by Amanda Scott
“Not enough to make an effective rescue, I’m afraid,” he said.
“But enough to guard the wall and everyone inside?”
“Aye, certainly.”
“Then tell them to keep strict watch and be ready to open the gates at an instant’s notice. We may need to hurry back and seek sanctuary here. I’ve a notion that Eustace and his men are heading for the line, but if they have merely taken Sir Christopher to the nearest hanging tree, we may be able to track them quickly.”
“They headed south, my lady,” Malcolm said. “I was about to tell you as much, for I asked the lads here, and several watched them go. One enterprising youngster followed them down the backside of Mute Hill and saw them ride onto the ridge overlooking Tarrasdale. They appeared to be following the track towards Kershopefoot, he said.”
Anne frowned. “I’m not sure I know that track, but I do know how to reach Kershopefoot from the Towers. Perhaps we should ride that way.”
“Nay,” Berridge said, turning his mount toward the gate. “I ken the track they took. We’ll do better to follow in case they change course along the way. Moreover, if they ride the Tarrasdale ridge, they’ll ride near Liddesdale. And mark me, lass, I’m guessing our Willie will have set men to keep watch there.”
“Faith, is Dunsithe near Liddesdale, then?” Anne asked, following him.
“Nay, it lies west o’ here some little distance, near the Debatable Land, but Willie would not have taken his lass with him so far as that, I’m thinking. He’d take her into Liddesdale, mayhap to Mangerton, to keep her safe.”
“Then he won’t have had time to reach Dunsithe yet,” Anne said.
“Never you fear that. They eloped this morning, did they not?”
She nodded.
“Then our Willie has had sufficient time to ride fifty miles if he had the will to do it, for he told us many and many a time that he and his reiving band often rode that far in a single night, and I’m thinking he’d need to ride less than thirty today.”
When they were outside the wall, making their way down the back of Mute Hill, Anne said, “You seem to know a lot about reivers.”
“Aye, sure, for our Willie talked a good deal.”
“I’ll warrant he did, since that seems to be his nature, whilst yours seems to be to keep yourself to yourself. Kit said you never spoke much on shipboard either, at least not about your past.”
“I’m a reticent creature, that’s all.”
“What was the crime for which you were sentenced to that ship?”
He was silent.
“You insisted upon accompanying me, sir. I think that even you would agree I’d have to be a fool to be riding into the night like this with a man who served time aboard a prison ship and escaped, without at least knowing the crime he committed. Kit has been exonerated of his. Have you?”
“No,” he admitted. “But Willie would tell you it was no crime at all.”
“Then you also were found guilty of reiving,” she said.
“I was, but we’re wasting time, and I owe my freedom and likely my life to Kit Chisholm. If you can keep up, we can make up some distance, I’m thinking, for I remember this track well and there is sufficient moonlight to give the ponies their heads a bit here.”
“I can keep up,” Anne said, urging her mount to follow his.
“Catriona, wake up!” Maggie commanded tersely, giving her a shake.
“What’s amiss?” Catriona asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
“Ye were supposed tae watch them,” Maggie said, moving to shake Fergus, who was curled into a ball at the hearth end of the dais in the hall. “That Eustace took your lad right out o’ his bedchamber, and be threatening tae hang him.”
“Oh, no!” Catriona exclaimed. “I fell asleep, and I wasn’t even sleepy.”
“It were that Eustace, like I told ye,” Fergus said, yawning.
“More likely, it were Jonah Bonewits,” Maggie said. “Did ye no say ye could feel his presence?”
“Aye,” Fergus said, watching her warily. “I dinna feel it now, though.”
“Nor do I feel Claud,” Maggie said, realizing the sensation that had been as familiar to her in past days as her own breathing had vanished, leaving her feeling bereft. “And that Carmichael woman be fast asleep in her chamber, for I looked.”
“What about me lass?” Fergus asked belatedly.
“She’s gone after them,” Maggie said, forcing herself to concentrate on the moment at hand, “but she’ll need our help.”
“Sakes, what can we do?” Fergus demanded.
“Can ye call upon other Ellyllon tae help ye?” Maggie asked him.
“Ye ken fine that I can,” he said.
“Then ye’ll do that, for here’s what I think we should do.”
He listened carefully, his anger growing stronger by the moment. Jonah was going to win this game of his if someone did not stop him.
With his hands bound tightly behind him, Kit was having all he could do to stay mounted, because Eustace set a fast pace. When the man leading his horse suggested that, tied so, their prisoner might fall off, Eustace had laughed and said it did not matter if he did because they were going to hang him anyway.
Kit thought the two Chisholm cousins with Eustace seemed unhappy about that course of events, but they clearly lacked the strength of mind to oppose it. Still, one of them muttered the word “murder” and suggested to Eustace that such an act might preclude his inheriting the estates.
“Aye, it might were we the ones that murdered him,” Eustace said, chortling, “but it won’t be us, lads. We’ve merely arrested the man and be taking him now to Cardinal Beaton. Faith, but had the man not left for Caerlaverock in such a hurry after the feasting, we’d have turned our prisoner over to him at Mute Hill House.”
“But Caerlaverock lies to the west of us,” one of his men protested.
“And we’ll turn west soon enough,” Eustace said. “We came this way only to thwart anyone trying to follow us, but you can be sure that I mean to ride no closer to Liddesdale and the traitorous Armstrongs than we must. We’ll stay west of Tarrasdale and head south toward Caulfield.”
“We’re going tae Caulfield? Be we going tae cross the line then, laird?”
“Nay, only to ride near it,” Eustace said glibly. “We’ll meet our friends long before we reach the village, I’m sure.”
Kit did not have to tax his brain to determine who those friends might be, since Eustace expected to meet them so near a village practically straddling the line. Several armies roamed the Borders, to be sure, but he doubted Eustace would turn him over to any Scottish force. He had soon realized his uncle was easily swayed by anyone who promised him wealth or power, and Henry of England would promise both to any man willing to help him win Scotland and its Kirk to his rule.
“So you mean to hand me over to the English, do you?” he said grimly.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll do that,” Eustace replied.
“But you’re meeting them. You’re a traitor to your own country and a disgrace to the proud name of Chisholm.”
“Don’t be naïve, lad. In the Borders, one does what one must to survive. What matters which kirk one serves, or which king? They are all much the same, are they not? But Henry controls his own army, and our Jamie does not. Thus, Henry is more powerful. What’s more, he puts men to death when they disagree with him. It is clear that he will win in the end, and I am no fool.”
“Henry will never control Scotland,” Kit declared grimly. “He may breach the line, thanks to support from traitors like you, but he will never make headway beyond the Borders, and he will never control the Scottish Kirk. Do you truly think he is more powerful than Beaton, who has the power of France and Rome at his back, not to mention that of the Scottish people?”
“What I think need not concern you,” Eustace said. “You will live only long enough to let us attribute your unfortunate death to the villainous English army. You need not fear that I’
ll turn you over to them, though. I made the mistake once before of trusting another to see to your death. Since I mean to win Hawks Rig for myself, I won’t make that mistake twice.”
“The first time being when you trusted Beaton?”
“Aye, your so-powerful cardinal. He told me your death was assured, that you would be arrested for murder and hanged. But he agreed instead to let the men who captured you turn you over to the captain of his ship, a detail he did not see fit to mention to me until after you’d escaped and shown up here. Even then, he promised he would see me in possession of Hawks Rig, only to betray me again. When I reminded him of his promise, he said the law was clear on the issue of betrothals. He said also, however, that although he could not be associated with your murder, if you disappeared again or met with a sudden death, he would do as he had promised from the outset and see me safely in possession of your estates. Once that happens, I intend to marry the lovely widow and live happily ever after.”
“Lady Carmichael?”
“Aye, unless you know of a wealthier widow hereabouts.”
Kit grimaced, saying nothing, and the conversation ended.
When they began to ride down the steep hill from the top of the ridge, he fixed his attention firmly on staying in the saddle. Since he had no control over the horse except with his heels, he hoped it could find its way without stumbling. In any event, he could barely see the track, so he watched the landscape ahead, instead, hoping to see Willie and his lads coming to the rescue.
Instead, he saw a line of torches cresting the next hilltop, their light glinting on weaponry and armorial banners, as a company of foot soldiers streamed toward them.
“There they be, lads,” Eustace exclaimed. “I recognize their banners.”
Kit stared at the force streaming toward them, but then movement caught his eye, and his gaze shifted to the bottom of the hill, where another, very large rider with a torch had appeared. To his shock, he recognized Sir Toby Bell, apparently waiting patiently for Eustace.
Had Eustace seen him? Was Toby friend or foe? The answer to that last question was plain, though, because only another traitor would have known where to find both Eustace and the English army.
“I dinna trust them English,” one of the men muttered loudly enough for everyone else to hear.
“I don’t trust them either,” Eustace said. “Nonetheless, lads, we’ve clearly had no time to hang our prisoner before their descent upon us, and folks will hear about that troop crossing the line. So, when someone finds the lad with a bullet in him, everyone will assume the English killed him. Haul him off that horse now and bring him to me,” he added curtly. “You lads yonder, light torches so we can see.”
“He’s going to shoot Kit!” Catriona exclaimed. “We must stop him!”
“Kill Eustace, Maggie!” Fergus shrieked. “I ken he’s the one. Ye’ll save your Claud and Catriona’s lad wi’ a single stroke.”
But a new idea struck Maggie. Swiftly thinking it through, she muttered, “Nay, nay, for there be only one reason now for Eustace tae kill the lad.”
“He’s going to shoot him because he believes the English army is at hand,” Catriona said. “Fergus, stop them!”
“Nay, ye mustna do that, Fergus,” Maggie said.
“Oh, what have we done?” Catriona wailed.
“Nobbut what I meant tae do,” Maggie said. “Recall me warning ye that whenever a body thinks a plan must succeed, summat happens tae queer it. I ken now who Claud’s mortal must be, and sakes but we should ha’ seen it afore.”
“Eustace,” Fergus insisted.
“Nay, Olivia,” Catriona said. “Isn’t that right, Maggie?”
“It canna be Olivia,” Maggie said. “She were sleeping earlier and I couldna feel Claud’s presence in her chamber. I feel it now, though, stronger than ever, and the truth ha’ been flaunting itself at us from the outset, Catriona, because what be more likely than that Claud’s mortal were present when Claud disappeared?”
Catriona went perfectly still as the truth struck hard. “No,” she whispered.
“Aye, Claud’s mortal can be no other,” Maggie said.
“But then all our plans will fail,” Catriona said with a gasp.
“Who is it?” Fergus demanded.
“There be only one who were there when Jonah cast Claud into the mortal world—only one, sithee, who be here now,” Maggie said. “That be Kit Chisholm.”
“But me lass loves him,” Fergus wailed. “Ye canna kill him!”
“I must,” Maggie said. “I’ll no condemn Claud tae save any mortal.”
“But ye’ll be sacrificing yourself at the same time,” Fergus reminded her. “At least, let Eustace kill him. If anyone deserves tae fly wi’ the Host, it’s Eustace.”
“Nay, for if anyone else kills the mortal, Claud will die wi’ him,” Maggie reminded him. “There be only one resolution tae all this.”
She raised her hands toward the sky.
“No,” he muttered. “Ye mustna kill him, mam. Ye’ll fly wi’ the Host an ye do anything so daft, for Jonah be right here watching ye.”
He could no longer see Catriona, only Maggie with her hands held aloft and her intentions crystal clear.
Evil laughter floated in the air around him. He knew it came either from a gathering of the Host, waiting to claim him and Maggie, or from Jonah himself, watching gleefully to see how his game played out now that he had forced all his geese into one corner. In that instant, all his pent-up anxiety and worry turned to a fury that outmatched any his mother had ever produced.
“Is that the English army yonder?” Anne asked Berridge. “I doubt it’s a Scottish one,” he said. “The majority of our lads ride their own horses, and although there be many from the Highlands who likely came south on foot, their leaders are always mounted. I see no beasts with that lot.”
But Anne’s attention had already shifted from the soldiers to activity directly below them. She and Berridge had been following Eustace’s party for some time, keeping only enough distance to avoid detection, and at first she had been relieved to see the soldiers, thinking they must be Scots who would surely help free Kit from Eustace and his men. But her realization that the approaching soldiers were more likely English chilled her, and seeing Eustace stop nearly sent her into a panic.
“Faith, but he means to murder Kit in cold blood,” she said, raising the hood of Kit’s long black cloak and pulling it forward to conceal her face. As she did, she caught a glimpse of Toby on horseback at the bottom of the hill, watching Eustace.
“What are you doing?” Berridge demanded.
“I’m going to stop Eustace, of course.” Without another word, she pulled Kit’s pistol from her saddle holster and urged the gelding forward.
“Lass, wait!”
“If you have a pistol,” Anne called over her shoulder, “I suggest you draw it and follow me.”
As two of Eustace’s men hustled Kit toward him, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed in nearly the same moment by a deafening clap of thunder.
“The gods are angry, lads,” Kit shouted to his captors. “That sky was clear when we left Mute Hill House.”
“Shut up,” one of them snapped, but he looked fearfully upward.
The English army was drawing rapidly closer, and Kit saw that the rider he had recognized as Toby Bell still sat on his horse at the bottom of the hill, watching them. Eustace had not so much as acknowledged the man’s presence, but it was clear enough now that Toby must have served as his spokesman with the English.
“Are you going to shoot me yourself, uncle?” Kit demanded.
“Don’t be daft,” Eustace snapped. To one of his own men, he said, “You there, draw your pistol and put an end to him.”
“God rot ye, I’m nae murderer,” the man said.
“I’ll pay you fifty marks,” Eustace said evenly.
“Aye, well then,” the man said, drawing his pistol at once.
He took careful aim
, and every man there watched him. Only Eustace and Kit turned at the sound of thundering hoofbeats on the hill behind them, and saw the dark rider bearing down on them, pistol drawn and ready.
The rider’s similarity to the Black Fox of the Highlands, along with a sudden sharp tingle of electricity in the air, made Kit’s hair stand on end.
His executioner held the gun to his head.
The scream formed deep within him, as all the anger he had felt for so long reached its peak in a rage so strong that it became an entity in and of itself. “Curse ye, Jonah Bonewits!” he cried, and what happened next astonished him.
Kit had time only to draw a single breath before the shot rang out, but he scarcely heard it before a double-forking flash of lightning and its simultaneous crack of thunder drowned it out, and the gun that had been only inches from his head flew out of the executioner’s hand.
Cries of terror followed, and when he glanced toward the English army, he saw that where Sir Toby Bell had been sitting on his horse, only a smoking, charred lump remained.
Chapter 20
Maggie, ye missed him!” Fergus cried.
Maggie stared in shock at the charred lump that had been Sir Toby Bell. “I canna ha’ missed him,” she whispered. “Wha’ ha’ I done?”
“Ye’ve done nowt but good, mam,” a familiar voice said behind her.
Whirling, she beheld the son she had never expected to see again.
“Claud!”
“Aye, ’tis m’self, returned tae plague ye,” he said, grinning.
“B-but how?”
Looking apologetic, he said, “I lost me temper.”
Catriona flew to him, flinging herself into his arms.
“Easy, lass,” he said, staggering. “I used up most o’ me strength diverting me mam’s lightning bolt tae save your lad.”
“But Claud,” Maggie said, worried anew, “though I dinna ken how ye managed it, ye killed a mortal when ye killed Toby Bell. Ye’ll be banished forever.”
“ ’Twas nae mortal, mam. ’Twas Jonah himself, shifted tae Toby’s shape. Sir Toby ha’ been safe at Mute Hill House all along. I kent fine that Jonah were nearby, and when I saw Toby riding a horse, ’twere plain wha’ Jonah had done, for ye heard yourself that Toby doesna ever mount a horse but rides in a special cart made tae bear his great weight. Ye should ha’ recognized him, too, I think.”