by Amanda Scott
“We must get help then,” Bab said. “I know that many of the gentry hereabouts who would be willing to support any Chisholm against Francis Dalcross and his men, have gone south with their armies. But there must be some left who would help us, Hugo. Even if powerful men are few, there must be any number of others who would fight to protect the Fox from harm.”
“Aye, sure,” Hugo agreed.
“But my lady,” Gibby said, “we canna tell them they’d be aiding the Fox. ’Tis a great secret, that.”
“You are quite right, Gibby,” Bab said, recognizing at once the error in her thinking. “Dear me, but this is a coil.”
“ ’Tis no matter,” Hugo said. “Without a proper leader, nae one will dare stir a foot against Dalcross anyway. Dinna forget, mistress, that his men be better armed than most hereabouts.”
“Nevertheless, we must do all we can. We’ll simply tell them Chisholm’s son has been accused and has not the least chance of getting a fair trial, because the jury will be men handpicked by Francis Dalcross.”
“Aye, that’ll anger them, right enough, and it be gey true, too,” Hugo said.
“Do you still think they’ll refuse to take up arms against Francis?”
“We’ll ha’ to see,” Hugo said, but his tone made his skepticism clear.
“Gibby can help, too,” Bab said.
Hugo nodded but said, “I answer only to Sir Alex and thus to ye, mistress, but we canna send others out without we first gain permission from his lordship.”
“Could you put the matter to him, do you think?”
“It would come better did ye ask him, my lady.”
Bab hesitated but quickly made her decision. “I think he would listen to you as easily as to me, Hugo, perhaps more easily. You traveled on the Continent with Sir Alex, after all, and I am only a woman. Moreover, if I go to him, he almost certainly will order me to stay here, and I cannot do that because I believe I can be of more use persuading folks to help. It will be harder for them to deny me, I think.”
“But ye shouldna leave Dundreggan, my lady. Sir Alex wouldna like it.”
“I know he would not,” she said with a rueful smile. “He warned me to do nothing foolish or dangerous, and I am certain he would count this as both, but I’d rather see him angry and threatening all manner of punishment than see him hang. And if we cannot prevent it, Hugo, I am sure that Francis Dalcross will hang him. I’d never forgive myself if I sat obediently with our mothers and let that happen.”
“And if aught should happen to ye whilst ye was trying to help him, d’ye think he’d be glad that ye helped?”
“He can say what he likes about that if we can just get him free again,” Bab said. “He should recall before he rebukes me, however, that I have some few things to say to him as well, for deceiving me as he did.”
“Aye, he did that, but ’tis sure he’s trusting ye now,” Hugo said.
She looked down at the coins. “He is, is he not? Then he should trust me to do as I think best, and so must you, Hugo.”
“Aye, perhaps, but I think I’ll show ye how to shoot Master Alex’s pistol and ask a few o’ the lads I trust to look after ye, rather than let ye ride out alone,” Hugo said. “Getting ye outside the wall will be easy enough. I’ll just tell the captain o’ the guard that Master Alex said ye could go wi’ me and a few others wha’ be armed, or we can get out through the caverns, o’ course, but that’ll make for trouble should anyone seek ye whilst we’re away.”
“Then we’ll follow your first plan,” Bab said. “And, Gibby, I want you to see if you can persuade your people in Glen Urquhart to help Sir Alex.”
“Aye, I’ll try an ye want me to, but me dad did say I wasna to go back there whilst the Dalcrosses be looking for me,” the boy reminded her.
“The only Dalcross left will not concern himself with you whilst he has Sir Alex to keep him busy,” Bab said. “How long do you think we have, Hugo?”
“Not long, mistress. Francis Dalcross will want to have the whole business over and done in a twinkling, but he’ll want folks to see what he’ll call a fair trial, too, so he’ll give his lordship time to travel to Inverness, and he’ll want word to reach all the neighboring glens that he’s caught the Fox and be trying him. I’m thinking we ha’ four, maybe five days, but I’d not want to count on longer.”
She nodded, feeling chilled at the thought that in less than a sennight Alex could be dead. The possibility had been lurking in her subconscious ever since she had heard Francis declare him under arrest, but now it threatened to overwhelm her, for she realized that the last thing she wanted was to lose Alex just as she had come to know him. She had much more yet to learn about the man she had married. She could not let Francis Dalcross deprive her of that fascinating, endearing prospect.
Loch Tarbert, the Kintyre Peninsula
By noon, Kit and his companions were helping a score of other men drag a west Highland galley across the quarter-mile strip of land between the Firth of Clyde and Loch Tarbert—a track much used over centuries for that purpose and worn smooth by the many hundreds of boats dragged across it. Its use eliminated the need to sail around the entire southern half of the Kintyre Peninsula and thus shortened the journey from Dumbarton to the Great Glen by nearly eighty miles.
Having easily decided that the quickest way from the north bank of the Clyde to the Highlands was by water, it had taken Kit only until shortly after first light to find a suitable galley and persuade its captain to take on three unknown oarsmen. His good fortune continued, however, for if anyone had been searching for three escaped prisoners from the Marion Ogilvy, he saw no sign of it.
He had expected to have to change boats more than once in order to reach his destination. However, to his great satisfaction, their congenial captain announced that he was making first for the village of Oban on the east shore of Loch Linnhe and thence for the even smaller hamlet of Gordons-burgh at the head of the loch, where the River Ness emptied into it. That route according exactly with Kit’s own plan, he and his two companions had agreed to row for their passage.
The galley’s crew of thirty-two, like that of many such boats, was primarily comprised of landless adventurers and broken men, the latter cast out of their clans for misbehavior, but no one complained at the addition of three men who could easily pull their weight, and no one questioned their antecedents.
Kit had expected Willie and Tam to head for the Scottish Borders as soon as they touched home soil, but both men informed him that they had agreed to cast their fortune with his.
“But I’m for the Highlands, lads,” he said.
“Aye, and that’d be a fine thing,” Tam said. “I ha’ never seen ’em afore.”
“Me neither,” William said, and so it was decided.
All three adapted quickly to their duties on the galley. Quick, light, and easy to beach, galleys were general-purpose boats which could carry troops or goods as occasion demanded, and were particularly suitable for West Highland travel. The combination of sails and oars made them extremely versatile. Sails added to their speed and allowed the oarsmen to rest, while the oars gave them often-needed independence from wind and tides. They could even row against contrary winds for short distances, such as when it became necessary to round a headland or sail into a bay against the tide.
The boat which Kit, Tam, and Willie presently found themselves helping to haul across the strip of land between the firth and Loch Tarbert carried little cargo but it would carry Highland hides, wood, and fish on its return trip to Dumbarton.
By that time, Kit expected to be well on his way to Glen Affric.
Maggie was pleased with the way things were going. The Merry Folk and the Helping Hands were peacefully waiting to see if their representatives would succeed or fail in providing acceptable service to their respective mortals. Claud, at least, seemed to be doing well enough with Mistress Bab, and since her arrest, he had watched her carefully, all the while managing to avoid undue interference.
First, it curled to the floor, assuming the shape of a man, and then the white took on color. His hair appeared, dark at the roots, reddish as it grew out, and fair at the tips. Radiating from his head like rays of the sun, it stuck straight out, framing his long, narrow face and glittering with tiny jewels. The face was not remarkable, unless one counted the thin yellow, green, red, and blue streaks on each cheek, but his dark eyes gleamed and his smile was mischievous.
“You!” Maggie exclaimed. “What brings ye here, Jonah Bonewits?”
All of him was visible now, his body swathed in flowing, pale-blue fabric bedecked with twinkling ornaments. When he fluttered a hand in Maggie’s direction, he revealed that it had six fingers, each bearing a colorful ring.
“As I warned ye, Mag, I take a powerful interest in everything ye do,” he said, his voice deep and spellbinding. “I havena abandoned ye or my amiable son.”
“They banished ye,” Maggie reminded him.
“Aye, but only from the Circle, lass, as ye ken verra well, and I’ll soon be back. Sure and d’ye no recall that I said I’d be taking a hand in this business.”
“But why should it interest ye?” she asked, knowing the answer but wanting to see if he would admit it.
He did, saying dulcetly, “ ’Cause ye ha’ vexed me, Mag, and sorely. I’ll no forget it till ye ha’ paid the price for all your meddling.”
“What d’ye want?”
“Why, ’tis simple, Mag. I want ye tae fail, and what I want I will have.” With that, having said what he had come to say, he vanished.
With Hugo’s help, Bab was able to set her plan into action, but she did not think she accomplished much good. Although the men with whom she spoke personally on Tuesday and Wednesday seemed outraged that Francis Dalcross had arrested Alex, and promised to do what they could do to help, she could not persuade herself that anyone truly meant to set himself in opposition to Francis.
That the commoners were frightened of the power the late sheriff’s son wielded was clear. No one else in the glens had so much manpower; and those who did wield considerable authority, such as Chisholm and the Mackintoshes, lacked both the manpower and the will to act against Dalcross when it meant going against the King’s law as well.
She soon discovered, however, that Chisholm had not remained idle. In the face of his son’s arrest, his lordship put aside his melancholy and threw himself into action, but his efforts bore no more tangible fruit than Bab’s. To be sure, everyone to whom he sent word promised to attend Alex’s trial, so perhaps they could hope that the number of watchers would encourage Francis to act fairly. But Chisholm admitted to Bab that the acting sheriff would just pick a tame jury and magistrate to assure that Alex’s case would be lost before it could be won.
They had less time than she had hoped to drum up support, because word came Thursday morning that his trial would begin Friday at one. Chisholm made only a token objection to her declaration and his wife’s similar assertion that they would accompany him, but both women insisted, and they barely had time to pack for the journey before he was ready to depart. Lady MacRae evinced no interest in riding to Inverness, and no one tried to persuade her to change her mind.
So lively had her ladyship become that Bab had feared she would insist upon going with them, but when the subject arose, Lady MacRae said simply that she did not wish to see her new son-in-law in chains.
When Bab bade her goodbye and assured her that she would obey Chisholm and do nothing foolhardy, Lady MacRae patted her cheek and said, “You have made me very proud, my dearling, and you would have made your father proud, too. Sir Alex will make you an excellent husband, as you will see once this little matter is properly resolved.”
With tears welling into her eyes, Bab quickly made her adieux and hurried to join the others. Neither Hugo nor Gibby had been at Dundreggan when the word came and neither had returned before Bab and the others left, so she gave hasty but nonetheless strict instructions to the captain of the guard to inform Hugo of the turn of events as soon as he returned. After that, she kept her mind firmly on her horse and the track ahead or chatted determinedly with Lady Chisholm, not wanting to spend a minute more than necessary pondering Alex’s likely fate.
Certain that Mistress Bab would be safe while she was traveling with Lord Chisholm and his men-at-arms, Claud seized the opportunity to search again for Catriona. Returning to her glade, he found it as he had left it and thought at first that no one was there.
He heard only the birds twittering to each other and the wind whispering in the leaves of the trees overhead. The merry burn in the center was still dry and silent. As he sighed his vexation, he heard feminine humming.
“Lucy, where are ye and what are ye up tae now?” He knew he sounded angry, but perhaps it would give the mischievous lass pause to know that he was angry. This was Catriona’s private bower, as personal and sacred to her as Maggie’s parlor was to Maggie and to him. Lucy had trespassed, and worse, she had defiled the lovely glade by killing Catriona’s merry, tumbling burn and the little pool.
The humming sounded again, and before he could determine its direction, he heard the unmistakable gurgle of water. A scant moment later, he saw it. First it trickled slowly into the dry, rocky bed, washing dust from the stones and eddying around their bases. Then it inched higher and moved faster until the gurgle became a chuckle, and Catriona’s merry burn tumbled through the glade again.
“Good lass,” Claud said. “Now come out here. I would speak wi’ ye.”
He saw movement in the shrubbery near the place where the burn normally bubbled forth from the ground, but he saw no flash of lavender from Lucy’s gown, only green, as Catriona stepped into view.
They stared at each other for a long moment before she said, “So ye had naught to do wi’ this prank, eh?”
“I did not,” he said, moving toward her. “I wouldna spoil this place, Catriona, not for anything. I ha’ too many fond memories tae do that.”
She moved to meet him, looking as fresh and delicious as she always did in her flowing, gauzy green gown. “Do ye, Claud? Then what o’ yon Lucy Fittletrot? Ye’ll no tell me she had naught to do wi’ this.”
“Never mind Lucy now,” he said, reaching for her. When she stiffened, he hesitated, realizing that she wanted to hear the truth. “Sakes, Catriona, I dinna ken what tae say about her. The minute ye think ye ken someone well, ye’re bound tae find out that ye dinna ken them at all. I liked her. I canna say I did not. But there be summat about her since this business began, even more since yon wedding, and when I saw what she did here… How did ye start the water again?”
“Lucy only stopped up the source,” Catriona said. “The water was already trickling through again but running away from the glade. It was easy to fix that.”
He nodded, reaching for her again, and this time she walked into his arms. “Ah, lassie,” he murmured, pulling her close and hugging her tight, “I’m just sorry she interfered and caused ye tae fail in your task. I’ll tell them o’ the Circle what happened, though. They canna blame ye when it were Lucy’s doing.”
To his surprise, Catriona chuckled. “I willna fail, Claud. I ha’ done what they asked o’ me, and barring any more wickedness, all will be well in the end.”
“But how?”
When she told him, he laughed aloud and whirled her around the glade in a dance that would have astonished Lucy of the twinkling toes.
Chapter 21
Having experienced the grandeur of Stirling Castle and seen the Stirling Tolbooth on Castle Hill in that roy
al burgh, Bab had expected Alex’s trial to take place in some official-looking chamber in Sheriff’s House or in a public building in central Inverness. It was something of a shock therefore to discover that the jury would determine his fate in a common alehouse.
She had never been inside an alehouse before, and thus her curiosity was high as she followed Chisholm and his lady into the low-ceilinged taproom, but it seemed a horrid place in which to decide if a man would live or die.
Most of the spectators were men, so she understood why his lordship had tried to persuade her—and his lady, too—to remain at Dundreggan. As it was, she was glad Lady MacRae had decided to stay behind.
The room was not only crowded but it fairly vibrated with the din of mostly masculine conversation, and it stank of stale ale and sweating bodies.
Rows of rough-hewn benches faced the fireplace, at one side of which sat a plain table and chair. On the opposite side, a second chair faced the audience, and between the benches and the rear door, five or six tables stood side-by-side with men perched on them as if they were higher benches. In the front corner nearest the magistrate’s table, two benches extended at right angles to the audience, and on these sat ten men who chatted and laughed amongst themselves as boisterously as anyone else in the room.
At first, Bab feared that she and her companions would have to stand to see anything of the trial, but she soon saw that Eric Mackintosh had saved places for them on the front bench. She was by no means certain this was an advantage though, since everyone in the room stared as they edged their way to the front.
The din had increased and was overwhelming, for everyone seemed to have an opinion to express. That his neighbor spoke at the same time deterred no one.
Bab would have liked to cover her ears as she made her way to the seat Eric had reserved for her, but she did not, choosing to retain her dignity instead. Despite the number of spectators, she could not see that her efforts had produced many supporters for Alex. Aside from Chisholm’s own people, she recognized no one to whom she had spoken in the past two days, and she knew that many in the room must be Francis Dalcross’s men.