by Amanda Scott
To make matters worse, an hour later it began raining heavily, just as he had predicted it would. And that evening, although it stopped for a time, the skies remained ominous. For the next two days, during and between cloudbursts, the air crackled with lightning and grumbled with thunder. And when Bab found herself in a room with Alex, the air between them seemed to crackle in much the same way.
She could think of nothing to say to him that might ease the tension between them, and he did not initiate conversation other than to inquire politely how she had slept or ask if she would try some sauce or other at table. It occurred to her that she could simply apologize to him, but the thought rankled and she dismissed it.
With no sign of the sheriff or his son by Friday morning, she would have liked to ride even if it meant asking Alex to go with her. But with the weather still as heavily charged as it was, she knew that to ride for mere pleasure would be foolhardy. Her gray, like most horses, hated thunder and lightning, and it occurred to her that the intermittent thunderstorms might be why the Dalcrosses had failed so far to seek her out for questioning, if they intended to do so.
Before the skies cleared, other matters had claimed her attention.
The first occurred late that morning when, with a pause in the rain if not the thunder, and fed to the teeth with confinement, she opted to stride energetically around the bailey to enjoy the fresh air. She was not alone, of course, for besides men and lads busy with their usual chores, others engaged in swordplay, a pair wrestled near the gates, and others had set up an archery butt near the stable and were engaged in target practice.
As she rounded a corner of the keep and drew near the jutting chapel wing, a hiss startled her. Pausing, she glanced around the busy yard.
“Hsst! Here, mistress.”
A two-wheeled cart containing evidence of a load of wood stood tilted in the corner where the chapel wall extended from the one by the postern door of the keep.
Movement behind the cart drew her closer until she spied a wild thatch of damp, tousled red hair and the scared face and wide blue eyes of the boy she had rescued from the sheriff’s men. “You!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“They be a-looking for me, mistress. I came here and slipped inside when they opened the gates this morning.”
“Without anyone seeing you?”
“I be small, and the rain were pouring down. I slipped in beside another cart and hid till I could sneak in back here. Ye’ll no tell anyone!”
“No,” she said. “What is your name?”
“Gibby Cannich o’ Glen Urquhart,” he muttered. “What’ll ye do, mistress?”
Bab thought swiftly. Dundreggan was certainly the safest place for him until the Dalcrosses’ men found something else to divert their attention. But if she sought Chisholm’s protection for him, would not his lordship instantly hand the lad over to them if they could claim legal grounds for detaining him?
“Dinna stare,” Gibby pleaded. “They’ll wonder why ye be standing here.”
She had already decided what to do. “Don’t move,” she said, as she glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one was looking their way. Reassured, she strolled casually to the postern door and tried the latch, relieved to find that it moved easily. Opening the door, she said, “Make haste now. Slip along near my skirt and inside.”
“I canna go in there! They’ll hang me for a thief!”
“I won’t let them. You can hide in the chapel until I find you a better place.”
Claud grimaced when they went into the chapel, for he had no power in kirks or other religious places. No member of the Secret Clan did, as far as he knew, so he wished Mistress Bab would stay clear of the place. He slipped in before she shut the door, to keep watch, hoping nothing awkward would happen while he was there.
Bab quickly found a corner at the back of the chapel containing two breast-high stacks of wooden chests behind which the boy could hide. “Stay there until I return,” she said. “I’ll try to find somewhere better for you, but barring that, I shall at least bring you food and water.”
“Aye, I’m fair gut-foundered,” he said.
“And wet to the skin, I’ll wager.”
“Och, aye, but I’m used to that. I’ll no melt.”
Chuckling, Bab left him. But she soon discovered that although it was easy enough to provide a jug of water, a couple of rolls from her dinner, and a shawl of her own for warmth, finding somewhere else to hide him was not so easy, and she knew he could not stay in the chapel indefinitely. It occurred to her then to hope that he was civilized enough not to relieve himself there if his need grew strong.
Her mother and Lady Chisholm invited her to join them in the latter’s bower, where she obediently took up some needlework to occupy her hands while her mind continued to busy itself with the urchin’s problem. But the solution still had not presented itself when, an hour later, a maidservant entered to say that Chisholm desired a word with her.
There was nothing ominous in the words or in the maidservant’s tone, but when Bab hesitated, the girl said, “His lordship did say ‘straightaway,’ mistress.”
Glancing at Lady Chisholm and seeing her frown, Bab tried to ignore the sudden fluttering in her stomach and said, “Will you excuse me, madam?”
“Of course, my dear. I wonder what he can want with you.”
Since Bab could imagine only that someone had found her uninvited guest or that Francis Dalcross or his father had arrived with a squadron of men to demand to know what she could tell them about the Fox, it was with profound relief that she entered Chisholm’s private chamber to find him alone.
“You sent for me, my lord?”
“Aye, lass,” he said, frowning slightly. “I’ve sent for Alex, too, because I want to talk to you both about this wedding of yours.”
“The wedding?”
“Aye,” he said. “But where the devil is the lad? I don’t want to have to explain my—Oh, good, you’re here,” he exclaimed as the door swung open again to reveal Alex at the threshold. “Come in, come in. I was just about to tell Mistress Barbara that I think it may be wise for us to put your wedding forward.”
With a gasp, Bab turned to see what Alex would say.
He stepped in and gently but firmly shut the door. Then, plucking a bit of lint from his sleeve, he murmured, “I was not aware that anyone had set a date.”
“No one has as yet,” Chisholm said.
“Faith, sir, and here I was, thinking that you and Lady MacRae had arranged everything for us by now,” Alex said, dabbing his lips with his handkerchief.
Chisholm eyed the gesture with blatant disapproval but did not comment on it or condemn his son’s flippancy. Instead, he said, “Unfortunately, I’ve just received word from Inverness that Sheriff Dalcross, or more likely that fiendish son of his, intends to present himself here Monday morning with a large show of arms and demand to question Mistress Barbara about the outlaw, Sionnach Dubh.”
Alex shot a look from under his brows at Bab. Despite the gasp he had heard, she looked pale but unafraid, giving him to hope that she had herself well in hand despite her undoubted frustration at having been cooped up for days.
Returning his attention to his father, he said, “What exactly did you hear?”
“That Francis Dalcross’s men reported seeing her with the Fox again. I cannot think how such rumors begin, Alex, but we can be sure that Dalcross will make the most of it, so we must do anything we can to prevent her arrest.”
“Aye, Francis will arrest her if he can concoct a suitable charge.”
“I don’t know what has possessed the scoundrel to be spouting such nonsensical rumors,” Chisholm said angrily. “That he could think our Barbara would have anything more to do with that Fox! Why, if I had my way—”
“It is true, sir,” Bab said quietly.
“What?”
Alex nearly smiled. The lass never ceased to amaze him. She had courage enough for ten men, let alone for one slen
der lass perched on the brink of womanhood. He had admired her beauty from the moment he had become aware of it. Her quick wit and sharp tongue had long amused and entertained him, and he relished her headstrong spirit. As to her courage, he had long ago recognized it and roundly condemned it when it led her to take dangerous risks. Now, with this further proof that her integrity matched that courage, he remained silent, letting her take the lead.
Chisholm glared at her in the same forbidding way that had made a much younger Alex’s knees quake with terror. Mistress Barbara, however, met his father’s dour gaze without blinking.
Chisholm said, “Perhaps you would care to explain yourself, mistress.”
“Frankly, sir, I’d prefer to do nothing of the sort,” she said with a rueful smile. “You are going to be furious, and I cannot blame you in the least.”
To Alex’s surprise, his father’s expression softened. “Suppose you tell me what happened, lass,” Chisholm said evenly. “I shall decide whether to be angry or not after I have heard your tale.”
“Faith, but I think I’d have benefited from having a sister,” Alex murmured.
“Hold your impudent tongue, sir,” Chisholm snapped.
“Yes, my lord,” Alex said meekly.
Bab glanced at him, but when he gazed limpidly back at her, she returned her attention to Chisholm. “You were kind enough not to scold me for riding out alone the other morning or to demand to know where I went, sir,” she said. “Accordingly, I failed to reveal what happened when I did.”
“Happened? Faith, lass, what can you mean? Did someone harm you?”
“No, sir, because I escaped.”
“Best to begin at the beginning,” Alex said dulcetly.
His father looked ready to snap at him again but instead, after shooting a stern look at him from under his eyebrows, he merely gestured for Bab to continue.
She did so, telling much the same tale that Alex had heard and stopping at the same point, when she and the Fox had safely reached the riverbank.
“Bless my soul,” Chisholm exclaimed, “what an extraordinary tale! If you were anyone else, lass, I must admit that I’d not believe a word of it.”
“Well, if you do believe it, sir, it is more than I expected,” Bab said.
“In sooth, I doubt you have experience enough to concoct such a tale.”
“She does possess a remarkably vivid imagination,” Alex murmured.
Bab’s gaze shot daggers at him, but Chisholm said flatly, “Mistress Barbara would not lie to me.”
“No, sir,” Alex said.
“Thank you, my lord,” Bab said. “I certainly would not.”
“Aye, lass, but that puts us back where we began, for there is nothing else we can do now. I will do my possible to protect you from the Dalcrosses and their hired villains, but if you did intervene in a lawful arrest, the sheriff has the law on his side and I shall have little power against him. The only thing that might strengthen my position would be if you were indeed my daughter-in-law. Therefore—”
“But, my lord—”
“Do not interrupt,” Chisholm said austerely.
Alex held his tongue, wondering how the lass would deal with this.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said stiffly, “but I do not want to be forced into marriage merely to avoid questions into a matter that… that—”
“—that is no affair of the Dalcrosses,” Alex interjected, hoping he would draw his father’s fire to himself long enough for her to regain her wits.
“You will be silent, Alex,” Chisholm said.
“Certainly, sir, but I hope you have not forgotten that I, too, figure in this wedding. I am your obedient son, as always, but I would be loath to coerce Mistress Bab into marriage or to conspire with anyone else to do so.”
“You will do as I command!”
“Yes, sir, without doubt, but—”
“I will send for Parson Fraser,” Chisholm said as if he had not spoken. “He can hold his kirk services here Sunday and perform the wedding at the same time.”
Alex saw that Bab had turned pale.
The little voice in his head said, “It will be well, ye’ll see. It be for the best, but remember, ye must hold her tae making the decision. It willna do tae take her part wi’ out ye ken her true feelings, and none can ken those but herself.”
For the first time, the voice had a truly feminine lilt to it, and his mind’s eye presented him with a brief, hazy picture of a sturdily built little woman, holding a peculiar white implement from which a stream of smoke curled.
He blinked, rejecting interest in anything but Bab. He willed her to look at him, hoping he could somehow let her know that everything would be all right, but she stared straight ahead, her lips pressed together, her eyes flashing anger. He hoped she would have sense enough not to rip up at Chisholm. His father was much his usual self again, so no one could predict how he would react to such an eruption.
“That is all,” Chisholm said, summarily dismissing them both. “You need not tell your mothers about this, either of you. I’ll do that myself.”
Bab had all she could do not to blurt out the angry words that leaped to the tip of her tongue, but she was not a fool, and she knew that losing her temper would only make him react the same way that any powerful man reacted to defiance.
An oblique glance at Alex’s face told her he was concerned about what she might say. Well, he need not fret, for she would not say or do anything cork brained. At least she would not if she could get out of the room before anger overcame her good sense. She had stirred her father’s ire and Patrick’s more than once, and in her experience blatant defiance never resulted in anything good.
“Perhaps you would like to stroll along the gallery,” Alex said gently.
Grateful that the tension between them seemed to have eased, she nodded, rested a hand on his arm, and let him take her from the room. They walked in silence to the far end of the gallery where it overlooked the great hall before she said, “I have not changed my mind, sir. Why do you not simply tell him that you object to being pushed into a marriage you do not want?”
“But I have no objection to marrying you,” he said.
“No objection!” Somehow, those two words angered her more than anything else he had done or said. “You promised!”
“Aye, I did, and I will keep that promise. But I also said, did I not, that if you insist upon defying your mother and my father, you will have to do it on your own. I’ll support your right to refuse, Bab, but I’ll not start the fight with them for you.”
“Are you such a coward then or just too weak to defy your father?”
“Neither, but nor do I see cause to act against my own interest when you seem to be of two minds about it yourself. You must have noticed that my father has suffered much as your mother has since Sir Gilchrist’s death, and for similar reasons. First he lost his dear friend, and before he’d had time to recover, my brothers’ murders left him with the last and least able of his sons to succeed him.”
She barely heard anything after his suggestion that she was of two minds about their wedding. Much as she wanted to deny it, she could not form the words. As she wondered if his accusation could be true, she heard the last of what he said.
“I’m sure he does not think of you as the least of his sons.”
“When I returned from the Continent,” he went on quietly, “I found him as you saw him at Stirling and when you traveled here with him. Instead of the vibrant, temperamental man I had left behind, I found one who rarely cared enough to raise his voice in anger. He paid little heed to what the Dal-crosses did, other than to say he was sure they were heeding the law since it was their duty to uphold it.”
“But Sheriff Dalcross does things that his lordship would never do.”
“Just so, although I believe his son is the one responsible for all our ills,” he said. “The sheriff is merely his cipher. Still, I trust you understand my reluctance to defy my father in this, since y
ou feel the same reluctance to defy your mother.”
“But it has been much worse with her. Your father just seems abstracted and pensive, and he sleeps more than one would expect of such a man. My mother disappears into another world and talks to beings that do not exist.”
“Are you so certain that they do not?” he asked with a smile.
Bab stared at him. “Of course I am,” she said. “Pray, do not mock my concern for her, sir.”
“I promise you I was not doing that,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “It is only that I begin to wonder sometimes if we have slipped into another world.”
A tremor shot through her when he touched her, and the sensation disturbed her, because it was like the feeling that swept through her body whenever the Fox touched her or stood too near. Had she turned into a woman who would react so to any man? The thought horrified her, but his hand felt warm on her shoulder, and despite her erratic thoughts, it comforted her and made it easier to think.
She looked into his eyes, finding serenity there but wondering if his concern for his father was the only reason he was willing to marry her and hoping in the same jumble of thoughts that his willingness would not prevent him from keeping his promise to her. “You will still support me whatever I do, will you not?”
“Aye, lass, I have said I will. I do not go back on my word.”
“Good,” she said, “because I shall depend on you to keep it.”
“That lass be verra strong minded for a mortal,” Lucy Fittletrot complained.
“Aye,” Claud agreed. He certainly couldn’t argue the point, for the harder he had tried to implant the notion of making a worthy sacrifice in Mistress Bab’s mind, the more strongly did she resist it.
“At least the man seems willing enough,” Lucy said.
Claud peered at her searchingly. “Look here,” he said. “Ye didna put a spell on him, too, did ye?”
“Too?” She gazed innocently at him.
“Ye said ye put one on Catriona,” he reminded her.