by Amanda Scott
The noise on the gallery faded as the other men hustled Kit away.
Eustace glanced over his shoulder at the empty doorway, then turned back with a smile. “What you think matters not,” he said, “for you are but a woman, and since you can know only what Kit has told you, your word will carry no weight with any magistrate, let alone one appointed to his bench by Cardinal Beaton.”
“So Beaton is in on this with you.”
“Beaton is merely a friend of mine,” he said. “He knows he can trust me to support him with every man I have, and to do whatever is necessary to keep Henry in England. He does not know Kit, however, and from what he has heard of him, he fears he will be as difficult to trust as Buccleuch or the Armstrongs of Liddesdale. He needs me, and he promised from the first to support my position here, that’s all.”
Choosing her words with care, Anne said, “I collect then, sir, that for rather a long while he has supported your desire to control Hawks Rig.”
Eustace’s smirk was answer enough, but he added, “He did recently do me a sad disservice, however.”
“I wonder which you consider the greater betrayal,” Anne said musingly, “the fact that he assured you a year ago that Kit was dead or that yesterday he decided in favor of Kit’s betrothal instead of yours, thus robbing you of Fiona.”
Eustace shrugged. “That hardly matters now that our Fiona has so stupidly eloped with her jester.”
“Her jester is kin to Armstrong of Liddesdale,” Anne said.
“Even so, she will rue the day, because the Armstrongs are likely to support Henry, and she will find herself ostracized by everyone she cares about.”
“But the Armstrongs will likewise control her inheritance, whichever side they serve,” Anne said, not believing for a moment that either Fiona or Willie would support an English king wanting to invade their beloved Scotland.
“That is true,” Eustace said. “But Fiona’s mother has money, too, you know. People tend to forget that, but her widow’s portion is nearly as large as Fiona’s, and she thinks well of me. And, too, there is always yourself, my dear, after Beaton annuls your marriage to my nephew or hangs him. I have no doubt that Armadale left you very well off. What would you think of twice becoming Lady Chisholm?”
The thought of being forced to marry him made her feel nauseous, but she responded in her usual calm manner, “If such a thing should somehow come to pass, sir, you would be wise not to sleep too heavily at night.”
Sarcastically, he said, “Or what?”
“I have no scruples about killing vermin,” Anne said with a direct look.
His arrogance turned to fury. “Your impertinent tongue has annoyed me for months,” he snapped, reaching for her, “and by heaven, there is no one here to protect you now from the punishment you deserve. Beaton has already promised me the bride of my choice, and if I choose you, my lass, you will soon learn meekness, for by God, I’ll beat it into you.”
As he grabbed her arm, a growl startled them both, and he snapped his head around toward the sound, raising the torch higher.
A red fox with a white chest and white tip to its bushy, upright tail stood squarely on the hearthrug, teeth bared, growling viciously.
“What the—?”
Anne jerked her arm away from him. “Get out, Sir Eustace!”
He made a rude sound, looking back at her. “Faith, you do not suppose I am afraid of a fox! That stupid beast has been wandering at will all over this house for the past fortnight or more. Just see how valiant a defender it will be!” With that, he jabbed the torch in the direction of the fox, clearly expecting it to dart away.
It held its ground, watching him, ignoring the threatening flame.
“I’ll show you!” Eustace exclaimed, thrusting the torch right at its face.
As Anne watched in horrified astonishment, the fox leaped straight at Eustace, somehow avoiding the torch and going for the man’s throat.
With a cry of terror, Eustace threw both arms up to defend himself, dropping the torch. The braided rag rug by the bed caught fire, the flames shooting high to catch the bed curtains and the hem of Eustace’s cloak. As the fire roared, Eustace grabbed the fox by the scruff of its neck and with another angry cry, flung it into the flames. Then, thrusting off his burning cloak, he ran from the room.
The door slammed shut behind him, and the flames instantly went out.
Anne blinked, and as she did, the torch flamed up again, but to her surprise, it rose onto the end of its handle in the middle of the floor. Standing steadily, it seemed brighter than before, and she decided that the burning curtains, cloak, and carpet had been figments of her imagination. Nothing was even charred.
“Ye didna dream it,” a disembodied voice said as the fox sat up on the coverlet where Eustace had flung it and gave itself a shake like a dog shedding water from its fur.
“Who else is in here?” Anne demanded, although the voice seemed slightly familiar, as if it reminded her of someone she had met in the distant past or a dream.
“ ’Tis just me,” the voice said, and the fox faded from view as a plump little countrywoman in a plain gray cloak, green dress, and black boots took its place.
Instantly, Anne’s memory reminded her where she had heard the voice and seen the woman. “Maggie Malloch,” she exclaimed, “I’d forgotten all about you!”
“Aye, I ken that,” Maggie said, nodding as she reached into a pocket cunningly hidden in her cloak and pulled out a white implement that looked like a rounded stick with a shallow bowl attached at one end. To Anne’s surprise, a glow like that of burning coals radiated from the bowl, and when Maggie put the stick in her mouth and sucked deeply on it, a thin stream of white smoke wafted upwards. Another cloud of it billowed from her lips when she exhaled.
“Mercy, what is that thing?”
“ ’Tis called a pipe, but we’ll no talk o’ me bad habits,” Maggie said. “We ha’ a far more important matter tae discuss.”
“We certainly do, but what did you do with the fox?”
“I did nowt,” Maggie said. “There were nae fox, only me.”
“But the dogs chased one in more than a fortnight ago,” Anne said. “It has been creating havoc amongst the servants ever since.”
“Nay, only for a day or so, that one,” Maggie said. “It left o’ its own accord shortly after it got in, but I thought it might serve a useful purpose at some time or other if folks continued tae see it now and again. And so it has.”
“And the flames?”
Maggie shrugged. “Most men be afraid o’ fire unless they ha’ good cause tae brave it. As tae that Eustace, he’ll be a coward through and through, I’m thinking, talking big when he has men at his back, but no when he’s alone.”
“If he was so easy to rout, can you also make his horrid men release Kit?”
“Nay, that I canna do,” Maggie said. “I ha’ already interfered more than I should, but Eustace kens only that a fox bested him, and that fox be known in this house tae one and all. Were I tae take a hand in rescuing your Kit, I’d ha’ tae use me powers where too many persons would ken that I had. I canna do that.”
“But can you not simply make them forget afterward as you did me?”
“I could, but me Clan frowns heavily on such strong interference in mortal affairs,” Maggie explained. “As it is, I’ll likely ha’ tae answer for what I did here, but since I’d sent your own guardian spirit away, I felt obliged tae see ye came tae no grief in his absence.”
“I have my own guardian spirit?”
“Ye do. But now, if ye’ll pardon me, I’ve summat tae tell ye, and ye canna fly into the fidgets when I do, for ye’ll need tae keep your mind clear.”
“What is it?” Anne demanded, feeling a chill of fear.
“I canna predict the future, as I told ye afore, but they do mean tae hang him, I think,” Maggie said. “Another possibility exists, though, because Henry’s army be closer than ye ken, and for all he said about Armstrongs, Eustace do
be closer tae Henry than ye might think.”
“Are you suggesting that he might turn Kit over to the English?”
“Ha’ ye a better notion?” Maggie demanded. “D’ye think he’ll trust that traitorous Beaton again tae do away wi’ him, after he failed the first time?”
“So the cardinal did have a hand in that,” Anne said. “I thought as much.”
“Aye, I’m certain he did,” Maggie said. “Eustace is too sure o’ Beaton for it tae be aught else, sithee, and he claimed Sir Christopher’s titles and property wi’ uncanny swiftness. Ye’ll ha’ tae ask them about that yourself, though.”
“But if they mean Kit to die, how could I possibly stop them?”
“He never brought ye the pistol he promised ye, but his be in yon kist,” Maggie said, pointing with the stem of her pipe at a chest near the hearth.
Anne swallowed hard, saying tightly, “But even if I had the pistol…”
The fox reappeared in Maggie’s place, but this time, the fox was black.
Chapter 19
The torch in the center of the floor had disappeared when Maggie did, but the fire had leaped into flames again, casting light throughout the room, and Anne quickly found Kit’s gun tucked into the bag containing his powder, ramrod, and bullets. She also found a long black cloak among his trappings, as well as a dark shirt and a pair of dark netherstocks, but his breeches were too large for her, and when she pulled on his boots, her feet swam in them. She would need help.
A knock at the door startled her, and she froze where she was.
“My lady? Lady Anne, are you in there?” It was Malcolm Vole’s voice.
With a sigh of exasperation, Anne got to her feet and clumped to the door in Kit’s boots. Opening it just enough to see Malcolm, she said, “What is it?”
With a sigh of relief, he said, “Oh, my lady, I feared for your life! Sir Eustace said Sir Christopher’s bedchamber had caught fire.”
“As you see, he was wrong,” Anne said. “I believe Sir Eustace desires only to cause trouble. Doubtless, like a child, he desires to strike back at everyone for his loss of Mistress Fiona.”
Malcolm’s eyebrows shot upward, but Anne did not intend to take back the words she had spoken, despite having never intended to speak them aloud. The notion had stirred in her mind, and the words had popped out before she could stop them. In any event, the steward was too busy trying to see past her into the room to concern himself further with her opinion of Eustace.
A harsh voice from the gallery said, “What are you doing there, Malcolm?”
He stiffened and turned his head, only to bow at once and say obsequiously, “Begging your lordship’s pardon, but I was concerned that her ladyship might be in danger. Sir Eustace told me Sir Christopher’s bedchamber had caught fire.”
“One must wonder how Eustace knows that,” Lord Berridge said mildly.
“He and his men arrested Sir Christopher,” Malcolm said. “I assumed that in their struggle to subdue him, someone kicked a candle over or some such thing.”
“It was brave of you to come alone to rescue Lady Chisholm,” Berridge said with a touch of sarcasm. “Since I see no smoke issuing forth from her bedchamber, however, I warrant you can safely leave now.”
“Wait,” Anne said sharply. “Malcolm, go directly to the stable and order my horse saddled. I mean to ride after them.”
“I cannot do that,” Malcolm said in his precise way. “I should have to gain her ladyship’s permission first.”
“Nonsense,” Berridge said. “Lady Chisholm needs no one’s permission save her husband’s. And since he is not at hand just now, she requires no one’s permission save her own.”
“I should need no permission in any event,” Anne snapped. “You listen to me, Malcolm Vole. Go and do as I bid you, now, because I am going after them if I have to climb over the wall and chase them barefoot.”
Malcolm stared at her in shock.
Berridge chuckled. “Go on and do as she commands, man, and look sharp. Whilst you’re about it, you may order a horse for me, as well. I shall go with her.”
“In that event, there can be no reason to forbid her,” Malcolm said stiffly, hurrying away at last but with his dignity still intact.
“What a dimwitted moldwarp that man is,” Berridge said, watching him go.
“Thank you for your support, my lord,” Anne said, “but you need not trouble yourself over me. I can manage quite well on my own.”
“You are very fierce tonight, madam, but you cannot mean to ride out at night alone, and surely not in pursuit of a band of armed men!”
“I… I’ll take an armed escort of my own,” she said hastily.
“Nay, lass, that won’t serve,” he said, shaking his head at her.
“Lord Berridge, you should know that he told me who you really are,” she said, looking up and down the gallery to be sure no one would hear her. “I know you are an impostor, but I know as well that you are Kit’s friend. You must trust me on this matter. I shall be quite safe, I promise you.”
“Promise all you like, lass. You’ll not be going on your own.”
“I do need help,” she admitted, “but you must promise not to question what I mean to do, just to help me get outside the wall. Kit trusts you, so I will trust you, too, but I do not mean to let anyone stop me or hinder my actions.”
“Very well,” he said. “I know Eustace’s men took Kit, because my room is just down the way and when I heard the commotion, I looked out the door in time to see them hustling him away. I recognized two of them as Eustace’s men, but I never saw Eustace himself.”
“That is because he stayed in our bedchamber after they took Kit away. He truly is a loathsome worm, that man. He taunted me, saying that after they hang Kit, he means to ask Beaton to perform another marriage. I am to be the bride if you please, and he the groom. By heaven, I’d shoot the man before letting that happen.”
Berridge smiled. “I do not think that will be necessary, my dear. We’ll find Kit, but I think perhaps you should wear your own boots, don’t you?”
Looking down at her feet, Anne realized that she had forgotten to stay behind the door, and that Berridge could see everything she wore. A bit sheepishly, she said, “I have only Fiona’s wedding dress in here, so I took some of Kit’s things, but nothing fits. I mean to startle them, but I’m afraid that anyone seeing me dressed like this would only laugh.”
He chuckled. “In the darkness, the cloak will conceal everything, but you do need smaller boots. I’m not dressed for riding, either, so I must change, but if you go to your own room and fetch your boots, I’ll meet you at the kitchen stairs. Kit showed me that means of escape some time ago.”
“Thank you, sir.” She flung the cloak over her shoulders, picked up the bag containing the pistol and its accouterments, and turned toward the stairway.
“One more thing, lass,” Berridge said sternly.
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t leave without me. That would displease me very much, and if you should somehow and most miraculously succeed in finding Kit and rescuing him by yourself, I doubt that it will please him overmuch either.”
Despite her fear for Kit, a shiver stirred at the image Berridge’s words produced, for they reminded her forcibly of the scene in the hedged garden after she revealed that she had taken Fiona’s place.
“I won’t go without you,” she promised.
“Good lass. I expect that if Kit told you about me, he also told you about our Willie, did he not?”
“Aye, sir, he did,” she answered, fairly dancing now with impatience.
“ ’Tis a pity Willie’s not here,” Berridge said. “He might prove useful.”
“He said he would ride to Dunsithe to bring help,” Anne told him. “But that was before the wedding, before I knew that he meant to elope with Fiona. I warrant he has ridden as far from here as possible and has completely forgotten about Kit.”
“Nay, Willie would not do that,” Berrid
ge said flatly. “If he was riding to Dunsithe, we may just pull this business off after all. Make haste, lass.” And with that, he turned on his heel and hurried off down the gallery toward his room.
Anne stood for a moment, stunned that after delaying her as he had he would command her to make haste, but she quickly collected her wits. Yanking Kit’s boots from her feet, she flung them back into his room, shut the door, and ran barefoot with the long cloak billowing behind her to her bedchamber, where she soon unearthed her own boots and pulled them onto her feet.
A second thought sent her to find her riding whip, but she waited for nothing more, running back to the service stair and down to the kitchen door. Certain she would have to wait at the stables for Berridge, she was astonished to find him awaiting her in the yard instead. He grinned, and she saw at once that the thought of adventure had stimulated him.
“Ready, lass?”
“Aye, sir, but are you sure you want to go?”
“I could not stay here,” he said. “Kit Chisholm saved my life by helping me escape from that damned ship. I will not leave him to the likes of Eustace Chisholm and his ilk if I can do aught to save him.”
Anne half expected to find that Malcolm had disobeyed her and given orders instead to prevent her leaving, but the horses were waiting and Malcolm himself stood beside them.
As she hurried up to hers, he made a stirrup of his hands and helped her mount, saying, “If there is anything else I can do to help, my lady, you have only to command me. They had no business to take Sir Christopher from Mute Hill House. ’Tis an invasion of our hospitality at best, and a criminal act at worst.”
“Thank you, Malcolm,” she said. “I need a holster for this pistol.”
Although his eyes widened when she pulled the pistol from the satchel, he made no objection, merely signing to an underling to obey her request.
When the pistol was holstered and the satchel tied behind her saddle, Malcolm asked if there was anything more. About to tell him she needed nothing further from him, she said instead, “How many men have we here?”