by Amanda Scott
Bab wished he would say something. Was he angry with her? It did not feel as if he were. Perhaps if she spoke first, the tension between them would ease. She wondered how he had known about the tunnel at Sheriff’s House, but he had made it clear that she should not ask him questions about things like that.
“I should not have said that.”
His voice after such a long silence startled her, but she did not have to ask him what he meant. “No,” she said, “you should not.”
“Art vexed wi’ me, lass?”
“Not now, but pray stop using that silly commoner’s accent. I know you can speak as properly as I do, for you have done so any number of times. I will not ask who, in truth, you are, but ’tis plain to me that you were gently bred and educated.”
“You are too wise for your own good,” he said. “How long have you known that, and what else have you deduced, I wonder.”
“You need not sound as if you would like to throttle me,” she said. “I know you would not, for I am quite sure that you did not murder Sheriff Dalcross. Indeed, I doubt that you have ever murdered anyone.”
“So you do not subscribe to the popular belief that if Chisholm’s cousin did not murder his two sons, I must have done so.”
“No, and that must certainly be nonsense, for no one has even suggested you had a motive. One might as well accuse Sir Alex of murdering his own brothers!”
“One might indeed.”
“You need not say it in that tone of voice, as if it were possible,” she said. “Recall that he was in France at the time.”
“Italy.”
“Well, on the Continent, at all events.”
“So you believe Christopher Chisholm murdered his cousins, then.”
“I do not know him, but men say he did, so I suppose he must have.”
“I do know him. He did not.”
“Then where is he? Why did he not come forward?”
“That I do not know, but I would wager that our recently deceased sheriff and his son know more about that whole business than they have ever admitted.”
“I thought Dalcross did not become sheriff until after the event.”
“He did not, but the event propelled him into the office. Someone suggested to Jamie that since Chisholm could not keep his own sons from being murdered, he was unfit to continue as Sheriff of Inverness. The result is as you have seen.
“Dalcross and his son turned the office into a lucrative business, much to the detriment of the people it is supposed to serve. Politics entered into it, of course, and Chisholm himself was in no shape after his sons’ deaths to contest the Dalcross appointment, certainly not with your precious Alex as his sole remaining heir.”
“I wish you would not continually belittle Sir Alex,” Bab said testily. “Pray, recall that he is my husband.”
“I never forget it, lass, but you are right. I should not speak so dismissively of him in your company. Forgive me?”
“Aye, for that and for many things,” she said. “Will we reach Dundreggan before morning?”
“Aye, we’ve time to spare if you can stay in that saddle, for it cannot be much after ten yet.”
“Mercy, I thought it must be much later. Were you not afraid you might encounter Francis Dalcross, entering Sheriff’s House so early?”
“Nay, for my lads were watching him. He took himself off to his favorite alehouse not half an hour after he deposited you in your cell at Sheriff’s House. I was only waiting for full darkness to fetch you.”
“You were following us, then? How did you learn he had arrested me?”
“I told you, I have my ways.”
“I expect someone along the way told you. We saw any number of people.”
“The moon will be up in a bit,” he said. “We’ll travel faster then.”
Aboard the Marion Ogilvy
Riding the tail of the incoming tide, they docked at Couroch soon after midnight. Located near the upper end of the Firth of Clyde, Couroch was the nearest seaport to Dumbarton and thus to Stirling and Cambuskenneth Abbey, where Sir Kenneth Lindsay would deliver his messages to Cardinal Beaton.
The winds had remained favorable all the way, and despite sailing perilously near England’s coast at times, they had seen no further sign of enemy ships and had easily made the North Channel by dawn that morning. Now, working by lantern light, the men quickly furled the sails and lashed them to the yards.
As soon as the moorings were fast, Sir Kenneth took his leave, and as he walked down the gangplank to the torchlit dock, Gibson turned and looked at Kit, who had been keeping an eye on him.
Many of the regular crewmembers were preparing to go ashore, because the ship would stay at Dumbarton for a sennight to take on supplies. Kit, Willie, and Tam would remain aboard, as usual, and Kit believed Gibson would take the first opportunity to finish the flogging Sir Kenneth’s orders had postponed.
Resigned to the inevitable, he headed below to get supper and to sleep if he could. As he passed under the afterdeck gun port, he saw Tam coming toward him.
“Come quickly, lad,” the older man said, gesturing urgently. “Willie’s dropped a line off one o’ the main shrouds from the chain wale.”
“How did he get out there?” Kit demanded, because the chain wale was a heavy plank bolted edgewise to the outside of the ship to increase the spread of its shrouds. The usual access to it was by sliding down a pair of the shrouds from the afterdeck. It was unlikely, even at midnight and with much of the ship’s crew hastening to go ashore, that Willie could have done such a thing without being seen.
“The men pulled one o’ them cannon back tae poke about in its innards after it misfired at them pesky English yesterday, and they havena shoved it back yet,” Tam said. “Willie climbed through the port, and he says there be room for us tae squeeze through, too, do we want tae go wi’ him. I’m for doing it. Will ye come?”
Glancing back to where he had last seen Gibson, Kit saw that he was watching them. There was no time to ponder the wisdom of Willie’s plan. They would not be near Scottish soil again for months, and they were unlikely ever to get another chance like this one.
“I’ll do it,” Kit said.
Tam turned on his heel and led the way into the shadows beneath the afterdeck. A lone lantern burned midway, casting enough light for men to see where they were going but not enough to encourage lingering along the way.
They went toward the stern gun port on the side opposite the dock. From even a short distance, the gun there was not obviously out of position, but when they reached it, Kit saw that it sat more than a foot from the porthole, which was easily large enough for wiry Willie Armstrong to slip through. Whether stocky Tam or the much larger Kit would be able to do so was another question.
“I’ll fit if I ha’ tae shed my clothes,” Tam said, eying the porthole grimly.
“Go on, then. We won’t have much time before someone sees us.”
Outside, Willie also encouraged Tam to make haste, so he put his head and shoulders through the hole, and with Willie tugging and Kit pushing, managed to squeeze the rest of himself through.
“It’ll be easier for ye, ’cause ye’re slimmer in the middle,” he told Kit. “If ye can get them shoulders o’ yours through, the rest will come easy as winking.”
The deed proved easier than Kit had expected, and once on the wide plank, the rest was just as Willie had promised. His line was stout, well tied, and reached to the waterline. It would be merely a matter of shinning down it and swimming across the River Clyde to its opposite bank.
Commanding the other two to go first, Kit waited until Willie was in the water with Tam close behind him on the line. He was about to swing onto it himself when a strong hand reached through the porthole and grabbed his arm.
“Tell your friends tae swim back here right now,” Gibson growled, “or I’ll blow your fool head off first and then send me lads in tae fetch ’em both back here, so’s I can hang each one from his own yardarm.”
Without a thought, Kit yanked his arm free and dove. Although he heard a gun discharge, he hit the water unscathed. When he came up for air, he saw Tam and Willie splashing wildly for the opposite bank. Above them, Gibson had climbed out onto the plank and was taking careful aim at him.
As he drew breath to dive again, the man above suddenly lurched as if he had tripped, and plunged toward the water with a terrified scream.
Hitting hard and shoulder first, Gibson came up once, splashing wildly, and shrieked, “I canna swim!” Then he submerged again.
Wanting nothing more than to let the bastard drown, Kit nonetheless swam powerfully toward the place where he had seen him disappear. The water was calm, and the night around him was oddly silent. Neither Willie nor Tam dared shout to him, lest they draw unwanted attention, but he was astonished that no one above seemed to have heard either the gunshot or Gibson’s terrified scream.
He dove several times, swimming underwater with sweeping strokes, feeling his way in the dark water for any part of Gibson, but to no avail. The first officer did not surface again or disturb the water with his struggles. He had vanished.
With no sign yet that anyone above had missed Gibson or the three of them, Kit swam to join Tam and Willie.
If Bab had hoped that when the moon arose and they rejoined the others, she would catch a glimpse of at least two of her rescuers’ faces, she was disappointed, for they, too, wore concealing cloaks and hoods. All she could discern was that one was much smaller than the other. Neither said a word.
The Fox waited until the moon rose to increase the pace, so when they joined the others, Giorsal exclaimed with relief, “Faith, Mistress Bab, I feared he ha’ made off wi’ ye, after all, and these men wouldna say a word tae me.”
“I’m sorry you worried, but I told you we could trust him,” Bab said.
Conversation after that was limited, for both women were tired and focused their energy on staying in the saddle and making as much speed as they safely could. The result was that they reached Dundreggan nearly two hours before dawn. The Fox and his henchmen parted from them a short distance from the gates.
“You’ll be safe from here, lass,” he said. “Just shout when you come within earshot, and they’ll let you in. We’ll watch, just to be sure.”
“Thank you again, sir,” she said. “It has occurred to me, though, that Francis Dalcross will come after me, will he not?”
“If he does, you must tell that husband of yours to spirit you away. I doubt he will be such a fool as to let you fall into Dalcross’s clutches again, though. If he does, he will answer to me, as will you if you do anything so foolish as to put yourself in that villain’s path or in any other sort of jeopardy.”
His grim tone sent a little shiver up her spine, and she resolved to be particularly cautious, for a time at least.
Claud was pleased that Mistress Bab was safely back at Dundreggan. Obedient to his mother’s wishes, he had kept close watch over the lass while she remained locked in the Sheriff’s House cell. She was safe enough there, but he had wondered what he would do if Francis Dalcross had begun to torture her. The rules of the Clan were strict about interfering between mortals, and he had already tested those rules beyond what members of the Circle would accept, so he was relieved that he had not had to make any such a decision. As it was, he had done little other than help her sleep a bit and feed her needed energy for the long ride home.
He wondered where Lucy was. He had not seen her since Maggie’s arrival had frightened her away. Nor had he seen Catriona, but he knew he would not see her as long as he had had to stay at Dundreggan. She would not risk growing goat’s feet, so he would have to search elsewhere for her. He wondered if the little burn was bubbling again in her glade, or if Lucy’s rearrangements would be permanent.
Bab had no trouble gaining entrance to Dundreggan. The men on the wall were delighted to open the gate for her, and the captain of the guard escorted her into the keep and protested when she refused to allow him to wake the household.
“Morning is quite soon enough to let them all know I am safe,” she said. “I pray you, captain, do not disturb his lordship or anyone else.”
“I doubt his lordship will be sleeping well under the circumstances, my lady. I’ll just tell his man though, if ye dinna want me to wake him.”
“Do as you think best, but I am going to bed.”
Giorsal said sternly. “You should go to Sir Alex, mistress.”
“I’ll see him in the morning, too,” Bab said.
“But he is your husband, and he must be anxious about you!”
“I want to think, Giorsal, and if you would assist me, you will not argue or scold. You may say all you like to me in the morning. For now, I prefer peace.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Bab knew from that formal response that she had offended her, but they were both worn out, and all she wanted to do was to sleep.
They went immediately to her bedchamber, where she performed cursory ablutions and climbed into bed in her shift. Despite her comment about wanting to think, however, she was asleep before Giorsal shut the door.
So exhausted was she that she barely stirred when an hour later, Alex climbed naked into the bed beside her and drew her into his arms. Sighing comfortably, she settled against him and slept until sunlight from the window wakened her and she found herself snuggled close with her back to him. Surprised, she turned to face him and found him smiling sleepily at her.
“How did you—? That is, when did you—?”
“You must learn to complete your sentences, sweetheart. How did I, or when did I what?”
“You know perfectly well what I meant. This happens to be my bed, sir.”
“And I am your husband, madam. I have every right to be in your bed.”
“You do not even ask how I come to be in it,” she said. “Do I collect that the captain of the guard wakened you even after I asked him not to disturb you?”
“He did not waken me,” Alex said. “I was already awake.”
“My point, sir—”
“I know what your point is, lass. I also know how you returned home.”
“Oh.”
“I doubt there is anyone at Dundreggan who does not know by now. There is really no other way you could have returned here at four in the morning without a proper escort other than for Sionnach Dubh to have brought you.”
“I suppose not,” she said.
“So he is once again your rescuer.”
She heard a note in his voice that made her look at him narrowly, but as usual there was nothing to read in his expression. Softly, she said, “He rescued us, yes, and I should think you’d be grateful to him, sir. He said you should take care that I do not fall into Dalcross hands again.”
“Never fear, lass. I won’t let that happen again,” he said. “I know you must think little of me for letting it happen even once.”
“You could not stop it,” she said, “but if you think he has become a great hero to me, Alex, it is no such thing. I am grateful to him, but he has many faults. Nonetheless, and despite that coin Francis Dalcross said they found, I am sure the Fox did not murder the sheriff.”
“He has killed before, lass. Men have seen him do so.”
“But not in cold blood, sir. The one who dies always dies with a sword in his hand, and rather than kill his opponents, the Fox is more likely to humiliate them as he did the first time he rescued me when he stripped Francis of his clothing. I have heard all the tales, and no one has ever called him murderer or coward except for Francis Dalcross. Moreover, whatever the Fox may be, Alex, you are my husband.”
“Am I, lass? Not quite yet, I think.”
She leaned close and kissed him on the lips. “Marriage is forever, so I can think of no good reason to delay any longer. We should consummate our marriage before aught else interferes. And if such thinking is wanton of me, then so be it.”
“It is not wanton, sweetheart, but there are certain thin
gs we must discuss.”
“Faith, sir, do you not want to consummate our marriage?”
He groaned. “Oh, Bab, what a thing to ask me! Of course, I do.”
“Then tell me what to do.”
“Very well, but we must have a serious talk before this morning is over.”
She snuggled against him again. “I’ll do exactly as you say, sir, now and afterward. At least, I’ll try. Now, explain this consummation business to me.”
She was so soft and pliant, pressing her body eagerly against his, and the lawn shift she wore was so thin that she might as well have worn nothing at all. Alex decided that it would take a stronger man that he would ever be to resist her in this mood, although he did not doubt that he would pay a price for putting off his confession, just as he would pay for the outrageous proposition he had made to her on the way home from Inverness.
In the end it had been the proposition that decided the matter, for he realized that as long as he continued to deceive her, he would find it far too tempting to test her, and although that was not fair, it would be irresistible. She continued to surprise him and to soothe the place in him that still struggled to compete with his brothers. Since he would never best either of them now, they would forever remain in his memory the superior beings they had been in his youth. But neither Rob nor Michael could ever have Bab, and that put their deaths in a certain new perspective for him. He had mourned their loss from the day he had learned of it, but he had mourned something else as well. Whatever that was had vanished the first time he had taken her in his arms.
As he slipped her shift off over her head now and began to caress her, beginning with her silky shoulders and breasts, he realized that she had never professed to love him—not as himself or as the Fox. But neither had he confessed to her that he had fallen in love with her, although as the Fox he had admitted that he thought he was. That scarcely counted, though, considering the circumstances.