. Ran. Her lips curved in a slight smile as she pictured his reaction to her actions in her mind. She knew he would be furious with her for riding out unescorted into such a dangerous situation. Probably he would lecture her about her flightiness, toss in terse comments about women in general, and then decide on an appropriate punishment. Later. If only it was in the privacy of their bedchamber.
While Merry mused and distracted herself, the wind suddenly shifted from the incoming storm, and she caught her first strong whiff of acrid smoke. Her eyes flew open; she realized the strange orange glow she had glimpsed earlier must be from a nearby campfire, and the smoke was drifting slowly in her direction now. Perhaps someone had been observing her all along.
She felt a sudden tingling on the back of her neck. Danger surrounded her like a dark cloak. Too late, Merry attempted to wheel her horse about. Several shadows shot from the dark woods like wraiths, and a burly hand shot out and seized Orlaith by the bridle. Merry cried out, drumming her heels uselessly into the mare’s sides. Horse and rider were pinioned fast.
She stared wide-eyed into a man’s face as he stepped forward into the shifting twilight. The flash of the silver badge fastened to his breccan was the first thing she saw.
Chapter Thirty-Four
AN ICY WIND GUSTED around the figures gathered in the clearing. The pale-haired man smiled crookedly at Merry.
�
�What a coincidence, milady,” Sir Jasper said, then released the mare’s bridle. Merry knew, however, she wasn’t free to go. There was no point in protesting when he reached up to lift her from the saddle, and though her knees wobbled when she stood, she managed with some effort to keep her head high.
“The queen has a number of questions for you,” was the first thought which came to her mind. Hurled from her lips, it sounded exactly like the angry warning it was meant to be.
Sir Jasper merely nodded. A green-and-black plaid breccan billowed around his shoulders, secured by a silver badge Merry had never dreamed might be in his possession. She recognized the tower decorating the badge. It was the Maclean emblem. The same one she had embroidered upon a wall hanging. Clad in a Maclean tartan, he straddled the earth as if he were in possession of the very soil itself. She glanced around at the others; his men all wore mock Maclean tartans. When Merry stared into those pale eyes, she saw they were every bit as flat and ominous as the waters of Badanloch.
“Robert the Bruce, I presume?” she said dryly.
Sir Jasper looked surprised, then laughed. His laughter was neither warm nor amused. It was but the satisfaction of a soulless man as he reflected back over a long day’s work.
“Tell me, Merry, why you don’t seem shocked to find me wearing Maclean colors.”
“Because it makes sense now. Cullen may be a scoundrel, but he is no murderer. Yet you find him handy for pinning your crimes upon.”
Sir Jasper smiled thinly. “Aye, Scots weasels do have their uses.”
“There was always something odd about Duncan’s death. Too convenient Cullen was in residence at the time. Of course, you assumed Ran would blame his old adversary.
“I suspect the Padons didn’t give a fig about Ran’s wedding an Englishwoman, either. But you did. You sent your men to exact revenge, disguised as a Maclean sept.”
Her gaze was direct and challenging. Sir Jasper stared back at her for a long moment and then chuckled.
“You’re a surprising wit, and a little hellcat, milady. A pity I did not have opportunity to discover how well we are suited.”
Merry refused to pursue that line of thought. “Where’s Ran?” she demanded.
“All in good time. I needed to be sure I could lure him here, as he appears to have a soft spot for you. Likewise, ’twould seem.”
Furious, Merry glared at him. Sir Jasper’s arrogance was maddening, as was his cool control of the situation, but more infuriating was his involvement in the Padon attack. She had always had suspicions about Wickham’s exact role in the slaughter, but there had been no proof until now. He used the fact in an attempt to either impress or frighten her.
“Come,” he said curtly, sweeping his arm to indicate a badly overgrown path through the forest. “’Tis far too cold by half, standing here. We’ve a camp just over the rise.”
For the first time, Merry glanced at the other silent figures flanking her. There were perhaps a dozen other men, she could make out that much, but their facial features were still streaked by shadows and half hidden in the gloom. Seeing no choice, Merry reluctantly followed Sir Jasper through the woods to the Englishman’s encampment. She didn’t see anything until she literally stumbled upon a bunch of twigs stacked beside a small, smoldering fire. Sheltered by the thick canopy of trees, their hideaway was nearly invisible. She could easily be killed and left here, her bones undiscovered for years. She shivered.
Sir Jasper seemed to read her mind. “You will be safe, milady,” he assured her, “as long as you obey, and Lindsay surrenders himself peaceably.”
“Why should he?” Merry demanded. “So you can trap and kill him like an animal?”
He suddenly turned on her with the full brunt of his rage. “Should not a mad wolf be put down, Lady Lindsay?” Sir Jasper sneered when she shrank back from his ranting, and he raised a hand as if to strike her. “You’re as much a whore as Blair,” he snarled. “You promised to wed with me, promised to be a true and faithful wife, yet the moment you met Lindsay, you lusted for the Earl of Crawford in your traitorous heart!”
“I love Ran,” Merry said, meeting his gaze despite her fear. Hearing the simple words spoken aloud only seemed to infuriate him more.
“Sweet Jesu, you women all come as cheaply as Lindsay’s maid,” he growled. “At least she’ll give me a son.”
Merry stared at him a moment in shock. Then she sketched him a mocking little bow. “Congratulations, sir.”
Wickham’s expression was still thunderous. “Shut up,” he muttered.
“Not only did you beat Lady Rich, your charming history includes rape and seducing a sixteen-year-old-girl, your own half-sister. I wonder what Her Majesty will make of all this?”
“I wouldn’t point any fingers, Lady Lindsay,” Sir Jasper retorted. “You’re presently wed to a traitor, and the queen’s men are hot on his trail.”
“My conscience is clear,” Merry said, and the meaning of her words was not lost on him. With an angry growl, he seized her arm and hurled her roughly to the damp earth. An icy rain fell now, and it pattered upon Merry’s face as she scowled up at him.
“’Twon’t work, you know,” she said.
“Silence, woman!”
“He’ll find me soon.”
“Shut up!” He opened his fist as if to backhand her.
“When Ran discovers what you’ve done, ’twill all be over,” she added as confidently as she could. “If Black Cullen doesn’t rend you to pieces first.”
“Tsk, tsk, are ye just going ta stand there and let the little Tudor bitch bark at you?” a second male voice inquired, and Merry gasped as a familiar figure stepped from the shadows. Hugo Sumner grinned at her as he folded his arms and struck a jaunty pose against a tree, folding his brawny arms. “Why, milady, dinna look so shocked. Surely ye ken Sir Jasper and I are of like mind. We hae a rare sort o’ acquaintance. We made a pact to bring The Wolf down together. ’Twas the perfect opportunity when ye were tossed into his lap. Another Achilles’ heel in the mighty wolf.”
Bile rose in Merry’s throat, nearly choking her. “Then ’twas you …” she began huskily.
“Duncan?” Hugo shrugged his massive shoulders. “Aye, the old man caught me plotting wi’ Wickham and confronted me. Unfortunately he had to be silenced.” He cracked his knuckles and Merry paled, realizing a simple squeeze of those huge hands on her throat would silence her forever.
Sir Jasper interrupted them with a low, silky laugh. “Oh, dear, I fear you’ve gone and frightened the lady, Hugo. She has gone so pale. Do apologize.”
Hugo grinned, his teeth flashing white in the gloom. “As ye wish, Sir Jasper.”
Merry still stared at Hugo. “How could you,” she whispered. “Ran trusts you, Gil adores you, Nell loves you! What of honor?”
Hugo’s grin faded to a sneer. “What would ye ken o’ honor, milady? Yer a woman.” Ignoring Wickham’s scowl, he continued coldly. “What honor or respect does a bastard get, milady? None, be they English or Scots. I’m a Sumner by name, a Lindsay by birth!
“Aye, milady, but for the flip o’ the blanket, I could rule Auchmull now. I’m the poor bastard, the charity case o’ Lady Darra, Lord Ran’s dirty secret. Gil dinna ken I’m his half-brother, and his blind devotion sickens me. So many times I wanted ta kill the little rotter, or tell him the truth, but suffered in silence for the good o’ the clan. Until now, silence was the right thing. I gave in to rage but once, and Ran found evidence of that, a sgian dubh buried ta the hilt in his pillow. I did my best ta destroy The Wolf three months ago. As ’tis, I’ll just hae ta kill him now.”
“Nay!” Merry’s protesting cry emerged loud and sharp. It echoed throughout the forest. Sir Jasper looked annoyed.
“I’ll gag you, milady, if I must. Lindsay mustn’t have any warning when he rides to your rescue.”
“He’s not foolish enough to come alone,” Merry said desperately. “He has his loyal men, Lindsays by blood or birth, all of them—”
&nb
sp; “Minus one,” Hugo added.
Merry felt a wave of stark fear wash over her when she glanced across the pit of glowing embers and saw Hugo’s cold blue eyes glinting by firelight. He crouched down on his heels and smiled mock-congenially across the fire at her.
“Some of us are nae content to wait for our rightful titles,” he said.
“Swine,” Merry railed angrily.
Hugo chuckled. “Macleans or their ilk will take all o’ the blame for The Wolf’s death, thanks ta Wickham here,” he said. “’Twill be easy enough to plant the evidence on Cullen or one of the others. When they are charged wi’ the crime, surely good King Jamie will see fit ta return the lands o’ Badanloch ta the last surviving Lindsay heir. Me.” He grinned.
“What of Gilbert? Darra’s boys? Sweet Jesu, Hugo, you can’t kill them all,” Merry cried. “’Tis utter madness!”
Hugo glanced at Sir Jasper, and the two men shared a look that made her blood run cold.
“Nay, I don’t believe it,” Merry said faintly. She stared at Hugo, saw he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She felt the nausea rising in her throat. “You would kill innocents. Your own relations. For lust of a meaningless title. Unbelievable!” Her accusing gaze swiveled on Wickham. “While you … you murdered Blair,” she accused him in a ragged voice. “I don’t know how, but I know you did.”
“I loved Blair,” Sir Jasper growled under his breath. “You understand nothing.”
“Oh, but I do know one thing. You’re lower than snakes, both of you.”
Her gaze shifted back to Hugo. “You—are far worse, I think. A disgusting traitor. When you know how the Lindsays love and trust you.”
Hugo’s lip curled. “Love? What’s love compared to rightful inheritance?” His face mottled with rage. “Or the way a bastard bairn is scorned? Ye silly little Tudor bitch, ye ken nothing o’ our ways, all ye can do is sigh and moon over the enemy! Brave men and women hae died o’er the centuries for love o’ the clan, but yer so hot for Ran ye canna see past the man to the true cause.
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