by Amanda Scott
“Och, aye, I did that,” she said. “And ye should be grateful, Claud. She would only ha’ caused problems, as ye’d ken fine did ye but think wisely on it.”
“Ye didna answer me about him, though.” He was being very clever, he thought, to notice that she had not answered his question.
“I put nae spell on him,” Lucy said, adding simply, “I had nae need for it.”
She snuggled closer, using her fingers and lips to good purpose, and in no time he was helping her remove her gauzy lavender gown. As he moved his lips to one perfectly formed breast, she murmured, “Ha’ ye decided about yon wedding then, Claud?”
“Aye,” he murmured, blowing gently across the nipple and watching it pucker, enjoying her little gasp of pleasure. “Marriage will make the lass safer, and thus it be the best service we can render tae her. I ha’ decided.”
“And a fine decision it is,” Lucy said, curling herself around him as she loosened his clothing.
Believing that her brief stroll with Alex had strengthened her resolve, Bab excused herself and returned to Lady Chisholm’s bower, certain that she now had the fortitude to make her position clear even to her mother. But when she entered the room, she found the two ladies in deep conversation with Fiona Mackintosh, her erstwhile hostess at Gorthleck House, the night following her abduction.
“Mistress Mackintosh and her son Eric have been visiting cousins in the next glen,” Lady Chisholm said. “The thunder having eased there, they took advantage of the lull and rode over to spend the night with us.”
“I’m surprised you did not see Eric,” Mistress Mackintosh said as Bab made her curtsy, “for he went in search of Sir Alex as soon as we arrived. Doubtless he found him straightaway, though, and they have been closeted together since.”
Bab smiled, saying only that she had not yet had the pleasure of seeing Eric Mackintosh. Then she fell silent, striving to contain her impatience while Mistress Mackintosh chattered away, sharing all the gossip she had collected since their last meeting. Lady Chisholm’s enjoyment of her guest was plain to see, and to Bab’s surprise, Lady MacRae’s eyes were likewise bright with interest.
Concerned about young Gibby and what she was to do with him, Bab was about to excuse herself to look in on him when Lady Chisholm said, “Surely, Fiona, you and Eric can stay more than just one night.”
“Oh, no, for we have not come so far, you know. Moreover, Mackintosh remains with my cousin’s family and expects us to return there tomorrow.”
“But you must stay through Sunday at least,” Lady MacRae interjected. “My Barbara and Sir Alex are to be married then, and with so little time to set the news about, we will be sadly shy of guests.”
Bab stared at her mother. “How did you know?” she demanded.
Mistress Mackintosh looked at her in surprise. “I should think your mother would know your wedding date before anyone else, my dear. We will certainly stay for the ceremony. Indeed, I shall send for Mackintosh to join us here.”
Lady Chisholm’s obvious bewilderment reinforced Bab’s certainty that Chisholm had not yet had time to inform either his wife or Lady MacRae of his plan. How, then, had her mother known? Lady MacRae’s belief in the date’s accuracy was evident by the way she nodded and smiled.
Lady Chisholm said gently, “Are you certain that the date is set, Arabella?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Chisholm will tell you quite soon, I believe.”
Certain that that much was true, Bab hastened to excuse herself before he could do so, wishing she could find the Fox and confer with him about what to do.
Even if he thought the match a good one, surely he would not want her to be trapped into it. Perhaps he might somehow spirit her away until she could persuade Sir Alex or her mother to call off the wedding. As that thought crossed her mind, however, the urgency she felt about it faded and her thoughts shifted again to young Gibby. Clearly, she had to find somewhere else to put him and quickly, before folks began to prepare the chapel for her wedding.
Unfortunately, the keep bustled with people, its usual inhabitants augmented by men who had escorted the Mackintoshes. It had been easy enough to spirit Gibby inside the chapel, the entrance to which lay just inside near the postern door. However, to sneak him higher into the keep would be to risk discovery at almost any turn. A peek down the stairway that led to the chapel entrance showed her that servants still bustled about on the lower level. They would continue to do so until their evening chores were done and they had sought their beds, so she would be wiser not to risk entering the chapel again until the keep had settled for the night.
At a standstill, she retired to her bedchamber where she could be sure of being alone with her thoughts, but the only one of these that consoled her was the possibility that the Fox might yet take another hand in the game. Was it not his business to help people in trouble?
Having parted from Bab at the stair end of the gallery, Alex went to his bedchamber, hoping to find Hugo. The man was not there, however, so he slipped quietly down the little stairway that led directly to the chapel.
As he stepped in and turned toward the rood screen and the little door that it concealed, a scuffling sound from the rear of the chamber stopped him in his tracks.
His keen ears detected another soft sound, and he easily identified its position behind the chests of altar cloths and other furnishings at the rear. The space there, he knew, was too narrow to contain anyone very large.
The door into the chapel from the lower service area was closed, but he could hear noises indicating human industry on the other side. A shout would bring instant aid, should he require it, but he doubted that he would, and he was curious.
Moving nearer the chests, he said quietly but nonetheless authoritatively, “Come out of there at once.”
Silence greeted him.
“If I must pull you out, or if you should be so unwise as to try to tip over those chests, it will be very much the worse for you,” he warned. “Come out now.”
“Aye, then, I’m coming. Hold your breeks on, man.”
“Insolence will not avail you much, my lad,” he said to the scruffy, redheaded urchin who emerged, carrying a water jug. “Who are you and what are you doing there?”
“Me name’s Gibby Cannich and the lady put me here.”
“The lady, eh?” Having no trouble deducing who the lady must be, Alex struggled to maintain his stern demeanor. “A gey beautiful lady with black hair?”
“Aye, she’s well enough, I expect. She put me in here, though, so if ye’re meaning to hand me over to the sheriff’s louts, she’ll be wroth wi’ ye.”
“I expect she will,” Alex agreed, “but you cannot stay here, Gibby Cannich. I collect that you hail from Glen Urquhart, do you not?”
“Aye, then, but I’m to stay away from there till the sheriff’s men forget about me,” the boy said. “I didna ken where else to go, but I did learn that the lady lives here, so I came and looked for her.” He hesitated, glanced at the jug, then added airily, “She gives me this jug wi’ water in it, but she didna give me a slops jar, so after I drank the water, I had to piss in it. So wha’ should I do wi’ it now?”
Choking back laughter, Alex said, “Put it on the floor for now.” When the lad had obeyed, he added, “You are an enterprising soul, but I cannot leave you here, so I think you’d better come with me. I’m going to blindfold you, though.”
“Here now, ye canna do that,” Gibby protested when Alex opened one of the top chests and took a purple priest’s stole from the extra vestments folded therein.
“You hold your whisst,” he said. “I don’t want your prattling to bring anyone else in here. Now, turn around,” he added as he folded the long cloth lengthwise. “I promise you’ll be safe with me, for I won’t hand you over to the sheriff or his men, but you must not know the route by which I take you out of here.”
“Likely, ye’ll murder me and fling me body in yon river,” the boy muttered.
Alex c
huckled but did not argue, tying the silk stole over the lad’s eyes, then picking him up and walking back and forth and up the stairs and down with him until he hoped he would have no idea which way they went. Then he made for the door behind the screen, slipping through it and quietly down the dark stairway.
As he had hoped, he found Hugo in the great cavern in Dancer’s chamber, brushing the splendid horse and talking quietly to it.
The man turned at the sound of his steps and stood staring at him for a long minute in disapproving silence. Then he growled, “What are ye about now, sir?”
“The lass stowed young Gibby Cannich here in the chapel to hide him from the sheriff’s men,” Alex said, standing the boy on his feet and stripping off the blindfold. “Gibby, this is Hugo. He is going to look after you for a time.”
“I am?” Hugo frowned at the boy, who was gazing raptly at Dancer. As Gibby turned from the stallion to eye Alex more shrewdly, Hugo said, “Ye’ll bring us to ruin yet, I’m thinking, wi’ your impetuous starts.”
“Aye perhaps, but we’ve time yet,” Alex said, returning the lad’s gaze steadily as he added, “Wee Gibby and I mean to trust each other for now. In any event, I cannot let him or the lass run tame in the chapel, and I’ve promised not to let him fall into the sheriff’s clutches, so here’s what I want you to do.” He explained quickly and then, when Hugo had diverted the lad’s attention by setting him to brush the stallion, Alex slipped away and returned to the chapel.
Picking up the erstwhile water jug, he carried it with him to his bedchamber where he emptied it into the close-stool pot and left the jug by the stool for Hugo to dispose of.
Young Gibby, he knew, would require watching, since it was clear that his suspicions had been aroused. But at least the lad had shown sense enough to keep them to himself and had not pelted them with questions. Hugo would watch him closely and keep him safe.
Alex found himself wondering what, if anything, he would tell Bab about the lad. She clearly cared about his fate, and he did not want her to worry or fret over what had become of him, but he could hardly explain what he had done with him.
A few moments later, a gilly rapped on the door to tell him that Eric Mackintosh had come to Dundreggan and was asking for him.
“Is he indeed,” Alex drawled. “Then I must go to him straightaway.”
Chapter 16
Supper was a cheerful meal, and since Bab could do nothing to address any of her concerns, she relaxed and enjoyed herself. Eric Mackintosh, a thin gentleman with pale blond hair and blue eyes, was as talkative as his mother and as charming.
When the subject of politics arose, as it often did in the glens, both Mackintoshes roundly condemned Sheriff Dal-cross and his son. Therefore, the only sour note occurred when Eric expressed admiration for the Fox, and Chisholm replied curtly that the less said about that fellow, the better. Lady Chisholm deftly turned the subject, however, and the tense moment passed swiftly.
Conversation remained general and included only a brief mention of the wedding. Bab realized then that Chisholm had spoken to his lady and that everyone took it for granted that the ceremony would go forward as and when he had decreed. She hoped to find an opportunity to speak privately with her mother, but although she managed to draw her aside as they arose from the table, it availed her nothing.
“Not now,” Lady MacRae said briskly. “Not when Nora needs our help to entertain Fiona Mackintosh, who is very kind, to be sure, but she does prattle on and on, so that if one had to be alone with her, one would seek the slightest excuse to take to one’s bed. Therefore, we must not abandon Nora.”
It occurred to Bab that her mother was proving uncharacteristically chatty herself for once, but she said only, “Perhaps you will grant me a few private moments of your time before you retire, madam.”
“Oh, not tonight, dearling, I beg you. I know exactly how it will be. When I finally reach the peaceful sanctuary of my chamber, I shall want to go straight to bed, for I am not accustomed to keeping these late hours, you know, and I want to be well rested for your wedding.”
“How did you learn that it is to take place on Sunday?” Bab asked. “I did not know that myself until shortly before you spoke of it.”
Lady MacRae blinked. “Chisholm must—No, it was Herself who told me.”
“Herself? Pray, who is that?”
Lady MacRae looked bewildered. “Why, how strange! Her name was on the tip of my tongue, but now I cannot recall it. And so it is every time. Oh, but I do remember now that I was not to mention it to anyone. I should not have told you.”
Bewildered, Bab said, “That I am to be married?”
“That the ceremony had been set for Sunday.”
“Well, but that is why I wanted to talk—”
Lady MacRae hushed her with a gesture. “Not now.” Her level of agitation increased noticeably as she added, “Nora is beckoning! Doubtless Fiona is talking her into a stupor, so we must not leave her any longer to bear the brunt alone.”
The tone of that brittle flow of words silenced Bab. She had thought her mother had nearly recovered her normal composure, but now the mere suggestion that Bab wanted to talk about the wedding had agitated her. In the past, such agitation had signaled the onset of a period of unnatural behavior, and that was the last thing Bab wanted to induce in her now. Thus, she said no more.
She had one more day, after all. She could afford to bide her time and try to think of a gentler way to ease out of the wedding. It occurred to her then that if she could not, she would merely be making the common sort of sacrifice daughters had made for mothers or mothers for daughters since the dawn of time. And it might be much worse, for at least Alex was kind to her. Many husbands were not.
The shifting train of thought startled her, for it was as if someone else were debating the matter with her. The odd sensation dissipated, though, and after an hour of listening to the older ladies converse after Chisholm, Alex, and Eric had disappeared to other regions of the castle, she found herself idly wishing that she were male and could do likewise. Shortly afterward, Lady Chisholm yawned mightily, apologized with a laugh, and said that she for one was ready for her bed.
Bab bade the others goodnight but let them go on ahead as they left the bower and crossed the great-hall dais to the main stairway. Once she was sure they were paying her no heed, she hurried down to the chapel, hoping that anyone who saw her there would assume she merely sought a moment of solitude. She had two rolls tucked in a fold of her skirt for Gibby and hoped to find something in one of the chests that would serve as a coverlet to keep him warm through the night.
An orange glow from the flaming torches outside in the bailey lit one wall of narrow stained-glass windows and provided the only light in the chapel, but it was enough to show her the way to the stacked chests in the rear corner, and to show her that although her shawl lay on the floor behind them, the boy was not there. Nor was there any sign of him elsewhere in the chamber.
She waited a few moments, jumping at every sound, but he did not return, and she knew that she dared not wait much longer, since Giorsal would doubtless be in her chamber already and would soon begin to wonder where she was. Hoping that Gibby had hidden himself where no one else would find him, she started to place the rolls in his hiding place. But realizing that if he had slipped outside the castle wall again they would draw mice, she took them with her instead.
Giorsal was awaiting her but accepted the glib explanation that the rolls were in case Bab got hungry in the night, and quickly undressed her and tucked her into bed. Bab consoled herself again with a hope that the Fox might choose to visit her, but the night passed without incident, and she awoke Saturday morning to a day that was gray and overcast.
She found the three older ladies in the hall breaking their fast with Chisholm, who announced that he had already sent running gillies to nearby glens with orders to invite everyone to attend Sunday’s morning service in the Dundreggan chapel, after which the wedding ceremony would
follow.
“With trouble rife in the area, as it is, it is more convenient if Parson Fraser holds his service here than if we all venture down to the village kirk for it,” he said. “I prefer to know that everyone is safe behind our walls.”
Bab assumed that he hoped to keep her out of Dalcross hands in the event that the sheriff, his son, and the men were already on the way to question her.
Except for an hour during the afternoon when Lady MacRae insisted that Bab try on the wedding dress so that Giorsal and Ada could see to its final fitting, Saturday passed much the same as Friday. Bab found no sign of Gibby Cannich, and although she still was not reconciled to the notion of marrying Sir Alex, each time she hoped an opportunity might present itself to speak to her mother, something intervened to prevent private conservation with her.
When several families from Glen Affric and neighboring glens arrived before noon to take dinner with them, she learned to her shock that Chisholm had extended invitations to many of his neighbors to spend the night at Dundreggan. The visitors were merry and clearly delighted to think she would marry Alex.
At four o’clock, her kinsmen, Malcolm and Mauri MacRae from Eilean Donan, and Duncan and Florrie from Ardintoul all arrived together, announcing that Lady MacRae had sent for them days before so that they could attend Mistress Bab’s wedding to Sir Alex. She did not even try to ask her mother how she had managed that. Events were moving much more swiftly than she had imagined they could, and it was becoming obvious that she might not be able to stop them.
By evening, she was as weary as if she had been traveling all day. Since she found it utterly impossible to announce to the increasing numbers of interested parties that she did not want to marry Alex, and harder by the moment even to think about declaring as much to the priest, Bab was at a loss. Knowing it would avail her nothing but argument if she informed Chisholm that she refused to marry his son, she decided at last to seek out Alex himself and ask him again to keep his promise.